by Win Hollows
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Elorie found the Hawk’s Wing, she was afraid she had missed its departure. She hated when people said things like “sundown.” Who determined what sundown was? Was it when the sky began to turn vibrant colors? Was it when the sun touched the horizon? Was it when it was no longer visible? That factor would depend on where one was in the city. Such things shouldn’t be measures of time, in her opinion.
Despite her frustration with Max’s ambiguity, she was feeling the heady sensation of freedom again as she walked down the dock toward the ship. The smells of seawater, the call of gulls, the laughter of fishermen and sailors nearby… It felt more like home than any house she’d ever been in.
It had been an emotionally exhausting day already, Elorie having called on both Lilah and Raquel separately to offer her condolences with flowers and letters in hand. She had sat with Lilah and her family for a little while until they had begun to prepare for the journey to their relatives’ estate for the funeral services. But she had been turned away at Raquel’s house, the butler making it clear the lady was not receiving today. Elorie wasn’t offended, but it made her wonder how closely Raquel had grown up with her friend’s cousin. Many families of the aristocracy grew up alongside each other and became quite close, their insular society and bordering country estates making for limited choices in company.
Elorie hadn’t been so fortunate to have many friends, her mother alienating many English families and preferring to take her and Celise to France during the off-season instead of to the countryside. Cosette had always wanted to be in the thick of things, never away from the limelight for long. French society provided her that, but it had meant a lonely childhood for Elorie and Celise.
Elorie’s sense of escape might also have had to do with the fact that she’d run out on her own wedding gown fitting today, which had been scheduled weeks ago to take place this afternoon. She was fairly certain her mother was going to lock her in her room the second she returned, at least until the day of the dreaded nuptials. She laughed, picturing Cosette’s livid face as she had declared she was leaving, pulling pins out this way and that while the dressmaker had stood spluttering. It had all been so suffocating, she hadn’t been able to stand it another minute. Her heart had begun to beat into a crescendo as the dressmaker had wrapped her up in stiff fabric while visions of walking down the aisle toward Morley had loomed in her mind.
She wasn’t ready.
There were so many things she wanted to do and see, and none of them had anything to do with the Duke of Morley. She considered her wedding day the end of her life, and it was coming too fast. For years, Elorie had been resigned to her fate, but then Max had happened. He made her feel alive, like the adventure didn’t have to end. She had tried to resist him and keep her heart guarded, but it hadn’t been any use.
One more adventure. That was all she needed. Just a little more time with him, discovering new and fascinating things, thwarting the Hand… He’d been right, even if he was an arse for blackmailing her. She would have regretted not going for the rest of her life.
But she wouldn’t tell him that.
The second she’d grabbed her valise and stepped out the front door, she’d been able to breathe again. It was fortunate that she’d learned long ago to always keep a valise ready with necessities, an extra gown, her darts, and some pound notes in it, for there had been times her quick getaways had saved her life.
Her mother had ranted and raged and even swore at her eldest daughter as Elorie had come down the stairs in a fresh day dress of white crepe—with Porthos tucked in the special pocket of her cloak—after fleeing the dressmaker’s presence. Cosette had turned an unflattering shade of red and threatened to have Scotland Yard restrain her until her vows were fulfilled.
“I will still honor the agreement, Mother,” Elorie had said, not bothering to look at Cosette’s blotchy face as she made her way through the foyer. “I will be back before the wedding. Have no fear, your precious ducal provisions are not in jeopardy.”
“The duke is coming to London next week for a public outing with you! The banns have been read!” Her mother had thrown her hands in the air.
“The duke can wait. He now knows I’ve kept myself chaste all this time, so that should be enough to waylay any qualms he has. I do not belong to him yet.” Elorie had stopped at the door and looked directly at her mother. “And I do not belong to you either. Remember that.”
Cosette had then tried to prevent Elorie from leaving by grabbing the valise and tugging at it violently, as if, without her bag, a woman couldn’t possibly leave the premises.
Elorie had laughed in surprise. It really had been comical seeing her own mother stoop to physical measures, something she’d never seen her do. Cosette had always gotten her way with coy words and sensuous gestures, not outright bullying. Elorie had easily pried her mother’s fingers off the handle of the valise and then used her mother’s own dress sash to speedily tie her hands together.
Cosette’s gasp had given Elorie no small amount of satisfaction.
Elorie had spoken in French so her mother wouldn’t dare misunderstand. “Don’t ever tell me what to do again. I have tried to be civil to you out of respect for the life you gave Celise and me when we were young, but no more. We are not family, remember? You haven’t been my mother since the day you sold me to pay for your own indulgent life.”
Cosette’s nostrils had flared in conjunction with the heaving of her chest, but she had made no reply.
Elorie hadn’t looked back when she’d shut the door in her mother’s contorted face.
Now, breathing in the cold sea air, she finally spotted the Hawk’s Wing, its name painted in curling bronze letters on its aft. It was a recently built tea clipper with three large sets of sails along its length, meant for speed and agility. Narrow with the capacity to carry a limited amount of high-priced goods, clippers were the new gold standard in merchant shipping. This particular variety looked designed for spices, tea, or even opium. She assumed Max had to have paid a high price for the use of such a vessel on short notice.
Elorie was proud she knew that. Most high-born ladies didn’t know or care anything about shipping industry advances, but her experiences had made her aware of a vast array of subjects she wouldn’t have had cause to otherwise. Why would someone want to learn needlepoint when they could know how fast one could travel from China to India on the right boat?
She walked up the gangplank, passing a sailor coming down on the way. He tipped his cap to her and hurried past. There was no such thing as dawdling when a ship was about to leave port. As she neared the top, the bustle of activity could be heard, and vibrations jostled her legs as men strode to and fro on the deck of the boat, making ready to lift anchor. When she finally stood on the deck of the sleek ship, she sighed on a grin. It was magnificent, all shining lead fittings and tarred wood, and she had no doubt the Hawk’s Wing would carry them swiftly to their destination.
“You came.”
Elorie turned to her left to see Max leaning against one of the large masts, tawny hair blowing over his brow above heated golden eyes. Her heart immediately stuttered to a stop, and she had to mentally shake herself to start it again. He looked like he was born for the sea, wearing a loose white shirt tucked into black, form-fitting trousers with matching oiled boots. His gait didn’t falter as he approached her.
“I came,” she replied. As he neared, she added, “But don’t credit your idiotic brand of appeal, Eydris. I’m only here because I can’t afford to have you ruining my plans.”
He reached her and looked down at her lips, a small smile playing over his mouth. “That’s all you came for, is it?”
His knowing murmur sent tendrils of flight through her stomach, but she wasn’t about to let it show. “That’s right.” Her voice wasn’t as steady as she liked it to be. “So don’t be getting any ideas about close quarters. This is business.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he re
torted. “I just want to see your face when I find the Damarek.”
Elorie bit back a smile. This was familiar ground between them, and she had missed it. “If you think I’m going to be jealous of anything you possess, you’re mistaken.”
“You don’t have to be jealous. You’re already mine. You can have anything of mine you desire.”
Her breathing halted. When he claimed such things, she didn’t immediately rebel at it as she did when others tried. The problem was, she wanted to be his with all her being because being his wasn’t a cage—it was wings.
She swallowed the dangerous sentiment and cleared her throat. “I hope there’s food aboard this ramshackle pile of wood. I haven’t had luncheon yet, and I didn’t have time to bring any provisions.”
Max tilted his head back and laughed. “No need to fear starvation, Viper. I think there’s someone you should meet.”
****
Introducing Elorie to Losif was an enormous mistake. They immediately bonded over a thorough ribbing of him.
“You’re right, he does do that when he’s thinking!” Losif exclaimed in his blocky accent. “It makes him look like a constipated bobcat.”
Elorie laughed as she sat on the edge of the quarter deck’s railing, letting the chilled wind twirl the hairs that had escaped her braided crown. “Losif, you’re a gem. I should have stolen you away from Eydris months ago.”
The monk beamed, basking in her attention while they both snacked on candied pecans as the ship made its way down the Thames toward the Channel. Elorie had taken out her tiny monkey, which he’d seen once before, and Losif was cooing to it like an imbecile, plumping it up with crushed bits of sweet nuts.
Max understood the temptation to be by her side. She was like a beam of sunlight one wanted to stretch out in and soak up. Even though the weather was quite pleasant on this early June day, she was brighter than anything else around them. She had charmed the entire crew instantly, and Max was certain her every comfort would be attended to while they were at sea. If she’d demanded the sailors throw themselves overboard one by one for her entertainment, he would not have been surprised to see a trail of bobbing men in the wake of their ship.
It was no wonder she’d been so good as the Viper. She assessed every situation and adapted to whomever was around her, earning trust and garnering worshipful admirers wherever she went. She didn’t ply herself with snake oil, though. It really was just herself that people fell in love with. He supposed that trait might have been undesirable to some. To him, it was a sign of her survivability, and he couldn’t help but admire it.
“She’s trouble, that one,” the grizzled captain of the Hawk’s Wing said with a chuckle as he came up beside him.
Max watched Elorie and Losif from the other side of the helm. “You won’t get any argument from me, Captain Trainor.”
The captain, a stocky but refined man with a close-trimmed white beard, looked at Max with curiosity. “Is she yours then? I can’t imagine that lightning rod being a kept woman, but I think if she let anyone tame her, it would be you.”
Max looked at his friend, a man who had provided Max with more favors than most on his travels over the years. He reminded him of his father, if his father had lived to the age of the white-haired man. “Why do you say that?”
Captain Trainor smiled, his bright blue eyes likely remembering bygone things. “The way she looks at you… It’s the way my crew looks at land after seeing nothing but sea for a good few months.”
Max laughed. “You mean the way they look at a port with willing women after a good few months.”
The captain winked. “There’s some of that in the way she looks at you too.”
Shaking his head, Max clapped the older man on the back. “It’s good to be back on the Hawk, old friend.”
“It was pure luck I was here in port when your message came,” the captain admitted. “Else you would have had to take one of these other pitiful specimens.” He waved his pipe hand in the direction of other boats passing by on the great river.
“Yes.” Max rubbed his chin. “It would have been miserable, having my own quarters, servants, an actual bed…”
“And you would have gotten there by Christmas, I estimate,” Trainor retorted.
Max chuckled. “You’re fast, I’ll give you that.”
“Hmm… I have a feeling you’ll be loath for this journey to end, though, eh?” He looked at Max meaningfully.
“Don’t you have things to do?” Max narrowed his eyes. “Captain-y things?”
Trainor smiled widely. “It’s not as if we’re going to Singapore. A jaunt to Bordeaux is a holiday for me and the crew. With what you’re paying, and the wine I’ll bring back, it will be a very profitable jaunt.”
“Yes, my estate for a boat,” Max dryly misquoted Richard the III.
“Don’t think I don’t know what that refers to,” Trainor scolded. “I have a lot of time to read aboard this thing.”
Max laughed. “I believe you. I’m just glad you’re able to take me as far as Bordeaux and then meet me south later on. I would like to spend as little time on French soil as possible.”
“In your line of work, I would imagine that’s wise,” the captain murmured.
Max looked at his lined face sharply. “I’m assuming your crew does not share your deductions regarding these jaunts?”
Trainor smiled slyly. “I don’t hire simpletons, My Lord. But neither do I hire those smart enough to think they will outsmart me one day. They do not suspect anything. I’ve told them before, you’re a benefactor who takes personal interest in his estates’ wine stores. You wouldn’t be the first aristocrat with too much time on his hands and too much money to spend on fine spirits.”
Max nodded. “Good.”
“Although they are curious about your companions,” Trainor noted. “As am I, truth be told.”
“Believe me, the less you know, the better. I’ve regretted meeting both of them more times than I can count.”
The captain laughed. “Fair enough. But I have to say, that eunuch knows how to pack a food store. We’ll all be fat by the time we reach France.”
“He’s not a eunuch,” Max corrected. Then he thought about it. “At least I don’t think so.”
“He’d have to be, to look at that lass without raising the mast, and those robes are disturbingly form-fitting for one of his girth.”
Max rolled his eyes and began to walk away. “Go find yourself some candied nuts and stop your speculating.”
“My nuts are none of your business, but a man can hope they’re hers!” Trainor called back with a smile.
Max shook his head, grateful his friend’s comments were likely lost to the wind and sea. He approached Losif and Elorie, who had their heads together, talking like schoolchildren.
“Lord Eydris!” Losif looked up from where he stood near the railing.
Elorie straightened quickly with a smile.
A too-innocent smile.
“What’s going on?” He crossed his arms.
“We were deciding who gets the top hammock,” Elorie answered smoothly, moving her monkey from her hand to her shoulder.
“I’m not a complete fool,” Max told them, looking from one to the other. Elorie might be adept at hiding her intentions, but Losif looked like a terrified puppy caught raiding the larder.
“Exactly,” she supplied. “So you agree it should be me.” The monkey chittered his affirmation, showing his sharp little teeth.
Max breathed out through his nostrils and decided it wasn’t worth pursuing at the moment. Besides, he would crack Losif quickly enough when they were alone. “I don’t mind you having the top as long as you don’t mind if I happen to tip you over during the night. And you happen to land right on top of me.”
She crossed her arms in return. “I’ll sleep with a pail of water tucked in my arm then.”
He tried not to grin and failed. “A good soaking might be worth it.”
She shrugged. “
I suppose you’ll find out.”
“Oh, this is lovely,” Losif said, smiling back and forth between them. “It’s like a play. I went to a play once in Moscow. It wasn’t as good as you two, though.”
“I’m sure it’s quite entertaining,” Max said wryly. “But we’ve business to discuss. In case anything goes wrong, we should all know what the plan is.” He looked sideways at Elorie. “Most of it, anyway.” He wasn’t about to tell her exactly where the Damarek was. She was still a former agent for the Hand, after all.
Elorie nodded and looked down, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Good. She deserved to feel wretched for her betrayal. Yet, seeing her thus didn’t make him feel better. It made him feel slimy, like he’d squished a bug for the fun of it instead of for a good reason.
“We’ll sail to Bordeaux, which will take approximately two days. I’ll get us a coach there, but we’ll be driving it ourselves. From Bordeaux, it’s a five- or six-day ride to St. Raphael.”
“St. Raphael?” Elorie asked. “I recall hearing of it. It’s in the south, non?”
“Yes. It’s quite small,” Max replied. “If any of us become separated for any reason, we will meet at St. Raphael’s Cathedral in the center of town at sundown each evening until we are accounted for.”
Elorie groaned. “Why sundown? Why not half-past eight?” she grumbled.
Max frowned. “Why does it matter?”
She threw her hands up. “It matters!”
He shrugged, amused by her fit of pique over something as simple as a time. “Fine. Half-past eight then, at St. Raphael’s cathedral”
Losif nodded. “She’s right, you know. It does matter. You’re very vague sometimes.”
Max growled. “I don’t care what time we meet! The point is we are traveling swiftly, and we do not know what awaits us should anyone from the Hand get word of our presence. We cannot afford to dawdle should something go wrong, or we could all end up dead.”
“Technically, yes,” Elorie stated. “But the Hand has more of a torture-first, kill-later policy, so it could be some time before that happens.”
