by Lily Baldwin
She did not burst into sobs as he had expected. Instead her brows drew together, and she looked confused. “But I set out alone. There was no one on board my wee skiff but me.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “You were sailing the open waters alone…in a skiff?”
She shook her head. “Nay—I mean aye, I was alone, but nay, the storm must have swept me out to sea.”
He canted his head as he studied her. Now that her hair was dry, the color was as red as the feathers of the Scottish Crossbill. Her sunburn had already begun to fade. He suspected her skin would clear to creamy white with a spattering of freckles across her nose. The color of her eyes easily bested the brilliance of the summer sky. He could look at her for hours. There was something almost otherworldly about her beauty, but what manner of woman set out in a boat on her own?
He considered the rumors being tossed about by his men: she was a silky or a siren who would bring them nothing but disaster. Cook asked the captain to throw her back to the sea, fretting she belonged to one of the Blue Men who would crash their ship into rocks if they kept her. He had ordered the men to desist their superstitious gossip, arguing she was a flesh and blood woman. When he asked if they wanted her blood on their hands, they all desisted straightaway.
Despite her ethereal beauty, her humanity was not in question in his mind. It was apparent in the fear he glimpsed in her eyes. He reached out and gently squeezed one of her hands. “You are safe now.” He still did not know her name, but he didn’t want to rush her.
She muttered something, her eyes dropping to her lap.
“Pardon?” he asked.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze once more. “My name is Rose,” she said as if reading his thoughts. She took her hand out from under his and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she said her name again, her voice imbued with strength. “Thank ye for rescuing me, Captain Thatcher. When can I expect to be home?”
He smiled, pleased by her frankness and the change in her demeanor. “I’m glad you asked that, because we’ve all been wondering where exactly you came from.”
“I hail from,” she started to say, but then she paused. Her eyes darted to her hands and then to a place on the wall above his head. “Jura. I hail from the Isle of Jura.”
“Are you certain?” he asked. “You seemed to hesitate.”
She nodded. “My mind is still muddled, but I assure ye, Jura is my home. When did ye say ye can take me?”
“Rose,” he began cautiously not knowing how she would respond to news that her return would not be imminent. “I will gladly bring you home, but it will not be possible for some weeks.”
“Weeks?” she said, sitting up straight, her eyes wide with alarm. “But why so long? Can ye not change course?”
“It isn’t as easy as that. Judging by your location and your condition when we spotted you, you must have drifted for at least two days. Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive.”
Her eyes grew wider still. “I can’t believe I’ve been gone for two days.”
“Longer than that, my dear. You’ve been battling a mighty fever for the last three days. Since you came aboard, we have distanced ourselves from the islands. We’re currently anchored just off Cardiff.”
“Where’s that?”
“Wales.”
“Wales!”
“Yes, and in two days’ time, we set our course for France.”
“France!”
He chuckled. “Yes, France. I’m sorry to alarm you, but I do have a schedule to keep.”
“Forgive me, Captain. Ye can imagine my surprise.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Rose. We’ve made a habit of surprising one another. Imagine my surprise, shock actually, when my lookout told me he saw a woman drifting on the meager remnants of a boat.”
Just then a soft rapping on the door intruded upon their conversation.
“Enter,” Tristan said.
Robert appeared at the door. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “She’s awake!”
Tristan turned back to Rose. “This is Robert Appleby, the surgeon who has tended you these last days.”
Robert squeezed just past the entryway. Then he dipped his head in greeting. “You have brought excitement to what has become a very routine trade route. Most of the crew is still convinced you’re a siren or a silky.” The surgeon paused as his laughter trailed off. “You aren’t actually a siren or a silky, are you?”
She smiled slightly. “I assure ye I’m an ordinary woman.”
Tristan held her gaze for several moments, taking in her strength and courage. “I believe you are a woman, but ordinary? That I strongly doubt. Ordinary women are not found adrift on the sea with no land in sight.”
A sadness flashed in her eyes. “My skiff is destroyed then.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She sighed. “And after Ian worked so hard.”
“Your husband, no doubt, will think nothing about the skiff. He will be too overjoyed to see you in one piece.”
“I’m not married.”
“No?” he said not bothering to hide his surprise. She must have been near thirty in age. It was unthinkable that a woman as beautiful and courageous as she could be unmarried, but then that would explain why she would have the freedom to set out alone in the first place.
“Who is Ian?” he asked.
“My youngest brother. He made me a fine, wee ship.”
“You have brothers then?”
“Aye, a crew of them—five in total.”
“How did they allow you to venture out on the sea alone?”
Her eyes flashed bright with indignation, and the blanket fell away from her shoulders as she clenched her fists at her waist. “I am a woman with one and thirty years. I do not require the permission of my wee brothers in any matter.”
Robert chuckled. “Mind yourself, Captain. She’s got a temper to match her hair.” The old man’s voice grew softer as he continued, “just like my beloved Clara.”
Tristan glanced over his shoulder and saw tears glistening in Robert’s faded blue eyes. “My wife,” Robert said in explanation. “You are very like her in appearance. I would guess in other ways, too. She passed away ten years ago now, may God rest her soul. But she had gumption, fueled by her fiery hair. I loved her spirit,” he said, his voice cracking. “I will take my leave before I start blubbering.” He pointed to the bundle on her bed. “There is a clean tunic and a pair of hose from Simon, the cabin boy. They will have to do until some proper clothes are made for you. If you are feeling strong enough, you may take a turn on deck. But mind, you don’t overdo it.” He stepped out into the hall, then glanced back. “You really do remind me of my Clara.” In a muffle of tears, he was gone.
A sad smile curved Tristan’s lips as he turned back to Rose. “He loved his wife very much.”
“There is no finer or greater magic than true love,” she said softly.
She was right, or at least Tristan assumed she was right. His parents had known true love. Obviously, Robert had, as well. Tristan had never been on dry land long enough to fall in love. Still, talk of true love and magic only fueled his desire not to marry Lady Roxwell.
“If yer brow furrows anymore, ye’ll look like ye have a mustache.”
“Pardon?” he said, meeting her gaze.
She laughed. The sound was light and musical and flooded his heart with warmth. “Forgive me. ‘Tis what I’ve always said to my brothers when their worries make them too serious.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I needed the reminder.” Then he stood. “Although it’s impossible to tell in this small, dreary room, it is a fine day. The sun is shining. The waters are calm. If you have the strength and inclination, it would be my pleasure to escort you aloft. We can take a turn about the deck.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m curious about the ship, but I’m, admittedly, exhausted. Still, fresh air will no doubt do me good.” She nodded suddenly.
“Perhaps just a quick turn then.”
“Agreed,” he said, smiling. “I will step out while you dress. Join me in the hall when you’re ready.”
Tristan again paced two steps in one direction and two in the other. What if it was too soon for Rose to be out of bed? What if the salty air was too much for her weakened lungs? Just as he was about to rap on the door and suggest they wait until the morrow, the door swung wide, and Rose stepped out into the hallway. The moment their eyes locked, his concern vanished. She looked radiant. Her red hair fell in a tangle of wild curls to her waist. When she smiled up at him, soft lines crinkled at her eyes. In truth, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“’Tis a might too big,” she said, smoothing her hands over the loose tunic.
He could barely make out her slim form in Simon’s clothing. “Wait just a moment,” he said, stepping past her into his room. He opened the small trunk wedged under the bed and pulled out a soft, black belt.
“If you’ll allow me,” he said, holding up the long, woven cord.
She raised her arms, and he reached around her waist, tying the belt so that it fell gently at her hips.
“That’s better,” she said. “Thank ye.”
He offered her his arm. “If you grow too weary, we will return straightaway. But for now…” He paused to gesture to the open hatch. “The sun and sea await your gaze.”
Chapter Six
Rose was unaccustomed to feeling so weak-legged. A lifetime of toil had made her strong. But as she started up the stairs that would lead her out the hatch to the main deck, she could not help but rely on the captain’s steadying hand.
“Mayhap, it is too soon,” he said.
She drew a deep breath. “I’m almost certain it is, but at the moment, I don’t care. I need fresh air.”
She carefully climbed the last few steps. Standing on the deck, the sun beat down and she lifted her face to the warm caress. A breeze rustled through her hair. It felt glorious. After relishing her first moments above deck, she was ready to get her bearings. Her gaze scanned the large vessel.
“What sort of ship is she?”
“She’s a cog. You can tell by the single mast and square sail,” he said pointing to the massive billowing cloth. Then he gestured to the floor. “Also, the flat bottom and the high bow and stern.”
She admired the ornately carved stern and forecastles and could not wait to see the view from their heights. “The Messenger,” she said out loud, tasting it. She truly was a fine ship. Rose knew it was just the sort of ship Ian dreamed of owning one day. She imagined what it might be like if the MacVies did have a fleet of cogs. They would be fine merchants. She could picture Ian at the helm and she as quarter master.
“We can stand here if you would like, or if you are able to walk a little, I will give you the tour and introduce you to my men.” Tristan said, interrupting her daydream.
Rose was suddenly very aware that her presence had brought the activity on the ship to a standstill. At least twenty sets of eyes stared at her as she stepped forward on the captain’s arm.
“I suppose now would not be the time to start speaking in tongues,” she whispered to Tristan.
His rich laughter immediately followed her jest. “Not unless you want rumors of witch craft to spread.”
As they passed by each man, the sailors dropped their gazes to the ground, but Tristan did not falter. He continued introductions, calling her Rose from the Scottish Isles. The men all muttered responses that she guessed were how do you do or pleased to meet you, but she couldn’t be sure. They might as well have been speaking spells of protection, their words were so incomprehensible.
She was happy to climb the stairs to the stern castle, despite her fatigue, to escape the stares of the crew. Standing at the rails was a tall man, nearly as tall as her brother Jack, but unlike any of her brothers, he was very slim, his build feminine and elegant.
“Rose, allow me to introduce you to my quarter master, Philip Bellamy.”
Philip moved toward her, riding the rocking ship like an agile dancer. When he stood in front of her, he bent at the waist in a lavish bow. “Mistress Rose, it is my pleasure to at last make your acquaintance. I will not lie—I worried your fever might have stolen this great privilege away. But you are looking very well.” Then his voice dropped, and she noticed his gaze dart to Tristan, before returning to her. “Very well, indeed.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, smiling, pleased to meet someone who seemed genuinely happy to see her, unlike the rest of the crew who certainly appeared to have the words Cast her back to the devil on the tips of their tongues. Even now as she scanned the deck, suspicious eyes followed her.
Tristan must have sensed her awareness of the men. “Forgive their rudeness. They are not accustomed to having a woman on board, particularly one plucked from the sea.”
She lifted her shoulders. “No offense taken. After growing up near the docks in Berwick and spending the last few years fishing the isles with my brothers, I am very aware of men’s wariness of women on board any vessel.”
“Ah, Berwick,” Tristan said sadly. “What a fine port she used to be. Such an amazing city. Edward should be burned alive for what he did to that great place.”
“Ye freely denounce yer king?” she said with surprise.
A flash of fierceness lit Tristan’s brown eyes. “He is not my king. The only man I give fealty to is myself.”
“And your father,” Philip chimed in.
Rose didn’t miss the looks the men exchanged. Tristan did not appear glad to be reminded of his father at that moment.
“You are as lovely as the day,” Philip said, bending over her hand and pressing a kiss to her skin. “By the captain’s orders, I sent young Simon ashore just a few hours ago to buy you a more serviceable tunic and kirtle. They may not fit perfectly, but when we reach Calais, alterations can be made, if need be.”
“Please, do not trouble yerselves. I’m grateful for what ye’ve already given me,” she said, lifting the hem of her worn tunic.
Philip shook his head. “Mistress Rose, we are not barbarians. You are a guest on the Messenger and will be afforded every luxury we can provide for the duration of our journey.”
Rose felt her skin warm. She did not know how to respond to Philip’s declaration other than to bob in a quick curtsy.
“I am so pleased you are here,” Philip said warmly. “In fact, I believe your presence is just what we all needed. It is almost like destiny brought you to us.”
“Philip,” Tristan said. His tone seemed to hold a warning Rose did not understand. “Do you not have some task that needs tending to?”
A slight smile curved Philips lips before he bowed to Rose. “Duty calls,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and headed down the stairs.
Rose crossed to the railing. She stared at the sandy shore, which gradually turned into a grassy slope. “Does the river lead to Cardiff?” she asked, her gaze scanning the large watery mouth surrounding by grassland dotted with small huts.
“It does.”
“What is it like?”
“Cardiff is a fine town. In size it does not compare to other more affluent ports, but twice a year it hosts a large fair, to which merchants travel from all of Christendom.”
“Perhaps, I could go ashore?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I hate to disappoint you, but Robert has recommended that you stay on board and keep mostly to my cabin for the next two days; that is, until your strength has returned.”
She nodded. “I admit, I feel rather weak.” Then she sighed. “Long has it been since my eyes have gazed upon a bustling port. In truth, it might make me too sad to see it.”
“You are remembering Berwick,” he said knowingly.
She nodded. “It was such a fine city.”
“Berwick was always unmatched in my mind—even to the markets in London.” He paused as a shadow crossed over his face. “I was there just the week before the att
ack.” He shook his head. “So many thousands of people slaughtered.”
Rose nodded grimly. “What took countless lifetimes to build, King Edward wiped from the world in a matter of three days.”
He canted his head, still holding her gaze. “I do not wish to pry, but I feel certain you must have been there when his scores of troops arrived.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Nay, I wasn’t actually. I had left the city the morning of the attack to forage for herbs in the forest. When I returned, towers of billowing smoke stretched to the heavens. Cries of the dying rent the air for days. There was no way back inside.” Her hand rushed to her chest. “Forgive me.” She stopped and took a deep breath, blocking the images of death and sorrow from her thoughts. When she regained her composure, she continued. “I am glad ye do not give yer fealty to King Edward. As an Englishman it makes ye much more likable.”
He smiled. “That is a relief.”
“Does yer family hold with yer beliefs?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin. “My father lives in-between worlds. He has been a strong force in the merchant guild and has supported other guilds in their pursuit of fair treatment from the noble class, but he does not extend his sympathy to the common man. He still sees a place for royalty in the world; whereas, I believe it is only by merit that a man deserves reward. Nobility is something that should be earned not bestowed. Actions alone should be the measure of any man.”
Rose’s pulse quickened as he spoke. He had put words to what she had always felt in her heart, but still something was missing. “What of women?”
His eyes brightened then. “The most heroic act I have ever witnessed was carried out by a woman, a young girl actually.” He turned and leaned his back against the rail and gazed out as if seeing his memory in the distance.
Rose admired the fineness of his profile, his chiseled jawline and straight nose. His nostrils flared as he breathed deep the sea air. A flutter stirred in her chest, and for a moment, she felt like a young woman again, when the touch of a man had still been a mystery.