If they made it to Cotentin without incident and reconnoitered with Dryden, they could be in England late that night. If something went wrong, well, they could try to make it to one of the Channel Islands, those insecure bits of English soil only a few miles across the water. Devlyn pulled on the shoemaker's heavy cloak and walked out into the silence of dawn, when most of God's creatures slept dreamlessly. The early air was chill, with mist rising eerily from the forest. The gulf was hidden from view, for the cottage was set back from the road and out of sight of any neighbors. But Devlyn still took care as he surveyed the small holding. From a scrubby orchard spread out from the stable area, he gathered up a couple of pockets full of late apples for breakfast. They would have to do, for even were he willing to chance an encounter with a local grocer, he had only English currency. Guineas were acceptable to coastal merchants, who despite the war carried on a clandestine trade across the channel, but Devlyn had no desire to call attention to their foreign status.
