The Last Broken Promise

by Grace Walton

  McLeod leaned one shoulder lazily against the doorjamb. He ordered Saul away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “Good morning, Sister St. John. You look as if the evening treated you badly. Not a good sailor are we?” he taunted wickedly.

  Jess’s eyes narrowed as she tossed her wild mane over her shoulders. “I,” she emphasized the word. “Had a fine night and I’m an excellent sailor. I can’t speak for you of course. But one would think that when a man takes to the sea, he ought to be at least a passable seaman.” Her words abruptly stopped as she stared up to face him.

  She’d thought him handsome before, but now, with his jet hair wet and roughly tousled from a bath, he was beyond description. No wonder Dorcas sounded like a love-struck girl. He was dressed in buckskin breeches, they molded his form like a second skin, and well-worn riding boots. Today, he had no coat. Jess could see the full depth and breadth of his heavily muscled chest and shoulders outlined in the simple loose white shirt he wore. She swallowed as her eyes followed the line of his strong throat where the knot of his neck-cloth should have been.

  “Speechless, Sister St. John?” One jet eyebrow rose. “I vow I shall write such a momentous occasion in the ship’s log. It may never chance to happen again.”

  A dull flush of red crawled up her face. The beast probably was well aware of his effect on women, on her. Drat, she’d have to be more careful in the future. Aloof, that’s what she’d be, cool and aloof. Just as soon as she could catch her runaway heart, she’d be cool and aloof. She cleared her throat in preparation to speak. That was good, she told herself. Her Uncle Josiah had always cleared his throat loudly before he said something particularly wise. Let the beast in the doorway think she was preparing some lively repartee. Something profound and deeply intelligent. She cleared her throat again, just for good measure.

  “Are you sickening, Sister St. John?” he mocked. “Sounds like a putrid throat to me. Our cook, has some excellent remedies for illness. Although I confess they tend to run along the line of strong purgatives.”

  Purgatives? Lord in Heaven, the shameless beast was talking to her about purgatives. Somehow, when she’d spoken of them to Father Thomas at the convent, the conversation had been less… indelicate.

  “I’m quite fine, thank you Captain McLeod,” she choked out. “I won’t be needing... uh, I mean... I don’t need... your cook’s help. Thank you though.” Didn’t the beast know there were some things, her own kindly advice to old Father Thomas notwithstanding, that men and women didn’t discuss? Purgatives and bodily functions were high on that list. So much for erudite conversation.

  Before Jess had a chance to gather her scattered thoughts and speak again, Dorcas stepped in to eliminate the possibility of any more embarrassment. Because she knew, quite frankly, anything her niece said at this juncture was bound to be embarrassing. So the older woman slapped his arm playfully.

  “All right now, away with you, lad. You’ve teased the lass enough for one morning, you scoundrel. Get away with you and let the child collect herself.”

  Finn bowed elegantly. “Could I trouble you for the tray, Madam?” He smiled down at Dorcas in an intimate way that shot straight into a woman’s heart.

  “Surely you can, me boyo.”

  Dorcas knew in that moment the rascal could get a woman, any woman, to slit her wrists for him, if he but asked. An uneasy qualm disturbed her. Maybe he wasn’t the one for Jess, after all. Maybe he was too dangerous. Maybe, just maybe, she’d give all her grand plans another thought or two. Jess needed a strong man, that was true. But not one who might hurt her. Passion was a mighty fine thing. And this man had it aplenty. But Dorcas wanted Jess to have more than just passion with a man. She wanted her niece to have love as well, a deep abiding love. One that didn’t change with time and could weather the storms life was sure to bring her way.

  So the old lady calmly moved to the table. She lifted the heavy silver tray, nudging Jess as she walked by her. “Close your mouth, child,” Dorcas whispered. “You look like a frog about to snatch a fly.” Jess obediently shut her mouth and flushed again.

  “Here’s your tray, Captain McLeod.” Dorcas handed it over.

  He chuckled. His eyes remained on the silent girl seated at the table. “It’s not mine. The tray belongs to the cook. That’s why he’s so anxious to have it back. He sent me personally to retrieve it for him.”

  “Your cook owns this fine silver tray?” Dorcas was puzzled.

  “Aye, he does.” He smiled down at her. And as old as she was, her stomach flipped in response. He took the heavy burden from her hands. “That’s why he’s so jealous of the plaguey thing. He wanted to impress you, ma’am. But it’s his one true treasure. And he wants it back.”

  “Well, you tell him I was mightily impressed.” She nodded the pirate out. She quietly shut the door behind him.

  “Jess love, we need to have a serious talk about that man. Serious indeed.” Dorcas settled down in a chair at the table with the quiet girl. “He’s like I’ve heard Lord Byron described, mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” Her eyes bore into the girl’s. “You need to stay as far away from him as you can on this crossing.”

  Jess interrupted her, “That’s what I’ve been telling you since yesterday morning when you found me in that horrible gaol. He’s a rake, I’m sure of it, Aunt.”

  “Oh aye, darlin’ girlie, the man is a rake. And the finest looking one I’ve ever seen. And that’s takin into account those rascal brothers of yours too. But he’s worse than a mere rake, Jess. Captain McLeod looks to be one who doesn’t just steal a woman’s virtue. I vow he steals hearts too. And that’s far, far more dangerous. Stay close to me on this passage. Or he might steal yours.”

  The girl snorted in a rather inelegant way and replied, “That beast won’t ever steal anything from me, Aunt. Not virtue, nor my heart, because those belong to God. I only used that threat of a betrothal as a way to ensure he’d take us to London.” She got up. She started rummaging through their trunk. Fishing out a brush, she sat on the side of the bed. Jess began the long, boring task of taming her hair.

  Dorcas didn’t say anything. She sat deep in her own private thoughts. She remembered how once she’d loved a rake, Jess’s father. She’d loved him and thought he’d loved her as well until he’d shown a marked preference for her younger sister. No one had ever known how deeply she’d pined David Warwick. She would have given him her body and her soul, if he’d but asked. But he hadn’t. After he’d seen her sister Mariah, Dorcas had ceased to exist for the man. She’d never told anyone of that wild, passionate attachment, not her dear sister Mariah, nor her own husband Josiah. Dear gentle Josiah, whom she’d come to love over the years. Aye, she’d learned to love him, but never with the same reckless kind of abandon she’d felt for David.

  The memories weren’t painful anymore. But they had made her wise. Wise enough to see that Jess looked at Maitland the same way she’d looked at David St. John. And there was a world of pain waiting in those glances, if she couldn’t guard her niece well.

  “Aunt?” Jess was calling her from the bed.

  “Yes, child?” Dorcas forced herself away from the bittersweet past and into the present.

  “Are you all right?” The girl came to stand beside the woman. She put a comforting hand on her aunt’s shoulder. “What were you thinking just now that made you look so sad?”

  Dorcas smiled. She reached up to pat the hand on her shoulder. “Nothing, darlin’ girlie, nothing of any consequence. I was just remembering a rake I once knew about a hundred years ago.”

  “Surely not a hundred?” Jess teased.

  “At least one hundred.” Dorcas winked. “And Lord, darlin’, he was almost as handsome as your McLeod.”

  Jess’s face suddenly turned somber. “He’s not my McLeod, Aunt.”

  Dorcas straightened her spine and agreed, “No love, you’ve got the right of it. He’s not yours. We’ll wish the man on some other unfortunate lass, won’t we now? Maybe one of thos
e Indian ladies Connor messes about with.” They both looked at each other and began to laugh.

  “I like that idea, very much,” Jess sputtered between giggles. “How about the one who followed Connor to our Richmond plantation last spring? The very large one? What was her name?” Jess’s giggles had become hoots. “I remember, I remember, Aunt. Her name was...” She had to wipe a tear from her eye as she continued, “Her name was something about a Moose?” She was laughing so hard, she couldn’t catch her breath. Dorcas was just as bad.

  Dorcas tried to stop giggling, but couldn’t. Finally, she drew a huge breath and said, “Her name was Pretty Moose. Remember. She was as tall as Griffin.”

  Dorcas, thinking of her tallest nephew, started cackling like a hen. That set Jess off again. They couldn’t seem to control themselves for a long time. They’d stop laughing and then one would catch the other’s eye and the laughing would start all over again. Another knock on the door made them jump. Their merriment completely at an end, they looked guiltily at each other.

  “Come in.” Dorcas tried to sound dignified. She hastily wiped away the tears streaming down her face as the door swung slowly open. When she saw who was there, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Saul. McLeod was nowhere in sight.

  “Finn sent me to come fetch you.” He bobbed his head respectfully to the women.

  “Fetch us? Fetch us?” There was an Arctic tone to Jess’s voice. “Dogs fetch sticks, maids fetch chamber pots, men do not fetch women.” The glare in her eyes could have melted rock. It certainly intimidated poor Saul.

  “I didn’t mean no disrespect, ladies. Finn just said to go fetch you so you could come up on deck and take the air. So I came to fetch you.” He nervously studied the scuffed toe of one of his shoes.

  Jess smiled at his explanation. She ignored the warning look her aunt was shooting in her direction. “I know just how to solve this,” the girl said kindly, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “Why don’t you go fetch Lord Maitland for me?”

  Saul looked at her as if she had sprouted horns. He stammered, “Miss, I done warned you he don’t like to be called Lord Maitland.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes were wide and completely innocent. “Thank you for telling me. Now, would you be a good fellow and go fetch Lord Maitland,” she asked.

  “I suppose I could ask him to come down to the cabin, ma’am.” It was obvious he felt very uncomfortable doing as she’d requested.

  “Thank you, Saul.” She tucked an escaped shining curl back into the tidy knot she’d fashioned at the nape of her neck. “We’ll just wait here for Lord Maitland.” She primly sat and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Ma’am, Finn does sorely hate to be called Lord Maitland,” he bleated pitifully.

  “Oh yes, I do recall you mentioned that before.” She smiled vaguely.

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders and turned.

  “And Saul,” she called sweetly. “As you leave to fetch Lord Maitland, do close the door behind you please.”

  The man rolled his eyes nervously up to the ceiling. He began to say something else. But he shrugged his shoulders and kept silent instead. He walked to the door. As soon as he’d snapped the door closed, Dorcas started scolding her.

  “Jess, McLeod is not one of your Virginia beaus. You can’t play him for a fool. Listen darlin’, he’s a man. Not one of those town dandies you’re accustomed to. The St. John name and reputation don’t frighten him, not a whit. If my guess is right, he has a fearsome reputation of his own. The Maitland title is older and far richer than your uncle MacAllister’s poor little Scottish dukedom. Leave him alone. You’re no match for him.”

  “We’ll see,” was all the girl said as she watched the door intently.

  She was obviously waiting. Waiting and listening for the polite knock that never came. Instead the door flew back on its hinges. It slammed against the adjoining wall with a force that shook the furniture in the cabin. Dorcas jumped in fright. But Jess got deathly still and forced her features into a serene mask. She bravely faced the man glowering in the doorway.

  Finn’s face was as hard as granite, except for the tiny muscle that twitched sporadically along his tight jaw. His hands were balled into fists as if he wanted to keep a tight control of them. Dorcas gulped down a frightened sob as she watched him.

  Jess gifted him with a majestic nod and spoke, “I see Saul was finally able to fetch you for me, Lord Maitland.”

  A dark, killing light entered his eyes at the insult and the hated title. He prowled into the cabin like a marauding savage. Without breaking his stride, he scooped her easily up into his arms. “No, he didn’t fetch me, Sister St. John. I’ve come here to fetch you up to the deck myself.” He strode out into the passageway with the girl. Then he glared down at her, hoping to frighten her into keeping her mouth shut. At least until they were on deck. It didn’t work.

  “Put me down, you ruffian,” she said through stiff lips.

  He pulled her closer to his chest and growled, “So far, you’ve named me a ruffian, a barbarian, a scoundrel, a rake, and a bastard. If you’re not careful, I’ll get the impression you don’t like me.” He glared down at her again. This time daring her to speak.

  She didn’t. Jess glared back until she could no longer stand the intensity of his frigid amber eyes. When that happened, she turned her head. She tried to ignore him entirely. Unfortunately, the strain of doing so erupted in one of the more unsavory oaths she’d learned from her brothers. She clamped a hand over her offending mouth.

  “I’ll say this for you Sister St. John, you do have an amazing vocabulary. Was it all learned in the convent? Or do you have any worldly experience? Ah, yes,” he mused aloud, as if just remembering. “I recall now. You do have worldly experience. You told me so yourself. You’re no innocent, you said. But as I assured you before, your secret’s safe with me Sister St. John. I’ll never tell anyone you aren’t the pure, innocent chit you appear. Your brother will still be able to trick some poor sot into marrying you.”

  “Trick!” The angry word exploded from the girl. She blew at a heavy curl that rioted across her forehead to dangle over one green eye. “Did you say trick?” She shot him a killing look.

  The arrogant barbarian nodded impassively. “I advise you to be honest with the poor fool about your scandalous past. It would come as quite a shock on your wedding night, if you don’t tell him. I’ve heard of little details like that completely ruining a marriage. In fact, if I recollect correctly, that’s exactly what ruined my brother Cedric’s marriage.” It was obvious the man was enjoying taunting her.

  “Shut up, you baboon. I don’t doubt you stole your sister-in-law’s virtue. But I’m surprised you’d boast of it to me,” she wildly accused as she struck his shoulder with one ineffectual little fist.

  His body suddenly stilled. That forced her to look into his face once again. His voice, when he spoke, had no inflection. Gone was his light teasing manner, in its place was deadly serious intent. “I don’t touch virgins, Miss St. John. I never touch virgins. And I never sullied my brother’s wife. Contrary to what you have heard and will certainly be told in London. The woman sported with some other man, many other men, and cuckolded my brother. My dear sister-in-law is a known wanton. But I have never lain with her. If we’re to succeed with this faux engagement between us, you’ll need to remember that fact.”

  Jess hid her shock well. For the life of her, she didn’t know why she’d accused him of dallying with his brother’s wife. It was her wretched tongue again. Oh Lord, when would she ever learn to control the blasted thing? Right now she wanted to flee, to get away from this man she’d insulted so cruelly. That was impossible at the moment since he held her tightly in his arms. But she knew, for certain sure, that she absolutely didn’t want to antagonize him any further. His arms felt like iron bands around her shoulders and under her knees. She didn’t want to hear anything more about ruined marriages and shocking wedding nights. And what in the world was he do
ing telling her his family secrets? Obstinate oaf, she fumed. If McLeod’s brother was anything like the madman holding her to his broad chest, his poor bride probably would have done anything to escape him. Even ruining herself to avoid marriage.

  She needed to distract McLeod from his anger. Jess knew she should apologize. But, of course, that’s not what she did. No, she went with her other plan instead and attacked.

  “You, your brother, and your harlot of a sister-in-law can go to the devil for all I care. But I’ll have you know, I don’t plan to marry, not ever. My life belongs to God. It’s best if you remember that. But if I did plan to marry. If I had a change of heart. If I ever, ever wanted to marry…, well, suffice it to say, I would never, never marry you. I would marry whomever I pleased.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Her distraction had worked. She could tell by the look of patent incredulity on his face. That look of stunned disbelief irritated her past bearing.

  “It’s true you, you, you...,” she stopped and blew at the pesky curl again. Calm down, she told herself, breathe deeply. Her palm still itched to slap the arrogant, handsome face above her. When her anger was somewhat under control, she turned away and spoke in a low, reserved voice, “It’s true. I’d never marry you, McLeod. This thing between us is just a ruse to get me to London. I’ve had more proposals than you have fingers and toes.”

  There was a deep rumbling in his chest that made her furious eyes fly up to his face again. He was chuckling. It was a masculine, appealing sound, she admitted to herself. She had a horrible suspicion the awful man was trying very hard not to laugh at her outright.

  “What?” Jess asked, confused. She’d been giving him a well-deserved set down. But McLeod didn’t appear chastised. No, not a bit. “What is so amusing?” There was a pettish edge to her voice.

  “Fingers and toes?” His sherry-colored eyes challenged her. And then he did laugh. The deep, glorious sound of it flowed across the deck. Two deckhands stopped their mopping to turn and watch.