Eye of the Storm by Lee Rowan

intermittent—standing watch occasionally and playing with shiny stones when we have guests.”
    “Would you rather stand a regular watch?” Marshall offered. “As owner, you have the choice, and the ability, too. Mr. St. John served as navigator for Sir Percy, did he not?”
    “Yes, until he was shot by pirates.” Davy’s current disguise had been constructed late the previous spring, after his brush with death in the West Indies; intelligence sleight-of-hand had transformed him into David St. John, erstwhile Canadian trader , to allow the traitor who’d shot him to think that his identity was still secret. “If I stand watch above when you’re off-duty, you would have a little time to yourself in the cabin.”
    As Davy said that, his face lost some of its animation and shifted into what Marshall thought of as his quarterdeck face, bland and formal. He was drawing back, and Marshall had no idea why. “That was not what I intended,” he said quickly, making a conscious effort to keep his voice low. “I am just as happy when we’re in the cabin together as not. Happier.”
    “Yes, well…there’s such a thing as avoiding temptation.” Davy met his eyes and looked away quickly. “Besides, you are the captain. What sense would it make for us to trade watches if we were both on deck or below, at the same time? He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Will, if we’ve got to be on our best behavior at all times, that might be easier if we were sleeping on different watches.”
    Marshall tried to find a reply to that, but he felt as though the tangle of emotion kept him from thinking clearly, and the wind whipping at his face whirled his thoughts away. “Is that what you want?” he finally asked.
    “What does that—” Davy took a deep breath and closed up completely; even his voice gave nothing away. “I think it’s a reasonable thing to do, given what you said yesterday. I understand what you said, and I agree that you very likely have the right of it. All I mean to suggest is that under the circumstances, a bit of solitude—what little one has, on a ship—might be beneficial.”
    “I did not mean that we should avoid one another,” Marshall said carefully.
    “How could we? We’re on a yacht, for pity’s sake. We couldn’t avoid one another unless one of us jumped overboard!”
    Marshall ran out of words. From the expression on his lover’s face, Davy was just as nonplussed. Why were they quarreling, and just a few minutes after they’d apologized for being cross with one another?
    “Well, I mean to go below now and have a look at the charts,” Marshall said. “There was no signal from the chateau last night. I’d swear to that and so would Barrow, and everyone else who was on deck. Coming by every night would soon attract attention, so we shall sail with the wind today and beat back tomorrow afternoon, taking our time so that we arrive after dark. We rendezvous with Sir Percy two days later, to deliver Dr. Colbert if we have him and decide what to do if we don’t. You’re welcome to join me below, if you like. I am not that fond of my solitude.”
    Davy looked as though he was about to decline, then nodded. “Thank you, I will. My blood must have thinned during those months in the Indies. This wind has me chilled to the bone.”
    “Then I’ll recommend the remedy you offered me last night. Tea, good and hot.”
    And an embrace, at least, Marshall decided. He’d ask Clement, his steward, to bring tea and biscuits, which would give them a few moments alone together. That would not be long enough for much more than a kiss or two, but he truly must reassure Davy that the need for discretion did not indicate a lack of desire.
     
     
    They had no signal from Dr. Colbert the following night, even though at least three pair of eyes were trained on the chateau between the hours of ten and three. By four a.m. they were on their way once more, to rendezvous with Sir Percy on the