King of Storms

by Amanda Scott

  As Maxwell moved to the helm, where he could issue the orders without shouting, Giff made out the priest’s slender figure emerging from the cabin.

  Something tightened inside him, warning him that he was more concerned about her answer than he’d expected. He went to meet the priest, telling himself he hurried only to spare Father Adam a possible fall on the rolling deck.

  “What did she say?” he asked.

  “She’s willing,” the priest said. “But I must tell you—”

  “Nay, ’tis enough that she’s willing, Father. I’ll do what’s right for her. ’Tis doubtless time that I thought about raising a family, as I’m sure you will agree.”

  “As to that—”

  “Let’s get it done,” Giff said. Despite the chilly air, his palms were sweating.

  “Now?”

  “Aye, sure, or she may change her mind. I don’t want to fratch with the lass, so ’tis better to get it done whilst she’s willing.”

  “I cannot say I like this, my son.”

  “Think, Father,” Giff urged. “To arrive at our destination as a married lady will do her more good than to arrive there as a bedraggled lass who has been stuck on this boat for a sennight with only fifty rough men as her companions.”

  “A good argument,” Father Adam admitted. “But, as she is willing, you could just marry her by declaration, albeit without the benefit of blessing.”

  “I’d not want that unless we had no other recourse,” Giff said, wondering why the priest seemed less determined than before but not caring as long as he’d do what they required. “I doubt that such a declaration would preserve her reputation in this instance. Having your blessing would be better for us both, would it not?”

  “Aye, then, we’ll do it straightaway.”

  Suddenly nervous, and hoping the priest could not read his expression, Giff said, “Do you know the words of the service?”

  “I remember enough to do a proper wedding, my son, but I do think you should know that—”

  “Nay, Father, if we’re going to do it, let’s get to it.”

  The priest sighed. “Very well, sir. The lady Sidony is waiting.”

  Giff nodded, and as he did, a most agreeable image of Sidony awaiting him in a proper bedchamber at Duncraig, wearing a thin silken dressing gown and nothing else, with her shiny silver-blond hair spilling down her back, filled his mind’s eye. His body stirred, but his lips twisted into a wry smile. A shipboard wedding night was unlikely to be particularly agreeable for either of them.

  Sidony heard them before she saw them, and her heart began to pound. What had she agreed to—and with Giff MacLennan?

  All very well to assume that he would not force her submission whenever the mood struck him, but what did she really know of the man? Not enough, certainly, to make such a judgment of him, let alone to be depending on it.

  He filled the doorway, blocking what little light there had been.

  “You’ve agreed then, lass?” His voice was gentle in the darkness, and it did something to her. Her mouth was dry, but the words came more easily than expected.

  “Yes, I have agreed,” she said. “I am not sure I should have, but I am sure that everyone else would say I must, and I don’t want them all ringing peals over me and ordering me to do it after I’ve created a scandal to last all my life.”

  “That’s good enough,” he said. “Come in, Father. We’re ready.”

  “We’ll need at least two witnesses, my son.”

  Giff reached outside the door and pulled Jake to him. “Get your da’ and Hob Grant,” he said, “and come back with them. Tell your da’ to bring a lantern.”

  At last, with the portholes shuttered, a lantern glowing from a hook in the ceiling, and Hob and the Maxwells squeezed in with them, Father Adam began.

  To Sidony’s surprise, the ceremony was brief, with only one delay after Giff had recited his vows, when Father Adam asked him if he had a ring for her.

  When Giff said no, Wat Maxwell pulled one off his left little finger and said, “It were me wife’s, lad, but if ye’d like the use of it until ye can get one for her ladyship, ye’re welcome. I’d like Jake to have this ’un for his own lass one day.”

  Thanking him, Giff took the thin silver ring and with an indecipherable look on his face, gently slipped it onto Sidony’s finger.

  She stared at it as the priest asked her if she would marry Sir Giffard, and when she had agreed, he proceeded to her vows. When he put special emphasis on the last one, to swear meekness and obedience in bed and at board, she saw Giff smile. He had not had to make any such vow, of course. To add to her annoyance, she had discerned no priestly emphasis on any vow that Giff did make.

  Then, suddenly, Father Adam said, “By the power vested in me by Holy Kirk, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Sir Giffard.”

  Putting the wee silver band on her finger had stirred unexpected emotions for Giff, and the announcement that she was now his wife stirred more. As he gazed at her, his throat felt tight. Despite the fact that she wore what she had worn since he had released her from the small hold, and her efforts to smooth her hair had achieved little by way of its usual tidiness, he felt pride in what he had done.

  The suggestion that he might kiss her now without consequence stirred a wish to do so at once. He put a hand under her chin, tilted her face up, and touched his lips gently to hers, smiling when her eyes sparkled in the lantern’s glow.

  The priest said, “It is customary to announce your new estate to any onlookers, Sir Giffard. We must certainly tell your crew the good news.”

  “Go and tell them then,” Giff murmured. “And close the door behind you.”

  A moment later, the door shut with a solid click, and they were alone. His earlier fear that his body would fail him in such surroundings proved untrue.

  He reached for the fastenings of her riding doublet.

  “Please don’t, sir,” she said. “I agreed to marry you, but that is all.”

  At St. Andrews, Fife and de Gredin, escorted by all but two of Fife’s tail, had walked to the palace and thence to the cathedral to find his eminence, the bishop. The service of Compline being soon over, he had invited them back to his palace for supper and to spend the night, as Fife had expected. He had certainly not wanted to stay aboard the longship all night, for a more uncomfortable craft he had never imagined.

  De Gredin had not been enthusiastic about stopping at St. Andrews, but he had agreed when Fife pointed out that if MacLennan had found the girl aboard the Serpent, he would want to put her ashore as expeditiously as possible. And where, Fife had asked, could he be more certain of her safety than with the bishop?

  Accordingly, they had finished an excellent supper at the bishop’s table and were still enjoying his fine claret when a lackey entered and said, “Beg pardon, your eminence, but a man has come from the harbor with a message for my lord Fife.”

  Chapter 16

  In the cabin, his fingers still on the fastenings of her doublet, Giff stared at his bride. “What did you say?” he demanded.

  “You heard me,” Sidony replied calmly.

  “I heard you, but I do not believe my ears,” he said, wanting to shake her but lowering his hands to his sides instead. Trying to sound reasonable, lest she feared to couple, he said gently, “Our marriage is not a marriage until we consummate it.”

  “Nevertheless, sir, I have made my decision.”

  “This is the devil of a time to find you can make decisions,” he retorted.

  “You are the one who made it clear to me that I can make them,” she reminded him. “So I have made this one, and I mean to stand by it. You are also the one who made it necessary by deciding to keep me aboard—twice. You did so when you might have turned back and put me ashore at Lestalric, and again at St. Andrews, when you might have let Father Adam take me to the bishop.”

  “You did not want to go to the bishop!”

  “True, but that does not affect m
y decision now. I do understand that to stay on this boat puts me in danger of creating a scandal that would embarrass me and infuriate my father and everyone else in my family. But unless you mean to tell the world that I refuse to couple with you, they need know nothing about that.”

  “Marriage is for life. Do you mean to refuse me forever?”

  “I have not decided that,” she said, but her gaze slid away from his as she said it, and she did not look at him again. “In troth, sir, you behave much too impetuously for my taste. I do not approve of acting in such haste, on impulse, but you seem to make a habit of it. For now, I would ask that you restrain yourself.”

  “Look here,” he said, beginning to get angry. “Rob, Hugo, and the others would have been gone before we could have got back to Lestalric, and even if we could still have moored safely there, we’d have had no way to get you home with any speed. As it was, Fife was on our heels much sooner than I’d expected.”

  “I could easily have walked to Lestalric.”

  “Don’t talk foolishness. Those two boats Fife commandeered are faster than ours in every respect. Did you see how many oarsmen they have, how long they are, how little draft they require? Had we delayed, they’d have been on us before we reached St. Andrews. As to our escape there, it was just by a hair that we succeeded. If Fife learns we were right in that harbor, he’ll pursue us with even more vigor.”

  “You should have taken me ashore at once,” she said stubbornly.

  “This may surprise you,” he retorted. “But getting you home again was not the most crucial thing on my mind. Getting my cargo safely to its destination is more so. You need to understand that.”

  “So, that crateful of jewels and whatnot is all that is important to you?”

  “Crateful of jewels and—” He broke off, realizing that he had stepped into dangerous territory on more than one account. She understood him well enough.

  “Is that not what treasure is?” she demanded. “Just objects? To be sure, they are objects of value to someone or other. But let me tell you, sir, I put higher value on kinship and family than on mere objects of any kind. And I’ll expect my husband to put his family first. The fact is that this ship carries only a portion of a treasure that, as far as either of us knows, has done no one any good since it disappeared nearly a century ago. What would it matter if the Earl of Fife or anyone else took our portion if their taking it would ensure the safety of everyone involved?”

  “Sit down,” he said curtly, pointing to one of the little benches in the table alcove. “We are going to have some plain speaking, madam wife, and if you think you can refuse to hear me, let me remind you that I now have every right to insist on your obedience. Don’t test me on that, because you’ll be sorry if you do.”

  Sidony met his gaze defiantly, then wished she had not. In truth, she scarcely understood her own defiance. She had carefully planned what she would say to him, and she had said it as calmly as she had planned. She had expected him to be surprised, but she had also expected him to understand, especially since he had once agreed that it must be hard always to do others’ bidding.

  Her reaction when he leaped to debate with her surprised her almost as much as her decision had surprised him. But he was angry now, and she had never meant to provoke him so far. It was as if, with him, she became a different person entirely.

  From the first day, he had elicited characteristics from her that she had not known she possessed, and some of them pleased her. But this impulsive defiance was not one of them. Words of apology sprang to her tongue.

  Before she could utter them, he snapped, “I said, ‘Sit!’”

  She sat.

  He loomed over her for a long moment, glowering, then slid onto the narrow bench across the little table from her, where he remained silent for a few moments, but it was not a silence she felt compelled to break. She told herself to be grateful that he did not seem the sort of husband who bellowed at one and laid down laws. Her father was like that and had an added tendency to alter those laws on a whim.

  At last, folding his hands on the table, Giff said quietly, “This conversation has not gone as I would have wished any wedding night conversation to go, lass, but that is as much my fault as yours. I ought to have known you might be reluctant. I was as impetuous as you say I was, but it was not impulse that took us so swiftly away from Lestalric or St. Andrews. I hope you do see that. If you don’t, we can discuss it further. You may always say what you like to me, in private, even about the treasure. Just do not shout at me, and make sure that no one else can hear us.”

  “I did not shout,” she said. “And it was impetuous to steal this boat, not to mention its captain and that priest.”

  A finger lifted from his folded hands silenced her. “I did not steal the priest,” he said, “but we can discuss that later, too. First, you should know that your views on the treasure’s value are irrelevant. Don’t speak,” he added when her mouth opened.

  She shut it, pressing her lips together to avoid venting her own rising temper. The urge was strong to pound on the table or stand up and walk away. Not that one could do it well in a room so small, but that fact did nothing to reduce the urge.

  “Protecting the treasure—every item in it—is a matter of honor for us,” he said. “If you know it has been missing for so long, do you also know its history?”

  “Do you mean its connection to the Order?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  This, too, fell into the subjects one ought never to discuss, so it was warily, her anger forgotten, that she nodded.

  When he remained silent, she said, “I know that the Knights Templar made it possible for men to travel without carrying their valuables. One needed only a letter from one perceptory to another from Scotland to the Holy Land, or nearly any point between, granting him the right to certain funding on no more than a password. I know, too, that because of their many services of that ilk, and others, they amassed a great fortune that disappeared years ago when the French king tried to seize it.”

  “The Order also protected items of great value for Holy Kirk and heads of state,” he said. “So you must understand that where our honor is concerned, little matters but that we continue to protect what we have promised to protect.”

  Tempted as she was to point out that he had just promised before God to protect her, she held her tongue. For one thing, she knew that he would risk his life, even sacrifice it, for her. She did not know how she knew, any more than she knew why she was sure of other things about him, but so it had been from the first day on.

  He was waiting for her to respond.

  “I cannot pretend to understand all that men mean when they talk of honor,” she said. “But Isobel, Adela, and Sorcha seem to know as much about the treasure as all you men do. They also know exactly what our cargo is, do they not?”

  He nodded. “I believe they do.”

  “Then, now that we are married, will you tell me?”

  He grimaced, but the expression was rueful. “Not yet, lass.”

  She leaned forward, peering into his eyes. “Why not?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know you well enough yet.”

  “If you knew me better, would you tell me then?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Art bargaining with me, sweetheart? I hope you are not suggesting that if you couple with me, I will tell you all I know.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “I was afraid that was what you were suggesting.”

  He chuckled then. “I’m thinking I’ve just proved your point and you have proven mine. We need to become better acquainted, lass. One minute I feel as if I can see into your mind and read your thoughts. The next, I feel as if you are doing that to me. But in the end, I know that neither of us can be sure either way. Suppose we spend some time on this voyage getting to know each other better.”

  She nodded, surprised to find that her relief contained disappointment, too.

  He stood up and extended a hand to her.


  Warily, she took it and let him help her to her feet.

  He put both hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and said, “I hope you will hear me out on what I am about to say.”

  “Aye, sure, I will.”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a wry smile. “Let me put my best reason first. You suggested earlier that the only way others need know about your . . . your decision tonight would be if I were to shout it to the world. The fact is that, by acting as you apparently expect, I would be announcing it to everyone aboard.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, my sweet tormentor, that if I were to leave now and sleep outside with the oarsmen, or anywhere on this boat save in this cabin—my cabin—with you, I’d be telling them all that my bride has banished me from her presence.”

  The thought of him spending the night in the tiny cabin with her stopped the breath in her throat and set her heart pounding.

  Fife was annoyed that they had as yet seen no sign of their quarry, but he and de Gredin had agreed that MacLennan was heading north. Even if they failed to catch him, the earl was as certain as he could be that the key to the treasure lay at Girnigoe. If last year’s information was correct and the Sinclairs and Logan knew where the Stone was hidden, it was likely they were moving it now, especially as their cargo was so important that when he’d sent the Dutchman away, MacLennan had risked stealing the Serpent Royal to transport it.

  It was cold on the water, and Fife was damp, because as fast as the men had rowed leaving Leith Harbor, their oars had splashed a good deal of water on him. Fortunately, since then, the wind had been brisk enough for them to ship the oars.

  It irritated him, too, that they’d heard nothing about the girl at St. Andrews.

  As they walked to the palace with the bishop, de Gredin had asked if his eminence had had visitors that day, but he denied having received anyone at all.

  Fife and de Gredin had made good time from Leith to St. Andrews themselves, and had seen no sign of the Serpent in the harbor, just small vessels, two larger ones, a merchantman bearing a Hanseatic flag, and another with a Norse flag at her bow.