Free Eye of the Storm by Lee Rowan

dispose of them?”
    “No!” Marshall was surprised at his own vehemence. He was not about to tell his lover how many nights he had gone to sleep with his cheek resting on that small but precious bundle. “No, you may not.”
    He had been about to leave the cabin, but he took the time to lift the lid of his sea-chest, rummage in the keepsake box, and stow the letters safely in an inner pocket. “I’ll take these with me,” he said. “And I shall read them the first chance I get, and if you touch them I’ll clap you in irons.”
    The ghost of a smile lifted one corner of Davy’s mouth. “There are no irons on this ship.”
    “I’ll have Barrow buy a set next time we’re in port.”
    “You’ve the makings of a tyrant, Captain.”
    “Not so long as I have you for a gadfly.”
    “Will—” Suddenly Davy was in his arms, their bodies melded together, lips meeting as though it might really be the last time. He held Davy close enough to let the touch of his body impress itself all along his own. Why, why had he not made time, barred the door, taken the chance? What if this was the biggest mistake of his career—and the final mistake?
    But there was no time to worry about that now.
    Reluctantly, he disengaged himself from Davy’s embrace. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I shall be back before you have time to enjoy having the cabin all to yourself.”
    “You had better be,” Davy said. “You’re not the only one who can worry, you know. I tell you, Will—those weeks where you were sailing the Caribbean, wondering whether I’d succumbed to some tropical fever, I was whiling away the hours wondering if each day would be the one a load of chain-shot cut you in two. I’ve never felt such fear as I did when you were too far away for me to reach. It isn’t conscience that makes cowards of us all. It’s love.”
    “I will be back,” Marshall promised, and left before he could change his mind.
     
     
    Archer was vaguely aware of the boat’s return, the clunk and splash as it was hoisted above. He heard the men hauling it into place and tying it down. He didn’t need to watch; Barrow would handle it. His attention was all focused on the shore, where his lover was trudging up the short, sandy beach that led to the village.
    The boat was loaded in and secured by the time Will turned, raised a hand in farewell, then vanished into the evergreens along the path that led to the chateau.
    Almost immediately, a shout from the masthead took Archer’s attention away from his worry.
    “What is it?” he called.
    “Something coming our way, sir. I’m guessing she’s French…three even masts. Can’t see any more yet.”
    I knew there was something wrong. I knew it, I knew it… God damn the French and all their ships to hell. But the Mermaid was a sleek, low vessel—low enough that the approaching ship wouldn’t catch sight of her topmast over the curve of the horizon—at least, not immediately. And he could hope that, this close to home, they were looking out toward England and not in toward their own shore.
    “All sails,” Archer said to Barrow. “With luck, we’ll be around this spit of land before they see us.” After that, they could steer out toward open water, and circle back around eventually.
    “What about Captain Marshall, sir?”
    The breath caught in his throat as though Barrow had struck him with an axe. “Those—those are the Captain’s orders. We run, and come back for him when we can.”
    “Aye, sir.”
    And if we can.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Marshall trudged up the path, gravel crunching beneath his feet. He wondered if he had only imagined feeling the stares as he walked past the cottage closest to the beach. What did these people think of a stranger setting foot on their shore? They must have seen the Mermaid from time to time, these past two weeks.
    The village seemed deserted. This close to Honfleur, one would expect more activity, fishing boats, something. Had