It was three o'clock in the morning, and although he hated to give in to sleep, he knew he would need a nap in order to be alert when dawn broke. If the winds remained favorable, La Mouette would reach Galway by midday. He paused in the doorway of Raveneau's cabin, rubbing his unshaven jaw. Silvery moonlight splashed through the transom, dappling Andre's slumbering form and that of his daughter, who sprawled in the chair beside his bunk. Lindsay's legs, clad in baggy breeches, were apart, her stockinged feet pointing upward. Her fingers were curled around the tails of her voluminous untucked shirt, while her head dropped toward one shoulder, curls tumbling over her cheek. Ryan approached silently and paused, noting the shadowed sweep of Lindsay's lashes and the soft sound of her breathing through parted lips. He bent and tenderly gathered her into his arms. She curled against his chest, murmuring, as Ryan carried her into his cabin and laid her on the bunk. In the darkness, he drew off her clothing, then his own, and pulled the covers up over them both.
