Chapter Four

Zach awoke to raindrops on his eyelids.

Only it wasn’t raindrops, it was Brookes with a flagon of water, standing over him and dripping it into his face.

Spluttering a curse, Zach sat up. ‘What the devil—?’ He scrubbed water from his eyes and looked around. He was still on the beach and the day was just breaking, already bright enough to be unpleasant with his head tender from drink.

‘That weren’t the wisest thing you ever did,’ Brookes said, nodding off to one side, to where Amy lay sprawled on his coat with her tanned legs bare and her hair tangled in the sand.

Zach rubbed a hand across his face. ‘I didn’t,’ he said.

Brookes merely raised an eyebrow.

‘Too drunk,’ Zach said. ‘Couldn’t do it.’

With a nod, Brookes patted him on the shoulder. ‘Aye, well lad, the drink’ll do that to the best of us. In this case, though, it’s probably better that you didn’t—’

‘Not me!’ he said. ‘Her. She was too drunk, didn’t know what she was about.’

‘And you played the gentleman?’

‘No need to sound so sceptical.’ Zach got up, shaking sand out of his shirt and hair. He grabbed the flagon from Brookes’ hand and took a long, welcome drink. ‘My father won’t listen,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Thinks I’m telling Dauphin fishwives’ tales.’

‘Colour me surprised. Did you really expect any different?’

He didn’t answer, because he wouldn’t have come so far if he’d had no hope at all. Yet he should have known nothing would change; six years was meaningless in the dreamland of Ile Sainte Anne. Here, reality remained as distant as ever.

His eyes wandered to Amelia, fragile-looking in the dawn light. She’d feel wretched when she woke, but for now she just looked piercingly beautiful. He wished he could preserve the image, but no painter could capture the softness of her skin or the way her hair shifted in the breeze.

‘Half the crew’s got barrel fever this morning,’ Brookes said, interrupting his musing. ‘Won’t be able to start loading supplies until tomorrow.’

The taste of her skin was suddenly vivid in his memory, warm and soft as silk – what kind of fool had he been not to take her when he’d had the chance? She’d been so willing, so eager. So drunk. Not for the first time he cursed the thin vein of morality that ran through his soul. One day, he swore, it would kill him.

‘Zachary,’ Brookes said, like he’d repeated it several times. ‘Are you listening?’

He offered his most disarming smile. ‘Somewhat.’

‘I said we can’t even start loading ’til tomorrow.’

‘There’s time enough.’ He forced his eyes away from Amy. ‘Not planning to sail with the next tide, not after the crossing we just had.’

‘Aye,’ Brookes said cautiously. ‘No reason to linger, neither. Not with the navy on its way.’

‘Crew needs to rest. You know it. We can afford a couple of weeks, even a month without risk.’

Brookes grunted. ‘There’s more than one risk in these waters, Zachary. More than one way to run aground.’

‘Then it’s a good thing,’ he said, meeting his old friend’s worried look with a smile, ‘that I’m somewhat skilled in the navigation of these particular waters. Don’t imagine me in any danger.’

‘We’ll see.’ Brookes nodded towards the harbour and the Hawk. ‘Will you head back with me?’

‘I—’ He took a step, but couldn’t help looking back at Amy asleep in the sand. ‘That’s my good coat she’s sleeping on,’ he said, brazening the moment with a smile. ‘I’d hate to lose it. I’ll just wait ’til she wakes.’

Brookes said nothing, only lifted an eyebrow before turning and walking back along the beach. Zach watched him go for a moment, and then sank down onto the sand. It was his good coat, that was no lie, and if he’d wanted to leave her there he could have done. He simply chose not to.

She was James Dauphin’s daughter, after all. He could hardly abandon her alone and still half drunk on his rum, now could he? It didn’t signify anything more than a sense of duty to his old friend. Nothing more at all.