The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  The next instant the wind picked up, turning the gentle ripples into waves that moved the ship in an undulating rhythm. “I believe it’s time I turned in, too,” he said out loud. He started to down the last of his ale, but given he was already talking to himself and the moon, he decided against it.

  He waved up to Davy, who sat alert in the crow’s nest, before descending the stairs. Standing in the narrow hallway, he laid his hand on the door, behind which Rose slept. He imagined her red hair spread out across his pillow. Her thick dark lashes resting on her porcelain cheeks. He turned away quickly before his imagination could wander farther across Rose’s sleeping form. He grabbed the handle to Philip’s room.

  “It looks like you’re even more tired than me,” a voice said.

  Tristan jerked his head to the right. William stood in his doorway.

  “Good evening, William. Is there something you require?”

  William shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.” He lifted his shoulders. “It is a part of growing old. You can actually be too tired to sleep. I was just going to take a turn on deck.” Then, he took Tristan by the arm. “You’ve had too much ale, my boy. That is your quarter master’s room. Here,” he said, turning Tristan to face the door to the captain’s quarters. “Now off you go,” William urged.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “I…er…I.”

  “To bed with you, man. You can’t even string your words together.”

  Tristan gripped the door handle to his own room. “Goodnight then, William.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rose lay in bed staring up at the slatted boards of the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind while she considered all that had occurred. Never could she have dreamed that she would sail on a merchant ship to Wales and France and London—places she could not conjure images for, even in her wildest imaginings. She had spent most of her life within the city walls of Berwick.

  After the massacre, she and her brothers were exiled to a camp hidden deep within a Scottish forest where they lived for five years. Then, she had been forced to outrun the long reach of King Edward alongside her brother Jack, whose new bride was wanted for treason against the crown. For more than two years, she had lived on the isolated shores of their haven. Over time, her life there had changed as they were joined by her other brothers—all outlaws to the crown but heroes to the Scottish people.

  She knew that right and wrong were often blurred when the law was made by the wicked. Her brothers had spent years robbing English nobles on the road north into Scotland, which was not only against the law of men but of God. It was one of the ten commandments. Thou shall not steal.

  But the MacVie men had stolen from wealthy English nobles who had laid claim to Scottish lands. Every penny taken was given back to the Scottish people. They fed exiled orphans whose families were slaughtered during the massacre. They helped rebuild Scotland’s armies, which she did not doubt was the right thing to do.

  Likewise, she knew aiding Tristan was the right thing to do, despite the deception involved. He couldn’t marry a woman tied to such a deplorable family, nor could he allow his father to face the consequences of his rash decision. What’s more, she could change the destiny of her family. With a ship like the Messenger, there was nothing stopping Ian’s dream of turning the MacVies into merchants.

  She gasped as a soft rapping sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts. Before she could ask who was there, Tristan stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind him. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

  “What are ye doing?” she blurted, but then she noticed he had his eyes closed.

  “William, the new physician, saw me entering the quarter master’s cabin and redirected me, thinking I was too drunk to find my own room.”

  “Oh,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “I am decent enough. Ye don’t have to stand there with yer eyes closed.”

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  Again, Rose was struck by how devastatingly handsome he was. She resisted the urge to pull the blanket over her head. What was it about Tristan that turned her into a blushing maid?

  He sat down on his desk bench and faced her. “If you don’t mind, I will just wait here for a little while and give William some time to return to his room and fall asleep. Then I will just pop across the hall.”

  “But what happens in the morning?” she asked. “What if William sees ye leaving Philip’s room then, or he catches ye tomorrow night? Anyway, he is sure to realize that Philip is sleeping aloft with the other sailors. Will that not start tongues wagging?”

  Tristan took a deep breath. “You’re right. We need a better solution. As we carry on, I’m certain we will run into bumps such as this along the way. But I do not doubt that our two minds will find the answer.”

  Rose sat up, keeping the sheet tucked beneath her chin while she thought. Her gaze darted down to the floor space. It was hardly enough room for her to stretch out, but if she were to curl into a ball, she could wedge herself in the tiny nook.

  She threw the covers back, but kept her arm demurely crossed over her chest. “I will just sleep on the floor.”

  Tristan raised a brow at her. “Have we met before? Because I’m fairly certain, if we had you would know that this ship could be sinking, and the only way it could stay afloat is if you slept on the floor of my cabin—and still, I would never allow you to do so.”

  She smiled at his jest. “I suppose ye’re right. ‘Tis a silly idea.” She spread the covers back over herself and nudged as far against the wall as she could. “There is only one solution,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “Get into bed.”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly allow you to—”

  “Excuse me, Captain,” she snapped, interrupting him. “Do not think for a moment that our arrangement comes with true husbandly rights. Ye’re not allowing me anything, nor do I need yer permission regarding any of my decisions. I am a woman grown, slightly long in the tooth, and I do not take orders.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “I refused your suggestion not as an order from your husband but as a true gentleman.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Rose continued, softening the tone of her voice. “But we must proceed as man and wife for our scheme to work.”

  Tristan shook his head. “Forgive me, but I must stand firm, not out of disrespect for you but out of respect for your honor.”

  “My honor?” she said impatiently. “Tristan, I’m the peasant daughter of a fishmonger. Do not fash yerself over my reputation or whatever else ye think is at stake. We have but one choice, to share this bed.”

  He stood up, his brow deeply furrowed while he considered the space next to her. “Even if I could bring myself to agree to your suggestion, I do not think we will both fit.”

  “Och, the bed is not that small. Stop fretting and climb in,” she insisted. “We’re both tired, and if ye don’t remember, let me remind ye that we set sail on the morrow.”

  His eyes widened at her tone. “You just might make a fine quarter master after all.” He eyed the narrow bed again, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. He reminded her of someone reconciling themselves to mounting a horse for the first time.

  She had to bite the side of her cheek to keep from smiling as she pressed herself against the wall. Then at last, he lay down next to her but on top of the covers. The side of his body pressed against her full length.

  Her breath caught.

  Straightaway, she questioned whether he had been right after all.

  Her heart started to race. He lay as stiffly as she.

  “Do you have enough room?” he asked, his voice sounding pained.

  “Aye,” she said quickly. “’Tis fine.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m glad. Goodnight then, Rose.”

  “Good night,” she answered.

  Then he blew out the candle on the stand, and darkness claimed the room.

  S
he could feel the warmth and hardness of his body pressed next to hers. It had been eight long years since she shared a bed with a man. She closed her eyes and listened to his short breaths. Her heart thudded against her chest, pounding harder with every passing moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch her quickening breaths, but that was the worst thing she could have done. His richly masculine scent invaded her senses. And she wondered what it would feel like to lay there wrapped in his embrace, her face pressed against his chest.

  She pressed her hand to her racing heart. Dear God above, how was she going to make it through the night?

  ~ * ~

  Tristan clenched his fists against the overwhelming desire to pull Rose into his arms and kiss her lovely lips and rake his fingers through her soft, tousled curls. Heat from her body poured into his, fueling his desire. She shifted next to him. The scent from her hair wafted across his face. He inhaled, wanting to savor her smell, to take from her what he could. His pulse raced. He licked his lips, imagining the feel of her curves beneath his fingertips, the taste of her skin on his tongue. Tension flooded his body. How was he ever going to make it through the night?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rose opened her eyes. She lay on her side, Tristan’s warm body curled around hers from behind. His arm encircled her waist, and his leg held hers captive. Never had there been a more willing prisoner. She was surrounded by him. His warm breath caressed her neck. She held still, savoring his tender strength.

  He stirred. She closed her eyes and made her breaths deep and even.

  “Rose?” he whispered.

  But she didn’t move or speak.

  His arm slowly loosened, releasing her waist while the pressure of his leg slid away. A few moments later, she heard the door quietly open, then close once more. She turned to ensure the room was empty. Then she fell back down on the small bed, exhausted and elated all at once.

  ~ * ~

  Philip sat across from his captain at the table on the forecastle. He was attempting to go over the ship’s accounts and supplies in preparation for setting sail, although Tristan was not making the task easy. Philip read off the number of barrels of ale in the hull. “We have more than we need. In fact, our supply should hold until we reach London. Should I cancel our standing order when we reach Calais?”

  Tristan didn’t respond. Instead, he stared out over the rails, but at what Philip could not say.

  “What do you think, Captain?”

  “Good,” Tristan replied absently, his gaze unwavering.

  “Interesting,” Philip said. “I appreciate your insight.” He cleared his throat before moving on to the next concern on his list. “Did you log the sacks of wool? We have two more than what our records show?”

  Tristan murmured something incomprehensible.

  Philip crossed his arms over his chest as he considered the dark circles under his captain’s eyes. “We’ve also ploughed the hull and planted a crop of oats.”

  Nothing.

  Philip chuckled. “Captain, the ship is sinking.”

  “Fine, whatever you think.”

  “Captain!”

  Tristan looked up at his quarter master in surprise. “What’s come over you, Philip?”

  “Me?” Philip said, pressing his hand to his chest. “In the last few minutes you’ve replaced our cargo with soil, and you let the Messenger sink to the bottom of the sea.”

  Tristan sat straight and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Forgive me. I admit my mind is elsewhere, and I barely slept.”

  Philip raised a quizzical brow. “Why was your sleep so troubled?”

  Because Rose and I shared my bed last night.

  “I’m not really sure why,” Tristan answered.

  “All right, so you’re tired, but why are you so distracted?”

  This morning, Rose’s round bottom was pressed against my hard length, and I had to dart out of bed before she awoke and felt my desire.

  He lifted his brows and shook his head. “No reason comes to mind.”

  Philip cleared his throat. “Before turning in last night, I…ah…went to my old cabin to ask you a question. You can imagine my surprise when I found the bed empty, and you nowhere else on the ship.”

  “It’s not what you think, Philip,” Tristan said sternly. “Rose and I have decided to share my cabin to ensure tongues do not wag. Nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen. Rose is a woman of honor, just as I am a man of honor.”

  Philip held out a placating hand. “I never would have assumed otherwise.” Then he looked over Tristan’s shoulder, and his face brightened. “Here is your beautiful wife now.”

  Tristan turned and watched Rose cross the deck. She looked magnificent in her simple, deep green tunic. Red curls skimmed her waist. She smiled as she walked past the crew who, in turn, dutifully bowed and greeted her, but then Tristan noticed the appreciative gazes that continued to follow her as she approached the forecastle.

  “Your men admire your choice of bride,” Philip said behind him.

  “Of course, they do,” Tristan said softly as he continued to watch her. “There is much about Rose to admire.” He turned then and looked at Philip. “Have you sent the message to my father?”

  Philip nodded. “A rider left Cardiff yesterday bound for London with your marriage announcement and your apologies to both your father and the Roxwell family.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Philip.”

  “What is excellent?” Rose asked as she lifted the hem of her kirtle to climb the stairs.

  Tristan reached down to assist her. “Philip has just informed me that he sent out a message to my father yesterday, announcing our marriage.”

  Rose’s eyes flashed wide, but then her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. “And so it begins.”

  Philip raised his cup of ale. “To new beginnings,” he said before downing the remainder of his drink. Then he set his cup down. “I will leave you both now to break your fast while I check our water stores.” He bowed to Rose before hastening down the stairs.

  Now that they were alone, the feelings she had stirred within him during the night came rushing back.

  He had held her, buried his face in her hair, and it had felt wonderful.

  He looked down at her. She stood stiffly at his side. The silence between them dragged on too long. He cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”

  Rose smiled brightly. “Fine, like a babe, never better…and ye, how did ye sleep, Captain—I mean, Tristan?”

  “Very well, indeed,” he said quickly. But then he felt a pang of guilt for having lied to her. “Rose,” he began and placed his hand on hers. “I must tell you that I—”

  “Captain and Mrs. Thatcher.”

  At the sound of William’s voice, Rose snatched her hand away as if she had been caught with her fingers in someone else’s coffer.

  “Good morrow, William.” Tristan said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you,” the older man replied. “And what about you two? How did you both sleep?”

  “Fine,” Rose blurted.

  “Just fine,” Tristan added.

  William beamed up at them as he finished climbing the stairs to the forecastle. “Glad I am to hear. I am ready to set sail when you are,” he said to Tristan, but then he turned his gaze to Rose. “But not before I meet your wife. It is an honor, Mistress Thatcher.”

  A beautiful smile curved her lips. “Please call me Rose.”

  William’s face lit up in response. “Then you must call me William.”

  “Agreed,” Rose said.

  “Captain!”

  Everyone turned and looked down to the main deck where Philip stood.

  “The men are ready to set sail and await your orders.”

  Tristan nodded and took her hand, gently leading her to the far side of the forecastle. “Are you ready?” he said in a low voice.

  Rose drew a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “I may be a bit nervous, but I’ve not wavere
d from my decision for a moment. Do not fash yerself about me, Tristan. I’m a MacVie. MacVies were born for adventure.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rose scanned the busy deck, her heart beating wildly. The crew scurried up and down the rigging, toting lines as they prepared to unfurl the massive square sail. Another group of men hoisted the anchor. Her eyes brightened when she spotted Davy coiling the wet anchor line into a large wooden crate. She hastened over to help him.

  Coming up behind the cabin boy, she guided the line into a neater coil.

  “Mistress Thatcher?” Davy gasped when he noticed her.

  She smiled. “Rose will do nicely,” she said. Then before he could protest her efforts, she pointed to the line bunching at his feet. “Ye’re getting behind,” she warned.

  He turned and quickly took up the dripping rope, feeding her the wet length.

  “Rose,” someone said behind her.

  Rose’s shoulders stiffened as she recognized Tristan’s deep voice. She turned around to meet his gaze, but she did not quit feeding the line into the crate.

  He motioned for her to join him.

  “I will be right back,” she said to Davy who looked past her at Tristan with wide, terrified eyes.

  “Don’t be daft, Davy,” she scolded. “Ye’ve done nothing wrong, and neither have I. He likely wants to commend our good work.”

  The moment she locked eyes again with Tristan, she knew she was mistaken. His disapproval was present in the heavy furrow of his brow. She crossed to his side and started talking before he could. “Ye cannot possibly object to me coiling a wee bit of line.”

  Tristan looked like he wanted to praise her and take her over his knee all at the same time. He drew closer and bent his head near her ear. “But you are my wife now, Rose. Remember? It is not appropriate for you to scurry about the ship like one of my crew.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “But I am not a pampered merchant’s daughter or noblewoman. Yer men know my humble origins.” She held out her calloused palms. “I’ve spent my life laboring. Ye ken I’ll go mad, if I do not have some purpose.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her green tunic. “I’m wearing my most serviceable garment.”