Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1)

by Cynthia Wright

  * * *

  Days passed. Devon helped Mrs. Minter in the house and listened patiently to her complaints. She also went with Azalea to the tobacco barn, where the meager crop had been hung to cure, watching as the older girl inspected its progress. Then they would walk through the fields and trees or ride the two aging horses.

  Their friendship prospered. Eventually Devon told Azalea about the British attack on New London and Groton Bank, shakily describing the soldiers who had burst into the Linen and Pewter Shop and the nightmarish events which had followed. Azalea listened in horrified fascination, but in the end she threw her arms around Devon and hugged her until it hurt. Devon wept to the point of feeling sick, then laughed nervously and drew away. They smiled into each other's eyes and their friendship was sealed.

  Azalea never tired of discussing Isaac, her thirst for romance, or the men in her past. She had no qualms about telling all, but Devon, though she spoke freely about Morgan, never mentioned any aspect of their physical relationship, and she froze whenever Azalea mentioned Andre Raveneau.

  One evening Azalea left the house for a walk. Devon watched her through the window as she headed toward the dock, and thought she seemed oddly furtive.

  Constance Minter came up behind Devon, smelling of herbs and potatoes.

  "She's up to mischief," she declared, and crossed the room to poke her husband, who was dozing on the sofa. "Azalea's up to mischief!" she shouted in his ear.

  Jud Minter made an unsuccessful attempt to revive himself, then propped his chin on the opposite shoulder and began to snore.

  "Do you see?" Mrs. Minter asked Devon harshly. "I'm as helpless as a kitten! My husband cannot help me deal with that child. She's always been headstrong, uncontrollable. You follow her, Devon, make sure she stays out of trouble."

  "Oh, I wouldn't worry," soothed a somewhat confused Devon. "What sort of trouble could she get into around here? Aren't all the eligible young men at war?"

  "Azalea can always find a man when she wants to. You follow her."

  It was easy to follow Azalea, for she had left a wide ribbon of broken, crushed grass along the water. Devon unsuccessfully fought feelings of anger and resentment. She was tired, and here she was plowing through a swamp. Her feet and skirt were wet, she was perspiring, and there was no sign of Azalea. What if she were simply out for a walk? What if she was breaking the monotony of her existence by meeting a neighboring farm boy? What was Devon supposed to do about it?

  Then Devon heard a stealthy rustle in the grass. A snake? It would be the perfect end to a terrible afternoon if a snake were to bite me, she thought. She took a few more cautious steps, then froze as a groan broke the quiet. It reminded her of the sound Azalea often made in her sleep...

  "Azalea?" Devon kept her voice low, just in case.

  There was another, louder groan. Devon went toward the sound and discovered her friend lying in the tall, heavy grass.

  "Oh, thank God you’ve come," Azalea gasped, her face contorted with pain. "I must have stepped into a hole... Oh, my ankle!"

  Devon dropped to her knees, lifted Azalea's head, and rested it on her lap. "What on earth were you doing?"

  "You will have to go now. It's so important! Please... you must take the message in my place. Worry about me later. There will be hell to pay if someone is not there when he arrives—"

  "Who? Where? What are you talking about?"

  "Just a little way... where the water forks. He'll be there at sunset. Any minute! He will give you a message. If he doesn't trust you, tell him that you have come in my place to get the Blue Jay's message. Don't forget! Afterward, you have to come back this way, the way you came from the farm. You'll find a giant oak..." Azalea paused, wincing in pain, and licked her lips. "It has yellow leaves and a foot-tall A carved in the trunk. Wait there as long as you have to. A man wearing a cape and a black silk mask over his eyes will come in a boat from the James. Give him the message."

  "The Blue Jay?" Devon inquired skeptically.

  Azalea managed a weak smile. "Jay. He calls himself Jay. The redcoats call him Blue Jay because he appears and disappears the way the blue jay dives and then swoops back up to the trees to laugh."

  "But what about you? How shall we get you home? I feel terrible leaving you here this way! It is cruel, Azalea! Besides, how important can this message be?"

  "Very important," Azalea said urgently. "There isn't much time. All I can tell you is that the first man is from the American armies marching on Yorktown. The Blue Jay is from the French fleet anchored in Chesapeake Bay. This farm is where communications are exchanged between the army and the navy."

  "This farm?" Devon repeated doubtfully.

  "Both men have traveled with great speed to meet here tonight. They know I can be trusted." Azalea put her head back, and Devon could see how pale her usually blooming cheeks were.

  "I suppose that Captain Raveneau vouched for your character. I'm not certain that he would do the same for me!" Her friend narrowed her eyes warningly. "All right, I'll go, but I hope this doesn't take long. I am so worried about you!"

  "Devon, I'll be fine. But do hurry. If he has to wait, he may grow suspicious and leave."

  Devon kissed Azalea's cheek and spread her shawl over the injured girl before starting off.

  It took less than a half hour to reach the fork in the creek, but by that time the twilight was deep and rosy. Devon waited, wondering and worrying. The entire situation was beyond belief. To think that two weeks ago she was safely living in New London.

  A sharp, scolding bird cry pierced the quiet dusk and Devon looked around nervously. Should she say something? Was that some sort of question from the messenger? "I've come in Azalea's place," she offered quietly. "She's been hurt."

  A man stepped out of the trees, only a few feet away. He was small, swarthy, and sharp-eyed. His uniform was a far cry from the neat garb of New London's militia—soiled buff breeches, a blue coat which looked much-mended, and a sword.

  "Why have you come?" His eyes were like daggers.

  "I have come to receive a message."

  "For whom?"

  They stared at each other suspiciously.

  "How do I know that you are the right person?" Devon demanded.

  "How do I know that you are?"

  "Where are you bound? If you tell me that," she said, "I will tell you the name of the recipient of the message."

  The swarthy little man considered this. He studied Devon's earnest, innocent face and decided to trust her. "My eventual destination is Yorktown."

  She grinned, warming to the adventure. "Do you have a message for the Blue Jay?"

  "Yes." His smile was almost imperceptible. Extracting an envelope from his inner pocket, the man held it out to Devon. "Do you know where to find Jay?"

  "Yes. Azalea told me."

  "Hurry, then. I will be here again in three days." With that, the man turned and disappeared into the trees. Devon found herself following, but when she reached the edge of the woods, he was nowhere to be seen.

  It was dark by the time Devon reached Azalea again. She paused there only long enough to be certain her friend was able to endure the wait; then, at Azalea's urging, she set off for the giant oak.

  Luckily, the moon shone brightly and Devon had quite a clear view of the trees. She thought she saw the oak several times, but closer inspection failed to reveal the A she sought.

  Finally, there it was. The tree was immense, and even in the moonlight Devon could see the yellow tint of the leaves and the large A carved into the trunk. Standing beside it, she wondered idly what the letter stood for. Had Isaac carved it for the A that began his sweetheart's name? Or was it Azalea's work? Could it stand for Andre—the pirate she had loved but couldn't keep?

  Devon heard a soft splash and glanced toward the water, her heart beating with fearful excitement. She saw the boat a short distance downstream, then a man walking toward her in the darkness.

  He was very tall, possibly as tall as R
aveneau, Devon thought, with wide shoulders covered by a midnight-blue cape. He wore a tricorn hat tilted forward, a black silk mask over his eyes and nose, and knee boots. Doeskin gloves covered his hands, while a short, bristly beard concealed the lower half of his face.

  "What are you doing here?" Blue Jay asked in a husky, French-accented voice.

  "Azalea hurt her ankle. I discovered her, so she asked me to do her—errand."

  "What is your name?" His eyes glittered as he loomed over her.

  "Devon."

  "You are very beautiful, Devon." One side of his mouth curved upward.

  She blushed for the first time in a week. "Me?"

  "Do you wish me to insist?"

  "You must think I am a poor replacement for Azalea." What am I saying? she thought. How can I flirt with this stranger out here alone in the dark?

  "On the contrary. I find you refreshing and delightful. Azalea is an entirely different type."

  "I think this is a ludicrous conversation. I don't even know you!"

  "Do you wish to?" The other side of his mouth went up in a wicked smile.

  "No, I mean—Oh! You are insolent, sir, and I must ask you to stop!"

  "And if I do not?" He stepped nearer. He smelled of tobacco and brandy... and man.

  "Please—"

  "I could never hurt you intentionally, my lady," he whispered. "I shall do as you ask. The message?"

  Devon colored again as she realized she had put it into her bodice for safekeeping. Jay grinned when she produced it.

  "I shall treasure this," he murmured. One gloved hand reached out to clasp her own lightly. His eyes were on her face as he lifted her fingers to his mouth. A tingling warmth coursed up Devon's arm when he kissed her palm, his beard tickling her soft skin.

  "Adieu, Devon," he said huskily. "Until—"

  "Three nights from now," she replied, somewhat stunned by her response to so simple a gesture.

  He began to turn away, then said, "I am ashamed of myself. Your lovely presence has caused me to forget poor Azalea. Has she found a way to return home?"

  "No! Could you help her? She has been lying in the grass for more than an hour and I have truly wondered how I would be able to get her back in the dark."

  Without another word, Jay gestured for Devon to lead the way. He took her arm in a hard grasp as they walked, keeping her from stumbling when her skirts became tangled.

  Before long they reached Azalea's side. She had fallen asleep, so the spy lifted her into his arms as though she were a child. "Come," he said over one shoulder, "let us get her home."

  Devon felt uneasily envious of Azalea. She wondered how it would feel to be held in that man's arms. As she was thinking this, Azalea awoke, purring adorably. She registered no surprise at finding herself in Jay's arms, but nestled against him and cooed, "Well, I am glad I got to see you after all!" She put a creamy hand up to his beard. "I like this. Very mysterious!"

  "For a young lady who has hurt her ankle, you seem remarkably cheerful," he remarked sardonically.

  Devon, tripping along behind them, was beset by an unaccountable urge to break Azalea's other ankle.

  Jay left Azalea and Devon outside the front door, and with a wave of his gloved hand, disappeared into the trees. That left Mrs. Minter to contend with. It was bad enough that they had missed the supper she had labored over for hours, but her suspicions about Azalea's activities and her alarm over her daughter's ankle caused a deluge of questions, nagging, and scolding. Devon got her share as well, for she declined to confide in the old woman, supporting Azalea's tale of a simple walk and a misstep into a simple hole. Eventually, the girls were grudgingly served portions of reheated stew and cold corn bread, which they dutifully praised.

  At last Devon assisted a pale Azalea up the narrow stairway. Alone in their bedroom, they undressed and Devon helped the other girl get into a bedgown. Both were silent, mulling over their separate thoughts, but once in bed with the candle out, Azalea asked conversationally, "How do you like being a spy?"

  "I hate to admit it, but I found it rather fun!"

  "Oh, really? And Jay—how did you find him?"

  Devon froze. "I liked him."

  "He reminds me of Andre."

  "I suppose," Devon mused. "But Jay is much less sarcastic and more charming."

  Azalea peered through the darkness. "Are you looking forward to your next meeting?"

  "Azalea! You ought to know better than to ask me questions like that!"

  "You can't blame a girl for trying! You sound angry—that must be a sign of something." She yawned extravagantly. "You know, I'm frightfully tired... think I'll just close my eyes..."

  She fell asleep almost immediately, leaving Devon to stare up at the shadow patterns on the slanted ceiling. There was no doubt about it... she certainly had felt something for the mysterious Jay! Part of her was elated and relieved to know that Andre Raveneau was not the only man who could send hot and cold chills down her spine. Yet another part of her wondered if she found Jay so attractive only because he reminded her so poignantly of Raveneau.

  * * *

  When the girls awoke the next morning, they found that Azalea's ankle was still swollen. When she moved it experimentally, she let out a squeal of pain.

  Her infirmity left Devon free to run over the farm as she pleased. She divided her time between helping Mrs. Minter, conversing with a bored and restless Azalea, and slipping outdoors for an hour or two of solitude. Devon thought about Raveneau and Morgan and the spy, Jay, a great deal. She wondered what her future would hold, and whether she could ever regain the old relationship with Morgan if she found him.

  On the third day after Azalea's injury, Devon felt nervous from the moment she awoke. She found herself constantly picturing the events of the evening to come, making up dialogue for herself and Jay and visualizing him in her mind. When four o'clock arrived, she put on her breeches and set off to meet him, having memorized at least a dozen witty rejoinders.

  Devon's heart raced with excitement all the way to the fork in the inlet. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt such delicious anticipation. The same small, swarthy man came out of the trees to meet her, smiling.

  "I am glad to see you here—"

  "Devon," she supplied, returning his smile. "Will you tell me your name?"

  "I cannot. I am sorry. How is Miss Minter?"

  "Except for her ankle, she is fine. She's had to stay inside, and that makes her cross."

  "I can imagine. You may tell her that I have news of her fiancé and he is well."

  "She will be cheered to hear that." Devon paused. "It is probably silly for me to ask, but have you heard of a young man named Morgan Gadwin? He is part of a Connecticut regiment—"

  "No, I am sorry. Your brother?"

  "Actually, he is my fiancé." It didn't sound true even to her own ears.

  "You have come to Virginia to look for him?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I wish you good fortune, Devon." He fished inside his coat for the envelope and handed it to her. "By the way, you look very well in breeches." He flashed an impish smile. "I hope to see either you or Miss Minter one week from tonight," he said, and turned to leave.

  Devon tucked the envelope into a pocket and started back toward the yellow-leaved oak. Darkness was gathering quickly now. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and from time to time Devon heard a strange animal noise.

  The moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, but Devon found her way to the giant oak as if by instinct. It was chilly; a breeze off the water ruffled her red-gold curls and she crossed her arms to ward off the cold. She was lost in thought by the time Jay arrived. This time Devon saw no boat. He came from behind, soundlessly, and put his hands on her shoulders, causing her to jump with fright.

  "My God!" she gasped, her blue eyes sparkling. "You scared me half to death!"

  "May I feel your heartbeat?" Jay inquired, trying to repress a smile.

  Devon almost agreed until she
realized that her heart lay behind her breasts. "Men! You think only of one thing."

  "I think that you enjoy my interest," he murmured huskily, his French accent pronounced. "And if all men think alike around you, you have only yourself to blame for being so lovely."

  "You say these things to amuse yourself," she accused. "You flirt with every female you meet. I saw the way you looked at Azalea and I heard you cooing at her."

  Jay's mouth was bent in a half-smile. "You may believe whatever you need to be content."

  "Fine." Devon glared at him, wishing she had the courage to pull off his mask. "I am curious... why do you affect this disguise?"

  "Affect?" Jay repeated, obviously amused. "Devon, your choice of words hurts me deeply. Are you not impressed by the fact that I am important enough to keep my identity a secret?"

  "No!" she lied.

  "That is a pity. But it will not persuade me to unmask."

  "Do you want this message, or have you come only to tease me?"

  "Of course I want the message... but I would like you as well."

  "I am not available at this time, sir. Here is your letter. I must say, I cannot understand why you two men don't just meet together and avoid all this confusion. You certainly take yourselves seriously!"

  "That's true; we do. And so would the British if they caught us together." Jay read the letter quickly, then tucked it beneath his cape, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. "You look charming in those breeches, cherie. Where did you get them?"

  "I—oh, never mind! It's none of your affair."

  "You are quite rude, do you know that?"

  "Your insolence invites rudeness!"

  "That is not what I meant to invite." His smile gleamed in the darkness and Devon went weak. "Now, I am giving you this letter to keep until the next time you meet my comrade. When will that be?"

  "Not for a week."

  "So be it. Protect this well. I am counting on you to see that it reaches his hands."

  "Do you trust me so much?"

  "Should I not?" Jay smiled. “You are the picture of integrity."