February 1855
"You are not quite yourself tonight," Jack said. "You"re jumpy. What is in your mind?"
Helen"s smile was not convincing. "I was not thinking anything really."
Jack pulled up her cloak until it covered her neck. Her hair was soft against the back of his hand. "Try to keep warm, Helen. Let"s keep moving." He slipped an arm into hers and walked along the beach. Six weeks after the abortive ambush, his leg was nearly back to normal, and he had found a soldier who had once been a cobbler, so his damaged boot was functional as well. Most officers would have bought a new pair at once, but his funds did not run to such luxuries.
"This is where we first met," Helen looked around her. "You were naked."
"I remember," Jack felt a flush of embarrassment. These old days, only a few mo
