The Count’s Castaway

by Wynne, Aubrey

  The material was thin and molded to her shapely limbs, showing him the curves he’d only seen in his dreams. Stunning was the first word that came to his mind. Delicious was the second, making his other body parts come alive.

  Sacre Dieu! “Where did you get that?” His voice came out harsh, and he cringed when disappointment clouded her cerulean eyes. “I mean, I’ve only seen you in… well, I didn’t know you had anything else to wear.”

  “Rory stashed a bag away for me before I came aboard.” She fingered the cotton skirt, avoiding his gaze. “Ma made it for me when I turned sixteen for special occasions. She said I’d need something pretty when I was free and boys came to court me.”

  An unexpected twinge of jealousy poked at his chest. “It’s very pretty.” He stood rigid, knowing if he got any closer, he’d have to kiss her. Pull her closer and show her how beautiful she was.

  “Do you think it will be acceptable for an introduction to my grandparents?”

  He heard the uncertainty in her voice and wanted to ease her worries. “I see a lovely young woman who I would be proud to escort anywhere.”

  She beamed at him and gave him a slight curtsey. “Thank you , sir.”

  He bowed. “My pleasure, Miss Wilken. May I request the first dance of the evening?”

  Katie looked up, brows knitted, a finger on her mouth as if in deep thought. “I suppose I could add one more beau to my list.”

  “Is it an extensive inventory?” Zander was warming up to the game. “Shall I bring my weapon of choice, in case I’m challenged to a duel over your honor?”

  “Let’s see.” She held out a finger. “There’s Mr. Rorick Craigg.”

  “A fine, strapping young man, to be sure.” He nodded for her to continue.

  “Mr. Seamus MacLeod.” She held up a second finger.

  “A crusty old geezer. I consider him no competition at all.”

  “And Mr… Patch,” she concluded with a giggle.

  “Now, there’s the man that worries me. I’ve heard rumors he lost his eye battling a sea dragon.” He grinned. “But I believe I could take him in a duel. Two eyes are always better than one for good aim.”

  A knock at the door produced two of the said men. Seamus and Rory stood in the entrance, both scrubbed clean, wet hair slicked back, and enormous smiles covering their faces. The Scot wore a kilt in his clan colors of gold, black, and red crisscrossed together. His stockings were pulled up just under his knees, over fashionable black shoes with a buckle.

  “Oh, my. You both look so handsome.” Katie clasped her hands under her chin. “Come in!”

  “Miss Katie, may I say ye look heaven sent. If I die, I can only hope loveliness such as yers greets me at the pearly gates.” Seamus bowed low.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Patch will be here shortly.” Rory set the large tray on the table and took off the cloth. Steam rose from a large bowl of minced beef, vegetables, and a thick aromatic broth. “He said this was in honor of the quartermaster’s homeland. Scotch collops.”

  Seamus licked his lips. “And tatties on the side. Enough whisky and I’ll be dreaming of a bonny lass, lying in the soft heather—”

  “Well, I hope you brought your own,” interrupted Zander, his own stomach growling at the sight of sliced meat and mashed potatoes. “I only have wine and brandy on hand.”

  “As the MacLeods always say, never attend a ceilidh emptyhanded.” The Scot held up a flask. “Ready when ye are, Captain.”

  Patch arrived, carrying another platter also covered with a cloth and a fiddle under his arm. The old seaman had also washed for the event and put on clean clothes. “Pudding,” he grunted, an appreciative eye roaming over the transformed girl. “for later.” He set the dessert on the table next to the collops. Seamus reached out to lift off the cover and Patch slapped his hand.

  “I thought this celebration was for me?”

  “You were the excuse.” Patch nodded at Katie. “But I did the cooking for her.”

  The Scot held up his flask. “A tit for a tat?”

  And with that, the party began. After a delicious meal, a pitcher of ale, sips of whisky, and a bottle of wine, the stories began. Zander watched the expressions flash across Katie’s face as the two older men shared their adventures, some hilarious, some ferocious, but all ending well. He sat back and enjoyed the conversation and the view.

  “A song. Time for a song!” called Seamus. “Ye canna have a ceilidh without a ballad and a reel.”

  “Shall we start with the reel?” asked Patch, taking a nip of whisky before he reached for his fiddle.

  Zander stood and bowed before Katie. “I believe I was promised the first dance?”

  She giggled and extended her hand. Seamus jumped up, toppling his chair behind him. “I’m the guest of honor. I should have the first dance. She needs a lesson, at the very least.”

  Zander opened his mouth to argue, but the quartermaster had already pulled Katie away from the table. He mumbled some instructions before Patch set his bow to the strings. The barrel-chested Scot twirled and promenaded and twirled her again. Then all four of them joined in. Zander placed himself as Katie’s partner. Seamus and Rory joined arms when they spun around, but Zander’s hand went around Katie’s waist. Her breath caught and her eyes closed for a moment.

  He pulled her closer. “I’ll try not to step on your toes.”

  The reel was quick and lively, the foursome weaving in and out, arms joined at the elbows. Each time Katie returned to him, Zander snaked his arm around her. She fit next to him perfectly, seemed to be made for him, and he was disappointed when the music ended.

  The next tune had Seamus the center of attention, hands on his hips, toes pointed, and shoes tapping the floor planks. His kilt flared up and fell as he bounced and jumped, mesmerizing Katie. The spectators clapped along, Rory hooting as the older man’s feet moved with speed to keep up with the accelerated beat.

  The next reel had them all in a circle—except for Patch—grasping hands, arms raised, stepping into the center and back, then linking arms as they wound around the small circle.

  They returned to the table, collapsed and panting in their chairs. “Thank you, gentlemen,” gasped Katie, “for the most wonderful night.”

  “I second that,” cried Seamus, lifting the flask to his mouth.

  “I second that… again!” Rory reached across the table and took the whisky from the Scot. He tipped back his head and took a swig. “And third it too,” he slurred, taking another drink.

  “Easy there, lad. It’s the good stuff.” Seamus retrieved his flask, now in Patch’s grasp.

  “Time for the pudding,” announced the cook. “I used the last of my rum for this, I’ll have you know.”

  Seamus’s mouth turned down. “Patch, ye should no’ have done it.”

  “Aye, it was the right thing to do. You’ve saved my arse enough times.” He unwrapped the pale, round pudding spotted with currants and sliced into it.

  “I meant, ye should no’ have wasted good liquor in a pudding.” He laughed and slapped Patch on the shoulder.

  Katie spooned the dense pudding into her mouth and closed her eyes. “This is delicious. You really are wasted on this ship,” she told Patch. “If I was a member of the ton, I’d steal you away from the captain.”

  “Bite your tongue!” Zander said with a laugh.

  When they finished, Katie gathered all the dishes on to one tray. She tried unsuccessfully to cover a yawn. “My apologies,” she said over a second. “Too much good food and stimulating company.”

  “The dawn will be here in a blink,” agreed Seamus.

  “Wait, we have a song for our quartermaster.” Rory caught Patch’s eye, and the cook nodded, picking up his fiddle again.

  “This was one of Ma’s favorites, so I think ye’ll enjoy it. Could ye help me with the chorus, sister?”

  “Och, a woman singing to me on my birthday.” Seamus sighed drunkenly. “I wager our Katie has a fine
voice.”

  Zander’s heart constricted. Our Katie, he’d said. The bow glided across the strings and Rory’s deep tenor began. He saw Katie’s lids close, a smile on her face, as she recognized the song.

  Gin a body, meet a body

  Comin’ thro’ the rye

  Gin a body, kiss a body

  Need a body cry?

  Katie’s chest rose as she took a breath and joined Rory, her voice husky and warm.

  Ilka lassie has her laddie

  Nane, they say, hae I

  Yet a’ the lads they smile at me

  When comin’ thro’ the rye.

  At the end of the song, her eyes glistened. She and Rory shared a smile. “I thank you for that song too,” she told the younger seaman. “I miss Ma so.”

  Rory gave her a nod and cleared his throat. “Aye.”

  Zander rose, adamant to end the evening on a happy note. “As Seamus said, morning will greet us too soon.”

  The men rose and walked to the door, thanking each other and their captain. Katie hugged Rory, who pulled her close. She pushed a lock of red hair from his forehead. “Thank you.”

  Zander pushed back the tightness in his belly. The two had a bond that he envied. Rorick had understood her murmured “thank you” without need for more words. What would that kind of closeness be like with a woman? A shared look, a silent message across a room, private jokes between the two of them.

  Merde! He’d had too much drink if this sentimental nonsense was crowding his brain.

  Then Katie turned and kissed first Seamus, then Patch on the cheek. “I’m so lucky to have been included in your mariner family this evening. I know it’s your day, Mr. MacLeod, but I’ve had the most enjoyable evening I can remember.”

  Both men dropped their heads, avoiding eye contact, and mumbled something in response. When the door closed, Zander took charge. “You look exhausted. It’s time for rest.”

  “It was the wine. I swear it goes straight to my eyelids.” She yawned again, her mouth wide, head tipped back. The picture of improper ladylike behavior.

  He chuckled. “Off to bed with you, and… thank you. Those two men may be part of my crew, but they’re also like kin. I trust them both with my life. You gave us memories for the next long voyage.”

  With those words, his joy fled. Did he want Miss Katie Wilken to be just a memory? Would it be enough?

  “The captain said to bring this to ye,” Seamus announced, holding out a flaxen material. “There’s a tear in the aft sail, and he thought ye might be able to fix it?”

  Katie jumped from the chair and closed the book. “I’d be happy to.” She took the material, glad for a respite from the text. Zander had commended her progress, but she still struggled with unknown words.

  “I wanted to thank ye for last night, Miss Katie,” Seamus added, a lopsided smile on his weathered face. “We enjoy music at sea, but it’s been a long spell since I’ve had a lovely female grace us with a song. Ye have a braw voice, miss.”

  “Why thank you, Seamus. I admit, your dancing was inspiring.”

  “I still say if we’d been heard, the crew would have believed ye to be a siren.” The quartermaster’s brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “We’re a superstitious lot, here at sea.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t see myself as a siren.” Or Zander would be falling at my feet, she thought.

  “Weel, I’ll be off, miss. When ye finish with the sail, give it to Rorick.” He turned to leave.

  “Seamus, could I ask you a question?” It was the first time she’d been alone with the Scot, and she needed information she couldn’t ask Zander.

  “Is it about the captain?” he asked, hesitation in his voice. “He’s a private mon. I’ll no’ break his confidence.”

  “I don’t want to know his deep, dark secrets, but I’m so confused. Perhaps you could help me understand him.” Since their second kiss, the captain had been a perfect gentleman. Where had the rogue gone that had swept her into his arms on the wharf? The man who’d made her knees weak on the deck? Last night had stirred those feelings of need again. She longed for his touch but had no idea how to proceed.

  Katie sat down and waved a hand at the other chair. Seamus joined her, turning his cap over and over in his hands.

  “I understand the captain is not married, but does he have… Is there another woman he’s given his heart to?” There, it was out. A question she’d been terrified to ask. “I thought we were, that he found me…” She blew out a long, loud breath. “Did he tell you how we first met?”

  Seamus nodded. “Aye, on the wharf before we set sail.”

  “Did he mention what he did?” Katie knew she made the Scot uncomfortable, but she had to know if her affections were returned. The captain could be warm and confiding, and the next moment, he was cool and polite. She was terrified to ask Zander and be rejected. Especially when they still had days before they reached London.

  Seamus nodded, then laid his cap on the table. “Miss Katie,” he began, “the captain is a complicated man. He doesna have a living female in his life, except for his stepmother and half-sister.”

  “Did he lose someone?” Her hand flew to her chest. Oh, no. Was his heart closed to ever loving again?

  “No, miss. It’s the sea. She’s his true love. That’s what makes him who he is.” Seamus rubbed his beard as he struggled for words. “If ye tried to put that mon on land, take him from his seafaring life, he’d wither away. Or become the most cantankerous wretch that no one would want to be around.”

  Katie swallowed down the disappointment. “He would forfeit marriage and a family for a mariner’s life.”

  “I’m afraid so, Miss Katie.” Seamus patted her hand. “If anyone could make him happy as a land lubber, ye would be the one. But I fear his lot has been cast.”

  Blinking back the sting of tears, she rose, her forehead pressed against one of the diamond glass panes. She looked out and thought again how beautiful the ocean was, how it made her spirit soar when she’d first boarded. “He cares for me. I feel it in my soul.”

  “Aye, more than ye know. That’s why he keeps his distance. In that way,” he added.

  Katie thought of the strain on Zander’s face at times, when their hands brushed or their knees touched. Did their close proximity cause the stress? The thought pained her.

  “Ye’ve changed him, ye ken. Zander has always been unsettled except for here.” The Scot held out a hand, indicating the cabin. “He’s never been one to show emotion, yet he’s a cheerful mon when he’s with ye.”

  “I want to make him happy. His affections—”

  “But he canna ask a woman to spend her life on a ship, and he canna live any differently. He’s seen too many unhappy wives left behind, always wondering if their husbands will return to them. Too many surly seamen pining for their families but unwilling to give up the sea.”

  “It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m afraid…” Her throat was thick; her chest felt so heavy.

  “Ye’re in love with him, then?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Weel, I’m sorry for ye both. Ye’re between the devil and the deep blue sea.” Seamus moved behind her and squeezed her shoulder. “I dinna ken a compromise.”

  Zander was tired and looking forward to a pleasant evening with Katie. He paused, his fingers on the handle, the door barely cracked. Seamus’s brogue assaulted his ears. “Ye’re in love with him, then?”

  Sacre Dieu! He slowly backed away and closed the door. Why was that belligerent Scot asking her such a question? Worse, had Katie remained silent, nodded, or shaken her head? He didn’t want to know. It made no difference.

  She needed to find her English grandparents, and he needed to move on. Regardless of his feelings for her. Zander ran an agitated hand through his hair and over his face. She was under his skin. When they weren’t together, her face hovered just at the edge of his mind. At night, she invaded his dreams. Oh, the dreams of her creamy mounds, the s
oft rounded belly, and buttocks. If her body was half as delicious as he imagined… And the dress she’d worn last night had only fed his imagination, tormenting him until dawn.

  He found himself counting the hours before supper each night. They discussed his day, what she had practiced, and chose a passage to read or debated a random subject over a glass of French wine. She had a quick wit, and her intelligence shone as the tutoring continued.

  He’d been given the temporary gift of her company and dreaded the long hours of isolation he’d face when she was gone. To know another person waited for him—cared about what was on his mind—had lifted the aching hollowness in his soul. Zander knew her facial expressions, had memorized the curve of her face, the arch of her slender neck, the way her toe tapped as she concentrated.

  When she doubted something, one lid narrowed over a sapphire orb, and the opposite eyebrow arched. When she was uncertain, she would chew that luscious bottom lip or bestow him with a radiant smile when she was happy or pleased. Her honeyed voice flowed through him as she hummed some lullaby from long ago. Her touch sent heat roaring through his veins. Miss Katherine Wilken had a siren in her ancestry.

  He stopped before the long gun and leaned his palms against the cold metal. He called over his shoulder to the second mate.

  “The wind is picking up. Trim the yards.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  It had been so easy to fall in love with her. Her tears had shattered his impassive visage. Tears he caused when he pushed her away after their last kiss. Pacing the main deck, he glowered at the dark waters and gray clouds collecting above them.

  “Captain,” Seamus spoke behind him, “I’ve ordered the men to batten down the hatches.”

  Zander turned a fierce glare on his quartermaster. “Did you have a nice visit?”

  “With?” Seamus glared back at him.

  “You know exactly who I’m talking about. I saw you in my cabin.” Zander slammed his fist on the gleaming metal of the gun. “You know why this won’t work.”

  “Because ye’re a wee dense in the head?” The Scot stepped next to him, speaking louder over the increasing breeze. “Or because she’s too good for ye?”