Miss Driscoll then stood but stayed low enough to be hidden. “I will go see to the girls and prepare supper.”
“And we will continue our discussion later.”
She slipped away and he continued to watch until the French soldiers had finally left then made his way to the hut where dinner had been placed on the table. It was the same as every night—fruit, bread, dried meat and a biscuit.
He would need to see about going into Fort-de-France for more provisions if they were going to be here much longer. They had eaten all the eggs and he would like those again.
Conversation around the table was quiet and polite, with little to say. What he did want to discuss could not be done in front of the children.
They may understand the danger they were in, but he did not want them to know that he was an English spy because, heaven forbid they were caught, one of them might mention that fact and he’d be arrested.
“I thank you for supper,” Rhys said as he stood after he had finished eating. “I shall now retreat to my hammock.”
He only said that so Miss Driscoll would know where to find him so that they could continue their conversation that had begun behind a bush. Once he knew how much she understood, he would likely be more comfortable with his situation, or possibly not. She did tend to have her own opinions, which could be dangerous to him.
Yet, despite his irritation with Miss Driscoll, he still had a duty to protect them. If the French soldiers decided to come back, or scout for British on the island because they feared that they may land clandestinely, they could come across Miss Driscoll and her sisters. Therefore, they needed another place to hide. One that would not be easily discovered.
But where?
There was an open beach before him and dense forest behind him. Another structure would be seen and he could not risk them simply hiding beneath foliage and hope that they weren’t discovered.
“Are you really from Martinique?” she asked as she approached his hammock.
Rhys quickly corked his bottle of rum and dropped it into the sand.
“I know you were drinking, Mr. McNaught. Ruth told me that Ann gave you one of the hidden bottles.”
“Can I assume that you came to take it back from me?”
Miss McNaught chuckled and shook her head. “No. I just ask that you do not get drunk or drink in front of the children.”
“Has nobody ever drank in front of them?”
“Yes, of course. Wine at dinner, brandy afterwards.”
“Then I do not understand.”
“Civilized drinking, Mr. McNaught. Not directly from a bottle.”
“I will use a coconut next time,” he grumbled.
“I am not here about the rum, Mr. McNaught.”
He hated that she called him that and it was beginning to irritate him. “Rhys. My name is Rhys. I do believe given our current circumstances that you should feel free to call me by my given name since there is little formality to hiding on a Caribbean island.
She chuckled, much to his surprise. “You may call me Tempest.”
“Tempest.” He tried the name on his tongue. “It suits you.”
“I am not certain how to take that, Rhys. Is it a compliment or a criticism?”
“I am not certain,” he answered honestly.
“My father gave me the name because I arrived in the world during a tropical storm and my screams were as loud as the wind squalls.”
“Do you still scream as loud?” he asked and without his intention, immediately wondered how loud she would be when gaining a release.
Bloody hell! Being on an island, without adult chaperone, and one inhabited by the French was not a place to think about desire or bedding or any other pleasurable activities.
