Marcus eyed the ship’s steep side with concern.
“I’ll fall off into the sea!” he protested.
“It’s a long way, and the water is cold. You’re better off taking your chances on the ladder.” A disembodied voice floated down to them. Then, a square-jawed, clean-shaven face appeared over the railing, wreathed in shoulder-length golden hair that had escaped from the cocked hat perched, backward, on his head. “Hello, Uncle.”
“Gallowglass.” De Clermont touched his hat in greeting.
“And who’s this with you?” Gallowglass asked, squinting at Marcus with suspicion.
“Let’s get him up there before you start questioning him.” De Clermont took Marcus by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up the first two rungs of the rope ladder while the skiff rocked underneath them.
When he reached the top, Marcus fell onto the deck in a dizzy heap. He was not, it turned out, very good with heights anymore. He closed his eyes to let the sea and sky return to their proper positions. When he opened them, there was a giant wearh hovering over him.
“Jesus!” Marcus scrambled away, afraid for his life. He might be hard to kill now, but he was no match for this creature.
“Christ and his apostles. Don’t be daft, boy,” Gallowglass said with a snort. “I’m hardly going to attack my own cousin.”
“Cousin?” The family connection did nothing to soothe Marcus’s fears. In his experience, family members often posed the greatest danger.
An arm the size of a howitzer shot forward, palm open, bent at the elbow. Marcus remembered how John Russell and de Clermont had said their greetings and taken their farewells. Wearhs must all be Masons, he thought—or perhaps this was a French custom?
Marcus gingerly clasped the proffered arm, elbow to elbow, aware that his cousin could break it like a twig. Anxious at the prospect of further injury, Marcus’s fingers tightened on Gallowglass’s muscular arm.
“Easy there, pup.” Gallowglass’s eyes creased in warning as he lifted Marcus to his feet.
“Sorry. Don’t seem to know my own strength these days,” Marcus mumbled, embarrassed by his inexperience.
“Hmph.” Gallowglass’s mouth tightened as he released his grip.
De Clermont swung himself from the ladder to the deck with the lithe self-assurance of a tiger. The man he called Gallowglass turned and, in a blur of fists, landed two blows to de Clermont’s jaw.
Cousin or no cousin, Marcus’s protective instincts howled to life and he launched himself at the stranger. Gallowglass’s paw held him off with lazy ease.
“You’ll be wanting to ripen a bit more before you take me on,” Gallowglass advised Marcus.
“Stand down, Marcus,” de Clermont said once he had realigned his jaw and worked it open and closed a few times.
“What the hell were you thinking, Uncle, making a baby in the middle of a war?” Gallowglass demanded of de Clermont.
“The circumstances of your own rebirth were not so different, as I recall.” De Clermont’s aristocratic black eyebrows shot heavenward.
“Hugh sired me after the heat of battle was over, when he was picking through the field looking for dead friends,” Gallowglass said. “This boy is too young to have seen battle. You found him loafing about on some corner, I warrant, and took the stray in.”
“The boy has seen more than you know,” Matthew said in a tone that discouraged further conversation on this point. “Besides, the war is all but over. Both armies are riddled with fever and tired of fighting.”
“And Gil? You didn’t just leave him there?” Gallowglass swore a blistering oath. “You had two jobs, Matthew: see to it the colonials won the war, and return the Marquis de Lafayette to France in one piece.”
“Pierre is with him. Baldwin is among the jaegers. And John Russell has a place in Cornwallis’s staff and the terms of surrender in his pocket. I’ve done my job.” Matthew straightened the seams on his gloves. “The morning is upon us. To business, Gallowglass.”
Gallowglass led them to a small cabin belowdecks that had a view of the water through a wide rectangular window. The room was sparsely furnished with a desk, a few stools, a heavy-bottomed chest, and a hammock strung up between two posts.
“Your letters.” Gallowglass opened the chest and drew out a small oilskin pouch. He tossed it to de Clermont.
De Clermont loosened the ties and riffled through the contents. He drew out a few pieces and hid them away in the breast pocket of his coat.