Page 57
Two hours later, utterly exhausted, laying on the floor in a crumple of tossed bedding and discarded clothing, Rose struggled to open her eyes.
Sebastien was sprawled out beside her, arms and legs spread wide, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.
A breeze was coming through the broken gallery windows, but it was laden with too much Louisiana humidity to be refreshing.
The sound of the river lapping against the hull was too tempting to resist and she rolled up onto her feet and walked barefoot to the narrow door.
The sun was already well below the treeline on the west bank and the water was black with shadows.
She scowled, seeing the gap in the balcony rail, and, careful not to step on any splinters of wood or shards of glass, stepped to the broken edge of the narrow gallery and dove cleanly into the river.
The water was cool and silky against her bare skin.
She rose to the surface then ducked under again, wishing she’d thought to bring a pot of soap with her.
Even without it she combed her fingers through her hair and scrubbed away some of the dirt and ash that had formed a dull film on the strands.
She rubbed her face and her arms then swam a dozen yards toward the middle of the river, where she paused and tread water so she could look back at her ship.
The carpenters had already replaced any broken yards; sailmakers had taken down the torn canvas and fixed new rolled bundles in place.
Men were busy on deck in the waning daylight to mend cables, clear the last of the debris, and check each gun for any signs of damage, for there would be no lights on board tonight.
Farther down the river, the hulk of the Carolina had sunk, leaving only the top of one charred mast poking up above the surface.
Jackson had sent two smaller support ships down the river from New Orleans, the steamboat Enterprise and the schooner Eagle both of which had taken the rescued crew from the Carolina on board.
Neither was heavily armed, the schooner carrying ten guns, the steamboat with six.
But the mere presence of them on the river might discourage any further attempts by the British to mount a river assault.
Rose heard a splash and saw Fonteyne’s head bob above the water a few long arm strokes away. She swam back to meet him halfway, happy to let him wrap his big arms around her.
“I have to get back to camp soon,” he said. “I’ve already been gone longer than I should have been.”
Rose twined her legs around his waist, pressing herself against him. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t exactly worried, when I didn’t hear anything from you, but … well … I was worried. And I am still not entirely convinced I should forgive you.”
He grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve had a more energetic reprimand.”
She felt his flesh stir and harden against her. “Apparently not energetic enough.”
He made a growly sound in his throat and slid his hands down to her hips, guiding her, lifting her up then settling her down over his flesh.
She glanced over at the ship, wary of any eyes that might be watching, but they had drifted a ways in the current and were shielded by the overhanging branches of a willow tree.
She angled her hips to bring him more firmly inside her then touched her brow to his and closed her eyes, savoring the cool sliding of the water and the pulsing heat of their joined bodies.
She started rolling her hips, feeling him grow bigger, harder, more determined to keep them both floating above the water.
They were caught briefly in a swirl of current that spun them around and he had to let go long enough to use his arms to keep them from sinking.
“I don’t think this is going to work very well,” he said through a rueful laugh.
“I don’t need it to work,” she whispered. “I just need to feel you there, inside me.”
He threaded his fingers into her wet hair and held her through a deeply possessive kiss. But once again the river sabotaged their efforts and, after half laughing, half sputtering through nosefuls of water, they broke apart and swam back to the ship.
Back in the cabin, they gathered up their scattered clothes. When they went up on deck it was almost fully dark and lights were twinkling into view from high up on the walls of Fort St. Philip and from the small camp on shore behind the grounded Louisiana .
Billy and Archie Penman were standing by the Beast, conversing in intimately low voices. They both looked quite normal apart from the usually fastidious doctor having his cravat askew and not all of the buttons on his waistcoat aligned.
In the distance, they could hear the rumble of guns as the nightly exchange of fire began between the Americans and the British, neither side wanting to give the other another chance to make a surprise attack.
Wary of the crew’s eyes on them, Sebastian touched Rose’s shoulder then skimmed his hand down her arm until he was able to grasp her hand briefly in his. He gave it a little squeeze, before reluctantly letting go, then crammed his hat on his head.
“I don’t know when … or if … I’ll be able to get away again any time soon,” he said, then added in a louder voice for the benefit of the crew.
“We’re mounting another dozen guns on the earthworks tomorrow, which should pretty much bolster the defenses for the entire length of the Jackson Line.
Also, as soon as General Jackson sends word, your captain will be blowing a hole in the levee to send the river onto the plantation fields to flood them. ”
The information was met with a rumbling of approval interspersed with a few huzzahs!
“We don’t expect the British to sit on their haunches much longer, so be ready, my hearties, to fight the good fight!”
A second round of cheers rolled like a wave through the crew, and, after a last lingering glance in Rose’s direction, Fonteyne strode to the gangway and climbed down to the waiting longboat.
Penman followed, but not before he startled the entire crew by snatching Billy Burr into a tight embrace and kissing her long enough and passionately enough to earn hoots and whistles and a score of caps thrown up into the air.
Stubb, watching, grabbed his cap with both hands and pulled it down over his ears.
Table of Contents
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