Myriah Fire by Claudy Conn

Author:Claudy Conn [Conn, Claudy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FICTION / Romance / Regency
Publisher: BC Publications
Published: 2011-11-26T22:00:00+00:00

With her pistols loaded she went on board,

By her side hung a glittering sword,

In her belt two daggers—well arm’d for war,

Was the female smuggler, who ne’er feared a scar.

She giggled. “You are jolly, aren’t you? For I do assure you I have no weapons about me, and I am very fearful of being scarred!”

“Then why are you here, Myriah?”

“Not for the adventure,” she answered softly as she started to yawn, and it wasn’t long after that she fell asleep.

The next thing she knew he was rousing her, calling her name. “Myriah … look … Boulogne … look, love … ’tis there …”

She realized she had been sleeping and stretched both her arms and her neck as she peered through the darkness, past the gentle peaks of waves, but she couldn’t see a thing. “No—I don’t see a thing.”

“Don’t you? Must see about your eyes, love.” He was grinning like a boy.

She slapped his leg and then once again cuddled against him for warmth. “It feels like we have been on the water forever …”

“We have, sweetings—this same trip took us five hours the last time, but without checking my timepiece, I’d say we did it in three.”

“Oh, Kit—must you smuggle?” she asked on a plea.

He laughed. “Must I? No, there are many who would say I most definitely must not!”

“Do not poke fun at me, Kit. I am serious,” Myriah said appealingly.

He looked at her and opened his mouth, and she felt in that moment he wanted to tell her something. However, he turned away, and she couldn’t see his expression, even in the moonlight.

She sighed sadly and looked again at the endless stretch of dark water, wondering why he had suddenly turned her up cold.

The next thirty minutes passed swiftly, and suddenly Myriah heard one of the men call ‘land.’ She got excited in spite of herself, for she had never seen France. She had heard so much about it from her father, who had made the Grand Tour and who had seen Napoleon during the brief peace in 1802.

She would actually set foot on French soil—and how she wished it were Paris and during peacetime. She had started to daydream about it when she spied two wagons and a crew of French sea worthies flapping their arms about in greeting. She then felt the galley scrape against the shore, and her heart jumped into her throat.

Kit’s men were nimbly clambering out of the open boat, and then Kit himself was taking her hand and lifting her out, but not before he held her tightly against himself and breathed something low and heady into her ear.

He led her along the pebbly beach and held her around her waist as he paused. She looked up at him and then followed his line of vision to a small, dark stranger.

The man was dressed in what she imagined a French gentleman would wear, and his many-tiered gray greatcoat came from the hands of a skillful tailor. He inclined his head towards Kit

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