Sapphire Sea
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
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Sapphire Sea
The Scottish Stone Series, Book Four
Kelsey McKnight
Sapphire Sea
Copyright © 2017 by Kelsey McKnight.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: November 2017
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-255-2
ISBN-10: 1-64034-255-9
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is for all the wonderful readers who have followed me through the ballrooms of London and into the Scottish hills. Now it’s time to go on our final adventure.
Slàinte.
Come, the wind may never again
Blow as now it blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us;
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!
Silent is in the House—Emily Brontë
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Gwendolyn MacLeod skimmed the cases of wine for the fourth time, noting that they sounded rather quiet when they were thumped into the wagon by some of the burlier of her brother’s men. They had been unloading goods since the earliest light of day touched the hills, but Gwen was still marking down each item as it passed from the ship to the rowboats, up the bank from the shore, and into the hands of the men. While they were more than capable of sorting everything, she wanted to ensure all was well for Flora’s wedding.
“Miss.” A MacGregor lad named Peter spoke up as he dropped his load into one of the wagons. “I do no’ mean to cause trouble,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But the boxes seem a tad light, if ye catch my meanin’.” His gaze slid toward the gathering of swarthy Portuguese sailors near the surf.
She sighed, not relishing the confrontation that was sure to follow her decision. “Open one.”
Peter nodded and called for a chisel and mallet from one of the cart drivers, who handed it over immediately. With several neat whacks of his hammer, the cask’s lid was opened. Gwen rifled through the wood shavings and hay used as packing and frowned when she counted five, instead of the six that should have been there. She counted the cases that were already loaded. There were twelve, as ordered, but this particular one was short a bottle.
“Stop!” Gwen called suddenly, forcing the Scots to a halt. “Open every case, every barrel.”
“What’s wrong, Senhorita?” a Portuguese sailor asked, wiping sweat from his brow. It was a mild day in the Highlands, but the morning sun was strong.
Gwen held up her accounting, neatly listed in her notes. “Your goods are short. Everything needs to be recounted before I’ll accept it.”
The sailor pursed his lips and looked around, eyeing the large Scotsmen, who were watching him in return, their hands on the hilts of their broadswords. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Gwen oversaw the boxes and cases being opened, counting and measuring each item as the Portuguese and Scottish men watched. She was pleased to see that everything else was accounted for, save the cases of fine wine, the most expensive of their imports. Each case was one bottle short. She took a deep breath. It was one thing for there to be a mistake—it happened from time to time—but it was clear the Portuguese had wronged them on purpose.
“You shorted me,” she said to the same sailor, rage building within her. But Gwen kept her voice even and her expression as placid as she could manage. “Tell your captain that he will not be paid for his services until I have everything that was ordered. And don’t try to tell me that you received these from the Italian traders like this. It’s clear by looking more closely at the lids that each had been opened during their journey and then resealed.”
The sailor looked around nervously while several of his cohorts stood silently behind him. “Senhorita, the capitão is still aboard La Sereia.”
“I’ll wait.” Gwen hoisted herself onto the back of a wagon and sat, her legs dangling. “Go and tell him that unless he rights this appalling wrong, I will sever our contract, have your ship burned, and someone’s hand cut off for stealing, as is my right.”
The man glanced down at his own filthy fingers before darting off. She watched him scurry down the rocky slope and yell something in his language to his companions before hopping into a boat and madly rowing over the surf toward the ship. She wondered if she had been too harsh with her threats. They were empty, of course; she had no way of burning their ship, nor cutting off someone’s hand. Only Conner had the power to order that kind of retribution, which he hardly ever exercised, especially against outsiders. She knew this, but they didn’t, and she was glad of it.
She waited, watching the Scots below continue to build the long docks that should have been completed weeks before. She herself had initiated the construction, hoping ships could dock closer to shore, making for a quicker process when the boats arrived to trade. The small cove tucked within the cliffs and the stretch of rocky beach was the perfect place for such an addition and the imports were a godsend.
It was some time later when she saw a rowboat begin its short journey from the anchored ship toward the shore. It carried two figures, and she assumed one must be the captain. She tucked her plaid shawl tighter around her shoulders and hopped down from her perch. When she did so, the Scots who were sitting around the wagons stood, each ribbing one another. Gwen knew they were hoping for a good fight. It had been a quiet winter.
One of the men who peered down at the beach stayed at her shoulder. “Takin’ his time about it, I see.”
Gwen watched the same sailor as before scurry up the slope toward her, followed by a cloaked figure moving at a slightly slower pace. “Senhorita, this is our capitão, Gaspar Florencio.” He motioned toward the cloaked man, who lowered his dark hood, shaking out his mane of wavy black hair.
“Captain, we have a problem,” Gwen began, striding closer and trying to portray a more menacing height than her flat five feet could offer.
“Capitão, this is Senhorita Gwendolyn MacLeod,” the sailor said before backing away.
Captain Florencio’s gray eyes swept over Gwen from the tips of her soft leather boots to the top of her windswept curls. Then his mouth broke into a smile, his teeth made whiter by his swarthy skin. “Senhorita MacLeod, I am honored to make your acquaintance,” he crooned in accented English. “If I had known what golden beauty was awaiting upon the shore, I would have delivered the packages myself.” Then he grabbed her hand and bestowed the lightest of kisses on her knuckles.
Gwen was slightly dumbstruck. She’d been prepared to yell at a crooked old man and get exactly what she wanted, but she knew the ways of men well enough to know that the bronzed seaman before her was not one to give in easily. She was sure of it.
Noting that a strange silence had descended heavily around them like a shroud, Gwen tried to steady herself. Her hand was still within his warm grasp and she pulled it free, placing both her hands upon her hips. “Captain, I have an issue with the goods you’ve delivered. Each cask of wine is a bottle short and I can say, with near certainty, that it came to be this way during its time on your ship. We’ve had a trade agreement with this winery for twenty years and they have never wronged us before.”
He scratched his cleft chin, which was covered in a light dusting of stubble. “I cannot imagine how those bottles came to be missing.”
Gwen pursed her lips at his futile attempt to sound innocent. “I’ll only ask you once to not lie to me and I won’t require a prolonged explanation. But I will ask you to fix this problem.”
“And who is it that found this mistake?”
“I did.”
Captain Florencio raised his dark brows. “You have been taking charge of the delivery, Senhorita?”
“Contrary to popular belief, Scottish women can read and count, Captain.”
“No offense meant, Senhorita,” he assured her earnestly, but with a glint of something in his stormy eyes. “We cannot have our contract spoiled by one little delivery.”
“Then what will you do to rebuild my faith in your services?”
The captain turned to his men at the shore and let loose a high whistle before looking back at her. “With gifts, Senhorita.”
Gwen watched as Portuguese sailors carried lidless boxes up the slope like a line of ants. Several minutes later, they reached the wagons, showing her each container as they passed. She saw bottles of wine, more than the ones she’d originally ordered, and tall rolls of brightly colored silk wrapped in paper. She crossed her arms and looked up at Gaspar, who returned her glare with a smoldering stare.
“How is that, Senhorita? Will that right my wrong, or will I need to repay you in some other manner?”
The tone of his voice was suggestive, and Gwen knew just enough of the ways of men to know he was trying to embarrass her. A lifetime of listening to the rougher sex call out bawdy jokes to one another while she and Flora looked on had prepared her for situations such as this. “I doubt you have anything else that would impress me.”
“I’ll ask ye no’ to speak to the MacLeod’s sister in that manner,” Big Angus warned from behind her. She heard the distinct metallic sound a sword made as it was drawn halfway from its sheath.
She held up her hand, motioning for Big Angus to step back. “You must do better if you value your ship. You’re making me late for my sister’s wedding, which isn’t warming me to the idea of maintaining our contract.”
“A wedding, yes, I can see why that might make you cross with me.” Captain Florencio slipped his hand within his cloak.
“Stay your hand,” Big Angus ordered, pulling out his blade.
Gwen gasped and looked between the two men, shocked that the captain would think to do her harm. But to her surprise, he didn’t mirror her sentiments. In fact, he just nodded and smiled at them both.
“Please, my friends, I mean no disrespect. In fact, I offer another gift.”
Big Angus eyed him shrewdly. “Aye, then, show us. Slowly, now.”
The captain nodded and pulled out a blue velvet box. He opened the lid to show her a string of diamonds and a pair of matching earrings. “Will this sweeten your mood, Senhorita?”
“Do you always carry ladies’ jewels with you?”
“You never know what charming woman you may meet on dry land, or what siren will call to you into the sea.”
Gwen couldn’t resist rolling her eyes at his dramatics. “Fine. I will consider your retribution paid, but if our next shipment is light, I will sever our contract for good.”
“I knew you couldn’t resist these French gems.”
“They will make a fine wedding present for my sister,” she told him firmly, snatching the box from his hand and passing it off to Big Angus for safekeeping.
“If your sister is any bit as beautiful as you are, I’m sure she will have a long and happy marriage.”
“I’ll be sure to relay the message,” she replied dryly.
He drug his fingers through his tousled hair. “Senhorita, might I interest you in a tour of La Sereia?”
“No.”
“But the woodwork is divine.”
“No.”
“Tis so sturdy, you won’t even feel the ocean move beneath your feet, Gwendolyn.” His voice was slightly dreamy as he spoke, his accent caressing every word, particularly her name.
“I’m sure your ship is lovely, but I’m not interested in a tour.” She turned to leave, but paused and spoke over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare ever call me Gwendolyn.”
“Sim, Senhorita!” Captain Florencio called jovially as she mounted her horse. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
She didn’t dare look back at him, for the mere sight of the smug, handsome face would surely enrage her. Instead, she tried to focus on the ride back to the castle and the steady gallop of the horse’s hooves beneath her. But with each step, she found her mind taunted by thoughts of his deep gray eyes and bold grin.
***
Gwen was still feeling rather vexed when she arrived at Flora’s bridal chambers an hour later. A quick bath in rose oil and a new, pale pink gown did little to ease her frayed nerves. She couldn’t put her finger on why the Portuguese captain irritated her so, but she hated that his smooth voice and tanned skin still assaulted her thoughts. The cad.
She turned to Flora and picked up several small orange blossoms, tucking them into her braided, golden hair. “Lan dhen cac…” That man was full of shite.
“You’re looking awfully irritated,” Flora noted. “You never speak Gàidhlig unless you’re particularly upset or scared. Did something happen?”
Gwen frowned and adjusted Flora’s veil before pinning it onto her looped blonde hair. She felt a pang of guilt at bringing her anger into Flora’s bridal chamber. It wasn’t fair of her. “I’m sorry. You’re the one getting married. If anyone should be acting like a brat, it’s you. So tell me, are you frightened that you’ll be walking down the aisle in less than an hour?”
“No, no, I want to hear why you’re stomping about like a child. It’s rare you throw such a fit.”
“Well, the Portuguese trader tried to short me,” Gwen explained, leaning over the dressing table to dab a bit of rogue on her cheeks and lips. She felt she had to do something with her hands. “He arrived late last night to deliver cases of Italian wine for
your wedding, among some other frivolities. When they began bringing things up at daybreak, he tried to short me.”
“How so?”
She felt the anger bubble within her at the mere memory. “Well, each lot was to be bought for seventy-two pounds each, as each bottle was twelve pounds and sent as cases of six. As our men were loading them into the carts this morning, one remarked that Italian wine was much lighter than the French. Well, I marched right up—”
“You were there?” Flora’s lips were turned up into an amused smile. “I thought you would at least stop your work on my wedding day.”
“Of course I was! I needed to ensure everything would be perfect. And so I ordered one be opened. The Portuguese weren’t too thrilled, but one of our men did and I saw a bottle was missing. They had repacked the cases in sets of five while still charging the seventy-two pounds.” Gwen suppressed the volley of curses she wanted to unleash. “The gall of those Portuguese to skim some wine from our cases. Well, I told their captain—”
“Their captain? Is he wildly fierce with a big beard like in the novels?” Flora asked eagerly.
She shook her head and felt her cheeks grow warm as she thought of the devilishly alluring man. “No, his name is Gaspar Florencio and he’s terribly young. Perhaps Conner’s age.”
“And tell me, what did you tell Captain Gaspar Florencio?”
“I told him that he had best right the wrong done to our house or I’d have his hand cut off for stealing and his ship burned.”
“Dear Lord, that’s rather extreme.”
“No one spoils your wedding day, Flora,” Gwen replied flippantly, hoping to lighten the mood of the room.
“I believe you.” Flora giggled. “So, did he right his wrong, or is there a burning boat in the sea?”
“We now have eighty bottles of wine, several rolls of silk, and he even gifted some select pieces of jewelry as a wedding gift for you,” she announced, feeling a bit pleased with her retribution. “Now, we must get ready to have you wed. You’ve made Andrew wait nearly four months.”