Page 44 of Echo in the Wind

Shouts went up from the men and one of his crew urged the onlookers to pick a favorite. Jean’s men loved a good fight, especially on the rare occasion their capitaine was involved.

Taking up the challenge, money quickly changed hands as the men placed their bets.

The Italian lunged for Jean, but with a quick turn, he evaded the long knife.

With a flourish of his sword, Jean met his opponent’s blade and forced him back. The Italian must have been counting on brute strength. He swung hard, but Jean slipped under his blade and cut a swath across the man’s gray shirt. A thin line of red appeared on the cloth.

The Italian howled, looking down at the blood. “Bastardo!” Mad with anger, he lunged at Jean.

Jean kicked out his boot, hitting the Italian in his side. He grunted and shot Jean a harsh glare.

Jean danced away from the knife. Making the man angry had been part of his strategy. Soon, the Italian would strike without thinking at all.

“Fermati! Stop moving!” Antonio yelled, his sweat-stained face betraying his frustration. With an angry grunt, he swung his blade in a reckless attempt to catch Jean off guard.

Jean easily parried the blade. “I wouldn’t want to make it look too easy for your sake, mon ami.” This time Jean crossed blades with the man, then tripped him with one of his feet.

The Italian stumbled and Jean brought his sword hilt down on the back of the sailor’s head.

Antonio fell, splayed out on the floor, his eyes closed.

A cheer went up from the crew of la Reine Noire as they began to collect their winnings. “Vive le capitaine! Vive le capitaine!”

“Come,” Jean said to Émile, “let us away while this one sleeps.”

Holding the cognac bottle close to his chest, Émile joined him.

Jean bowed to Annie, whose face bore a look of regret. As he left, he tossed a pound sterling to the proprietor standing behind the bar for his trouble.

“Yer usual evening ashore, eh Capitaine?”

Jean returned his friend an amused look. “An all too familiar scene, mon ami. But at least you rescued the brandy. Shall we finish it in my cabin?”

As they strolled back to the ship, Jean reflected on his fight with the jealous Italian. Perhaps ’twas his age, but the brawls of years past did not hold the same excitement for him they once did. His rough unanchored life that had him dealing with tavern bullies whenever he sat down for a drink with a friend had become less satisfying. His imagination whispered of a different life, one more settled and with a woman who was more than a friend.

When they arrived at the ship, it became clear that some of the crew had raced back to bring exaggerated tales to those who’d remained onboard, regaling them with the story of their capitaine’s bravery in the face of a much larger foe.

Jean dismissed them all with a shake of his head and ordered them back to work.

The next day, the crew loaded the cargo from the warehouse. And that night, Jean and Émile dined onboard, letting M’sieur Ricard have the evening free. Their supper of oysters and roast capon, thanks to their cook from Marseilles, was as fine as any meal in Paris.

The Harrows near Chichester, West Sussex

Joanna was delighted to be home, sans older brother, younger sister and Aunt Hetty and her cat. She had committed to one last run and it was best not to be worried about nosey siblings asking questions. Her smuggling partner Freddie being the exception, of course.

Her guilt for involving him had not lessened, particularly after her outing to the Old Bailey. She had once tried to convince Freddie to stay home, but he would have none of it. He explained he had plenty of time for other pursuits since his schooling was done. His flute and Richard’s discourses on how to manage The Harrows hardly filled his days. How could she deprive him of a bit of adventure to punctuate such tedium?

Joanna prepared for the evening ahead by donning her new better-fitting waistcoat and brown wool breeches, over which she wore a jacket of the wool. Dressed as a lad, she met Zack and Freddie in front of the stables.

“This is the same ship as last time?”

Zack adjusted his slouched hat over his forehead, shadowing his eyes. “Aye, and the same order ’cept for the lace.”

She cast a glance at Freddie. “I will want to inspect the lace since ’tis the first we have ordered.”

Freddie opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head. “You can go with me in the rowing boat but not on board the ship.”

“Aw, Jo,” he groaned in protest. When she did not relent, he gave her a reluctant nod.