by Ruth Langan
Newton winked at those sailors who had some knowledge of the country and were already laughing among themselves. “I guess ye’ll just have to see for ye’rself, lad.”
The boy couldn’t keep the enthusiasm from his voice. “When can we start our chores?”
Newton chuckled. “If the cap’n and I had known that all it took to make ye so eager to work was a simple trek to the village, we’d have started putting into port more often. Now mates, let’s see to those repairs. The sooner they’re done, the sooner ye can be off to ye’r pleasures.”
The men fell to their chores with renewed enthusiasm. Though they wouldn’t admit it, they were as excited about spending the afternoon in a Scottish village as Whit was. The thought of hot tavern food, and equally hot wenches, had them hoping to make the hours fly as quickly as possible.
The air sang with the sound of hammers and saws as they repaired the holes and replaced boards burned by cannon fire. The cook used this time to take stock of his supplies, while others were put to work repairing damage to the sails and rigging.
By noon they gathered on deck for a cold meal before lowering the skiff that would take the first of the crew to the docks.
When it left, bound for shore, young Whit looked around for Darcy. Seeing her working high in the rigging he shouted, “Come on, Captain. We’re heading to the village.”
She gave him a smile as she started her descent. “You go ahead, Whit. I’m going to stay aboard and get some work done.”
The lad turned to Gryf. “Tell her she has to come, Gryf.”
The man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “She’s a grown woman, lad. She knows what she wants to do.”
The boy’s eyes were wide and pleading. “But if you ask her to come, she’ll do it.”
Gryf considered for less than a minute. After all, this was the perfect opportunity to declare a truce. Besides, the idea of spending an afternoon in the company of both Darcy and Whit was far more appealing than the thought of attempting to entertain the lad alone.
He paused below the rigging and waited until she leapt onto the deck. “Whit’s not the only one who wishes you’d come along.”
He saw her eyes widen a fraction before she hid her surprise behind a negligent shrug. “I’m not much for drinking ale in taverns with my crew.”
“Neither am I. And with Whit by my side, I’m thinking I’ll have to find something more interesting than a tavern to explore. The lad needs to see some of the lands he’s never seen before.” His tone lowered. “Come on, Darcy. Even the ship’s captain needs a break from routine.”
She couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Or the little shiver along her spine at the urgency in his tone.
“All right.” Seeing Newton rowing the skiff toward them, she called, “Give me a minute.”
She fled down the steps and into her cabin. Minutes later she returned wearing a simple gown of pale bleached wool, with a high, modest neckline and long tapered sleeves. Over it she wore a shawl in the same shade. She’d run a brush through her tangles and swept her hair from her face with mother-of-pearl combs.
Gryf couldn’t help staring as she climbed down the rope ladder and settled herself in the skiff. But though he kept his thoughts to himself, Whit wasn’t nearly as reserved.
“Captain, you look like a…lady.”
“Thank you, Whit.” She felt the color rise to her cheeks when she caught the way Gryf was watching her. She was suddenly grateful that she’d taken the time to change.
“But why’d you dress like that?”
“So the good people of this village aren’t scandalized. I doubt they’ve seen a woman in men’s breeches before.”
The lad giggled. “Neither have I. You’re the first.”
“Am I?” She chuckled. “Then you ought to see my sisters.”
“You have sisters? What are their names?”
Gryf was grateful for the lad’s questions, for they were things he was eager to know, as well. It was obvious that Darcy was much more comfortable talking about herself when she thought only the lad was listening.
“My sisters are Ambrosia and Bethany.” At the mention of their names her tone softened, and she realized how much she missed them. “Ambrosia is the oldest. She’s married to a sea captain, Riorden Spencer. Bethany is the middle sister, and she’s wed to Kane Preston, the earl of Alsmeeth.”
“An earl?” The lad seemed suitably impressed. “Does she live in a big house filled with servants?”
“Aye. But that isn’t why she wed him. Theirs is a love match.”
Gryf head the yearning in her tone and was surprised by the way it touched him.
“Do your sisters captain a ship as well?” the boy asked.
“Aye. We take turns as captain of the Undaunted.”
“Can they fight as fiercely as you?”
She laughed. “They’re as fierce as any pirate. Ambrosia is tall enough to handle a sword with ease. Bethany’s skilled with a dueling pistol.” She touched a hand to the knife at her waist. “This is my weapon. By the time I was your age, Whit, I could take a single leaf from a tree with my blade.”
The lad turned to Newton. “Could she truly? Or does she jest?”
The old man nodded. “It’s the truth, lad. No one in our little village wanted to fight with the Lambert sisters. They enjoyed nothing better than a good brawl. They sent many a bold lad home to his papa in a fright.”
Gryf found himself smiling at the image of a dainty, blue-eyed, blond-haired demon sending lads running home in tears. If he hadn’t seen her skill and fearlessness with his own eyes, he probably would have expressed doubts of his own.
As the skiff pulled to the dock, a seaman tossed a rope and Gryf secured the vessel. Before he could reach for Darcy’s hand she hiked her skirts and leapt out.
She turned as Whit climbed out behind her. “Welcome to Scotland, lad.”
“Scotland. Who would have believed this? Just weeks ago I thought I’d never even live to see another morning. And now I’m in Scotland.”
The boy surprised her by catching her hand. She looked down at their linked fingers. There was something so sweet in his gesture, so trusting, she felt her heart contract, before swelling with affection. It couldn’t be easy for this lad to trust, a fact that made it all the sweeter.
“Do you think we can see all of the village before dark, Captain?”
She squeezed his hand. “I doubt it. Not that there’s all that much to see. One fishing village is pretty much like another. But let’s just relax and see as much of it as we can.”
“Aye.” He turned and called to the man who walked a few paces behind them, “Hurry, Gryf. Half the day is already gone. Before we know it, it’ll be time to head back to the ship.”
Darcy turned to Newton. “Are you coming with us?”
The old sailor shook his head. “Nay, lass. I’ll join my mates for a pint in the tavern.” He stared pointedly at Gryf. “The skiff will be leaving promptly at sundown. I’ll expect ye to be on time.”
“We’ll be here.” Gryf walked beside Whit, deliberately keeping the lad between himself and Darcy. He could feel the old man watching him, and worrying about the hours that the lass would be out of his sight.
“Where will we go first, Gryf?” the boy asked.
“Let’s just walk up to the village before we decide.” He was determined to keep this day light and innocent. Not just for the sake of the worried old man, but because he wasn’t ready to completely let go of all that Newton had told him. Despite what he’d decided last night, he was still feeling a little tender about being confused with a dead man.
But for now he intended to put it behind him and simply enjoy what was left of the day. For, from the looks of that leaden sky with its dark-edged clouds billowing in from the north, winter was planning to pay a nasty visit.
This may be the last pleasant day left to them.
Chapter Ten
“Does this pla
ce have a name?” Whit strolled along beside Darcy on the way to the village.
“This string of islands is called the Outer Isles. This one is called Orkney.” Darcy swung his hand in hers as they walked along the rutted road.
“Not a very pretty name.”
“Aye. And it deserves a pretty name, for it’s really a pretty place, don’t you think?”
In many ways it looked like any other fishing village, with taverns lining the wharf, and a row of small shops. Farther along were the cottages, and up on the hill, a church. Yet, though it wasn’t a prosperous village, everything seemed so neat and tidy. And the people, for the most part, happy and smiling.
Trailing slightly behind them, Gryf noted the way several of the young men in the village stood a little taller, and squared their shoulders, as Darcy passed. Probably hoping she’d notice them. To her credit, she never even looked their way. She was too intent upon the lad beside her.
It was another reason why she did such strange things to his heart, he realized. Though she was truly beautiful, she never gave it a thought. Nor did she use her beauty, as some women might. She seemed truly unconcerned with her looks.
Darcy pointed to the chapel on the hill. “Here in Scotland a church is called a kirk.”
Whit looked at her. “Why?”
“It just is.”
He turned to Gryf. “Will you visit the…kirk here to see if the vicar recognizes you?”
Gryf shook his head. “I know without asking that I didn’t come from Scotland.”
“And how would you know that?”
Gryf gave the lad a gentle smile. “Because of my accent.”
“Oh. Aye.” Satisfied, the boy turned back to Darcy. “If I call it a church, will the people know what I mean?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Aye. Some of them might. But others might have a difficult time understanding you. When you’re in a new land, with new people, it’s wise to learn as many of their words as possible.”
She nodded toward a boy and girl hauling a small wooden cart. “Would you like to stop and talk with them?”
“I would.” He let go of her hand and raced up the lane to the children.
It pleased Darcy to note that, though they were from different lands, they accepted each other in the way of children everywhere.
“What are you hauling?” Whit asked.
“Kippers.” The girl’s voice was high-pitched. Beside her, her little brother stared at the stranger.
Whit peered down into the bucket. “It looks like fish.”
“Aye. ’Tis. And these—” the girl unwrapped a square of linen to reveal freshly baked confections “—are scones.”
“Scones. They look like biscuits. Where are you taking them?”
“Hame.” The lad smiled. “Our mum just had a wee bairn, and we’ve been stayin’ wi’ our aunt in a hut by the loch. Now it’s time te gae’ hame.” He caught his sister’s hand, the two began hauling the little cart over the bumps in the road.
When the children were gone, Whit started back toward Darcy and Gryf. On his face was a look of astonishment.
“What is it, lad?” Darcy asked with concern.
He shrugged. “I thought Newt said they spoke English. But I didn’t understand anything they said.”
Darcy began laughing.
Gryf joined in. “He said his mother just had a new baby, and he and his sister had been staying with their aunt in a hut by the lake. Now they were going home. Presumably with a fine dinner of fish and biscuits for the whole family.”
Whit stared at the man with a look of admiration. “How’d you understand all that, Gryff?”
“It takes a bit of concentration.” He was still laughing. “But I’m willing to bet by the time we leave here tonight, you’ll be able to understand a few words as well.”
Whit stood still a moment, considering. “Do you think you could have heard such words before?”
Darcy caught the look of surprise on Gryf’s face. Then the slow nod of agreement. “It could be, lad. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for me to figure out what they were saying.”
As they walked, Darcy couldn’t help remembering that Gray had often journeyed to Scotland. The very thought had her heart racing. Still, she cautioned, most sailors in this part of the world sailed to Scotland. She’d be a fool to pin her hopes on such a weak premise. But she couldn’t help herself. Even the smallest link with Gray had her hopes soaring, even though she was mentally calling herself every sort of fool.
They continued along the lane until they came to an old woman sitting on a rock. At her feet was a huge basket. Inside were half a dozen wrapped parcels.
Gryf paused beside her. “Are you feeling unwell, mistress?”
The old woman shaded the sun from her eyes to look up at him. “Nay. Just a bit weary is all.”
“Why don’t you let me carry this home for you?” Gryf picked up the basket, then offered his arm.
The old woman looked surprised, then pleased as she stood and caught his arm, leaning heavily on him. “Aye, thank you. My home is up yonder a bit.”
They passed through the village, admiring the tidy cottages and shops. Though many people smiled and waved at the old woman, all rushed past, too busy to stop and speak with her. For her part, she seemed content to permit Gryf to offer his arm and assist her on her way.
They continued along until they came to a big house at the very end of the lane.
As they approached, a big yellow dog came rushing out at them, barking furiously. At once Gryf stepped in front of the others to shield them from attack.
Seeing their fear the old woman said, “Dunna’ be afraid of her, lad. She’s just protecting what’s hers. Come here, lass. Good girl.”
The dog approached and licked the old woman’s hand. Then, at a command from the woman, the dog stood very still, allowing Whit to pet her, as well.
“She’s been my boon companion since my husband died,” the old woman explained. “I don’t know what I’d have done without her.”
Feeling invigorated now that she was home, the old woman led the way inside her house. A house that was filled with the fragrance of bread baking and meat roasting. “Come in. The least I can do to thank you is to offer you some tea.”
Gryf glanced at Darcy, and seeing her nod of agreement, stepped aside, allowing her and the boy to precede him. The dog, assured that all was well, returned to a low basket in the corner of the room. Poking over the edge of the basket were six furry yellow heads.
“Oh, Whit, look.” Darcy pointed and the lad hurried over to stare at the litter of pups.
Darcy walked up beside him. “Aren’t they precious?”
He nodded.
Turning to the old woman he asked, “Will their mother let me pet them?”
“She’d probably be grateful for the distraction. The lot of them have been climbing all over her from the moment they were born weeks ago.”
As soon as Whit got down on his knees the puppies were tumbling over each other to get to him. Darcy and Gryf stood back laughing as he was pounced on by six balls of yellow fluff. Soon he was giggling and rolling around the floor, while the pups climbed over him, eager to lick his face.
The old woman set a kettle over the fire, then invited her guests to sit. “I’m Margaret MacInnis, and it’s grateful I am for your help.”
“You’re welcome, Mistress MacInnis. My name is Gryf, and this is Darcy. The lad is named Whit.”
Margaret MacInnis began to set the table with fine cups and a plate of scones. At once Darcy helped, filling the teapot when the kettle boiled, and fetching a little pot of fruit conserve from a side table.
“Whit,” Darcy called. “Mistress MacInnis has scones.”
She turned to their hostess. “The lad has a love for anything sweet.”
He surprised them all by saying, “I’d rather stay here and play with the pups.”
Darcy shot a quick look at Gryf, and saw his answering smile.
/> As Margaret MacInnis began to pour the tea she said, “You’re a bit young to have a son.”
Before Darcy could correct her she went on, “But then, so was I. Wed at thirteen, I was. Had five big strapping sons. Now all of them gone. And their father, as well.” She glanced at Gryf. “You look a bit like him, you do. Tall, handsome of face. Are you a sailor?”
“Aye.”
She turned to Darcy. “Then I’m sorry for you lass. You’ll no doubt be widowed soon enough. It’s the fate of all women who give their hearts to men of the sea. But at least you have the lad.”
Darcy glanced at Gryf and saw the slight shake of his head, warning her not to bother setting the old woman straight. She thought about it a moment, then sighed in agreement and sipped her tea.
“Are you all sailing together then?”
“Aye. Aboard the Undaunted.”
“Where is her home port?”
Darcy slathered conserve on a scone. “Cornwall.”
“Ah. At least you’re not English.” The old woman’s eyes danced. “I’d feared at first you might be, from your accent.”
“But we are English, Mistress MacInnis.”
Margaret MacInnis shook her head. “Nay. My husband used to say the Cornish were as fiercely independent as the Scots. And far enough from London that they’re not under England’s thumb. We’re alike, the Scots and the Cornish. There’s not a royal born who will tell us how to live our lives. We’d rather die than bend to the will of another.”
The old woman looked over at Whit, still happily playing with the puppies. The big dog lay by the fire, eyes closed in contentment. “Have you friends here in the village that you’ve come to visit?”
Gryf shook his head. “Our ship is anchored in the harbor, and we thought we’d just take a walk around your fine village.”
“Then you must stay for supper. It’s the least I can do to repay you for your kindness.”
“That’s too much work,” Darcy protested.
The old woman gave her a long look. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had company for supper?”
At once Darcy regretted her words. She glanced at Gryf and saw his nod of approval.