A Magical Regency Christmas

by Elizabeth Rolls

  ‘A Scottish pirate!’ Imelda breathed with something akin to reverence.

  Sarah felt the blush warm her cheeks. ‘Imelda!’

  ‘Indeed, but let that be our secret, Miss Bowden.’ He lowered his voice, ‘You’ll help me keep a look out for any of those Royal Navy ships that come to catch me?’

  ‘Or your own pirate ship come to fetch you?’ Imelda nodded. ‘I will start straight away.’

  ‘I am in your debt, Miss Bowden.’ He bowed a deep formal bow.

  Imelda dipped a low, wobbly curtsy.

  Only then did he meet Sarah’s gaze again, with the hint of a smile playing about his lips. ‘I will leave you to enjoy the peace, Mrs Ellison.’ With a bow he walked away.

  Sarah turned her back and faced out to the ocean once more, but her sense of peace had gone, shattered by the tall handsome Highlander. She was too aware that there were two more weeks to go before they reached Plymouth and, short of staying in her cabin, it was going to be very difficult to avoid meeting him again.

  * * *

  Daniel’s thoughts were on Mrs Ellison as he made his way to the small cabin that had been assigned to him. She was different from other women, most of whom were only too willing to talk, to flirt...and more. That slight standoffishness and prickly demeanour determinedly sent the message that she was not available, not interested. He smiled at that, remembering the transparency of her feelings before she had reluctantly agreed to shake his hand.

  She was a very attractive woman. Too young to be a widow. Tall with silky dark hair and velvet brown eyes that hinted at passion and secrets hidden beneath that aloof respectability. And beautiful—perhaps not in the conventional sense of the word, but there was something about her that rendered her unforgettable. As if he ever could. Her image had been impressed upon his mind since he had seen her across the waves, standing on the Angel’s deck. Though Daniel had much more important things to be thinking about than a woman. Things that meant the difference between life and death. Things like Higgs.

  The cabin door closed behind him. Sitting himself down at the little table, he put Mrs Ellison from his mind, dipped the pen in the inkwell and wrote the letter.

  It was a letter he hoped would never be needed, but one that was a necessary insurance were the worst to happen. And as for Higgs... Daniel’s eyes narrowed with deadly intent. Until he reached England there was not a lot he could do about Higgs. The ship’s progress to the English coast was out of his hands; he could not will the wind to blow her there faster, no matter how much he wished it. For now, he was stuck here on the Angel, with the beautiful Mrs Ellison.

  Had he not been up to his neck in this mess... Had she not been the woman who saved his life... Had it been any other time of year... Daniel Alexander shook his head and smiled at the irony of it. Fate could be both merciful and cruel in the games that she played upon a man.

  Chapter Two

  The moon was a silver crescent high in the sky when Sarah wiped the cold sweat from her face and sat the chamber pot aside, resting a little as the latest bout of retching subsided. The remnants of the evening’s paltry meal had long since been emptied from her stomach. At this rate she wondered if she would survive another fortnight and could only be thankful that Imelda and Fanny, sound asleep in the next cabin, were not here to witness the worst of it. The Angel heaved upon the waves and Sarah’s stomach followed suit. A quiet moan escaped her lips and, unable to bear it a moment longer, she rose from the bed, grabbed her cloak and lantern and quietly slipped from the tiny cabin.

  Up on deck the wind was howling, catching beneath the long dark lengths of her cloak to billow it like wings on her back, and snatching the ribbon that secured her hair from the nape of her neck to set it free. The cold air nipped at her face, chasing away the nausea that roiled in her stomach. She breathed in great gulps of it, relishing the freshness, and with her lantern swaying in the wind, made her way to the bulwarks.

  Gone was the smooth pale stretch of water. In its place was something dark and fierce and alive. The sea spray stung against her cheeks, the wind’s chill was like a knife through her dress and cloak, but she welcomed it. The cold heat in her head receded. The constant background roar of the ocean was louder up here than in the tiny cabin below, competing with the wind to fill her ears and yet still she heard the tiny noise and glanced in its direction. The dark figure was leaning against the bulwark only a few feet away.

  She jumped and sucked in a small shriek.

  ‘Forgive me if I startled you, Mrs Ellison.’

  ‘Mr Alexander,’ she breathed. In the lantern light his face was all harsh planes and angles, dangerously handsome.

  ‘I did not expect company,’ he said.

  ‘Nor I.’ His presence made her glance behind to the hatch that would take her back down to the safety of her cabin below, the cabin in which the buck of the ship seemed so much worse. Her nausea rose just at the thought. She swallowed hard and dismissed any idea of leaving.

  She gripped a hand to the top of the bulwark to steady herself, staring out at the blackness beyond, breathing deep to halt the sickness, swallowing again and again, determined not to reveal such weakness in front of him.

  A large wave rolled beneath. The Angel dipped and kicked.

  Sarah’s stomach reacted. The lantern slipped from her fingers to crash upon the deck as she leaned over the side and retched for all she was worth.

  A strong arm fixed itself around her waist. A hand captured her wild flail of hair into a tail and held it secure. Daniel Alexander stood behind her.

  ‘What...?’ She tried to speak, tried to pull away, but the sickness was too pressing and the man too strong. ‘Oh, dear God...’ Her stomach heaved again.

  ‘Easy, lass,’ he soothed by her ear. ‘Any ocean can have a slyness to it. The waves are not always what you think and I’ve no mind to lose you over the side. One of us having a winter dip is enough to be getting on with.’ His grip was gentle but unyielding.

  She stopped fighting both him and the sickness.

  ‘Breathe,’ that Highland lilt instructed. And again, so soft and soothing, ‘Breathe.’

  And she obeyed. One breath of the bracing air, and then another, until eventually the nausea passed, leaving her spent and embarrassed.

  ‘You can release me,’ she murmured. ‘I’m all right now.’

  He loosed his arm slowly as if he did not trust her words, moved to stand by her side, but stayed close. The wind caught at her freed hair, streaming it to dance long and wild. All her efforts to catch it back met only with minimal success.

  ‘Is it just at night that you suffer the seasickness?’

  She shook her head and some more hair escaped. She gave up and let it billow free in the night. ‘I have felt sick since the moment we sailed out of New York. But it is worse at night.’

  ‘Sometimes it is the way of it.’

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as another wave of nausea clenched tight at her stomach. ‘Being up on deck helps. The fresh air, the openness...’

  ‘But this will help more.’ Through the darkness his hand took hers to press a small pouch into it. ‘Crystallised ginger.’

  ‘Just the thought of eating...’ She swallowed down the retch that threatened.

  ‘One piece, three times a day.’

  A large wave reached up the bulwark to spray them both.

  Sarah gave a sharp intake of air and backed away. ‘I will leave you to your contemplations.’

  ‘Shall we, Mrs Ellison?’ She sensed his movement to escort her.

  ‘I am quite capable of making my own way, sir.’

  ‘I am quite sure that you are.’ Again that smile in his voice. The high lantern on the mast caught the glint of the glass as he passed her her own expired lantern.

  She looked to where
the hatch should be and saw only shadowed shapes.

  ‘But I am finished my contemplations for the night.’

  There was a tiny silence before she tucked her fingers within his arm, yielding to what she told herself was only common sense, and let him guide her through the darkness all the way to her cabin door.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Ellison.’

  He turned and, heading for his own cabin, disappeared into the blackness.

  She stood there until she heard the quiet open and closing again of his door before she slipped within her own.

  * * *

  Sarah was standing at her favourite spot out on deck. The waves were not too high nor the wind too strong. A fine smirr of rain was slowly wetting the wool of her cloak, but she did not mind. It was not the nausea she was escaping this morning. She touched a hand to her pocket and Daniel Alexander’s pouch of crystalline ginger—it had worked a magic just as he had said. Down below Fanny was dressing Imelda’s hair while Imelda imagined stories of Mr Alexander’s pirate past. Sarah had no wish to hear of any more of the tall handsome Scotsman—even aside from last night and the memory of what he had witnessed.

  He disturbed her in a way she had sworn never to let any man disturb her again. Not after Robert, and not after Brandon Taverner, who had brought back all those awful feelings she had thought finally laid to rest. She swallowed and it seemed she could still taste something of the bitterness, of the hurt and the shame. The memories from across those years, stirred up afresh, haunted her even now, standing here, looking out at the expanse before her, of sky and ocean merged in shades of sombre grey. They made her strong. They made her determined. They made her turn away from men like Daniel Alexander.

  One breath and then another, focusing on the here and now, on the damp-chilled air with its tang of salt and seaweed. Closing her eyes, she let the wind blow the memories away so that she did not think, but only felt this moment. And there was peace in that.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. The nape of her neck tingled and a shiver rippled down the length of her spine, banishing the peace. She did not have to open her eyes to know the man’s identity.

  He was standing at the bulwark some distance away, looking out at her view of the ocean.

  ‘Mr Alexander.’

  ‘Mrs Ellison’—that soft lilt of the Highlands that made her name sound like a lover’s upon his lips. She blushed at the thought.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you in your view?’

  Yes, she minded! Because she had no interest in encouraging any gentleman. Especially not gentlemen like him, men who made her feel... Made her feel nothing, she finished harshly. ‘The view is all yours. I was just leaving.’ Her voice was sharper because of the heat in her cheeks.

  ‘And you have no mind to talk to me this morning.’ He turned his face to look at her then, his eyes meeting hers.

  She stopped, ashamed of her rudeness. He unnerved her. He made her behave in a way that would have had her mother turning in her grave. She took herself in hand. He was just a man like any other, and she would be polite. To be anything other would be an admission that he affected her. And he did not affect her. No man affected her any more. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to be so ill mannered.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable. You are enjoying the peace and I am disturbing you.’ He smiled as if he understood exactly how he disturbed her.

  She returned to her original stance at the bulwark, keeping her eyes out on the gentle movement of the waves rather than on the man by her side. A small silence opened between them. ‘Thank you for helping me last night when I was...unwell.’ Her cheeks burned all the hotter.

  ‘I was glad to have been of assistance.’

  ‘The ginger is most effective.’

  ‘So I see.’

  She swallowed, but did not look round. ‘Do you suffer with seasickness yourself?’

  ‘Never. But I know many that do.’

  She gave a little nod.

  ‘You take a great risk in coming up here alone at night. One larger-than-expected wave and you could be swept overboard without a soul to know your fate.’

  ‘Should I take the advice of a gentleman with a penchant for taking the midnight air and who ended up alone in the ocean?’

  The flicker of a smile pulled at his lips. ‘If you’ve a mind to take the midnight air any night, knock upon my cabin door and I will accompany you.’

  She laughed at his sheer audacity. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that, Mrs Ellison.’

  ‘Mr Alexander, I am not the sort of woman who goes knocking on a strange gentleman’s cabin door in the middle of the night.’

  His eyes met hers as if to say that was a shame. ‘In that case, I’ll wait for you on deck. Try not to drop the lantern this time.’ He smiled.

  She shook her head and tried to stifle her own answering smile. He was unbelievable.

  ‘Enjoy the view, Mrs Ellison—undisturbed.’ He smiled again and was gone.

  But Sarah did not return her gaze to the view. Rather she watched the retreating back of Daniel Alexander and wondered at the ease with which he had just disarmed her and turned what should have been an awkward encounter into something else. It was only when he had gone and she looked once more at the ocean that she thought to question what a man who did not suffer from seasickness had been doing alone up on the deck in the middle of the night.

  * * *

  Daniel found Mrs Ellison at the larboard stern the next day, diametrically opposite her usual spot and hidden from casual view by the aft mast and wheel. He knew he should not have sought her out, but it seemed natural and harmless, and besides, he wanted to know why a woman like her had built her defences so strong and high.

  ‘Are you hiding from someone, Mrs Ellison?’

  ‘Not at all. Whatever gave you that impression?’ The cool confident look had not been fixed in place quite quickly enough to mask her reaction to his approach.

  So much for a man’s ego. He smiled.

  ‘It is beginning to rain, sir.’ She made to leave.

  ‘Are you about to tell me that you must rush away to the confinement of your cabin to which the rain...’ he glanced across to the horizon where the sky was dark and heavy and blowing towards the Angel ‘...that will soon come in earnest will banish you for the rest of the day?’

  She checked her movement. ‘Your words persuade me otherwise.’

  ‘Not the prospect of my company?’

  A reluctant smile curved her lips and he felt something of her rigidity relax.

  ‘You wound me, madam.’

  ‘And yet I think you must feel the confinement worse than I.’ Her eyes flickered over him. ‘The top of my head brushes the ceiling.’

  ‘One grows used to it over time, with the aid of a few bruises.’

  Her focus shifted to the exposed, newly healing scar on his forehead.

  ‘Although that is one more than I anticipated,’ he murmured, then sought to steer the conversation away from that subject. ‘No taking of the midnight air last night?’ He teased, knowing he had ensured she would not risk that again.

  She smiled, easier this time, and returned her gaze to the stretch of ocean once more. She was a woman who had been made to smile, yet he had the feeling that whatever life had dealt her, happiness was not foremost on the list.

  They stood in silence watching the weather roll towards them.

  ‘When do you return to America, Mrs Ellison?’

  A shadow flitted across her face. ‘I am not sure I will.’ She glanced away, but not quickly enough to hide the unease in her eyes. ‘It has been on my mind that I might move back to England for good.’

  ‘You are not happy in New York?’

  ‘Perfectly happy.’ But she was lying—he could see it in the way
she did not meet his gaze.

  ‘Do you sail often for business, Mr Alexander?’

  ‘Very often, indeed.’

  ‘Even over Christmas?’

  ‘Especially over Christmas.’

  She met his gaze directly and this time there was nothing of the cold mask there. This time, it was as if she were allowing herself to look at him properly. She smiled again, a slightly shy smile, a warm smile. Whatever unhappiness she had left behind in New York was forgotten and he had no wish to remind her of it.

  ‘How terrible.’ She said it teasingly.

  ‘Not so terrible, at all.’ He leaned slightly closer. ‘I confess to preferring it that way.’

  ‘You do not like Christmas?’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’ He admitted it freely enough, as if it meant nothing.

  ‘You are a cynic, sir.’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  She smiled and so, despite the topic, did he.

  ‘Whereas Christmas is your favourite time of year, Mrs Ellison.’

  ‘You are a mind reader, sir.’

  They chuckled.

  ‘We Scots prefer New Year.’

  ‘New Year celebrations are paltry in comparison to Christmas.’

  ‘Paltry? With the ceilidh dancing on Hogmanay? The first footing after the bells? And a fine feast on Ne’erday?’

  ‘First footing? I have not heard of it.’

  ‘After the stroke of midnight the first foot to cross your threshold sets your fortune for the year to come. A tall, dark-haired, handsome man brings the best luck. He carries with him a lump of coal that your hearth shall not grow cold, a black bun that your belly will not be empty and a dram of whisky to toast the New Year.’

  ‘It does sound rather good.’ She smiled and a little thinking line crinkled between her brows. ‘But I still do not understand what there is to dislike of Christmas.’

  ‘What is there to like?’ he countered. ‘You will not persuade me as to the merits of Christmas, Mrs Ellison.’ So easily said and with a good nature that hid the darkness of that truth.

  ‘Really?’ There was a hint of mischief in her eyes, a glimpse of the woman she must have been before... Before what? ‘Have you considered the snow?’ She looked at ease. She looked happy and Sarah Ellison happy was a sight to warm any man’s heart.