Captain Jack's Woman (Bastion Club 0.50)

It took Jack a moment to realize what she was saying. He scowled. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“I mean there’s no sense in my keeping a lookout from that position. I may as well stay on the beach and watch the boats come in.”

Jack stared at her. The idea of her scurrying around among the boats, being shoved aside by the first fisherman into whose path she stumbled, was one he refused to contemplate. A shout told him the signal had come. Soon, the boats would be beaching. He eyed the slight figure before him and shook his head. “I haven’t time to argue about it now. I’ve got to see to the boats.”

“Fine. I’ll come, too.” Kit looped Delia’s reins about a straggling bush clinging to the cliff and turned to follow Jack.

“Get up to that cliff top immediately!”

The blast almost lifted her from her feet. Kit stepped back, eyes widening in alarm. Jack towered over her, one arm lifted, one finger jabbing at the western cliff. Transfixed, she stared at him. And saw him set his teeth.

“For Christ’s sake, get moving!”

Shaken to her boots, furious to the point of incoherence, Kit wrenched Delia’s reins from the bush and swung up to the saddle. She glared down at Jack, still standing before her, fists on hips, barring the way to the beach, then hauled on the reins and sent Delia up the cliff path.

On the western cliff top, Kit dismounted. She left Delia to graze the coarse grasses a few yards back from the edge. Seething, she threw herself down on a large flat boulder and, picking up a small rock, hurled it down onto the sands. She wished she could hit Jack with it. He was clearly visible, down by the beaching boats. A slingshot might just make it.

With a disgusted snort, Kit sank her elbows into her thighs and dumped her chin in her hands. God—could he shout. Spencer bellowed when in a rage, but the noise had never affected her. She’d always considered it a sure sign her grandfather had all but lost the thread of his argument and would soon succumb to hers. But when Jack had bellowed his orders, he’d expected to be obeyed. Instantly. Every vestige of defiant courage she possessed had curled up its toes and died. The idea of her doing anything to overcome such an invincible force had seemed patently ridiculous.

Thoroughly disgusted with her craven retreat, Kit glumly watched the gang unload the boats.

When the last barrel was clear of the surf and the pack ponies were all but fully laden, Kit stood and dusted down her breeches. Whatever happened, however much Jack bellowed, this was the last, the very last time she’d keep watch from the wrong position for the Hunstanton Gang.

“Well? What is it?” Jack dumped the keg he’d brought back from the run on the table and swung to face Kit. George had ridden straight home from the beach and, after one glance at Kit’s rigid figure, Jack had sent Matthew directly on to the Castle. On the beach, he’d hoped that her knuckling under to his orders meant she’d forget her grievance over being a redundant lookout. He should have known better.

Kit ignored his abrupt demand and closed the door. With cool deliberation, she walked forward into the glow of the lamp Jack set alight. Pulling her hat from her curls, she dropped it on the table, then, in perfect silence, unwound her muffler.

Straightening from lighting the lamp, Jack pressed his hands to the table and remained standing. He felt much more capable of intimidating Kit when upright. Assuming, of course, that she, too, was upright. If she didn’t hurry up and get to her point, he wouldn’t give much for her chances of remaining so. Jack set his teeth and waited.

When her muffler had joined her hat, Kit turned to face Jack. “I suggest that in future you rethink your lookout policy. If you order me to a position in what is obviously the wrong direction, I’ll move to a more sensible place.”

Jack’s jaw hardened. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

Kit lifted a condescending brow.

Jack lost a little of his calm. “Dammit—if you’re on lookout and the Revenue appear, how the hell can I be certain you won’t do something stupid?”

Kit’s eyes blazed. “I wouldn’t just run away.”

“I know that! If I thought you would run away, I’d have no qualms about putting you on the Hunstanton side.”

“You admit you’ve been deliberately putting me on the wrong side?”

“Christ!” Jack raked a hand through his hair. “Look—you can’t unload the boats, so you may as well be our lookout. As it happens—”

“At the moment you don’t actually need a lookout.” Kit’s tone dripped with emphasis. “Because, as you well know, the Hunstanton Revenue men have been ordered to patrol the beaches south of Hunstanton.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

Kit lifted one shoulder. “Everyone knows that.”

“Who told you?”

Kit eyed Jack warily. “Spencer. He had it from the owner of the Rose and Anchor in Lynn.”

The muscles in Jack’s shoulders eased. She didn’t have any contact within the Revenue Office. He’d been away so long, he’d forgotten how things got about in the country. “I see.”

“I take it that means I won’t have to stay stuck on a cliff twiddling my thumbs next time?” Kit’s look dared him to disagree.