Orphan Ch. 05-08

She nodded. "I understand, but no apologies for the moment. Now? Now we make good our flight from France."

Gilroy smiled. "Indeed we do. Thank goodness the lanes are narrow and the hedges thick. Those riders, and I suspect French soldiers, may not have seen us go." He smiled suddenly. "Wherever did you learn to whistle like that?"

She laughed. "When I was seven or eight, I used to play with the son of one of my father's craftsmen. It was he who taught me."

"He taught you well. Had I known you had such a talent, I would have suggested the very signal you made."

"It was all I could think of to do. I needed to draw your attention, and you'd said not to move."

"Indeed." He pointed. "See there? That ruined building? It should shelter us from prying eyes, and we may be able to determine if we're being followed, if I can climb a little." He frowned. "We may need to travel by night, so as not to be seen."

The building might once have been a barn, but what was left of it gave no real clues. They tethered the horses out of sight of the road. Gilroy took a telescope from his saddlebag and climbed a pile of rubble in one corner, rubble that might once have been a wall. He peered cautiously back the way they had come.

"No-one in sight. They may not have seen us leave." He climbed down, and pulled out his pocket-watch. He grimaced. "It still lacks a half-hour until noon. I fear it will be a long day."

"You do not want to move until after dark?"

Gilroy nodded. "After midnight might be best. It is ten miles to the coast. No major port, but a couple of inlets where a few fisher folk eke a living. We may be able to steal a boat." He gazed at her, his face troubled.

"What is it?"

"Your habit. Fine for riding, perhaps not so good for sailing."

Roxane nodded. "Very true. But apart from my habit I have only a skirt." She gave him a wry smile. "I packed light."

"I have spare breeches. They would be far too big for you, but perhaps with some rope to form a belt. Would you dare to ride as a man?"

"I thought it was the sailing that bothers you?"

He nodded. "It is."

"I think I may have an idea."

"Yes?"

"Let me wear the breeches beneath my habit. If I remove my underskirt, the bulk will be no different, and while I am riding no-one will see them. If we find a boat, discarding the skirt will take no time, and I will be able to move freely."

Gilroy gazed at her, a smile slowly breaking over his face. He shook his head. "Roxane Harrison, your Uncle Silas said you were intelligent. Your actions so far confirm that, and yet you demonstrate it to me anew by seeing through the problem which does not exist, to the solution, which does." He bowed, and she laughed.

"The breeches, if you please," she said. She smiled. "And your turned back, while I don them."

He laughed. "Ah, Roxane, you deny to me the visions of loveliness. Alas and alack." He bowed. "My turned back you shall have," he said, and went to search his saddle bag for the breeches

And why do I wish that he watched? Am I so shameless? Roxane shook her head. I cannot deny it, I am powerfully attracted to Alexander Gilroy.

He came back and handed her the breeches. To the knee on him, but when she pulled them on, to mid-calf on her, finishing just below the tops of her riding boots. The waist was far too large on her, and she turned.

"Alex? Have we a piece of line, for my belt?"

"Indeed we do. Here." He watched as she fumbled the line about her waist, and nodded as she tied it. "You know your knots, Roxane. And something else? That was the first time you have called me by my own name."

She gave him a crooked smile. "As we are now fugitives, calling you Henri seemed inappropriate."

"True. Excuse me for a moment, and I'll check again for pursuit. I trust there is none."

"You came immediately at my signal, and we made haste to get here. Perhaps we are clear of any pursuit?"

"We shall hope so. For now, though, I think we must rest. I know it is not yet noon, but I want to stay out of sight. Now, excuse me, and I'll check again. Stand clear, in case I dislodge a stone or two."

Chapter 7

The afternoon was long, and dry. They made desultory conversation, and took turns to nap. Nothing moved on the road, save a farmer driving two cows from one field to another, where a bull was waiting. Dusk came eventually, then full dark, until Roxane could barely make out Gilroy's shape, only the occasional gleam of teeth or eye showing in the gloom. Eventually, he stood.

"Time to go, I think. If we keep our pace down to not much more than that of a walking man, we should reach the coast about a half hour after midnight. I have been thinking about our pack horse, too. Is there anything in your bags that you cannot afford to lose?"

"I should like to keep the case for the pistol, but that will fit in my saddle-bag. My clothes? Nothing I am so attached to that I would risk my life for them. Why do you ask?"

"We have been seen by several people. Two riders, man and woman, with a pack horse. If we abandon the pack horse here, we become only two riders, not burdened by baggage. We could easily be out for an evening's ride, although habitation is scarce, so from where, I know not. However, let us not borrow trouble before it seeks us. Attend to your toilet, if necessary, and then we ride."

They took it easily, riding along at the pace of a walking man. In this agricultural region, a farm worker's day was a long one, and most of them were asleep in bed, for they would be up again at dawn. They could smell the sea before they reached it and shortly after midnight, they reached the coast.

Luck was with them for they found a small natural harbour with three small fishing boats at anchor. Each about twenty-five feet long, twin-masted.

"Have you ever sailed with a lug rig, Roxane?" Gilroy said quietly, as they paused in the dim shadow of some oak trees.

"Yes, I have. Father showed me how to handle it when I was about twelve years old. We sailed together quite a few times, and he always put me in charge, once I knew the rig." She laughed, softly. "I am an only child, and I think Father sometimes thought of me as a son."

"Understandable, I feel." He gestured. "Fortune seems to be smiling on us, for the breeze is from the land. Unusual, for the prevailing wind is westerly, and that is an on-shore wind which would have meant using the sweeps to gain an exit. I see a row-boat pulled up on the shingle, and mayhap we can use that to access one of the fishing boats."

"What of the horses?"

"There is a copse of trees, some hundred paces or so back. We'll unsaddle them, and picket them so that they may feed." Gilroy smiled. "They may bring some poor fisherman a little wealth."

It didn't take them long to abandon the horses, and their saddles. The saddle-bags, they took, each carrying their own, slung over a shoulder. Carefully, quietly, they moved towards the water's edge, where the row-boat was beached. They paused, listening, but nothing disturbed the night save a few insect noises and the distant hoot of an owl.

"Saddle-bags into the row-boat, Roxane," Gilroy whispered.

"And time to discard my skirt, I fear," Roxane whispered back, "but I shall keep my cloak, for 'tis warm, and my pistol is in its pocket."

It was the work of moments to discard her riding skirt, dropping it into the row-boat, and she felt a little strange without its familiar weight, but they were too busy easing the row-boat across the shingle towards the water, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible.

The sudden shout startled them. "Halt! Halt there, or I fire!"

"Push, Roxane," cried Gilroy, "the time for silence is gone!"

Careless of any noise now, they pushed the row-boat into the water. Behind them was a shot, and Gilroy grunted, but now the boat was in the water.

"In," said Gilroy, "ready the oars." Grateful for her father's patient teaching, and the fact that he had ignored any comments about his teaching being unsuitable for girls, Roxane quickly shipped the oars. Gilroy scrambled in, as he gave one last powerful push to ease the row-boat through the breakers. She heaved strongly and the row-boat crested the incoming waves, moving slowly towards the fishing boats.

"Your pistol, Roxane?"

"In my cloak, if you can reach it," she replied. "On my left, about hip height."

She was still wearing the cloak and Gilroy reached forward to get the pistol. The row-boat crested a wave at that moment, just as another shot came from behind them. Perhaps because of the movement of the boat, perhaps because he flinched involuntarily, Gilroy momentarily lost his balance and his hand closed on Roxane's breast. He quickly disengaged himself, and found the pistol, turning away to look behind them. Roxane was grateful for the darkness, for she had felt herself flush, but no protest came to her mind. No, her mind was racing, her nipples suddenly erect, and she condemned herself for the sudden excitement she had felt at his touch, even through shift, blouse and riding jacket, and at such a moment.

The bang of the pistol startled her for a moment. Gilroy turned back to her. "I doubt that will accomplish much, but it might keep their heads down for a moment.

"Who was it? Could you see?"

"I suspect it was a couple of soldiers, set to guard against exactly what we did. Perhaps they fell asleep." Gilroy grimaced. He pointed. "A little more in that direction, Roxane. Only a few more strokes. A moment, a moment. Now! Back water."

With a gentle thud, the row-boat struck against the hull of a fishing boat, and Gilroy reached out to grab a trailing line, pulling them close.

"Can you get on deck, Roxane, while I hold the row-boat? Once you're on, I'll pass the saddle-bags."

Blessing the fact that she was wearing Gilroy's breeches, and not her riding skirt, Roxane managed to scramble onto the deck. Kneeling, she stretched out her hand for the saddle-bags, and then her pistol. And her skirt. Moments later, Gilroy was on deck beside her.

"Let the anchor slip, Roxane, while I hoist the foresail, and we'll get ourselves to sea, before anyone comes after us. We'll hoist the main in a moment or two."

It was awkward in the dark, on an unfamiliar boat, but Roxane knew enough about sailing, and Gilroy had been Navy since the age of fifteen, so that their fumbles were few and a quarter hour after reaching the bay, they were headed for the open sea. There was only a slight swell, and they made quick progress away from the land in the steady breeze.

"No sign of pursuit, Roxane," said Gilroy. "And that is good news, for I fear I have bad."

"What is it?" said Roxane, alarmed.

"That second shot? I fear that it struck me." Gilroy slumped to a sitting position against the low rail aft of the tiller position.

"Where? Is it bad?" said Roxane, immediately berating herself for the stupid question. Of course it was bad.

"Beneath the ribs. I fear I may have lost some blood. Check the compass, Roxane. We need to steer west-south-west to stand any chance of meeting either the Pelican or the Belle Arc, and I fear that you may be sailing this boat by yourself."

"If the breeze holds steady, I think I can. But first, at least let me see if I can bandage you."

"What with? Roxane, all of our baggage is still in France."

"True. Let me think." She knelt beside him, blanching at the dark stain on his shirt. Then it came to her. With breeches and blouse, and jacket, what need had she for her shift? None! "I have it, I think. My shift." She smiled. "I must ask you to close your eyes again, for I must undress to remove my shift."

Gilroy managed a smile. "This might be my only chance ever to see your beauty, Roxane. Do not deny it to me."

She stared at him for a moment, then stood, quickly stripping off her jacket and discarding it on the deck beside Gilroy. Her blouse quickly followed it. She paused for a moment, her hands on the shift where it disappeared under the breeches, then pulled at it, pulling it free of the breeches, stripping it off over her head, wondering why she had not turned her back, but realising, realising that she wanted Alexander Gilroy to see her naked charms. She paused for a moment, then bent to retrieve her blouse, quickly donning it but not taking the time to button it. She knelt beside Gilroy.

"Have you a pocket knife?"

He took a deep breath, then slumped back. "Better. My dirk. In the top of my right boot. Yes, there. No! Other side. That's it.

She pulled out the dirk that he carried in his boot, and slashed the shift into strips.

Can you sit up?"

"With your help, yes, I think I can."

It was awkward, and she was conscious of his breath on her bared breasts, but between them they managed to get him sitting up.

"I need to get your coat off."

He grimaced. "I know, dear Roxane. I know. Methinks it will not be easy. But first, check our course. This vessel sails itself quite well, but I fear we may drift well off course."

"A moment." A quick check of the compass showed only a minor deviation from their course, not significant until considerably more time had passed. She quickly knelt again. "A few points only. Bandages first, then I get us back on course."

Gilroy nodded. "My coat is unbuttoned, ready. I think I can manage to sit up long enough for you to pull it off, if I hold my arms back."

"We'll try." She scrambled around behind him as he sat up, putting his arms back. She took hold of his cuffs and pulled, steady, careful not to jerk, and the coat slid slowly off. She winced at sight of his shirt, dark with blood.

"I must cut your shirt off."

"I know. At least my dirk is sharp." His voice was tight, strained. she took a pinch of cloth between finger and thumb and pushed the dirk through, then slashed carefully around, above his belt, slicing the sleeves off so as not to put him under any more strain.

"I have no fresh water to spare to bathe it," she said. "What we have, we need for you to drink."

"Have you the skill to get the ball out?"

She flinched. "Get it out? How?"

"I fear you must probe with the dirk."

"You want me to try?"

He almost laughed. "Roxane, my dear, if you do not I fear the wound becoming infected. If it does, I die."

No! "Well, then, I must play surgeon."

"If I lie upon my stomach, you should be able to probe more easily. If I pass out, I have already fallen."

It took her a moment to realise he was jesting with her. Foolish man! Save your strength. "You are ready?"

"As I ever will be."

Gently she felt around the wound, feeling to see if the ball was near the surface. surprised, she felt it almost immediately, just below the lowest rib.

"I think I've found the ball."

"Then out with it, Roxane, my dear."

Gingerly, she dug with the tip of Gilroy's dirk. He winced, and she gasped.

"Keep going, Roxane. I must bear the pain." His voice was tight.

Again she dug, trying to ignore his strangled murmurs of distress. She dug in beside the dirk with her little finger, and to her amazement, she found she could get the tip of her finger under the ball. Gingerly she pulled at it, slowly, carefully, pushing the flesh back with the flat of the dirk, until the ball came suddenly free and dropped to the deck.

"Well done, Roxane. Try to feel if there is any cloth in the wound, and get it out."

She felt around, and yes, there was a ribbon of torn cloth that had been punched into the wound. Gently she pulled it free, then felt again. Nothing but flesh, now.

"I think I have it all, but it is too dark to see properly. I feel nothing but flesh in the wound, and the edge of your rib. Intact, so far as I can tell."

"The bandages, then, please."

"I'll need you to sit up again, if you can."

"If I must, then I must. Help me, please." It was awkward, but they managed, and while Gilroy managed to brace himself, Roxane made a pad of cloth and pressed it in place, then wrapped the bandages around his torso to hold the pad in place, fighting a sudden giggle at the thought that her breasts were bare and almost in his face. No sooner had she thought that than she felt Gilroy's lips kiss her breast, and then he fell back, unconscious. Alarmed, she rested her hand upon his chest, reassured to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Quickly she fastened her blouse, still feeling the touch of Gilroy's lips on her breast. Her discarded skirt was nearby and she rolled it up, and moved it under Gilroy's head as a pillow, then covered him with her cloak. She shivered suddenly in the night breeze, feeling her nipples erect under the stuff of her blouse. She smiled. You should have waited a moment, Alexander Gilroy, for there would have been more for your lips to savour. Her jacket was nearby and she donned it, fastening it to the throat against the cool of the night.

Course check! She moved to the compass, to find that the boat had come two points off course. Not too bad, she thought, for a vessel with no-one at the helm. She brought it back on course and sailed on into the night.

Chapter 8

Morning found them alone in an empty sea. She was still on course, at least. That was something to be grateful for. Gilroy was still asleep. Or unconscious, she thought, but even as she watched him, his eyes fluttered open and his lips moved. She dropped to her knees beside him.

"What is it, Alex?"

His voice was hoarse. "A sip of water, Roxane?"

"A moment." The water bottles were lying beside the few things they'd brought. She picked one up and shook it. Possibly half full. She shook the other. Low, barely a cup full. She opened it, and cradled Gilroy's head in the crook of her left arm while she tipped the water bottle carefully to his lips.

He coughed, spilling a little, then managed to swallow, then again. His eyes came to hers.

"Thank you."

She shook her head. "'Tis little enough I do for you."

"Not so, Roxane," he murmured. "You do everything for me." He coughed again, wincing, and she waited a moment to let the spasm pass. "You might well have saved my life, getting that ball out, and bandaging me." A fleeting smile crossed his face. "That, and sharing your beauty."

She flushed, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. "Do not be embarrassed, dear Roxane, for it was a generous thing to do."

She grimaced. "I was too busy tending to you to take time to fasten my blouse!"

He laughed, and winced. "No jests, Roxane. They hurt." He sobered. "Are we on course?"

"Aye, and have been all night."

"Any sign of the Pelican? Or the Belle Arc?"

"None a moment ago. I'll check again." This time, she stood on the rail, holding on to the rigging. Nothing. Or, was it? Was that a corner of sail she could see? She looked away for a moment, then back again. Yes, a sail!

"Alex! I see a sail!"

"Can you make it out?"

"Too far as yet."

"We'll know soon enough."

She stood and watched as the other vessel came closer, not really caring if it was the Pelican or not. Even if it was a French vessel, for Alexander Gilroy needed a surgeon's attention. But if it had been French, in these waters it would most likely be a frigate, and she could see enough to know it was no frigate. No, it was a schooner, and her hopes began to rise. Closer, she could see the unmistakable lines of a Harrison-built vessel, something she'd been familiar with throughout her childhood. The colours of hull and sails were familiar, and very shortly afterwards, she knew it was the Pelican. Praise be!

"Alex? 'Tis the Pelican." But Gilroy was unconscious again. The Pelican had changed course towards the French fishing boat and she bent to pick up a piece left of her shift and waved it until there was an answering wave from the Pelican. Relieved, she let the sails fall and waited.