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F or four days Fonteyne drifted in and out of consciousness fending off a fever that had burned scalding hot.

Apart from short breaks to check on her ship and crew, Rose stayed by his side, and, not knowing what else to do, talked to him constantly, keeping him abreast of the events that had followed the battle.

She told him of the victory on the river, the victory on the field, the care and generosity Jackson had shown to the wounded prisoners, of which there were many.

The British had lost whatever ambitions they had brought ashore from their warships.

Most of their experienced officers had died on the field and those who were left showed no signs of wanting to attempt another attack.

Every scout in camp confirmed their withdrawal and Jackson was confident there would be no more attempts to storm the ramparts.

True to his word, he had personally written letters of pardon for Lafitte and all of the Baratarians, with a promise to have official grants of amnesty drawn up in Washington.

He then enlisted their help in shoring up the broken levee to stop the river from continuing to flood the muddy field, which was making it difficult for the British to recover their almost two thousand dead.

By comparison, the Americans had lost less than a hundred.

Rose didn’t know if Sebastien could hear any of her ramblings.

Despite Penman’s optimism, it had been four days and nights without more than the shallow, albeit steady rise and fall of his chest to offer hope that he would recover.

Archie had plied him daily with his potions and tinctures, but there was always the danger of a piece of cloth having been driven into his wound by the musket ball.

Archie had cleaned it well at the time and was reluctant to reopen it and search around the torn flesh unless it became absolutely necessary.

To that end, each time he changed the poultices, he sniffed them like a bloodhound for any signs of putrefaction seeping from the wound.

They had moved to a quiet house in New Orleans, not far from Lafitte’s original blacksmiths shop.

Rose would have liked to take him to the Cygnet , but there was too much hammering and banging while repairs were being made.

The Beast, as it turned out, did make a great hole in the deck after being fired six times and it had taken a full day just to winch it out of the wreckage and set it on shore.

Rose slept in snatches with her head resting on the side of the bed and her hand on his chest to assure herself his heart was still beating beneath.

Sometimes the tips of her fingers would trace absently through the soft mat of dark hairs and she would smile, remembering how such a slight touch could rouse him from a deep sleep. Within moments he would be inside her …

“Come back to me,” she whispered, turning her face into the blankets.

“I still haven’t said the words. I haven’t told you that I love you.

And I do. I have been afraid to say it out loud but I’m not afraid anymore.

I’m not afraid because you told me once that all you would ever ask from me was that I share whatever part of me I was willing to give.

Well … if you ask me now, I would tell you that I would gladly give you everything I have, everything I am.

I would even try not to argue so much, though I must admit I have enjoyed some of our more heated discussions. And the way we make up afterward.”

Even though she wasn’t expecting a response to her heartfelt admissions, she gave a tuft of his black chest hair a vicious little twist.

“Damn you, Fonteyne,” she whispered. “Don’t do this to me.

Not now. I’m sure it has already occurred to you that we are very much alike, both stubborn, both pig-headed, both living lives we built for ourselves rather than accepting what others expected of us.

You walked away from a captaincy in the Royal Navy; I turned my back on the genteel life of a plantation wife.

And it was your fault, you know. When I first saw you at that bloody ball, I thought: that‘s who I want to be and that’s what I want to be doing.

I think I’ve been trying to live up to that vision ever since.

I’ve blocked out all the softness in my life.

I haven’t allowed myself to weep in … God knows how long.

I just pushed all that womanish stuff aside, as if it was a weakness.

“But it isn’t. It isn’t a weakness to ask for help when you need it, or to shed a tear when your heart feels like breaking. Or … or to worry about someone you love when … when you just get used to having them around and they decide to play hero and get themselves shot.”

“It wasn’t my choice, believe me.”

Her head jerked up and she was shocked to see a pair of clear amber eyes looking at her.

“You’re awake!"

He smiled weakly, “Difficult to sleep when someone is pulling out the hairs on your chest.”

She withdrew her hand, then pressed it over his forehead, then his cheek. Both were cool to the touch. His fever had broken.

“Welcome back,” she said softly. Then to ward off the threat of tears she added in a sterner voice, “It’s about bloody time too.”

“How long?—?”

“Four days.”

“Four? Damn. I vaguely remember you saying we won the day, but?—?”

“It’s all over. The British have abandoned their camp. They are loading their longboats and rowing back to their ships as fast as they can work the oars.”

“Jackson?”

“He is basking in his well-deserved accolades. He has stopped by a few times to check on you. As has Lafitte, when he was sober, who seemed almost annoyed that you hadn’t died.”

“I shall offer my apologies for disappointing him. What of the others? Archie and Billy?”

“Doctor Penman has been much in demand. Billy has a broken leg and refuses to stay in bed. Stubb lost three toes when he dropped an axe on his foot. Duardo is … well, Duardo. As for the others, Fitch and Reed have a few cuts and scrapes. Oh, and for a bit of a mystery, Mercado has miraculously started speaking English without a trace of a Spanish accent.”

He noticed the bruising under her eye and lifted a hand with a wincing effort to brush aside some strands of hair that were hiding an even darker bruise around the row of stitches on her brow. “What happened here?”

“Hardly worth the thread to stitch it,” she said. “Unlike the entire spool it took to sew your ear back onto your head. Between that and the hole in your shoulder, I was … we were worried your pirate’s luck may have run out.”

He smiled weakly. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t really. Archie kept insisting you were much too obstinate to die.”

“Me obstinate? You have a firm grip on that attribute, my love.”

“I absolutely do not! You are without doubt, the most stubborn, the most overbearing, the most bull-headed—” She paused to search for more words and his eyes narrowed.

“So much for promising to mend your ways and not argue so much. Though I must agree that making up afterward can be exhilarating.”

She blinked. “You heard all of that? Exactly how long have you been awake?”

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

“Long enough to know what I want. And what I want is you. This. You and me. Everything we are, everything we will be. I want you to know and believe that while I have breath in my body, my everything belongs to you. My life, my heart, my love. For as long as you’ll have me. ”

Rose felt the hot shimmer of tears that had gathered in her eyes start to spill over. “That could be a very long time, Captain Fonteyne.”

“In that case, Captain St. Clare, I would very much like to kiss you right now … and I would if I could lift my head without a thousand banshees lighting rockets behind my eyes.”

“I believe I can help with that.” Rose said, leaning forward. The flood of tears bathed her lips as she pressed them against his and whispered the words she was free to say now. Over and over and over …

THE END … or … Just the beginning.