The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(85)

Which doubtless pleased the others. But Sophia, standing there before the window, found no comfort in the knowledge, and the brightness of the sun upon the water hurt her eyes.



She was shaken awake by a hand on her shoulder.

‘Sophia!’ The countess’s voice, close beside her. ‘Sophia!’

Her eyes fluttered open, confused for a moment, then coming alert quickly glanced to the side in remembrance, but Moray was gone, and the pillow showed barely an imprint of where he had lain. With an effort, she pushed herself up till she sat in the tangle of blankets.

The sun was not long up, and slanted low across the windowsill, its light still pale and tinged with all the splendor of the dawn. ‘What is it?’

‘The French ship is come.’

She noticed now the countess, for the early hour, was fully dressed and wide awake. Sophia, in her shift, stood from the bed and slowly crossed to her long window. She saw the high masts of the Heroine some distance still off shore, but bearing steadily towards them.

‘Get you dressed,’ the countess said, ‘and come downstairs. We will have one last meal together, and wish Colonel Hooke and Mr Moray well before they must depart.’

Sophia nodded, and she heard the door close as the countess left the chamber, but she seemed to be stuck fast upon the spot, her gaze fixed fiercely to the French ship’s sails, as though she somehow could hold back its progress, if she tried.

She was so focused on it that she nearly failed to see the sweep of movement at the far edge of her vision, as another ship came darkly round the shoreline, like the shadow of a shark. It was the second British ship that they had seen the day before, not Gordon’s ship but Captain Hamilton’s.

Monsieur de Ligondez had seen it, too, and must have known he’d get no friendly welcome from this interceptor bearing down upon him. French ships on the coast of Scotland were but seen as privateers, rich prizes for a man like Captain Hamilton to capture. Sophia, with her breath held, watched the great prow of the Heroine begin to turn about, sails changing shape and swinging desperately to catch the wind. Go on, she urged, go on!

But Captain Hamilton was closing. In a few more moments he would surely be in range to use his guns.

Sophia’s knuckles whitened as her fingers gripped the window-ledge, as though she could herself control the French ship’s helm, and turn it with more speed.

There seemed to be a rush of new activity aboard the Heroine. The flags at both the topmast and the mizzen fluttered downward to the deck, and different colors were hauled up the ropes to take their place against the sails. Sophia recognized the Holland ensign, and the old Scots blue and white. The signal, she thought suddenly—the signal that had been arranged between Monsieur de Ligondez and Gordon so the ships would know each other when they met.

Except the ship that now had the French frigate in its sights was not in the command of Captain Gordon.

Captain Hamilton took no apparent notice of the changing of the ensigns, but continued on his course to close the distance between his ship and the Heroine.

And then, across the water, came the rolling boom and echo of the firing of a gun.

Sophia jumped, she could not help it. She could feel the very impact of that shot within her chest, and feeling helpless, turned her eye towards the Heroine, to see the damage done.

To her relief, she saw the French ship sailed as swiftly as before and seemed unharmed. And then a third and even larger ship slid smoothly from behind the northern headland and came fully into view, its great sails billowed with the morning wind. Again a great gun sounded, and Sophia this time saw it was the third ship that was firing—not upon Monsieur de Ligondez but out to sea, apparently with no intent of hitting anything.

The ship was Captain Gordon’s, but she did not understand his purpose until Captain Hamilton began to turn, reluctantly, and change his course.

And then she knew. The gun, she thought, had been a call for Hamilton to give up his pursuit. How Captain Gordon would explain that to his colleague, she could not imagine, but she did not doubt that he would find some passable excuse.

His ship was running close along the shore of Slains now, close enough for her to see him standing to the starboard of the mainmast. And then he turned, as though to give an order to his crew, and in a crashing spray of white the great ship passed, and headed south behind the ship of Captain Hamilton, while out to sea the white sails of the Heroine danced lightly on the fast-receding waves.



‘They’ll hear us, John.’

‘They won’t.’ He pressed her close against the garden wall, his shoulders shielding her from view, while at his back and overhead the thickly laden branches of a lilac tree hung round them, filling all the shadowed corner with a sweet and clinging scent.

All around, the final dying light of day was giving way to darkness, and Sophia found she could not take her eyes from Moray’s face, as someone going blind might look her last upon the things best loved, before night fell. And night, she knew, was falling. In the shelter of the cliffs below the castle walls, the Heroine was back, and riding silent on the waves. When it grew dark enough, the boat would come to carry Hooke and Moray from the shore.

She did not wish him to remember her in tears. She forced a smile. ‘And what if Colonel Hooke is looking for you now?’

‘Then let him look. I have my own affairs to tend before we leave tonight.’ He touched her hair with gentle fingers. ‘Did ye think that I’d be parted from my lass without a farewell kiss?’