by Ruth Langan
Of course, if Gryf should happen to be visiting the lad as well, all the better. She could bask in the glow of his company without appearing to have planned it.
“And that’s all you know of Gryf, Newt?” Ambrosia and Bethany had cornered the old man in the shed, where he was busy gathering the tools needed to repair the Undaunted.
After prying out of Newton as much as he could tell about Gryf’s history, the two sisters turned to each other excitedly. “Despite the fact that it was a tavern fire instead of a ship’s fire, I still think there’s a chance he could be Gray. Don’t you think he bears a remarkable resemblance, Bethany?”
“Aye. If he were to shave that beard…”
“Exactly what I was thinking. And if we were to cut his hair and comb it the way Gray always did…”
“Ye two are playing a dangerous game,” the old man grumbled. “If ye care about ye’r sister, ye’ll not even think about such things.”
“But we do care about her, Newt.” Ambrosia grinned at Bethany. “We’ve just come from her room, and we can see that she’s feeling lost and confused, and wildly in love.”
“And ye think the two of ye can steer her through uncharted waters, do ye?”
“We’ll just give them both a nudge.” Bethany rubbed her hands together. “Now if there’s anything more you can tell us about Gryf…”
“If there is, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m warning ye, lasses. If ye love ye’r sister, stay out of her love life and let her sort these things out herself.”
“Oh, Newt.” The two young women caught hands and started toward the house, their heads bent close, their faces animated.
The old man turned away, muttering a few ripe oaths. Obstinate females. Never could take directions. But this time, their meddling could very well do more harm than good. He only hoped they didn’t go too far. There were two very fragile hearts involved in their little scheme. Hearts which might, with just a tiny fall, shatter beyond repair.
“What’s this?” Gryf returned from working on the Undaunted to find Bethany and Ambrosia standing beside his night table. “Sorry. I must have walked into the wrong room by mistake.”
As he started to back out, Ambrosia caught him by the hand. “You made no mistake, Gryf. We saw you coming across the beach and thought we’d fetch up a basin of hot water, in case you wanted to shave your beard.”
He looked from one to the other. “Why would I want to shave?”
“Spoken like a true sailor.” Ambrosia chuckled. “Papa always returned from the sea with a beard. And Mama always had the razor sharpened, and the water heated, so that he could remove his beard before kissing her.”
Bethany joined in the laughter. “Aye. She said it tickled too much, and spoiled the pleasure of his lips when they kissed.”
Gryf didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. “Your mother said that, did she?”
“Aye.” The two sisters nodded their heads in unison.
“And whose lips will be pleasured if I should happen to shave my beard?”
“Well…” Ambrosia glanced at her sister. “We can’t say her name. But there’s a certain ship’s captain who seems to spend a great many hours alone at night on the widow’s walk.”
He’d seen Darcy up there on the balcony last night, pacing in the darkness. And he’d been tempted to go to her. But something held him back. A fear that he might intrude upon some deeply held private grief. “What does your sister do up there?”
Bethany shrugged. “Perhaps she dreams a woman’s dreams, and waits for a certain sailor to come and claim her heart.”
He idly picked up the razor and touched a thumb to the finely honed edge. “Is there anything else your mother used to ask your father to do when he returned from the sea?”
“Aye.” Ambrosia could see that he was entering into the spirit of this with more enthusiasm than she’d hoped. “Mama always asked him to put aside his sailor’s clothes and put on the garb of an English gentleman.”
“I see.” He turned and met their curious looks. “Do you think that’s something a certain ship’s captain would ask of a lowly seafarer?”
“I think she would be pleased, though she’d never ask it herself.” Bethany caught her sister’s hand and led her to the door. “I’m sure Mistress Coffey has need of our help in the dining room. Will we see you below stairs shortly, Gryf?”
“Aye.” He turned away and studied his reflection in the looking glass. “I’ll be down in time for supper.”
“Darcy.” At the shrill voice, Darcy turned to see Edwina Cannon racing across the entryway, arms outstretched.
Like a doe facing a hunter’s sword, Darcy froze. Her first inclination was to turn and run in the opposite direction. But there was no escaping Edwina when she set her mind to it.
Darcy was caught in a bear hug while that high-pitched voice screeched across her nerves.
“I just heard the news that you’d returned, and had to see for myself.” Edwina held her a little away and studied her carefully. “Well, you certainly look better than you did the last time I saw you.”
“Aye. I’m feeling better, as well.” Darcy extricated herself from the young woman’s clutches and took a deliberate step back. “It was kind of you to come all this way just to greet me, Edwina. But if you’ll excuse me…”
“It was no bother. Besides, Mistress Coffey has invited me to stay for supper.”
Darcy nearly groaned aloud. An entire meal spent in this woman’s company would give her indigestion for a week. Still, she couldn’t see any way to evade her, without being openly rude. Something Winnie would never allow, even if Darcy could bring herself to attempt it.
“Come along, then, Edwina. Grandpapa’s probably waiting impatiently to eat.”
In the dining room the others were already seated.
“Ah.” Geoffrey Lambert settled himself at the dining table and glanced around with a sigh of satisfaction. “It does my heart good to have my family back with me. Even if it’s only for an occasional meal.”
“You needn’t worry about missing Riordan and me, Grandpapa.” Ambrosia filled her plate and dug in. Her appetite had become monstrous lately. “Even though we’ll be moving into our own home soon, Riordan would much rather enjoy Mistress Coffey’s meals than try to tolerate anything I might cook.”
Beside her, her husband gave a snort of laughter. “In fact, Ambrosia decided to fix breakfast this morrow. Kane and Bethany were ready to head back to Penhollow Abbey rather than swallow that congealed mess she referred to as eggs. And I threatened to leave on an around-the-world cruise if she decided to try cooking another meal. In fact, that’s the real reason why we’re building right next door. So we can always enjoy a decent meal at your home.”
While Edwina giggled, Darcy shook her head. “I see some things never change. We always used to beg Mistress Coffey not to let Ambrosia help Cook in the kitchen. In fact I recall the time…” Her voice trailed off and she stared at the man standing in the doorway as though he were a ghost.
“I thought I’d shave.” Gryf saw the way her face drained of color as she continued looking at him.
The others were staring, as well.
To fill the sudden silence he advanced toward the only one at the table he hadn’t met. “Good evening. My name is Gryf.”
“Gryf?” Edwina’s voice had risen an entire octave, until it resembled the squeak of a nest of mice. “I’m Edwina Cannon. A good friend of the Lambert family.”
“Do you live in Land’s End?”
“Aye.” She continued staring at him as he took the seat beside Darcy. “And you live…?”
“Here. At the moment.”
Edwina’s eyes lit as they always did when she found herself in the company of a handsome man. In her eyes, any unmarried man was fair game for her flirtations. “Has anyone told you that you look very much like—”
“You look—” alarmed, Bethany tried desperately to interrupt, before this fool ruined everything “—s
o handsome.” Bethany nearly choked on her tea, but she had spoken the truth. He was a commanding presence, despite the puckered scar that ran from the tip of his ear to beneath his jaw.
As she and Ambrosia had suspected, his resemblance to Gray was even more pronounced than ever. The same full lower lip. The same square jaw.
Still, Darcy had been right about one thing. Except for the physical resemblance, he seemed quite different from the boy they’d all known. There was a toughness in this man. A hardness in the eyes. And a look of danger about him that had never been present in Gray Barton.
“I agree with Bethany.” Ambrosia filled her plate with a second helping and attempted to fill the silence before Edwina could say something foolish or embarrassing. “You look…dashing.”
Gryf gave a slight nod of his head before accepting the platter from Darcy’s hands. As their fingers brushed, he felt her pull back as though burned.
He glanced at her plate. “You’re not eating?”
She shook her head. “I’m…not hungry. Besides—” seeing Libby just passing through the dining room with a tray, she got to her feet and took it from her hands “—I promised young Whit that I’d sit with him while he ate.”
“But what about me?” Edwina wailed.
“I’m sorry, Edwina. But thank you for coming by. I’ll…see you the next time I’m in the village.”
As she hurried away Darcy could feel Gryf watching her. And though she wanted to turn back for one last look, she squared her shoulders and continued out of the room.
Upstairs she took in several quick breaths to calm her heartbeat, before stepping into Whit’s room. The puppy, lying on the pillow beside the lad, yawned and got to its feet to lick her hand as she settled the tray beside the bed.
When she removed the cover, Whit’s eyes rounded in surprise.
“Look at all this food. Is it all for me?”
“Of course. For you and Fearless.” She handed him a bowl of broth laced with bits of beef and vegetables, and was delighted to see him quickly drain the entire bowl.
“What’s this?” He poked a finger at the plate heaped with meat and potatoes, and several slices of warm, crusty bread.
“Mutton. And this,” she said, lifting a glass, “is goat’s milk. Very rich, and very good for you.”
He sniffed, tasted, then emptied the entire glass. Afterward he divided his dinner into two plates, one of which he offered to the pup.
When both plates were cleaned he glanced at a bowl of mush on the tray. “Is that gruel?”
“Nay. Cook’s very special custard. She must think highly of you to go to the trouble of making it, for it requires hours of preparation. Go ahead. Taste.”
When he did, he suddenly smiled. “I’ve never tasted custard before. Are you sure it wasn’t made by angels?”
Darcy laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell Cook what you said. If you’re not careful, you may have to eat her custard morning, noon and night.”
“Not that I’d complain, Captain.”
“I think,” Darcy said gently, “now that we’re on land, you ought to call me by my given name. Can you do that?”
He looked surprised and pleased. “Aye.” He decided to try it out. “Darcy.”
Seeing her smile, he offered her some of the custard.
“Nay. It’s for you and Fearless.”
Again he divided the food into two bowls, and soon both were empty, as he imitated the puppy and licked around the rim.
“Judging by that appetite, I’d say you and Fearless will soon be up and around.”
“Do you think so, Cap—Darcy?”
“Aye.” She touched a hand to the dressing at his chest. “How does your wound feel, Whit?”
“It still hurts to breathe. But not nearly as much today. Gryf promised me that as soon as I’m strong enough—” He looked up as the door opened and gave a delighted laugh. “Gryf. I was just talking about you.”
“And I was just thinking about you, lad.” He glanced at the tray of empty dishes. “Did you eat all that? Or did someone help you?”
“Just Fearless. Darcy didn’t want to eat a thing. I was going to tell her what you promised. You said as soon as I’m strong enough, I could go down to shore and watch the men as they work on the Undaunted.”
“Aye. That’s a promise, Whit.” Gryf took a seat beside the boy’s bed, across from Darcy, and began scratching behind the pup’s ears.
Darcy tried not to stare at his face. But the temptation was too great. When she did, she found him looking at her in a way that had her heart stuttering.
She picked up the tray and stood. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone to visit, while I take this down to the scullery.”
“Will I see you again before I go to sleep?” Whit called.
She paused in the doorway. “Aye. If you’d like.”
“I would. And so would Fearless.”
“Then I’ll stop back before I go to my room.”
She left quickly. But even downstairs she couldn’t escape the image of Gryf that seemed frozen in her mind. An image of another. And yet, for all the similarities, she felt more confused than ever. Why was she attracted, not by the physical resemblance, but by their emotional differences?
Though she’d spent her childhood loving one sweet boy, it was a dark, rough, mysterious stranger who was suddenly laying claim to her woman’s heart. And that knowledge had her more mystified than ever.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re still awake?” Darcy slipped into Whit’s room and was surprised to see him sitting up in bed, with Fearless snuggled up beside him.
Except for quick trips outside, which their housekeeper demanded in no uncertain terms, the puppy hadn’t left Whit’s side since their loving reunion.
She peered through the flickering candlelight and realized that Gryf was sitting there as well, half-hidden in shadows.
“I was waiting for you,” the boy said almost accusingly.
“I’m sorry, Whit. I was in the parlor with my family, and the time just seemed to slip away.” She sat on the edge of the bed facing him and caught his hands in hers. “When you’re feeling stronger, you’ll be able to join us in the parlor. You’ll love listening to Grandpapa’s tales. He’s had some fine adventures as a ship’s captain traveling all over the world.”
“Do you think he’d mind telling me about some of his adventures?”
“Mind?” She laughed. “He’ll be delighted to have a fresh audience for his stories. Now—” she leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek “—it’s time you and Fearless got to sleep.”
His smile bloomed. “Will I see you on the morrow?”
“You will, indeed.” She stood. “Sleep now, Whit. And if you need anything, just ring this bell on the night table.”
“You mean you’ll come, even in the middle of the night?”
“Aye. No matter what the time, if you’re in pain or need anything at all, just ring.” She gave a quick glance toward Gryf and felt that little thrill that always curled along her spine at the knowledge that he was watching her. “Good night, Gryf.”
His voice sounded even deeper than usual. “Good night, Darcy.”
As she walked out, the boy looked over at the man. “Can you believe that, Gryf?”
“You mean about the bell?”
“Nay. She kissed me.” The boy touched a hand to his cheek. “My mother used to kiss me like that. I can still remember how it felt when she held me. Sometimes I can even recall how she smelled. Like a field of wildflowers after a rain.”
Gryf was jolted by the boy’s words. They perfectly described Darcy, as well.
He leaned near and closed a hand over the lad’s, then blew out the candle. In the darkness his voice was gruff. “Darcy was right. It’s time to sleep now, Whit.”
“Aye. Thanks for sitting with me, Gryf.” The lad watched as the man moved like a shadow across the room.
Gryf closed the door and started down the hall toward his room.
What he needed, he mused, was a solid night’s sleep. What he wanted was another matter.
Aye. What he wanted. It was the same thing he’d wanted since he’d first beheld Darcy Lambert in that tavern room in a village in Wales. Only now it was much more than lustful desire. It had become love. And it had come sneaking up on him like a thief in the night.
Without taking time to think it through, he followed a sudden impulse and climbed the stairs to the attic. From there it was another flight of stairs to the widow’s walk.
As he stepped outside, he caught sight of Darcy. She was standing as still as a statue, staring out to sea.
He breathed in the needles of cold, sharp air and started toward her. “Can you see them?”
His voice, low and deep, sent tremors along her spine. The rusty sound caused by the burns to his throat had begun to smooth out, leaving a tone as rich and deep as velvet.
Though she’d heard his footsteps, she kept her face averted. “See what?”
“The phantom ships that are said to sail while the world sleeps.”
“I’ve heard of them. But I’ve yet to see them.”
“I thought that might be what draws you out here.”
She shook her head. But still she refused to look at him. “It’s an old habit. I can’t seem to break it.”
“Maybe you’re still looking for him.”
“Who?”
“The lad you loved and lost.”
She did turn then. “Who told you?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I hate seeing that sadness in your eyes.” He caught her chin, staring down into her eyes. “I’d do anything to take it away. To take you away. From the pain. From the memories.”
She reached a hand to his chest. “Don’t, Gryf.”
“Don’t what? Love you? It’s too late for that. Much too late. As for touching you…” He caught the hand she held to his chest and lifted it, palm up to his mouth, to press kisses there, sending a series of tremors spiraling through her. “I can no more keep from touching you, kissing you, than I can stop the waves from battering the shore.”
Then his mouth was on hers, though he didn’t know how it happened. And his hand was fisted in her hair as he drank her in like a man who was parched and dying of thirst.