LITMIR.BIZ

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had convinced herself that the best thing she could do for the remainder of this voyage was to follow her original plan and have as little to do with the Marine as possible. Once he was busy with whatever it was that had taken him on this voyage, she would be ignored, which suited her down to the ground. She had never sought the centre of the stage.

      Come to think of it, why was Colonel Junot on this voyage? Bother it, she told herself again. I would like to ask him.

      She knew better. Through Nana, she knew these men sailed with specific orders that were certainly none of her business, no matter how great her curiosity. ‘Bother it,’ she muttered again, and closed her eyes.

      She slept, thanks to the gentle swaying of the canvas seat, comforting after the peaks and troughs of last night’s squall. When she woke, her glasses rested in her lap. Lieutenant Colonel Junot stood next to her chair, his eyes scanning the water. She was struck all over again with his elegance. Compared to naval officers in their plain dark undress coats, the Marines were gaudy tropical birds. He had not an ounce of superfluous flesh, which made him different from the men she noticed in Bath, who were comfortably padded in the custom of the age.

      I am among the elite, she told herself, as she put on her spectacles, bending the wires around her ears again.

      Her small motions must have caught Colonel Junot’s eye because he looked her way and gave her a slight bow, then came closer.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

      ‘I am better today,’ she said simply. ‘Perhaps this means I will not have to seek Portuguese citizenship and remain on the Iberian Peninsula for ever.’

      He laughed and looked around for something to sit on, which gratified her further. He didn’t seem to mind her company. He found a keg and pulled that beside her chair.

      He looked at her a moment before he spoke, perhaps wondering if he should. He cleared his throat. ‘I suppose you will think me a case-hardened meddler, Brandon, but I have to know—how on earth did you receive permission to travel into a war zone?’

      She was surprised that he was curious about her. She leaned towards him. ‘Haven’t you heard? I am to be a spy.’

      ‘I had no idea, Brandon. I will tell only my dozen closest friends.’

      It was her turn to smile and brush aside the crackbrained notion that the Colonel was flirting with her. Now it was his turn for disappointment, because she couldn’t think of a witty reply. Better have with the truth.

      ‘I don’t know how I got permission, Colonel,’ she told him. ‘I wrote to my sister, Laura Brittle, whose husband, Philemon, is chief surgeon at a satellite hospital in Oporto.’

      ‘I have heard of him. Who hasn’t? That little hospital in Oporto has saved many a seaman and Marine in just the brief time it has been in operation.’

      She blushed, this time with pleasure that he should speak so well of her brother-in-law. ‘I wrote to Laura and told her I wanted to be of use.’

      ‘I’ve also heard good things about Mrs Brittle.’

      ‘She’s incredible.’

      ‘Aye. And your other sister?’

      ‘Nana loves her husband and sends him back to sea without a tear … at least until he is out of sight,’ she said frankly. There wasn’t any point in being too coy around a man who, in the short space of twenty-four hours, knew her more intimately than any man alive.

      He wasn’t embarrassed by her comment. ‘Then he is a lucky man.’

      ‘He knows it, too.’

      She realised their heads were close together like conspirators, so she drew back slightly. ‘Colonel Junot, I thought I could help out in the hospital. Laura said they have many men who would like to have someone write letters for them, or read to them. I could never do what she does, but I could help.’ She shook her head, realising how puny her possible contribution must sound. ‘It isn’t much, but …’

      ‘… a letter means the world to someone wanting to communicate with his loved ones, Brandon. Don’t sell yourself short,’ he said, finishing her thought and adding his comment. ‘Still, I don’t understand how a surgeon and his wife could pull such strings. Are you all, by chance, related to King George himself?’

      ‘Oh, no! I have a theory,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you think. I’ll have to show you the letter from the Navy Board, addressed to Brandon Polly, which I received whilst I was visiting Nana. Do you think … Is it possible that Laura or Philemon transposed my name on purpose? Polly Brandon would never do, but Brandon Polly would cause not a stir.’

      He thought a minute. ‘What is more likely is at one point in the correspondence there may have been a comma between the two names. Orders or requests are often issued that way.’

      He looked at her, and seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘There now. You’ve answered my question, which surely must entitle you to one of your own. Go ahead and ask what everyone wants to know. How does someone who sounds like a Scot look like a Frenchman, and with a Froggy name, too?’

      ‘I am curious,’ she admitted.

      ‘Simple. A long-ago Philippe Junot—he had a title, so I’m told—came to Scotland from France as part of the entourage of Mary of Scotland. No one precisely knows how it happened, but he managed to avoid the turmoil surrounding her and blended into the foggy, damp woodwork of Scotland near Dundrennan. He lost his title, but acquired considerable land near Kirkcudbright.’

      ‘My goodness.’

      ‘My goodness, indeed. The Junots are a prolific breed, and each generation traditionally rejoices in a Philippe. My father is still well and hearty, but some day I will head the family.’

      ‘You chose to serve King and country?’ Polly asked, fascinated.

      ‘I did. Granted, Kirkcudbright is a pretty fishing village, but it is slow and I liked the uniform.’ He held up his hand. ‘Don’t laugh, Brandon. People have been known to join for stranger reasons.’

      ‘I cannot believe you!’ she protested.

      ‘Then don’t,’ he replied serenely. ‘I love the sea, but I require land now and then, and an enemy to grapple with up close. That’s my life.’

      ‘What … what does your wife say to all this?’ she asked. That is hardly subtle, she berated herself. He will think I am an idiot or a flirt, when I am neither.

      ‘I wouldn’t know, since I don’t have one of those luxuries. I ask you, Brandon—why would a sensible woman—someone like yourself—marry a Marine?’

      He had neatly lofted the ball of confusion back in her court. ‘I can’t imagine, either,’ she said without thinking, which made him laugh, then calmly bid her good day.

      I’ve offended him, Polly thought with remorse. She watched him go, then reasonably asked herself why his good opinion mattered.

      Captain Adney’s steward kindly brought her bread and cheese for lunch. She went below later, and found that her trunk and other baggage had been returned to her cabin. The sentry had moved from the Lieutenant Colonel’s door to her own, as though nothing had happened.

      When she went topside again, the Captain told her the afternoon would be spent in gunnery practice, and that she might be more comfortable belowdeck in her own cabin, one of the few not dismantled, so the guns could be fired. ‘It is your choice, but mind you, it’s noisy up here,’ he warned, then shrugged. ‘Or down there, for that matter.’

      She chose to remain on deck. The chair had been moved closer to the wheel—’Out of any stray missile range,’ the captain told her.

      He didn’t exaggerate; the first blast nearly lifted her out of the chair. She covered her ears with her hands, wishing herself anywhere but at sea, until her own curiosity—Miss

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