Muir, take longboat and cutter and take possession, if you please!”Behind them, Thisbe had collected the other brigantine whilst Caroline’s boats were already closing in on the abandoned cutter. The shore battery was silent now, probably destroyed by the two frigates. Thomas found himself smiling. The well coordinated attack had been successful. Now, if those ships were not sailing in ballast, the four frigates would share in at least ten thousand pounds of prize money, easily £600 for each captain or almost two years’ pay.Muir was back half an hour later to report.“She’s the Belle Madeleine out of Antibes, Sir. Three hundred tons and carrying a cargo of wines. Fifty casks of fifty gallons each. Another twenty casks of brandy wine from Jerez. Looted from the Spanish owners it would seem.”Thomas nodded. His idea had been correct. The French were sending back loot in their transports.“Crew of fifteen, Sir, armed with six four-pounders. Her captain was wounded by our broadside. I was. It was a living being, feeding on his soul. She could do nothing about that. Ryan McGuire’s inner demons were his own to deal with. She sought deeper and found the damaged flesh and nerve endings in his hand. She could feel the burning, itching flesh beneath the glove—the heat almost soothing in comparison to the cold fear. She felt the stone in her pocket search through her for the fire in his hand and let it go. The pain of the injured hand fled as well. She opened her eyes to find Ryan staring up at her.“What did you do?” he croaked.“Ryan,” she said and caressed his head as he laid it against her thigh. “Take off your glove.”“My glove?” He obediently pulled the black leather glove from his hand. The dried, burned flesh fell away and beneath it was a wholly healed hand. He flexed it as he looked in awe. “You and I could ... As you say, never mind that. Still...” He picked up the Athamé, slid it into his belt sheath, and stood.“As you said, the magic is all in your head.”“I have.
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