A Sea of Troubles by David Donachie Page A

morning he could smell both the familiar perfume, the same as had infused his cabin, as well as the musk of her body, both of which played upon his memory. Added to that was the heat of her skin as their flesh inadvertently made contact, at which point he was made aware by his own bodily changes just how far he was from being immune to her charms; in short, his folded cloak, over which he had laid his sword, was a blessing.
    The occasion of the party coming ashore was unusual enough to have a few idlers gather to watch their landing, which took all of two minutes from ship’s side to the jetty, the sight of a finely dressed pair of French aristocrats certainly being far from normal in such a backwater. Curiosity turned to amusement as the mounts were brought forward, animals that so contrasted with the sartorial elegance on show – one, the carthorse, with a set of leather harness with which to strap on luggage.
    Puisaye had about him an expression of aristocratic sangfroid even when faced with a fourteen-hand pony; he was not going to demean himself by showing the local peasants that this was anything other than normal and he got aboard his animal and sat on it as if it was the fineststeed in creation, his nose high and eyes fixed forward as if he was about to lead an armed host into battle. Amélie, even on such a short-legged mount, had to be aided by Pearce, which produced more unwelcome intimacy.
    Michael, once mounted, a satchel containing the encased brace of pistols over his shoulder, looked as if he could walk and ride the animal simultaneously; Pearce, albeit his legs were shorter, was not far off the same and thinking the sword he was wearing a damned nuisance. Loading complete they trotted out of Buckler’s Hard, pursued by the local urchins making ribald comments about which arses were the fattest, equine or human.
    ‘Shall I dismount and clip a couple of these cullies, John-boy?’
    ‘Leave them be, friend, for if you don’t look like a fool, I’m damn sure I do.’
     
    ‘They’re coming, Jahleel. I watched them land then mount and now they just left the cottages behind, our blue coat up front.’
    ‘“They”, Cephas?’
    ‘Aye, four in all,’ the smuggler replied. ‘You recall that big bugger we traded blows with in London? Well he’s along bringing up the rear an’ towing a packhorse, but there’s two right strange coves in’t middle, a woman in a cloak and a man dressed like a nob on the way to a ball, powdered wig an’ all. Whole party’s aboard ponies too small for proper ridin’, so we can take ’em as easy as kiss my hand.’
    ‘Four makes matters altered,’ Franklin said, as he primed and loaded his pistol, left till late because of the dampness of the forest. ‘I was set for two to deal with.’
    ‘Not to me, brother, if others are along where they’ve no right to be, that will be their misfortune. Now, let’s get mounted and be at ’em.’
    ‘Jahleel, think on it, for the love of Christ! Four folk and as described by Cephas won’t have departed Buckler’s Hard unseen. They might have made a right show and if that be the case they will be talked about all over the county in time. They go missing and there will be a hue and cry for certain.’
    The lack of a response showed that Franklin had struck home and not just with his sibling.
    ‘Go too far and you’ll risk the rope for us all.’
    Jahleel aimed his pistol at one of the trees and squinted down the barrel, which had the virtue of allowing him to avoid his brother’s eye. ‘He’s not goin’ to slip me again, Franklin; I said it an’ I meant it, and if worst comes to worst, by the time their loss is noticed we will be long gone.’
    Now it was the younger brother’s turn to point up his scar, this done with his fingertips. ‘I has even more cause to want revenge than you, Jahleel, but what is it we really want?’
    ‘Blood – Pearce’s blood.’
    ‘No, we want that for sure, but just as much to know what