Page 47 of Echo in the Wind

As the ships began to pass before each other, la Reine Noire sailing west and the revenue cutter heading east, Jean read the name on the English ship: HMS Orestes.

Behind him, Lady Joanna shouted, “’Tis Captain Ellis’ ship!”

Shocked she had disobeyed him, he turned and scowled. “Right now, I care not, Mademoiselle. You must go below! The cutter has no idea I have a female on board. You are fair game like the rest of us.” He turned to his nearest crewmember. “Baudin, get this one to my cabin.”

The bos’n grabbed Lady Joanna’s arm and turned her toward the aft hatch. This time, she did not protest.

Émile shouted, “Fire!” The starboard gun belched flame and smoke, blazing away.

On the deck of the Orestes, a biscuit toss away, red-jacketed Marines raised their muskets and fired, the snap and whine of the shots echoing over the water.

Smoke billowed in the air and balls flew across la Reine Noire’s deck. Jean’s crew yelled as they scampered to avoid them. His sailmaker let out a groan and dropped to the deck not far away.

Chaos reigned all around him for a moment, but his well-trained crew quickly moved into battle positions and readied the guns.

Jean shouted orders and the deck crew jumped to obey. The square sails filled with a “thump” and the yards creaked as the ship picked up speed, lunging ahead. “The English ship will have to turn to give chase,” he yelled to Émile, who hurried to Jean’s side. “But with more guns, the cutter is a laboring ox. They’ll not catch us.”

He turned to be certain his passenger had gone below. To his horror, just short of the aft hatch, the bos’n stood looking down at Lady Joanna lying unconscious on the deck. Her hat had come off, leaving her beautiful auburn hair splayed out around her. Dark red blood seeped from her belly and flowed to the wooden planks.

“Seigneur Dieu!” he cried and rushed to her, crouching down to sweep her into his arms. He shouted to Émile, “The ship is yours. Make for Lorient!”

The quartermaster, his face frozen in shock, stared at the woman Jean held in his arms. “Oui, Capitaine.”

Jean disappeared down the hatch. At his open cabin door, he passed Gabe and laid Lady Joanna on his bed. “Quickly, Gabe, more light, warm sea water and bandages! I fear the lady has been gravely wounded.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jean grabbed one of his shirts lying on top of the cover and pressed it to the front of Lady Joanna’s blood-soaked breeches. Out of the corner of his eye, Jean saw Gabe pause to look.

“No time to gawk. Maintenant!”

“Oui, Capitaine.” The lad scurried to do as ordered, lighting another lantern and placing it on the table near Jean. Then Gabe dashed to one of Jean’s chests for the bandages. Heating sea water would take longer for the boy would have to go to the galley.

The ship’s carpenter handled minor injuries and could even dig out musket balls when necessary, but Jean’s miracle-working surgeon, Pierre Bouchet, remained in Lorient, stubbornly refusing to go to sea. Jean would allow no one, except him or his surgeon, to touch Lady Joanna. He clenched his teeth, determined to do whatever he must to see her through this.

The blood seeping from her breeches soon soaked through the shirt he held to her body. He could see no alternative but to remove her clothes.

His cabin boy brought him the bandages.

“Drying cloths, Gabe!” Jean ordered, reaching out his hand so the boy need not approach.

The cabin boy placed the requested cloths in his hand. “I will see to the water, Capitaine.”

The cabin door slammed shut as boy left for the galley.

Jean ripped open Lady Joanna’s waistcoat, sending buttons flying, then more cautiously lifted her shirt. He did not allow his gaze to linger on her beautiful breasts, but covered them with one of the cloths. Then he carefully opened her blood-soaked breeches and slid them off, tossing them to the deck. He had tried not to look at the auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs but so alluring a sight was impossible to avoid. As if Neptune had washed a sea goddess up on Jean’s deck, her pale ivory skin and long auburn hair made her appear an ethereal creature.

He ripped the rest of her shirt from her and placed another drying cloth over the thatch of auburn curls. With only her belly bared, he turned his attention to the damage done by the musket.

She had worn no stays under her man’s clothing, so he was seeing her marred naked flesh. The ball had sliced across her abdomen, from one side to the other. Thankfully, the resulting gash was not deep. If none of her organs were affected, as he hoped, she would have a good chance of surviving. Even so, she could die from fever or blood loss.

His cabin door sprung open and Gabe stood there holding a metal container. “Are ye ready for the sea water, Capitaine?”

“Oui, set it there.” He pointed to the stool next to his shelf bed. Gabe placed the container on the stool, together with another drying cloth.

“At least she is unconscious,” Jean muttered as he set about cleaning the wound, “or this would be agony for her.”

He tried to remember what Bouchet had done when treating flesh ripped open by musket balls. He glanced at the decanter on the table. “Bring me that brandy, Gabe.”

The boy held out the brandy. Once Jean had cleaned the wound of fibers and blood, he doused it with the liquor, something he’d seen Bouchet do countless times.