by Jackie Ivie
“My point exactly. You certainly came at a very high price, and I gladly pay it. I doona’ want you to think otherwise. Do you ken of any other husband that is arrested for visiting his wife’s bed? Well?”
“Kam!” She was shocked. It sounded in her voice.
“I did warn you of my bluntness, dinna’ I? If na’, consider it done. Apologies. As I was saying, most husbands have to be forced into their conjugal bed. See there, Constant? I’m forced from it. Verra humorous. It makes all the difference, too.”
“Kameron,” she repeated.
He sighed hugely. “Verra well, Constant, love. I will try na’ to see the humor of the situation. Is that what you want me to say?”
“Would you please be serious?”
“All right, but if you insist on looking at the world with perfect seriousness, my love, at least give me the right to complain.”
“I don’t think your guards find you amusing, either,” she answered.
“Them? They’re used to me by now. Are na’ you, lads?”
Constant flicked her glance to the row of men and glimpsed more than a few curved lips among them.
“I am embarrassingly inept,” Kam said. “Just look. I almost get hanged because I canna’ manage to avoid a bunch of provincials with pitchforks, and now I canna’ even evade Ballanclaire men in the height of a storm. I should never take it up as an occupation. Remind me of that, will you, love?”
“Take what up?” she asked.
“Escape.” He said the word with a hint of drama. “I used to think I was an ace spy. Covert was my creed. Now that I’ve demonstrated how poorly I’ve done, it’s worse than embarrassing. It’s downright criminal.”
He tipped his head down and put his nose against hers. Constant felt the flare in her heart, accompanied by the blush at having so many observers.
One of the men about them cleared his throat. Kameron lifted his head but didn’t move his gaze from hers. A look of agony pierced him before it fled, leaving such uncertainty on his features, Constant wondered why.
“Why do I feel as if this is the last time I’ll see you?” he whispered.
Constant’s eyes filled with tears, at his tone more than the words. She couldn’t help it. She shook her head.
“You deny it and yet I canna’ shake it. You will na’ leave me, will you?”
“No,” she replied.
“Promise me, love. Promise on all you hold holy.”
“I promise,” she answered. Kameron scrunched his eyes shut and she felt the shudder flow over him as he held her, his arms almost too tight to get her next breath.
“We’d best be leaving, my lord.”
One of the men stepped forward. Kameron’s arms and features relaxed, he opened his eyes, blinked away a film of moisture, and looked over her head.
“What will a few more minutes matter?” he asked in a rough tone.
“We’ve been away from our posts too long already. We’ll be missed.”
“So?” he snapped.
“We doona’ want that to happen.”
“Why na’?” he snapped again.
“Well . . .”
Constant heard the sound of the man clearing his throat again. She didn’t move her eyes off her contemplation of Kameron’s chin.
“We came to a bit of a decision after you rowed yourself to this ship, Your Lordship.”
“You watched me row myself, and consequently, almost drown? You watched?”
Constant could see and feel the reaction in him. Every muscle tightened and a nerve twitched in his jaw.
“We followed you.”
“To every ship?” Kam asked.
“Aye, my lord.”
“I am truly pathetic at escaping. Adjust your reminder to that, Constant. Embarrassingly inept and pathetic. That’s me.”
“You have been under observation by at least six of us every waking moment, my lord. The duke ordered it. You could na’ have evaded us.”
“If that is supposed to make me feel better, you should save your breath and go back to being silent. In fact, I think I would like you better.”
The guard who was speaking didn’t hesitate to ignore that request. “We dinna’ interfere for a reason, Your Lordship. We thought it verra brave of you, especially the third time. That sort of thing deserves some sort of reward. If we had interfered, you would na’ have gained it.”
“Gained what?”
“Your reward. We came to an agreement on what it would be. You went through so much to spend some time with your wife. We agreed to allow it and na’ interfere. We canna’ tarry much longer, though. We’ll be found out.”
“Why was it brave the third time?” Constant asked, turning her head finally to look over at the speaker.
“It was into the wind, my lady. He looked close to swamping the dinghy more than once. We almost had to mount a rescue.”
My lady? Oh my. He’d just called her my lady.
“Oh, Kameron.” She turned back to him, blinking rapidly. “Why did you do something so foolish?”
He looked down at her, and the light favored her for an instant with a glimpse of his warm, golden-brown eyes, before it moved away.
“You need ask?”
That answer got him what could only be sounds of amusement from the men lining the hall. Constant didn’t move her eyes from his.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but we need to leave. Now.”
“Oh, verra well. I must look to my blessings, I suppose. At least I doona’ have to row myself back. That thought has merit.”
Kam bent to touch his lips to hers in a kiss stained with gentleness. She lost sight of every bit of reality: the storm, the plethora of guards, the damp chill of his clothing against her. She lost herself in a feeling of absolute bliss for an encapsulated instant of time. From behind closed eyes, she could swear she witnessed nirvana opening up before her, wrapping her with a glow of warmth, golden brown in color, and imbued with nothing but adoration and love.
Then, it was gone. Kameron lifted his head, filled her vision with the same dazed expression she could feel on her own face, and then he turned to the guard who had spoken.
“Lachlan, is it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Remind me to double your wages when I’m duke. That goes for all of you. And, Constant?” He turned to her and she was surprised to find herself on the threshold of her chamber. She hadn’t felt him move. He put his mouth to her ear and started whispering. She knew why. The guards had proved themselves to be human; they hadn’t proved themselves loyal. “Farewell for now, love. Look for me in two weeks. A fortnight. You ken? If I have to fake my own death and return to the colonies and take up farming, I will.”
“You’d give up a . . . dukedom?”
“You doona’ listen verra well, do you? I already told you life is hell without you. Trust me. It is.”
He stepped back from her into the hall, and then he shut the door. Constant didn’t move for long moments, and then she raced to her bed.
A boom woke her, shuddering through the cabin. Constant clasped both hands to her throat, holding the robe tight as the sound came again. This time, the entire bedstead resonated with it, trembling until the noise faded.
Lucilla’s door opened slowly. The maid hadn’t undressed to sleep. She tossed her hands in the air when she saw Constant. “Madre de Dios! I slept! I am a fool! Quickly, señora! Quickly! We haven’t much time. We will leave the trunk. Hurry!”
Constant frowned as Lucilla came closer, moving in awkward sliding steps, swinging her arms as she went.
“Quickly! Do not sit there looking at me like I’m stewed! Up! Grab a cloak. The ship . . . she is sinking! Hurry!”
The ship is sinking? For the span of a heartbeat Constant considered. She wouldn’t have to toss herself into the waves after all. All she had to do was close her eyes and . . .
That’s when she knew she couldn’t do it. She should’ve known love was too strong to fight. Constant
slid to the edge of the bed and stepped into ice-cold water, gasping at the shock. Lucilla held a cloak out to her and tossed it over her shoulders before she started pushing on Constant’s back. It took both of them to open the door, because a wall of water blocked it on the other side. Constant followed Lucilla into the corridor as the water reached her waist. Then they were pulling themselves straight up the steps, hand-over-hand, as the water buoyed them.
They didn’t waste time with speech. It wouldn’t be heard above the roaring sound of the rushing water. As the ship listed, the hall door now opened upward. She helped Lucilla try to open it, but no amount of pushing seemed to budge it.
“Help!”
While Lucilla pounded on the door, Constant held the door handle with both hands and straddled what had once been a stair railing underneath her. The water was now swirling about her hips.
“Help!”
“That isn’t . . . doing . . . any good,” Constant panted. Then she shrieked as the door lurched up, pulling her up with it, ripping her out of her cloak.
“Thank heavens! Hurry! You were a fool, Lucilla! Another minute and we would not have time! Quickly!”
It was Barrister MacVale. He was stronger than he looked as he yanked Constant from the door and tossed her to another man, who then raced to the ship’s side and tossed her over into a small boat.
Their skiff was bobbing and weaving, pelted with rain. Constant slammed against a seat, careened along the side, and came to rest beside the sturdy lower leg of an oarsman. He didn’t look familiar, but it didn’t matter. She clung to him with hands slickened with fear and slippery with water.
“All here now! Hurry! Get away from the ship! The suction as she sinks will take us all with it! Row!”
It was impossible to decipher who shouted the command, but the oarsman she held on to wasn’t waiting another moment. Constant felt urgency transfer through his body as he strained, first forward, then back. She didn’t see Lucilla. She was afraid to lift her head.
The onslaught of rain stole her breath, blurred her vision, and stung her flesh with icy pellets. Kameron had rowed himself in this? Awe stained the memory, warming her for a moment. But not for long.
The boat was awash. Constant lost feeling in her backside and lower legs. She lost feeling in her hands, then her arms, and then her fingers. And still the sleet hammered at her.
The man rowed for what seemed like hours. Constant stopped counting the times his leg shifted back and forth after she reached two thousand. Still he rowed, the sea sloshing water into the skiff, freezing Constant in place.
Finally the boat bumped against something solid. She sensed rather than heard the collective sigh of relief. Someone helped her move from the spot, although they had to wrench her arms open to free the oarsman’s leg. Constant didn’t know who helped her—it was too dark to tell, and whenever she looked up, sleet stung at her face.
Someone put her into a large basket affair and it lifted. Constant rolled into the smallest ball she could and tried to avoid the elements. The higher they took her, the worse it got, until she tried to hold her jaw together with numb hands, fearing the violent chattering might damage her teeth.
Someone was on the deck to retrieve her. Constant wasn’t capable of moving. A blanket was wrapped about her and she was carried to a room, where a blast of warmth hit her cheeks hard enough to make her cry out. A fire was lit in an iron depression in the center of the floor. Constant fell to the decking beside it, and from that point, she had to stifle her cries as the heat awakened her frozen limbs.
“Blair!”
Constant recognized the voice as MacVale’s, although she’d never heard him raise it in anger before.
“MacVale? What the devil are you doing here?”
“Me? It was you who was to stay with him! Damn you! Haven’t you ever read Shakespeare?”
“What the hell are you talking of? It was your respons-bility to stay with him. We altered it last night!”
“Nae. We only discussed changing it!”
“You don’t think he’s bright enough to ken the plot?”
“Na’ without knowledge of this ship! He’ll think it real! And if that lad takes his own life, I swear to you—”
“Me? We had an arrangement!” Blair’s voice was rising.
“The arrangement got changed, and you ken it!” There was a garbled sound at the end of his statement.
Constant hunched her shoulders, trying to absorb the heat as well as the steam that was rising from her soaked clothing as she listened to the men bicker. Her clothing had been frozen stiff and was now melting into sodden, formfitting garments. The blanket was also wet, adding the smell of wet wool. She didn’t care. The fire was too welcome. She reached her hands out toward it.
“What are we going to do?” Blair’s voice had a desperate tone to it.
“It’s your plan, you come up with something.”
“It was perfect, too. It would have worked. Damn you, MacVale!”
“Damn me? It wasn’t you disappearing if this dinna’ work, it was me!”
“Well, now it’s both of us. Congratulations.”
“Hush! Both of you! This is a matter of utmost discretion. And you create more terror when the señora has been through enough. Lucilla? Meet us in the cabin. And get blankets. Warm ones.”
The speaker had a cultured tone to his words, spoken in clear, aristocratic Spanish. Constant lifted her head from her own misery and sought him out. He wasn’t easy to see, as steam was clouding her line of sight, and the only light came from their fire. He appeared to be dark-haired, dark-skinned, and had a pointed black beard streaked with gray.
He could be considered handsome, but his effeminate manner of dress was unlike any she was used to. He looked silly, bedecked with lace and velvet, and the sword strapped to his side didn’t do much to alter it. Constant blinked twice and stared as he fiddled with the lace at his throat.
“Señora Ballan?”
She nodded.
“Count Rafael de la Garza-Montagna. At your service.” He bowed, the high feather on his hat dipping as he did so. “I am pleased to welcome you aboard my ship. Please? Allow an escort to your cabin. Gentlemen?”
“My cabin?” she whispered.
He smiled and stepped closer, giving her his arm for an assist. She took it. She decided he was actually fairly handsome. Close to middle age. Lean. Strange-looking. The ship was rocking and swaying as he walked her through a door, down a corridor, and into a room. Lucilla was there, holding up a warmed blanket; a moment later, Constant had it wrapped about her. She turned to face not only the count but the barristers who’d followed him.
“Please, señora, sit. You must be exhausted. Lucilla, if you please. Fetch tea now. Strong tea.”
He gestured to a large wooden chair. Constant sat. Exhaustion wasn’t enough to describe the tiredness sapping her. She watched as Barrister Blair shut the door behind Lucilla, sealing them in.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“You are a guest aboard La Concepción.”
“Is this a Ballanclaire ship?”
“No, señora.”
This storm was producing some very strange events. Constant had to close her eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and then reopen them. Nothing had changed.
“This is the phantom ship you denied existed, isn’t it?” Constant tipped her head to eye first Barrister MacVale, and then Blair. Neither man would meet her gaze. “I think you owe me an explanation.”
“It is not these gentlemen you need to speak with, my beauty. It is I. Rafael.”
“But . . . they rescued me. Why would they do that when they wanted my death?”
“Your death? Never, my lady,” MacVale answered.
My lady? Her ears heard it, but it took a moment to reach clarification. They accepted her, too?
“B-but I overheard your plan. When we first met. In the parlor. I know what you expected of me. My death.”
“Oh, my lady. Yo
u are so wrong. On all counts. We were just hedging our bets, so to speak.”
“Your bets? Why does none of this make sense? You didn’t expect me to kill myself?”
“Heavens, nae! Your death would kill him. It still might. I am ever so worried! It was Blair who was to tell him. I told you to stay with him, Blair!”
“We changed it last eve! I was worried over the plan succeeding all the way, so I stepped in!”
“Nae! It was your chore to tell him!”
“Damn you, MacVale!”
“Gentlemen. Stop,” Constant ordered, and surprisingly they obeyed. And then she smiled. “Kameron won’t kill himself. He won’t. He has the responsibility for our babies. They’ll be enough. Trust me.”
Both men stopped, took deep breaths, and then MacVale smiled at her. “Ah. I forgot. He does have the bairns. He’ll na’ allow them raised by his parents. You’re right. Thank God.”
“So tell me. How soon can we be together?” she asked.
“We dinna’ have an exact time afore, my lady. We only needed to get you hidden and your death reported. That would be enough to satisfy the current laird and settle any problem with that accursed betrothal. It should na’ have been for long, either. Is na’ that right, Blair? Speak up, mon. It was your plan.”
“And a damn fine one. Pardon my language, my lady.”
Constant regarded him for a few moments and then smiled. Blair looked as discomfited as he always made her feel. That was odd. Everything was. And then Blair resumed talking.
“The current duke is an elderly gentleman. Unwell. Kameron has informed us—in insufferable detail and at great length—that he’ll pay whatever cost is required in order to stay wed with you. Well, that option will be his the moment he inherits.”
“He really did say that?”
“And more. There was nae stopping his words through the entire voyage to the colonies to meet you, and near every moment since. It depended on you, however. He was na’ at all certain sure you’d want him. We assume that issue has been decided in his favor?”
Constant blushed and smiled, then nodded.
“So then, you see? The plan was near perfect. But then Count Garza-Montagna intercepted us, invited us aboard this ship for a meeting, and outlined an even better plan. One we wholeheartedly agree with. MacVale even volunteered to disappear in order to make it happen.”