by Lynsay Sands
“And I do not notice any stiffness in your movements, so can only presume your chest wound is not troubling you either,” Simon said tightly.
“The chest wound was a trifle,” Elysande said honestly. “’Twas really only the head wound that was a concern. However, the swelling went down, the pain eased and I woke yesterday morning.”
“And yet the Buchanan didn’t trouble himself to let the rest of us know?”
And that is where honesty gets you, Elysande thought grimly, but said, “In truth, he probably did not even think to tell you.” That was definitely a truth, she thought. Rory wouldn’t have even considered it because he suspected the man of being behind the attack. But she didn’t say that: instead she told him, “He had a great many questions for me about the attack, and then had much to tell me about it as well, and then, of course, there were the preparations to make for this trip to Sinclair.”
“Sinclair?” Simon asked sharply. “That is where we are going?”
“Of course. It is always where we were going,” she pointed out.
“Aye, but I thought we would ride there,” he muttered with a frown.
“So did I,” she admitted. “But the boat will cut the length of our journey in half and we can get the warning to the king sent much sooner than if we had traveled by horse.”
Simon looked away briefly, and then turned back to ask, “What about Tom? Rory said he sent him with Fearghas and Donnghail to Buchanan to fetch back coin to pay for the inn. Are we just going to leave without him?” he asked, and then added, “That’s not right. We should get off this ship at once. We cannot leave Tom behind.”
He grasped her elbow and tried to tug her toward the steps leading out of the cargo, but Elysande pulled free and scowled at him. Perhaps it was just that Rory had raised questions in her mind, but his behavior was making her very suspicious. “Tom will be fine. Rory left a message for him at the inn. He will follow us to Sinclair with Fearghas and Donnghail.”
“But—”
“We are sailing for Sinclair, Simon. ’Twas our goal from the start. Get to Sinclair, give him my mother’s messages and have him send them on to the king.”
“I cannot guard you alone, m’lady,” Simon said with frustration. “’Twas bad enough when it was just Tom and I, but now I alone stand between you and de Buci and I really think we should get off this ship and wait for Tom so that he can help me keep you safe.”
“Simon,” she said firmly. “You and Tom were only supposed to get me to Rory and his men and accompany us to Scotland. He is the one who is supposed to keep me safe and get me to Sinclair and he is doing that. I am not leaving this ship, and you should not want me to,” she added grimly. “Not with de Buci’s men somewhere in Ayr, waiting to kill me. We are safe on the Mary Margaret and we are staying on the Mary Margaret.”
“But Tom—” Simon began almost desperately, only to snap his mouth shut when Rory appeared at Elysande’s side and eyed him suspiciously.
“Are we leaving soon?” Elysande asked to draw his attention away from the English soldier.
“We already left,” Rory said quietly. “The captain set sail the minute we finished moving the horses down here to the hold. We are under way.”
“Oh,” Elysande breathed, relaxing into him. She hadn’t even realized they were moving, but then the harbor was calm, and they probably were not moving quickly.
“So that’s the way of it,” Simon said suddenly, his voice cold.
Elysande glanced to him with confusion, and then followed his gaze to where Rory had automatically slid his arm around her waist and drawn her into his chest. After only one night as lovers, she’d already gotten so used to his touch and easy affection that she hadn’t even noticed.
“The way of what?” Rory asked, his voice carrying a warning that Simon completely ignored.
“Why ye kept her locked in that bedchamber with you at the inn for three days and nights,” Simon said sharply.
Rory narrowed his eyes, but his tone was mild when he said, “If there’s something ye’d like to say, Simon, say it.”
Simon glared at him briefly, but instead asked Elysande, “Are you still a maiden?”
Elysande gasped at the impertinent question, but it was Rory who answered, “That is none o’ yer business. And unless ye’re wanting me to throw ye off this ship, I’ll thank ye no’ to speak to me wife that way.”
“Wife?” Simon barked with shock.
“Aye. I introduced her to the innkeeper as me wife, Lady Elysande Buchanan, if ye’ll recall, and she answered to the name and title. In Scotland, that is consent and makes us married,” he growled. “Now leave us, I would talk to me wife.”
If Simon was shocked by this announcement, Elysande was no less so. Quite dazed, she stumbled over her own feet when Rory urged her away from Simon and toward the back of the cargo hold. Pausing then, he glanced back to be sure they had privacy, before looking her over with concern and asking, “Are ye all right, love?”
“Aye. Nay. I do not know,” she finished finally, and then asked, “Are we really married by Scottish law?”
“Aye,” he assured her. “Or as good as, but I’ll no’ hold ye to it do ye no’ wish it. Though the truth is I’d like to,” he admitted. “I’d like nothing better in this world than to take ye to Buchanan and marry ye good and proper in front o’ a priest and with me sister and brothers and all their mates there as I claim ye as me own in front o’ God and all.”
“You would?” she asked, a smile of wonder claiming her lips.
“Aye. I love ye, lass. I should ha’e told ye that when ye told me o’ yer feelings, but I had other things on me mind,” he admitted with a grimace. “I’m telling ye now though. I love ye so much that I’d even move to that godforsaken country ye’re from and help ye run Kynardersley. Though I’d really rather no’,” he confessed.
While she was still blinking at that, Rory added, “And so ye ken, I’m no’ just some seventh son without prospects. Me parents left me good fertile land here in Scotland, and I’ve earned enough coin with me healing to build a fine castle on it. But as I said, I love ye enough I’ll move to England do ye wish it and—” Pausing abruptly, he glanced around with suddenly wild eyes, and then rushed to the corner where a bucket rested next to the wall. He had barely dropped to his knees before it when he began heaving up whatever he had in his stomach.
“Well, was no’ that the most charming proposal ye’ve ever heard?” Alick asked cheerfully as he stopped beside her.
Elysande peered at him with disbelief.
“Well, except for the spewing,” he added, and then told her, “That has nothing to do with you, lass. Or even with the idea o’ living in England. Rory gets sick on the sea, is all.”
“He does?” She eyed Rory with concern.
“Aye. Makes him terrible sick,” Alick said with a shrug and complete lack of concern. “He’ll be spewing all the way to Thurso.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elysande breathed with disbelief, and then asked, “Where is his bag of weeds?”
“On his mount still. Why?” Alick asked with surprise.
“Because I need it,” she said dryly, and hurried to the horses with Alick on her heels.
“What’re ye going to do?” Alick asked, lifting off the small leather bag for her before she could reach it.
“Make him a tincture to soothe his stomach,” she muttered, opening the bag.
“Ye can do that?” Alick asked with interest.
“If he has the right weeds for it,” she said, and then began to paw through the various items in the bag, murmuring the name of each she found that was needed, “Fennel, root of ginger, chamomile blossom . . .”
“I wonder why Rory has ne’er heard o’ this tincture?” Alick muttered, taking the weeds she was passing him and holding them as she searched for the next.
Elysande shrugged as she continued pulling out items. “My mother and I learned it from the wife of one of our soldiers. She came
from a coastal village and her father was a fisherman who suffered a sore stomach when he worked on the water. Which was rather inconvenient for a fisherman,” she pointed out. “But she said this helped and I never forgot the ingredients she listed off. There,” she finished with relief. “He has everything I need.”
Closing the bag, she glanced around with a frown. “Is there somewhere to boil water on this ship?”
“O’ course,” Alick said with amusement. “They have to feed the men on voyages. Follow me.”
“How do you feel now?”
Rory opened his eyes and peered at the angel hovering above him. Elysande. She’d made a tincture, and bullied him into drinking it, which he’d at first refused to do for fear of just giving his stomach something else to reject. Once she’d convinced him to down it though, she’d settled on the wooden deck and eased his head into her lap. They’d stayed that way for the last half hour, with her running her fingers soothingly over his forehead as they waited to see if he could keep the tincture down. It had been touch and go at first, but Rory hadn’t tossed it back up, and now his stomach was actually settling, the queasiness almost completely gone.
“Better,” he admitted. “Thank ye.”
“You are welcome,” she said, a relieved smile curving her lips. “Now, why do you not get some rest? You got little sleep last night and could only benefit from a nap.”
“Aye.” He turned his head in her lap to look for Simon and spotted him sitting with the other men about halfway between where he and Elysande sat and the horses. Conn, Inan and Alick were playing cards with the English soldier. Rory watched Simon briefly, but then—deciding the men would keep an eye on him—he sat up and leaned to the side to grab the rolled-up fur that lay next to their bags. Standing, he spread it out on the floor, and then offered Elysande a hand to help her rise.
“What are we doing?” she asked as he urged her onto the fur.
“We’re taking a nap,” he announced. “Ye got no more sleep than I did last night and we would both benefit from a rest.”
She didn’t comment, but he noted the pink blush that crept up her face and knew she was recalling the reason for their lack of sleep. It made him think of the hours of loving they’d enjoyed too, and when his cock stirred under his plaid, Rory started wishing they had their own cabin. But the only cabin on this cog was the captain’s and he hadn’t been willing to give it up. Rory hadn’t minded when he’d been negotiating this trip. He’d actually thought it was probably better for them all to stick together in the cargo hold. But now he was wondering how much coin it would take to convince the man to give up his cabin.
“Are you not going to lie down too?”
That question from Elysande drew him from his thoughts to the realization that she had lain down on the furs on her side with her head on her arm for a pillow. Leaving the possibility of a cabin for later, Rory stretched out on his side at her back, and then wrapped his arm around her and pulled her possessively back against his chest. When she released a little sigh, and wiggled her bottom back against his groin before settling down, Rory found himself smiling and pressing a kiss to her ear.
He had her safely on the ship. They’d reach Sinclair in a few days, and probably stay there until the English king dealt with his conspiring lords. It was the safest place for her until then and he had nothing pressing to drag him away from her. They could spend the time planning their future. Either working out what they would need to do to set Kynardersley back to rights, or design the castle he’d planned to build. He was hoping for the latter. Rory would live in England if he had to in order to have Elysande . . . despite disliking the country. But he didn’t think it would be good for her. Kynardersley would never again be the happy childhood home where she’d grown up. Not after watching her parents die there, he thought. She would see that again in her mind every time she entered the great hall. He didn’t want that for her. The shadows were only now starting to leave her eyes; he didn’t want her to live somewhere that would bring those shadows back several times a day.
“I love you, Rory.”
The words were so soft he barely heard them, but they were powerfully strong, sending a rush of warmth through him that made his arm tighten around her.
“I love ye too, lass,” he growled, and pressed a kiss to her ear before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off to sleep.
Elysande was muttering to herself most unhappily as she made her way to the steps out of the ship’s heads. This was her first trip on a boat, and she was determined it would be her last.
There was no privy on the cog.
That had been a shock, but even more shocking had been what a person was expected to do to take care of such matters. Good Lord, traveling by horse was bad enough with its lack of amenities. But it was worse on the Mary Margaret. On the ship, everyone went to the foredeck and climbed down into an area they called the heads, which was under the bowsprit of the ship. There they either pissed through the slats, which were several inches apart, or sat on a plank hung over the side of the ship for their other business. Of course, that was how the men did it. She had to sit the plank for both, her bare bottom hanging out over the water far below.
Elysande found it nerve-racking, especially when the water was rough and the wind was high and the risk of tipping—or being blown—off the narrow plank and falling into the sea far below increased. But she also had the strangest thoughts while sitting there. She worried over whether sharks could jump high enough to bite her bare bottom. Nay, no more sailing for her. At least on land, you didn’t risk your life every time you had to relieve yourself.
“M’lady.”
Elysande stopped abruptly, her wary gaze rising to Simon as he stepped down into the heads, blocking her exit. It had been two days since they’d set sail, and nearly as long since she’d had to speak to the man thanks to Rory and the others running interference. But they were supposed to reach Thurso sometime on the morrow and she was very aware that if Simon was behind the stabbing, and even pushing her in front of the horse and cart, then he would want to finish the job before they reached Sinclair. He was running out of time.
“I wanted to have a word with you, but it has been hard to get you alone,” Simon said pleasantly. “The Buchanan doesn’t usually leave your side.”
“Nay. He is very protective, but he was sleeping and I did not wish to disturb him,” Elysande murmured. She hadn’t wished to disturb Rory because she found it humiliating to be sitting there with her bare arse hanging out in the wind and him guarding her. He might have seen her naked, and touched nearly every part of her body the night before this journey on the Mary Margaret, but that was not the same as watching her perform such personal functions. So, when she’d woken up with a desperate need to relieve herself, Elysande had left him sleeping with the rest of the men and crept out of the cargo to make her way to the heads alone. It had never occurred to her that Simon might wake up and follow her. But then, it wasn’t something she would have expected. No one followed her when she went to the heads except Rory. Even the sailors stayed away and allowed her privacy.
Simon was still moving slowly closer, and Elysande had nowhere to go unless she wished to sit or step back onto the plank, so she held up her hand in a silent order to stop. Much to her surprise, he did. Then they stood there for a minute just looking at each other. Elysande took in his grim and miserable expression, and noted that his hand was on his sword, clenching and unclenching as if he was waging an inner war, and she just knew that Rory had been right about everything. Simon was working for de Buci.
The realization was a depressing one. It also hurt her a great deal. She had lost her mother and father to de Buci’s cruelty and perfidy, not to mention every soldier at Kynardersley but Tom and Simon. She could not understand how he could betray her to such a man. Had he cared so little for her parents, who had shown him nothing but kindness and caring? And what of the soldiers who had been his comrades?
Lifting her chin
, she spoke in an empty voice. “Rory was right. You are the one who stabbed me.”
Simon stiffened, dismay on his face, and for one minute she hoped she was wrong after all, until he said, “He knows?”
Elysande’s shoulders tried to sag, but she forced them back up, and kept her head high and her tone cool and empty as she said, “Aye. And about you pushing me in front of the horse and cart. They all know.”
She saw panic flash over his face, and hopelessness, and asked, “Why, Simon? I trusted you. My father was good to you. Our families have been friends for years. You were like a member of the family. Why would you work for de Buci against your king?”
“I don’t have a choice.” Simon ran a hand over his scalp, his eyes darting this way and that as if seeking escape.
“You always have a choice,” she said firmly.
Simon stilled then, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again they were steady and sad. “Not this time,” he said, and started forward, pulling his sword from his belt.
“At least tell me why first,” Elysande demanded, and much to her relief he stopped again.
“You know why,” he said grimly.
Her expression must have been as bewildered as she felt at that statement, because he frowned and said, “My father?”
Elysande shook her head slightly. “Your father what?”
“His name is in Wykeman’s message to de Buci. He is one of the conspirators,” Simon said as if that should be obvious, and then he shook his head with disgust. “The stupid bastard. I never would have imagined he’d do something so foolish, and I’d let him hang for it, but it wouldn’t just be him. My whole family would be shamed, our title and lands stripped from us. My sisters’ betrotheds would probably refuse to fulfill the marriage contracts. My mother would die in ruin and—” He shook his head miserably. “You’ve been like family to me for years, m’lady. But they are my family, and much as I loathe the doing, it has to be done.”