by Lee Rowan
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Winds of Change
Eye of the Storm
© 2014 Lee Rowan.
Cover Art
© 2014 Reese Dante.
http://www.reesedante.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-63216-295-3
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-296-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014945941
Third Edition October 2014
Winds of Change:
First Edition published by Linden Bay Romance, 2007.
Second Edition published by Cheyenne Publishing/Bristlecone Pine Press, 2009.
Eye of the Storm:
First Edition published by Linden Bay Romance, 2009.
Second Edition published by Cheyenne Publishing/Bristlecone Pine Press, 2009.
Printed in the United States of America
This paper meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
Dedication
In memory of Bill Mitchell and Cynthia Colvin:
teachers, seers, and friends.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Ann for French geography and Marie for the topsail schooner.
Winds
Of
Change
Chapter 1
Portsmouth, 1801. England is at war.
ALL WAS in readiness.
The old tin box of mathematics texts had been down in the hold for months to get it out from underfoot. The purser had given his permission to keep it here in the locked storeroom with other valuables, and it was not unreasonable for 2nd Lieutenant William Marshall and 3rd Lieutenant David Archer to be searching here, since they’d volunteered to coach one of their shipmates on His Majesty’s Frigate Calypso. Midshipman Wilcoxon, a likeable young officer, needed to polish his skills if he hoped to pass the examination and qualify as a candidate for Lieutenant, and they wanted to help him succeed.
A candle-lantern lay on the floor, its flame snuffed from its apparently accidental fall. If anyone were to walk in, they would have a means of explaining their presence here, and even an excuse for slight disorderliness.
As long as they were not taken completely unaware. As long as they had time to pull their clothes together, to hide their true purpose.
Marshall tensed as footsteps approached the door. He relaxed at the light scratching on the worn boards, their prearranged signal.
He pulled the door open only enough for his lover to dart through, then closed it and set a barrel where it would block its opening, a precaution to provide that moment they might need. He rested his rump on the barrel and pulled Davy down upon him, and in the dark, there was only the whisper of frantic clutching, urgent kisses, loosening trouser buttons with one hand to reach in and find that hot, smooth cock that leapt at his touch. A minute of quiet, intense activity, then Davy was shivering against him, a muted whimper the only sound besides their breathing.
They were silent for a long moment after, listening for footsteps, for any sound of movement in the companionway. But they were safe, so far, hearing nothing but the ever-present murmur of the sea.
He could hear Davy fumbling with clothing, composing himself, caught a kiss in passing as his lover knelt at Will’s feet. Then those clever fingers were moving on his body, unbuttoning, seeking. The unbearable sweetness of lips and tongue were nearly enough to break the control that kept him silent, but he bit back his cry of pleasure as weeks of yearning were brought to a blinding surge of fulfillment.
He sat panting, unable to move, stroking the golden head resting in his lap. But only for a moment. His lover slid up to share a kiss, then, still without a word, they retrieved the lantern, struck a light, and located the volume that should help to unfold the arcane secrets of navigational geometry. There was time enough for a final embrace and a quick inspection to assure themselves that there was no visible evidence of their illicit encounter.
Davy paused a moment in the empty companionway. “Will—the Captain just passed word. The pleasure of our company is requested at the change of watch. All lieutenants and warrant officers. Looks as though the rumors are true.”
“At least we’ll know, then.” There was no way, there were no words, to express the fear in both their hearts. Change was in the wind; the rumors had been circulating since before Calypso arrived in Portsmouth. If Captain Smith were to be transferred, as the rumors suggested, their lives were about to change drastically.
“If it’s true….” David Archer bit his lip. “And if the Admiralty are in a hurry… you and I may be sailing off in different ships by this time tomorrow.”
Will could not bring himself to admit it, but he knew that the past year they’d had together was more than they could have hoped for. He’d only agreed to this hurried tryst because he also knew it might be their very last time together as shipmates and lovers. If they were to be given different assignments at the change of watch, they might never in this life see one another again.
But he could not bear to say that aloud, so he tried on a brave smile instead. “We must trust to our luck, Davy.”
David’s handsome features were somber. “Will, don’t forget there are two kinds of luck. Dame Fortune’s not always kind. She can be a cannibal bitch who eats her own young.”
WITH THE ship’s bell ringing the change of watch on the quarterdeck above, Calypso’s officers stood in their usual places around the briefing table in the Captain’s handsomely appointed cabin. Over the years aboard Calypso, as officers were lost or transferred and others came aboard in their place, Will and David had gradually shifted places until they customarily sat beside each other. David Archer had always enjoyed this bit of stolen closeness, but it held a special poignancy now, with the chance of imminent loss hovering between them.
Captain Sir Paul Edward Smith, the man who had commanded them so ably for the past four years, stepped through the door. He took a visual roll of his officers, then invited them to sit. He looked around the table, studying his men, as if bidding them farewell.
David could hear the pulse beating in his ears. Not much longer now. He shifted one foot slightly, so it just touched Will’s. He would have prayed, but he had no hope in that direction.
“Gentlemen,” the Captain said finally, “I know the rumors have been flying of late, and I regret to inform you that they are, for once, entirely accurate.”
David caught his breath as a wordless murmur of protest passed around the table.
Was there a trace of irony in the way he said “signal honor?” Hard to be sure, but it was a rare sailor, officer or rating, who would choose to leave a frigate—particularly one as well-kept and lucky as the Calypso. David was sure the Captain had never sought or desired this promotion. On the other hand, a captain who was doing well might expect to move up in the size and importance of the ship under his command. A third-rate was probably the highest Sir Paul could be assigned and still retain independent action—the second-rates were generally only used for line of battle, and the handful of enormous first-rates carried Admirals.
“I shall leave this afternoon for a meeting at the Admiralty in London,” Sir Paul continued, “and I shall not return to Calypso as her captain. Some of you gentlemen”—he looked round the table with a measuring glance—“will also be saying farewell to the old girl.”
Beneath the table, Will’s knee pressed against David’s, as though the contact would keep them together. But Will’s face showed only the keen interest that one would expect in a junior officer hoping to continue under a fighting captain. David hoped his own expression was equally impenetrable.
“As much as possible,” Captain Smith said, “I shall follow Naval tradition and strip the ship bare of most of its best officers. Mr. Marshall, Mr. Archer—when I return from London in a week’s time, I expect you both to report to me aboard the Valiant.”
Both of us. Both of us…. As he let himself breathe again, expressing his own thanks in tandem with Will, David could sense the tension leaving his lover’s body even as it drained out of his own. It would be delightful if they were to have a little time to spend on shore leave together, but even if not…. They were being transferred together. They would stay together.
Thank God.
“We have had our glory days on this frigate, gentlemen,” the Captain said. “Time we go on to bigger things. As for you, Mr. Drinkwater—” Smith turned to his First Lieutenant, a sturdy, amiable gentleman whose keen intelligence and quick action had saved all their lives a year before. “—sir, I need not fear for the well-being of our faithful Calypso, for I must leave you here….”
David saw the hint of hurt in Lt. Drinkwater’s open, honest face. He had been promised promotion over a year ago, and by rights he should have been given a command by now. He should at least have been given the chance to transfer with his Captain to a larger, more prestigious ship. But nothing in His Majesty’s Service was guaranteed, and Drinkwater was a loyal, disciplined officer.
He merely nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“As her Captain,” Smith finished.
Drinkwater’s mouth opened without a sound coming forth. Finally he gasped, “But, Captain…. Sir, Calypso is a post-ship!”
“Indeed, Sir, and you are now her Post-Captain. Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations.”
And this was, in real truth, a signal honor. As a rule, a lieutenant with sufficient service and other qualifications would first be made Commander of a smaller vessel, often a sloop-of-war. To be jumped a rank and given a fifth-rate frigate like Calypso as a first command was extraordinary.
“Thank you, Captain.” Drinkwater shook his head dazedly. “Sir, how—?”
“You should have had your own command months ago, sir,” Smith said. “As it happened, none came available in good season.” He favored the new-made captain with an enigmatic smile. “As it also happened, I was in a position to call in a favor.” He let it go at that and turned to more routine business of the transfer—considerably easier, since Drinkwater was nearly as conversant with the Calypso’s business as was Smith himself.
As Captain Smith named the men who would be transferring with them, David realized that all of them had been involved in the pursuit of the renegade ship on which he, Will, and the Captain had been abducted the year before, and present at the rescue. There were not many, less than a dozen—Barrow, coxswain of the Captain’s launch, was among them. So was Klingler, who had been taken off the gunnery crew and reassigned as the Captain’s steward since injuring his shoulder in a boarding some months back. They would also be bringing along a few midshipmen who had come aboard Calypso under the Captain’s care, youngsters whose parents had entrusted them to him personally. But the only warrant officer transferring with them was the ship’s master, Mr. West; the Valiant had lost her own navigator in a freak accident while on her way back from the Indies. Drinkwater would be left with a sound skeleton crew, as well as the privilege of choosing his own lieutenants.
Before dismissing his officers for the last time, Captain Smith had Klingler bring in a bottle of claret, and they drank the King’s health and success to Captain Drinkwater. For one brief moment amidst the joviality, Will turned and gave David a quick smile that he’d have been willing to die for. Thank God they’d had that tryst in the storeroom earlier—even with the fires temporarily damped, the excitement and delight in Will’s dark eyes under his mop of gypsy-black hair made David want to tumble his lover on the floor, here and now. Which would not only be a great mistake, but the last he’d ever make. And that would be a pity, since he now had so very much to live for.
Chapter 2
THE FOLLOWING week turned out to be one of those rare stretches of time when everything went as planned; even the weather was cooperative, crisp autumn sunshine instead of the usual chill drizzle. Captain Drinkwater spent the first full day aboard ship feverishly posting letters and making preparations to take command. The next day his wife and family arrived, and he went off to visit with them ashore for another three days, leaving Will and David to attend to the necessary ship’s routine.
They were perfectly happy to have Calypso to themselves—although, with some three hundred other souls aboard, that was really only a figure of speech. But their former first lieutenant deserved some time to himself and the chance of a little privacy. Once Drinkwater officially took command, duty required him to sleep aboard his ship. They had been at sea for six months during this tour, and there was no telling when the man would next have the chance to spend a night with his wife.
But the Calypso’s new captain returned at the appointed time looking rested and cheerful, carrying his four-year-old son on his shoulder. His redheaded wife beamed with pride as he read the document aloud that required him to present himself and take command of the Calypso, and a spontaneous cheer rose from the crew when the lengthy formality concluded.
“All quiet, gentlemen?” Drinkwater asked.
“Yes, sir,” Will said. “Stores are all aboard, including the powder you ordered. The shore-leave rotation is proceeding smoothly, and the shipyard master has promised a replacement for the main topgallant yard—we may have to prod them a bit, but apart from that, everything is well in hand. Your orders, Captain?”
Drinkwater positively beamed at the address. “I’m expecting an old shipmate of mine, Keith Washburn, to arrive later this afternoon to assume duties as First Lieutenant—not that I wouldn’t have been equally pleased to see you in that position—and I am appointing Mr. Wilcoxon Acting Lieutenant. Since everything seems to be under control, my parting orders to you both are to spend the next three days ashore. Word is that the Valiant has been delayed at Plymouth for some reason, so you may as well make use of the time while you have it.”
David grinned. “Thank you, Captain.” There was little for them left to do aboard the Calypso, in any case, and their dunnage was already stowed in their sea chests, to be delivered to the Valiant whenever she might appear.
As they paid their respects to Drinkwater before going ashore—for all they knew, he might be ordered out on the next tide—he had one last order: “Enjoy your leave, gentlemen.” But they had hardly taken a step toward the rail before he added, “And while you’re ashore, do stop at the wharf and remind them that we require that last item.”
�
�Aye-aye, sir.” Will hid a smile as he gave a farewell salute. Calypso’s new captain had an amiable disposition, and it was unlikely that he’d ever be one of the iron-rod disciplinarians every seaman dreaded, but it was clear that his wooden mistress had already seized command of his every thought. Marshall could almost regret that he and Davy had not been able to stay aboard the old girl. A bigger ship, more responsibility, more prestige… all well and good, but there was not a man in His Majesty’s Service below the rank of Admiral who would sail aboard a stodgy ship of the line if he could trade it for the freedom and versatility of a frigate. And Will suspected half the Admirals would make that choice too. But so long as he’d be aboard that third-rate behemoth with Davy at his side, he was happy enough.
“Food first, or a room?” Davy asked as their jollyboat scraped on gravel at the Sally Port.
“A laundress,” Will said. “If Captain Smith makes an early return, I want the salt out of my underclothes.” Of all the little comforts landsmen took for granted, the simplest was the privilege of handing off their much-worn clothing to a woman who would wash them in fresh water to rinse the salt out, and press and starch their dress shirts.
Davy agreed to this plan, and soon, unburdened of their laundry bags, they proceeded to the shipyard wharf and loitered there until a combination of carefully distributed coins and implacable presence had the desired effect. When Captain Drinkwater’s coveted topgallant yard was on its way to Calypso, their duty was discharged and they were hungry—for food as well as for each other.
Three days of freedom. Three days… and nights. It was not as though they could afford to relax their vigilance or discretion; sodomy was as much a capital offense in all of England as it was in the Navy, and of any town, Portsmouth could almost be considered the Navy ashore. But they could buy a little privacy, and there was nothing remarkable about two young lieutenants economizing by sharing a room in an inn less respectable than the Keppel’s Head, where the Drinkwater family was lodged.
