The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  She restrained herself from snorting at her own thought—it had been so long since she felt the touch of a man on her body that she may as well have been a maid again.

  “It must have been ten years ago now,” Tristan said, continuing with his story. “I docked in Calais, where we will be soon enough, if the winds allow. I went for a walk on my own in the countryside. Suddenly, a piercing scream filled the air. I raced across a vast meadow and came upon a sight that made my blood run cold. A young girl was stumbling, her tunic torn and bloodied, and in her arms, she clasped a puppy to her chest. As it turns out, she had thrown herself in the path of a pack of wild dogs to protect her pet. She withstood numerous bites and raking claws while her beloved friend remained unscathed. I carried her back home. And when we arrived, her mother scolded her and asked her what had made her act so foolishly. In reply, the little girl simply snuggled closer to her puppy and said, ‘I love her’. There is nothing more noble than unconditional love, love you would be willing to die for.”

  She stared at him in wonder. His words had opened a world of opportunity in her mind where how well someone loved and was loved in return defined their worth—not their wealth or title. She wanted to tell him just how much he had touched her heart, but she closed her eyes against an onslaught of dizziness. She grappled at the railing for support.

  “Are you all right?” he said, his arm coming around her waist.

  Her hand flew to her temple. “I’m afraid I’m suddenly not feeling very well. Perhaps, I’ve been on my feet too long.”

  She felt his arm come under her legs the instant before he lifted her into the air.

  “Thank ye,” she said, her arm loosely circling his neck.

  He carried her back to his cabin and laid her on the bed. He smiled down at her, his eyes so warm, but then his brow furrowed slightly. “Rose, may I speak my mind?”

  She nodded.

  “We are still at the infancy of our friendship, but with the little conversation we’ve had, I feel justified in judging you to be a sensible and shrewd woman. Why were you alone out on the water?”

  She swallowed hard, then dropped her gaze. “When I set out, I wasn’t in my right mind. To be honest, I’ve not been myself for some time now.” She shook her head. “I admit it was not my most sensible moment, but…” A tightness gripped her chest as her desperation returned. A knot formed in her throat. “I have no excuse for my actions. I…I was just so…” She didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t understand unless he knew her heart, the contents of which she was not ready to share. “I wanted something to happen to me, anything,” she finally blurted.

  He licked his lips, looking like he wanted to say more. Clearly, he knew her explanation was incomplete, but to her relief, he did not press her. Instead he chuckled. “Well, something certainly has happened.”

  A burst of laughter rushed up her throat. “Indeed, it has.” Her gaze scanned the small room and the man smiling down at her. “Indeed, it has.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rose did not know how long she slept, but when she arose, she felt strong, almost like herself again. The captain’s cabin was shrouded in darkness. She lay there for some time feeling the subtle rocking of the ship. She had never been at sea in a larger vessel before. As much as she missed her family, her brothers and their dear wives, anticipation coursed through her, warming her insides. After all, she had no choice but to accept her current situation. She did not expect the good captain to turn his ship around and travel back north to the Hebrides. He had already done so much for her. She owed him and his crew her life. Not only had they dragged her nearly drowned body on board, but they had nursed her back to health. If that wasn’t enough, Captain Thatcher had quitted his cabin to afford her greater comfort and privacy.

  Her mind lingered for a moment on the good captain. A smile lifted one side of her lips. She had dubbed him the ‘Good Captain’ after he carried her back to his quarters and gently laid her on his bed. Before he left, he had looked down at her with what she could only have called admiration in his gaze—as if he had assessed her character and found her worthy of reward. According to his new understanding of how people were meant to be measured, she, who had felt useless and insignificant, now had merit and purpose. It made her feel like anything was possible.

  Just then her stomach growled. She lay for a while longer, debating whether to go in search of food, but then muffled notes of music reached her ears. She recognized the rhythm. Excitement churned within her. She fumbled with the covers, which had twisted around her legs while she slept. Then she stood and eased the door open. She followed the lilting sound, the pipes and whistles up the stairs. Torch fire illuminated the deck. Men were scattered about, reclining on the floor or on benches in leisurely poses, enjoying a break from the grueling work of the seafarer.

  She scanned the faces and spotted the captain sitting at a table in the corner with Philip. She locked eyes with the quarter master and watched as he leaned in to say something to Tristan who turned, a smile spreading across his face as he stood and walked toward her. His movement drew the gazes of the other men. In the next instant, the music stopped, and everyone was silent. She felt their eyes on her. She stood tall, remembering she was a MacVie, despite how the stares made her want to fidget.

  “Good evening, Rose,” Tristan said with a bow. “We were just giving you a little more time to rest before coming to fetch you for dinner.”

  Rose could not help but smile. “Good evening, Captain Thatcher. That is good to hear because I’m famished.” On the captain’s arm, she crossed the deck toward his table. Philip stood at their approach and bade her take his chair.

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I’m quite happy to find my own seat.”

  Philip insisted “There is much for you and the captain to discuss. In fact, he has a problem that I believe you might be able to help solve.”

  Rose raised her brows in surprise, but then she nodded eagerly. “I am happy to help.”

  Tristan lifted his brow at Philip. Rose could tell he was not pleased by Philip’s admission, and when he spoke next, she was assured of his displeasure.

  “Philip,” he said sternly.

  “Yes, Captain,” Philip replied, a mischievous expression on his face.

  “Your presence is no longer required. Report to your room for the remainder of the night.”

  Philip dipped his head to Tristan and then to Rose. “I agree. My work here is already done.” Then he turned on his heel. His long, slim legs carried him across the deck to the hatch. Then he disappeared down below.

  “What was Philip talking about? If ye do, indeed, have a problem that I could somehow help with, I would be honored.”

  Tristan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “There is simply some messy business with my father that I’m trying to work through.”

  “Would ye like to talk about it?” she asked.

  He flashed her a bright smile. “At the moment, not in the least.” He raised his hands to his men and called loudly. “At present, I wish to fill my belly and make merry—for it is the feast of St. John the Baptist.”

  The next instant, the men cheered and took up their pipes and whistles.

  Above the din of music, Rose leaned close to the captain and said, “I’ve lost track of the days, it would seem.”

  “One of the many hazards of being lost at sea, I suppose,” he said as he filled her mug from a steaming pitcher. “How are you feeling?”

  “Amazing,” she answered. “I’m really quite well.”

  He raised his cup to her. “Glad I am to hear, but let us remain cautious. Do not overtask yourself.”

  “Agreed,” she said, smiling as she brought the mug to her lips. The warm brew was tinged with cinnamon. She had never tasted its equal. “This is delicious,” she said, before taking a long draught.

  “Wait until you taste the dried venison. My supplier is unmatched in quality.”

  At that moment,
the young cabin boy appeared with a tray piled high with cuts of meat and slabs of bread smothered in butter. The boy first visited the captain’s table.

  “Thank ye, Simon,” she said after he set three large strips of meat and two pieces of bread on the table in front of her.

  The lad blushed. “You remembered my name.”

  “’Tis easy to remember as I am wearing yer hose.”

  Both Simon and the captain threw their heads back with laughter.

  “It looks glorious,” she said, taking up a piece of bread. She bit into it and tasted the butter and groaned, savoring the rich flavor.

  “How do you celebrate this day at home?” Tristan asked before taking a sip of mead.

  She smiled. “Always with a feast, of course. And then we play games and my favorite—the singing and music.”

  “Would you sing for us now?”

  “I would be honored to sing, but wait,” she said before downing the remainder of her drink. “All right, now I’m ready, Captain.”

  “Rose?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Please call me Tristan.”

  She smiled at him. “I don’t think I should do that, Captain.”

  “Why is that?”

  “This is yer ship, and I, like everyone else, am under yer command. I might forget if I stop calling ye captain,” she said with a wink before she stood. The sea air twisted around her, tangling her hair, and the salty tang invigorated her senses. The sound of pipes stirred her soul. She didn’t hesitate. Her lips parted, and her voice rang out strong and clear.

  ~ * ~

  Tristan sat straighter when Rose began her song. Her voice and the words were full and achingly beautiful. For a moment, all other sound ceased. The pipers froze, their instruments unmoving at their lips. The dancers stopped and stared. Even the wind had cut out. The rich sound of her voice was ethereal in its beauty, but somehow it was also familiar, comforting. Her song was of the Highlands and painted otherworldly pictures of that rugged land. She closed her eyes and sang with passion and conviction. Tristan sat on the edge of his seat, mesmerized.

  When her song ended, she started right into another, this time a shanty that everyone knew. One of the sailors called out a whoop and cheered, and then the deck erupted into din once more. The pipers joined in, and the dancers kicked up their heels. Rose laughed, her face a picture of joy as she continued to sing. Tristan could not help but join in. He stood and took her hand from behind and whirled her around, and together they danced a reel, joining hands with some of the other crew.

  Laughing, she grabbed his arm. “I must sit down before I fall down.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her back to her chair. She plunked down and refilled her cup, downing the contents. Breathless, she made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “‘Tis…a fine…ship, this.” She paused for a moment, clearly waiting for her breathing to slow. Then she continued, “What I wouldn’t do for a fine ship like this.”

  Tristan looked at her curiously. “What would you want with a merchant cog?”

  “I would give it to my wee brother so that he might be a great merchant.” She winked at him. “He said he would make me quarter master, although I don’t think he would find a crew willing to sail under the command of a woman.” She closed her eyes. “Captain —”

  “Tristan,” he said, interrupting.

  She smiled, her eyes still closed. “Captain, I think I’ve had too much mead. I’m feeling a wee bit dizzy. I will retire with yer permission.”

  He stood, picked up the candle from the table, and offered her his arm. “If you will permit me, I will escort you to my quarters.”

  “Thank ye,” she said, weaving her arm through his.

  He looked down into her sky-blue eyes. She was spirited, intelligent, and strong. A gust of wind barreled across the deck just as they began their descent down the stairs. Her hair billowed out, the silken strands caressing his face. He closed his eyes. Not to mention beautiful. If he were ever to marry, he imagined it would be to a woman like her.

  But he wasn’t betrothed to Rose.

  He was promised to a selfish noblewoman.

  He stopped in front of his door and raked his hand through his hair. Damn his father’s foolhardy ambition.

  Rose looked up at him, her brows drawn with concern. “Yer countenance has changed,” she said cautiously. Then her eyes widened for a moment. “Ye must be missing yer quarters.” She started to back away from the door. “I really do feel so much better. I’m happy to lay my head anywhere on the ship. At home I sleep on a pallet. Give me a small portion of deck, and I will sleep like a babe.”

  He smiled down at her. “Forgive me, I was deep in thought for a moment.” He reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I am very happy to give my room to you for the duration of our journey. Please do not doubt that.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What if I refuse?”

  His smile only widened. “You have already admitted that I’m your captain.” He opened the door and motioned for her to enter. “You have your orders, quarter master, Rose.”

  A smile spread across her face, flooding his chest with warmth. “Aye aye, Captain,” she said and walked into the room.

  She turned about, and they locked eyes, his thoughts whirling in his mind as he took in the sight of her. He passed her the candle. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, and she held his with a quiet confidence that made his pulse race.

  “Goodnight, Rose,” he said softly and dipped his head in a slight bow.

  She slowly curtsied, then met his gaze once more. “Goodnight, Captain.”

  He closed the door and breathed deep, his nostrils flaring.

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  Tristan jerked around. Philip stood behind him in the doorway to his own quarters, looking at him expectantly.

  “In all our years sailing together,” Philip continued, “nearly fifteen now, when have I ever been wrong?”

  Tristan lifted his shoulders. “Never. It is why you’re my quarter master. You’ve never gauged a storm wrong or misjudged one of the crew’s character.”

  “My plan sounds outrageous, I know—”

  “Not to mention immoral,” Tristan said, interrupting.

  Philip made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “God will have his turn to judge our souls, but right now I’m trying to save your life.”

  “Just to be clear, you think that I should proposition Rose to pose as my wife, lie to my family—several rosaries worth of sins.”

  “That is exactly what I’m suggesting you do.”

  Tristan shook his head. “Rose is a woman of character. She would never agree to such a blasphemous charade.”

  “She would if you made it worth her while. I have felt her hands. She has worked hard every day of her life. She is poor, Tristan, something you know nothing about, but from firsthand experience, I can tell you, her life has been hard. And there is something, too, in her eyes, a sadness.”

  Tristan looked at him hard. More than once, he had seen a shadow cross Rose’s face, a fleeting sadness, there and gone in the space of a breath. “You’ve seen that, too?” Tristan asked, although he was not surprised. Philip was insightful. Little went unnoticed by the quarter master.

  “You could change her fortune,” Philip said softly.

  “You mean I should strike a deal with her,” Tristan said with disgust.

  Philip shrugged. “Yes, you saved her life. Now, she can save yours.”

  “I didn’t know I was in need of rescue.”

  “Then you have not thought enough about the death sentence your father has put on your head. Think about it, Captain. You could make a difference in Rose’s life. Offer her money, offer her whatever it is she wants. Her merit is such that she deserves it.”

  “Enough, Philip,” Tristan snapped. “If Rose is in need, then I will give her money or whatever else will ease her hard life.”

  “She do
es not want your charity,” Philip scoffed. “She would never accept it.”

  Tristan knew Philip was right.

  “I believe she has the wit and the courage to carry out my plan. And as far as sinfulness goes, mayhap this is God’s plan, not mine. You did pray to the sea for an answer, and the sea did give you Rose. That much is true.”

  “Good night, Philip,” Tristan said, turning toward the stairs.

  “Tristan,” Philip called.

  Hearing his Christian name, he turned around in surprise.

  Philip’s expression was uncharacteristically serious. “I beg you to consider this situation with your eyes fully open. Your father has erred gravely. It is up to you to save him, and the rest of us. You are facing the complete ruination of the Thatcher name. Your wealth could be seized along with your ships. What will your men do? They rely on you. What of your stepmother or your sister. What will they do when you and your father are imprisoned? Rose did not drift into your life by accident. Think about what I have said.”

  Tristan’s mind raced as he mounted the stairs to the deck where he unrolled a pallet and lay down. Staring up at the star-studded sky, sleep evaded him. Images of his sister and stepmother slaving away in Baron Roxwell’s fields filled his mind. He imagined his ships captained by someone else, someone with a cruel nature like so many merchant captains. When he did at last fall asleep, his dreams were just as troubled. He stood on the forecastle, his ship barreling into a great storm. Lightning slashed the sky. The wind howled with the cries of so many who stood to suffer if he failed. He strained to reach the steering oar, but when he grabbed it, it turned into a single red rose.

  Chapter Eight

  Tristan stood outside his quarters, ready to knock softly on the door, but instead, he started pacing.

  How had he come to be in a situation where his only foreseeable choices were to marry a cruel noblewoman, to face the ruination of all he held dear, or to ask a woman he had known for less than a week to pretend to be his new bride?