“It’s late,” she breathed.
“Not so very late, but we’d best be on our way and ride at a stately pace if we hope to reach Silloth tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” She sprang to her feet. “What can I do?”
He chuckled softly. “You can rest, and eat what’s left of the cakes. I was sure to leave some.”
“Oh.” Some of the frantic energy drained from her face as she looked down at the pile of sweets. “Thank you.”
“Did you really think I would leave you to go hungry in the morning?” He picked up the blankets, shaking them free of dirt and leaves. “We can always stop for something to eat around midday, if you wish.”
“Only if you think it’s a wise idea,” she murmured, chewing daintily. “And I wish to apologize for my behavior last night. I was very tired. I hadn’t slept in two nights.”
“You hadn’t?”
She shook her head when he looked at her over his shoulder. “No. So much has happened in so short a time, hasn’t it? The day before you arrived at the farm, Deacon Eddard had informed me of my impending marriage.”
“I see.” That would be enough to rob anyone of their sleep.
“And the next night, I spent at the manor house. I knew he’d…” She trailed off, staring out toward the stream. “I knew he’d taken you. I couldn’t sleep, knowing that.”
He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of himself. What could he say to thank her for what he’d done? What could possibly express his gratitude?
“I suppose it was a blessing, some divine inspiration which led me to visit the manor house when I did,” she suggested. “If I hadn’t, I would never have known you were there.”
“Aye, while Hugh and Derek believed me to be on my way to Silloth.”
“Why did they believe that?” she asked, wiping her hands on the cloth which Frances had used to wrap the food. “They never told me.”
He clenched his teeth, knowing she deserved an answer but wishing just the same to avoid giving it. “I told them I was going to take you to Silloth. I wrote a letter, explaining why I was going to do it. Neither of them agreed with me, of course, when I suggested we… kidnap you.”
Silence descended between them, and he turned away to check his horse’s saddle to avoid having to look at her. She deserved the truth, didn’t she? Though perhaps he should’ve kept it to himself until they reached the ship.
At first, he thought she was weeping. He turned with a sinking heart, dreading what he was about to face.
Instead, to his surprise, she was doubled over in laughter.
“You were going to kidnap me? To take me away?” A fresh burst of laughter and she doubled even further.
“I don’t know what’s so funny about that, lass.”
“You… oh, goodness… I’m sorry,” she laughed, waving her hands, losing her breath. “It’s just that… so much has happened, and… It isn’t funny, not really. Why am I laughing?”
He shook his head as she continued to giggle helplessly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I honestly do not know.”
It took several minutes for her to get herself under control, and even then, a small burst of laughter would erupt now and again. “I’m sorry,” she said again, struggling to compose herself. “Truly. I understand why you wanted to do it, of course. It’s only that I can hardly imagine you managing to kidnap me and keep me quiet.”
“Hmph.” He turned away again. “You’re right. I don’t know how I would have managed that part.”
She truly was the strangest lass.
25
It was dark by the time the first of Silloth’s cottages came into view. Beatrice blessed the sight, her thighs aching as much as they ever had after riding nearly straight through the day. They’d only stopped for the sake of answering nature’s call, and had once stopped at a baker’s for fresh meat pies. Those had given her the strength to go on, along with the thought that she was closer to her sister all the time.
She had asked question after question about Margery throughout the day, whatever came to mind. It was something to do, something other than riding in silence and admiring the scenery.
Not that it wasn’t beautiful or worthy of admiration. She’d never seen such beauty, such lushness. Was this what the rest of the world was like?
Back in Thrushwood, she had often spent hours seated at the window once the day’s work was done. She had stared off at the horizon, admiring the passing of the seasons. The majesty of an untouched snowfall, the very trees appearing as though they’d turned to snow and ice. The glory of autumn’s blaze of colors, almost obscene in their utterly shameless display. As though the very leaves were proud of their beauty.
She had waited, holding her breath, as baby birds pushed their way out of fragile shells. She’d laughed to herself while watching squirrels frolicking, jumping from tree to tree as they chased one another. She’d admired butterflies as they’d hovered over the fragrant roses which grew alongside the stone wall separating church ground from the road beyond, fluttering their delicate wings.
She’d still never seen anything like what surrounded her on the road to Silloth.
And it extended without end in all directions. That was the most surprising bit. “How far do you think it goes?” she’d asked at one point, more of herself than of Broc.
“On and on for leagues beyond us,” he’d replied in a voice which revealed more than he might have known. He was just as awed by it as she, though he’d seen so much more than she had.
She wondered about him then. He’d spoken of an unhappy life which had sent him out into the world. Funny how hers had left her in a world even smaller, as though she had crumbled in on herself somehow.
It was enough to make her think again about the baby birds she’d watched, pecking their way out of shells in order to begin a life. She’d never considered before just how brave those birds were, even if they didn’t know it. To leave the only home they’d ever known, even though it was too cramped for them to live in any longer. There were still untold dangers outside the shell.
And they, they freed themselves. No one could do it for them, she’d learned at a young age. They had to do it on their own.
She had to do it on her own, even if they had received a bit of help from Broc and Margery and the others. She might not have ever left her little shell if they hadn’t come for her.
The scent of sea air hit her nose not long after they’d passed the first cottage on the outskirts of Silloth. She wrinkled it in response, it wasn’t an unpleasant smell so much as an unfamiliar one.
“Silloth Bay,” Broc announced, chuckling at her reaction. “You’ll grow used to the scent of sea air in time, lass. Once we’ve reached Kirkcaldy, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it in your lungs.”
He sounded proud and happy. The way he loved the sea was evident. She supposed it was the sort of thing that had to be born in a person, the way a love of animals was born in some and not in others. It wasn’t the kind of love that could be taught or learned.
“How long have you been sailing?” she asked.
“All my life, it seems. My father was a fisherman and he used to take me out on his boat before I was hardly old enough to walk. He used to laugh and tell me of the way I’d squall and scream to get him to take me out with him. I couldn’t speak, mind ye, but I could be certain that he understood me.”
She laughed. “I suppose there was nothing else you could do with your life, then. Nothing else would suit you.”
“Aye. And now that I’ll have the run of McInnis Shipping, I’ll be able to go back to it.”
Beatrice frowned, then wondered why she did. What difference did it make to her what he did for a living? A man had to have an occupation, and running a shipping company was just as valuable a vocation as any.
But it wasn’t the sort of vocation a man held when he had a wife and a family. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man did when he intended to marry someday.
What did it matter? Why did she ache so?
He had no understanding of what went on in her thoughts, so he expected her to be excited when he pointed to a ship far off in the distance.
“There she is!” he whispered, his excitement growing all the time. Like a little boy.
She wished he didn’t stir her affection so.
“Will we set out tonight?” she asked, hoping against hope that they would continue the journey and he’d be too busy as the ship’s captain to spend much time with her. It would be easier that way.
“Nay,” he replied, and her hopes sank further than they already had. “We’ll wait until morning, since this is an unfamiliar harbor and I’ll want to have full sight of everything around us.”
“I see.”
“We’ll spend the night in an inn, if it makes you feel better,” he grinned. His mood had vastly improved, indeed. “Or, I can row us out to the ship. I’m certain Hugh and Derek are waiting out there for our arrival.”
Her cheeks flushed at the thought of sharing a ship with three men who had no sailing to do, no activity to keep them occupied.
Then again, Broc hadn’t so much as laid a finger on her in the night. Once again, the stories and warnings of her mother had worked their way into her mind.
In the end, she decided that a bed would be preferable to anything awaiting on the ship. “I would prefer the inn tonight, if it is all the same. If it isn’t too great an expense.”
“It won’t be. We didn’t pay for use of the horses, after all.”
She didn’t say another word as they rode deeper into the village, which reminded her of Thrushwood in many ways but was vastly different in others. There were far more inns and taverns, and women in striped hoods stepped into at least two of the stone buildings they passed.
“Who are they?” Beatrice asked, taking note of the hoods.
“Do ye really want to know, lass?” When she raised her eyebrows in silent question, he sighed. “Let’s say they wear those hoods to let others know how they earn their living. And those buildings they stepped into are the houses in which they work.”
She discerned the truth from the tone of his voice and the careful way he spoke. So they were the sorts of women he had once killed in an attempt to protect. She’d never seen one of them in person before and was surprised to find that they didn’t look any different from her.
What had she expected?
“Up ahead is the inn where we spent the night before heading to Thrushwood,” he explained. “Margery spent the night there, as well, and told us about it. It’s a very clean, pleasant place. You’ll like it.”
“Will you stay there, too?”
He shook his head. “I’ll row out to the ship. I’ve been fairly bursting to see it, and to speak with the others.”
“I see.”
“I will come back for you at dawn,” he promised.
“I will be ready.” Even she heard how sad she sounded.
So did he. “What is it, lass? What’s the matter? We got away, we’ll be setting sail in the morning. You’ll be with your sister again in a week or ten days. Isn’t that happy news?”
He was trying to cheer her, and she knew it should make her smile.
She felt as though she wanted to cry, instead.
“It is,” she smiled, making sure to sound light and glad. “I would do well to get a good night’s sleep, I think. I’ve never ridden this long at a stretch before. I’m simply overtired.”
“We’ll see to finding you a room, then.” He tapped the horse’s ribs with his heels and it picked up speed.
She had no choice but to follow suit.
Did he know the attention he attracted simply by riding down the street on which the inn was located? As she was behind him, she had the chance to watch heads turn as he passed. He was a foreigner, through and through, his dress and his manner too rough to pass as English.
It made little sense to her, since as a harbor village, Silloth would naturally be full of foreigners at all times. There was simply something about the Scottish which her countrymen disliked. Even detested.
And she’d risked her freedom, perhaps even her life, in order to free him. What would the men stumbling out of one of the village’s many taverns, blustery and red-cheeked from drink, think if they knew a simple farm girl was willing to go so far?
The innkeeper was a very jolly man, who seemed happy simply to be alive. “You’ve returned!” he rejoiced when she entered with Broc beside her.
“Aye, as promised,” Broc replied, shaking the man’s thick hand. “Will you have a room available for the lass? I’ll be spending the night on the ship, out beyond the harbor.”
The innkeeper’s beady, yet kind, eyes fell on her. “Of course, of course, we would be happy to have a nice young lady with us this evening. My wife will show you the way to your room, my dear.”
“Thank you.” She looked up at Broc, uncertain of how to part ways.
“I will take the horses to the stable, and will meet you here first thing in the morning,” he promised.
“Good night, then.” She felt strangely hollow inside as the equally portly, equally jovial wife of the innkeeper led her up a flight of wood plank stairs and down a narrow hall to a small, yet clean and comfortable, room.
The window faced the street, and when she was alone, Beatrice looked out to the activity below. After a few minutes, she spied Broc walking the horses past the inn. From above, he might have been anyone at all.
She swung the window closed, latching it firmly to shut out the activity just outside. The room was as clean and pleasant as promised, and she liked to believe her sister had spent the night there on her way to Kirkcaldy.
What had she thought when she’d first learned she hadn’t sailed to the east coast of England? It was sheer luck and providence which had brought her to Derek’s attention, otherwise, Beatrice reflected, she night have come to an unhappy end.
The memory of the women in striped hoods came back to her. It was a sobering thought.
“Best to get some sleep,” she whispered.
A habit she’d picked up without noticing, it was only then, at that very moment, that she realized she’d fallen into talking to herself during Margery’s absence. She’d have to break herself of it, since she wouldn’t be alone anymore.
But she wouldn’t be with Broc, either.
She sat on the bed with a thud. So that was it. She’d finally come to the heart of why she felt so uncertain, so empty in spite of the new adventure ahead of her.
He would go on to an adventure of his own once they reached the Duncans and her sister. All along, she’d assumed he would be part of her new life. What a silly assumption. She’d never thought to ask if he lived in the shadow of the manor house, if he was part of the clan as her sister had become.
She hadn’t understood until then the direction her heart had traveled while she was too busy trying to escape with their lives to notice.
She had fallen in love with him.
She had never been in love before. Naturally, she’d dreamed of it. She and Margery had spent hours giggling together over what falling in love with feel like. How dashing and brave and handsome the men they’d give their hearts to would be.
Broc was handsome and brave, and even dashing.
But he didn’t love her. He wanted his life on the sea. The way his entire demeanor had changed when he spied the ship waiting for them. The way he’d spoken of his lifelong love of sailing. There was no question what he’d do once they returned.
And she would never ask him to change himself. He’d be unhappy the rest of his days. She knew what it was to put herself aside for the sake of another and wouldn’t put anyone she loved through that.
There was a soft knock at the door, and her heart leapt when she realized she hadn’t brought the bundle of clothing up with her. He must have found it and decided to bring it back for her.
She might have the chance to thank him for saving her in the stre
am, at least, before the two of them no longer had any time to speak privately.
As she opened the door, she knew what she would say.
The sight of the man who stood before her rendered all of it useless.
Randall smiled, his teeth flashing. “What took you so long to get here?”
26
The horses were being cared for, and Broc waived the chance to collect payment for them.
“I must give you something in return,” the owner of the stable insisted when he saw the pair of geldings Broc brought him.
“Nay, after all, the horse you gave me, unfortunately, is back in the village to which I traveled. I didn’t return it to you, as we’d agreed.”
The man waved a hand, chuckling. “It’s nothing. Your countrymen returned theirs, as agreed, and I’m coming out ahead in the end. These are two excellent replacements.”
It didn’t feel right, accepting money for something he hadn’t paid for. If there was a way to send the proceeds off to Deacon Eddard, he would have, but he couldn’t imagine a situation in which the silver wouldn’t be stolen.
The stable owner had certainly experienced a change of heart, Broc noted with a smile as he untied the packs from his horse’s saddle before handing them over. The knotted bedspread caught his eye, and he realized Beatrice wouldn’t have her things with her overnight.
Returning them would at least mean the possibility of seeing her again, if only for a few moments.
Something had changed between them, something he couldn’t quite place. She had seemed defeated when they parted ways, something beyond the fatigue she had tried to use as an excuse. As though a wall had appeared, one which he could see through but could not get through.
Why it mattered so much that the lass be happy, he couldn’t explain. She was unpredictable, temperamental, stubborn as a mule. He would be well rid of her once it was time for them to part ways.
And for the first time in his life, the thought of parting ways with a woman gave him pause.
He hadn’t thought it possible before then. He’d always held himself above getting entangled with a woman, adding a new set of problems and trials to a life with trials of its own.
A Highland Sailor: Highland Heartbeats Page 17