He muttered a few curses under his breath and waved down one of the lads they used as runners. “See if you can find some bandages and a pail of clean water. Clean, mind you. Not out of a field barrel.”

The boy, no more than five years old, filthy as an urchin, saluted and ran off.

“It is okay for him to work the rampart but not me?”

“I doubt his hand will have to be cut off from putrefaction.”

She frowned and tried to pull her hand out of his, but he held fast. “I’ve had worse injuries.”

“I’m sure you have and I’m not faulting you for wanting to help. But your skills are more valuable and of more use elsewhere and if you fall sick with a fever or require Stubb to fashion a hook in place of your hand, you won’t be of much use to anyone on or off your ship in the coming fray.”

When she said nothing, he glanced up and caught the smile.

“I wasn’t aware I said anything amusing.”

“You didn’t. But as you once told me, your bedside manner is sorely lacking, Captain Fonteyne.”

His eyes narrowed but there was humor lurking behind them. “Have I also told you how much I dislike having my own words thrown back at me?”

“Have I told you how much I dislike waking up naked and alone in a man’s bed?”

He contemplated the sparkle in her eyes. “Believe me, I did ponder the moment. But you looked so warm and cozy, all curled up and snoring contentedly.”

She drew back and scowled. “I do not snore, sir.”

His grin widened. “Indeed, no. My mistake. You purr like a kitten with a ball of fur caught in its throat.”

Luckily for him, the boy returned at that moment with a small pail of water and a roll of clean linen strips. He also brought a spike of cactus that had healing properties. “Mam says to squeeze the cactus and spread the jelly on the wound then wrap it real good.”

Fonteyne pressed a silver coin into his hand before he scampered away.

He bathed the wound thoroughly first then did as instructed, spreading clear jelly over her palm before wrapping the bandaging twice as thick as before. Thick enough, she could not move her fingers or make a fist.

As she watched him tending her hand, Andrew Jackson’s words came back to her.

Ask your father how long it took for him to tell your mother he loved her.

She felt the peculiar tightness constricting her chest again, not unlike the one she felt before an impending battle when every nerve ending in her body prickled and her belly took slow rolls around and around.

This time the battle was inside her own head and she didn’t know how to fight it, or if she even wanted to fight it.

“Did Jackson tell you about the plan to move the ships downriver?”

“Yes. Yes, he did. He also wanted me to tell you he would send more men as soon as he could spare some, and to let you know that Lafitte has scurried away into the bayou again.”

“He hasn’t scurried. This time. I sent him. We need at least a dozen more cannon and he has actually agreed to cannibalize the long guns on the Pride .”

“Billy will be pleased all of her hard work at cleaning them will not go wasted.”

“He has enough powder and shot squirrelled away to keep you and Captain Kelly well supplied.” He glanced up as he tied off the knot on the bandage.

“It is crucial to keep the British confined to the fields. More of the bastards are disembarking every day and we will be hard-pressed to fight them on too many fronts. Jackson gives a good impression of a confident man, but he knows the odds are stacked immeasurably high against us. If one section fails, we all fail. We have to hold the river, and we have to hold the wall. If there was any way I could be in both places at once?—”

She held up her good hand and pressed two fingers against his lips. “You have the wall, Captain Fonteyne; I have the river. Neither one of us will fail.”

He smiled at her bravado but the same assurance did not quite touch his eyes. Those amber eyes that had not given her one moment’s peace over the past weeks now seemed to be searching, questioning, wondering …

He drew a breath and, ignoring the dozens of eyes watching, gathered Rose close for a kiss that was long and deep, one that left her lips throbbing and her body drowning in heat.

“Yesterday,” he murmured, his lips not quite relinquishing hers, “Lafitte called you my woman. I have decided I rather like the sound of that.”

Rose suffered the tightness in her chest a moment longer before she felt it ease. The giant hand that had been squeezing it full of doubt and hesitation suddenly let go and flooded her body with certainty.

“I like the sound of it too,” she whispered.

He grinned and pulled her close again, and this time, when the kiss ended, there was laughter and cheering from the onlookers.

“I … I should get back to my ship,” she said through half a breath.

Fonteyne helped her to her feet and watched as she fetched her coat, guns, and hat from the crate where she had left them.

“I have no way of knowing when I’ll have the chance to get downriver again,” he said.

“You have more than enough here to keep you busy.”

“Rose—”

She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him. “I will wait for you, Captain Fonteyne, no matter how long it takes. For now, however, it will be dark before I get back to the ship and God only knows if Billy has hung Stubb up by his ears yet.”

He laughed and sent her off with playful slap on the rump. She took a few steps, slowed, then stopped and looked back, “Just don’t make me wait another five years, Sir.”

But Sebastien had already vanished into the crowd of workers.