Page 52

Rose was nursing a row of blisters on the palm of her hand.

She had been working with one of the gun crews to vent some of her pent-up tension.

Touching the hot barrel of a cannon was never a wise idea, but difficult to avoid when she stumbled slightly and needed to brace against it to keep from having her face burned instead of her hand.

Billy had supplied some of her special salve, which smelled like monkey dung but instantly cooled the raging heat of her skin.

A few rounds of linen bandaging and she was fine and fit.

Along with one of the men who had dropped a ten-pound shot on his foot and broken a toe, theirs were the only two injuries on board.

Since they had not been under direct attack, and speed was not a critical factor, Billy had unleashed thirty full broadsides over the span of three hours, allowing time for the guns to cool between every five volleys.

Each round tore up broad swaths of land and sent debris flying in all directions.

If a redcoat was spotted trying to sneak onto the canal road, the guns were loaded with chain shot, which cut through trees, shrubs, bodies like the devil’s own scythe.

Not many redcoats had attempted to breach the road.

When the flaming arrow signaled the end of the skirmish, the guns were thoroughly swabbed but not hauled in.

Nor were the gun crews told to stand down.

Instead, they sat in tired huddles around the wooden carriages and caught what rest they could.

Being so far from the main battleground, the silence that followed was only broken sporadically by the occasional distant cry.

Those on board the Cygnet and the Carolina had no idea how the attack had gone on land and were unsure as to whether the arrow had signalled a victorious end or a staggering retreat.

As the silence stretched to thirty minutes, Captain Kelly had his gig lowered and was rowed over to the Cygnet . The first sound he made when he came through the gangway and saw Rose waiting to greet him was a loud har-rump!

“I am not one to give idle praise, but by God our crews worked well together, lass. Well indeed! I vow there isn’t a tree or twig standing between here and Lake Borgne! Pity old Villeres, I do. He had some fine fields of tobacco before all this.”

“On the bright side, he won’t have to till the soil as deep come spring.”

Kelly barked out a laugh and accepted a cup of grog from the crewman passing out drams to the men. He touched his cup to Rose’s and together they looked out at the distant ribbon of glowing red that indicated the broad swath of fires that were still burning in the British camp.

“I confess I had my doubts,” he said.

“Doubts?”

“Aye. A woman at the helm? A woman in charge of a crew of piratical scallywags? Aye, I had my doubts.”

“Well, if it helps, we are not actually pirates. We do sail under legitimate letters of marque.” She paused and glanced up at the flag of fifteen stars and stripes that now flew from the masthead. “At least, we did.”

“Riders coming,” Duardo called down from the bow. “Four. On the canal road.”

Rose quietly ordered six of her best marksmen up into the yards with their muskets. Kelly gulped down the last of his grog and bustled back to the gangway to return to his gig.

Duardo came down onto the main deck and took Kelly’s place at Rose’s side. “I think it is the captain of the Black Wind . He rides a horse like a string-puppet bouncing on his balls.”

Rose tried not to laugh. “I shall be sure to pass your observation along.”

The big man shrugged. “I only say this to warn you in case he cannot perform well later.”

Her grin faded under a flush of heat and she muttered, “Is there anyone on this ship who doesn’t gossip like a fishmonger’s wife?”

Duardo looked down at her, his expression as blank as always. “No. It is how we know to protect you.”

Uncertain how to respond to that, Rose ran to the gangway and caught Kelly before he could row back to his ship. She lowered herself over the side and joined him and together they were rowed across to the riverbank.

Fonteyne met them on shore. Archie Penman was with him, having left the wounded in the capable hands of the three town doctors.

“We would have come across to you.”

“It was quicker this way,” she said. “We’ve had no news.”

“Jackson sends his thanks and his praise to both of you for a job well done. We didn’t exactly scare them back across the ocean, but we gave them a fair thrashing to think about.”

“Casualties?” Kelly asked.

“We lost far fewer than they did,” Penman said. “About two dozen, and twice that many wounded. The men fought hard and proved we would not easily be pushed aside.”

“There is still the line that must be held in order to keep the British out of New Orleans,” Fonteyne said, “and we are none of us foolish enough to believe one skirmish will dissuade them from throwing everything they have at us the next time.”

“Aye, aye,” Kelly nodded in agreement, but he could not keep the grin off his face. “For now, our lads will be wanting to know what happened out there on the field tonight.”

Rose agreed. “I’m going to return to New Orleans with Captain Fonteyne. You can carry the news back to the men and will you also tell Duardo he has command of the Cygnet until I return.”

Fonteyne turned to Penman. “Any objection to staying here with the Cygnet so Rose can have use of your horse?”

Penman brightened, for his eyes had not strayed from the dark silhouette of the ship. “No! No objection at all.”

Kelly har-rumped one last time before the two of them headed back to the jolly boat.

Fonteyne and Rose walked over to where the other two riders were waiting, both men she recognized from the crew of the Black Wind. Sebastien gave her a leg up into the saddle, which brought forth an involuntary grunt as a sharp stab of pain reminded him of the wound in his arm.

“Are you hurt?”

“A graze, nothing to worry about,” Fonteyne said, then looked at the linen wrappings on her hand. “Are you?”

“A few blisters. Nothing to worry about.”

He touched the brim of his hat and swung up onto his own saddle. Rose nudged her horse into step behind him and couldn’t help but agree with Duardo’s description of his riding skills.

When they arrived back at McCarty House, they were told, in no uncertain terms by General Jackson’s valet that he was asleep and not to be disturbed by anything short of a cannonball crashing through the roof.

After a very long, exhausting day and an equally debilitating night, Rose and Fonteyne were too tired to try to argue or bribe the valet.

Fonteyne had a room above a nearby tavern, where they ordered large tankards of ale.

But that wasn’t what they wanted either.

Having not said a single word since leaving Jackson’s headquarters, Fonteyne took her by the hand and led her up the stairs to his room where they were soon entwined together in his bed and fast asleep within minutes.