If Ethan had been the captain, he’d have hightailed it even before the procession had reached the wharf. Any man wearing hose, crisscross leggings, and smelling of perfume should be avoided. The crew had already found Ursula distracting and now this?
“No, sir, you cannot deny Princess Margret,” the man told Quinn, finishing with a false smile. “You cannot deny royalty, or you shall lose your ship and”—he snickered and put his hand to the side of his mouth—“your head.”
Quinn took a measured step backward, then with a quick bow, he said, “Your mother is welcome to my cabin. ’Tis the best I can offer.”
The snooty man smiled his wooden smile again, apparently pleased with Quinn’s change of heart.
This shift in accommodations would put Ursula out of the captain’s quarters. He sighed with satisfaction. Now he might have a better chance of convincing her to sleep with him.
With that goal in mind, Ethan ascended the gangplank and made his way to the cabin. When he reached the door, he was surprised to find it ajar.
Ethan’s heart beat frantically as he withdrew his sword from its scabbard. Could one of the crew have compromised Ursula? He swore as he rushed into the room with his weapon at the ready.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room, but he heard Ursula’s harsh words before he saw her.
“Ethan, put down your sword. ’Tis nae what you think.”
What he thought and what he finally saw were one and the same. Alasdair was alone with Ursula, and the Highlander had drawn his sword as well.
“Why should I lay down my defense, unless you have something to be ashamed of?” Ethan shouted. How dare this Highland brute assert himself in such an intimate way?
“Do nae be a dimwit. Alasdair has offered to help us,” Ursula shouted.
“Help himself to my wife,” Ethan shot back.
“You are nae my husband, so stop pretending.”
“Is that what you told Alasdair?”
“I told him the truth.”
“That you are a witch and you trick men into falling in love with you?” Would his lust ever turn to love? Right now he was willing to protect what he believed was his.
She laughed. “I told him I’m a witch.”
Ethan finally turned his attention to Alasdair, who shot him a sympathetic look.
Ethan’s concern turned to ire. Still suspect of the wounded warrior, he continued to probe. “That still does nae explain why he’s here with you in the captain’s private cabin.”
“It was an accident,” Alasdair said. Then he took a few steps toward Ethan. “Put away your sword. There is no need to defend her.”
“I do nae need protecting,” Ursula said defiantly.
“She denies our bound, but in my heart she is mine,” Ethan pledged as he advanced quickly toward the Highlander. “That I will defend.” He lurched forward to strike.
The Scot stepped back, and Ethan found himself stumbling and slicing at air instead.
“Do nae do that again,” Alasdair said flatly.
That was all Ethan needed to spur him to try again. But he didn’t expect Alasdair to meet his blade.
The two wrestled with their swords. Higher and higher the blades rose until by sheer force they split apart and both men jumped back.
“Stop at once. Drop your weapons,” commanded a voice Ethan did not recognize.
He glared at Alasdair who had the advantage of knowing who was behind him, while Ethan’s back was to the door.
Alasdair inched forward with his sword pointed toward the ceiling and his other hand raised to match. Then he put his weapon on the navigation table.
“Be gone. You are in my quarters,” a gravelly female voice said. Ethan lowered his sword and turned around.
He gasped when he spied Princess Margret standing in the doorway, bejeweled from head to toe. Ethan gave her a curt nod and sheathed his sword.
When he strode toward the door, he called over his shoulder, “Ursula.”
Once on the deck, Ethan walked to the railing and waited. When Ursula did not appear after a few moments, he returned to the captain’s cabin, wondering why he was the only one who’d followed orders.
When he reached the cabin, he found the door shut and a hulky knight guarding it.
“Where did the man and woman go after they left the captain’s quarters?” Ethan asked the knight.
The soldier gave Ethan a blank stare and responded, “What man and woman?”
“She is beautiful, with long hair as black as night and eyes to match. He is ugly, oversized, and walks with a limp.”
The guard shook his head. “The door was closed when I arrived, and it has stayed that way. ’Tis her majesty’s wish.”
Where would they have gone? Were they still inside? Could Ursula have done something to upset the royal guest? He considered the possibilities as he walked to the wardroom. No one else was there.
He took a stool at one of the barrel tables, picked up an empty tankard, and banged it on the wooden surface.
A young lad careened around the corner from the kitchen and slid to the table where Ethan sat. The boy yanked up breeches too big for his bum.
“Hello, mate, what you havin’?”
Ethan set the heavy pewter tankard down on the table. “Fill her up with the strongest brew. One that will bend nails.”
The lad eyed him up and down, as if measuring his pluck.
Ethan growled, and the lad jumped.
“Aye, aye, sir,” the lad squeaked, turning on his heel and scurrying back to the kitchen with Ethan’s tankard in hand.
Scratching his head, Ethan began to piece together the scene he’d left in the captain’s quarters. Even though he’d found Ursula and Alasdair together, he could only imagine he’d interrupted a tryst before they’d begun.
The lad soon returned with the strong brew.
“What is it, lad?” Ethan asked, peering into the top of the tankard.
Captain’s favorite. He put his finger to his lips and let out a “shhh” sound. “This will be our secret,” the lad promised, hiking up his drooping drawers again.
Ethan eyed the mug suspiciously, but then took a deep swig.
The boy stood patiently by the table and waited for a reaction. Ethan gagged first, then spit the liquid onto the floor.
“Is this horse’s piss?” Ethan cried as he wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Are you trying to kill me?”
The boy looked sheepish and shook his head. “Like I said, ’tis the captain’s favorite.”
Drinking seawater would have been better than the captain’s favorite,” Ethan said. “Perhaps that’s what Quinn drank before this concoction.”
The lad lingered, and Ethan asked him to take a seat. When the boy hesitated, Ethan promised, “I won’t bite.”
Hiking up his drooping drawers, the boy inched a butt cheek onto the stool across from Ethan.
“So what of Moaning Molly?”
The boy’s mood lightened. “You have met her?”
“She is hard to miss when she hangs over your bed and moans like a cow in heat,” Ethan said.
The lad chuckled.
“What’s your name?”
“Corky,” the boy said, perking up and looking less like he wanted to run from the wardroom and never look back.
“Corky, what’s Molly’s story? You must know it.”
The boy looked at him a bit sheepishly. “We young lads call her Meddling Molly. She cannae leave well enough alone.”
Ethan laughed. “Does she spank you?”
Corky’s eyes went wide. “Nay, she is always rearranging things in the kitchen. Or hiding things from us,” the boy said as he scrunched up his face. “She’s a menace. I wish she would leave
us, but the captain said they are married and she brings us good luck.”
Ethan laughed heartily. “She’s the captain’s wife? Did she die at sea?”
“Nay, she came with the ship,” the boy said.
That was possible. Castles came with ghosts. His castle in Somerset had a family of them. But Moaning Molly was loud and obnoxious.
“I know what you are thinking,” the boy said, “but the captain won’t have of it. Molly saved his life.”
“How so? She has no arms.”
“Do nae underestimate her. She does nae need arms,” Corky said, then leaned in as if to share a secret. “She has ears.”
Ethan laughed again. “Go on.”
“Well, like I said, she has ears,” Corky said. “And a few years back she heard the captain’s crew planning a mutiny.”
Ethan raised a skeptical brow, but the boy forged on. “Aye, she heard six or more of his men plotting to throw him overboard, and she told him about it.”
“You mean she doesn’t just moan, she can speak?” Ethan asked.
The boy raised a brow. “Ghosts can do almost everything we do but eat and sleep.”
“And take a crap.”
Corky gave Ethan a screwy look before he went on. “No matter. Molly warned the captain that night,” Corky said. “Told him what they were plotting. So Captain hid in the storage closet outside his cabin until the renegades burst through his door. He told me he’d created a decoy of himself made of meal sacks he’d hidden under his blankets. When the renegades thought they were running their swords through his hide, they were only putting holes in the burlap.
“Then, while the men were stabbing the meal sacks, the captain locked the cabin door, trapping them inside. Once the Merry Maiden reached port the next morn, he invited the sheriff and his men to haul the traitors away.”
Ethan clapped after the entertaining tale. “Thank you, Corky. I have a higher regard now for Moaning Molly.”
“You shall think she’s a saint if she tells you where the Skye Isle Viking treasure is buried.”
The lad hopped off the stool and scooted out of the wardroom.
Treasure? Ethan liked the sound of that. Perhaps the next time Molly came a calling, he’d need to spend a little more time with the captain’s wife.
Chapter 15
One moment Ursula was in the midst of a sword fight, and the next, she was pouring tea for Princess Margret.
She was unprepared to be a royal roommate, her current status. Ursula had not expected Princess Margret to treat her like a servant once the captain left the room with the other men, but that was the current state of affairs.
“Girl, are you listening, girl?”
Ursula’s head snapped up from her ruminations. She’d been called a lot of things in her adult life, but girl was not one of them.
“Mi lady,” she said respectfully and with a short curtsy.
“I asked you if you had any healing skills,” the princess said, looking very perturbed at Ursula’s lack of attention.
“Aye, mi lady, royal healing skills. Berwick upon Tweed for Lord Hailes and his family.” She bowed her head slightly. “May I be of service?”
“I’m in need of a love potion.”
The grand dame said it with such seriousness, Ursula had to choke on her own amusement. “A love potion, mi lady?”
Ursula’s expression must have given away her surprise, for the princess frowned immediately and shook her finger at her. “Not for myself. ’Tis for my son.”
Ursula bristled under her calm demeanor. As much as she was called to healing, she was opposed to charms for love. Even though Ethan’s potion was altering, it wasn’t designed for him to fall in love with her.
The princess tsked before she went on. “I can already tell you do not approve, but let me explain why I need it.”
Ursula nodded. Being on the wrong side of a royal had brought many a witch to hanging, so Ursula agreed to hear her out.
“The potion is for my son,” the princess said, wringing her hands. “My son loves . . . he does not love women.”
Ursula’s right eyebrow twitched. Men who practiced sodomy were burned like witches. An injustice. Her heart softened. Perhaps she could make an exception.
“Tell me more,” Ursula encouraged her.
“He has always been artistic. Plays the harpsicord like an angel. Sid can even embroider. I never wanted to discourage him. But when I caught him with one of the stable boys in his bed, well . . .” She fanned herself with her lace-gloved hand. “Like any mother, I want to help him.”
As she patted the princess’s hand, she struggled with the potential consequences of her response.
As a royal heir, Sid’s actions would always be scrutinized. Rarely did the scandalous movements of a royal escape the gossips. If Sid were accused by a prominent citizen, he could face the court and be tried.
Ursula squeezed the princess’s hand, “I would like to help him, too. There are binding potions, and I think that is best. They are designed to bring two people together in agreement. Like a business contract. You do nae want a love potion.”
The princess appeared skeptical as she turned up her chin and stared down her nostrils at Ursula. “If Sid is not in love with a woman, how will that keep him from humping a man?”
Ursula swallowed her snicker. “Love and commitment can coexist but are nae the same. Love can fade. ’Tis nae long-lasting. Commitment, on the other hand, is about duty. That’s much of what being noble is about.”
“What do you know about being noble?” the princess snapped.
As much as Ursula wanted to hold her tongue, she did not. Perhaps she had been around Rosalyn too much. “Being noble and being royal are nae the same.”
The princess twittered and relaxed. “Right you are.”
The royal woman’s answer surprised Ursula. Instead of defending herself, she could put her energy into the reasoning behind her recommendation.
“By giving Sid a binding potion it will allow him to find acceptance in the required ritual.” Ursula shrugged. “You know yourself most marriages are arranged for land acquisition, monetary gain, or advancing one’s status.”
“True.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to him about it. I had a brother like Sid, but he wasnae so lucky to have someone like you to protect him.”
The princess’s lower lip trembled a little. “Was he taken to court?”
“Burned, along with my mother who was found guilty of witchcraft.”
The princess shuddered. “Will the binding potion last?”
“Does love last?”
The royal heiress soured. “How long will it last then?”
Ursula tossed both hands up. “No two people are the same. But if Sid understands the purpose of the potion, that it will get him past his squeamishness, then the herbs will have served their purpose no matter how long they last.”
When the princess appeared defeated, Ursula amended, “But be assured, maintaining a binding relationship with someone is much easier than sustaining a loving infatuation through a love potion. You don’t want to drug your son indefinitely. That would be cruel.” In saying that, Ursula was reminded she needed to extend the same consideration to Ethan. As soon as they returned to Fyvie, she’d need to restore him to his natural, unnatural state.
The princess cast her gaze to the floor. “No, I love my son, and I want him to be himself. We need this marriage only for appearances.”
Ursula was happy she’d steered the princess away from the love potion. A binding spell was more appropriate but used many of the same ingredients, just in lighter doses.
“Neither is absolute nor foolproof. Any spell has its risks. With binding spells, there are fewer consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“Let’s say challenges,” Ursula amended, “in getting everything to align correctly.”
The princess had a strange look on her face before she asked, “Are you married?”
It only took a moment for Ursula to figure out where her question was leading. “Aye,” she lied, but was certain Ethan would corroborate. “I am newly married, and my husband is one of the men you ordered out.”
The princess appeared crestfallen. “The Highlander, of course.” She gazed at Ursula whimsically. “You would have been the perfect match.” But then the princess perked up and asked, “Are there any available women aboard?”
Ursula was flattered by the consideration and decided not to correct the princess on her assumption that Alasdair was her husband. She answered the question instead.
“Nay, I was the only one until you and your handmaidens arrived,” Ursula said. “But Inverness is one of the larger ports in Scotland. No doubt there will be a family willing to advance their standing by participating in a royal wedding.”
Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a slight jolt as if the ship had weighed anchor. Ursula glanced to the portside window to see if they were underway.
When the princess cleared her throat, Ursula turned back to give the royal her full attention again and said with assurance, “There are many a Highland lass who would love to be married into a wealthy family such as yours. Especially a girl with a humble dowry.”
The princess’s spirts seemed to drop, prompting Ursula to ask what she feared, “Must the bride be of royal blood?”
The royal hesitated for a moment before she answered. “It would be preferred, but Sid is three seats removed from the throne. And he must be married no later than tomorrow.” The princess paused and wrung her hands again. “Or he will be disowned by the royal family. With my son’s legacy at stake, when is more important than who.”
Ursula brightened with a plausible solution. “If his bride comes from a remote enough village in the Highlands, chances are no one will know if her father was titled or nae.”
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 10