“Wake up and you’ll see,” she sang, sharply drawing open the curtains and letting in the early morning light.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched, noticing a blue box upon the foot of her bed. It was not unlike the one Gaspar had given for Flora’s wedding gift. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know. Open it.”
“Who is it from?” Gwen asked, although she thought she had an idea about the identity of the mysterious gift giver.
Charlotte’s lips curled into a cat-like grin. “The Portuguese captain. Now, open it. I want to see what’s inside! Why did he send you something that looks suspiciously like it contains jewelry?”
Gwen held up the box and shoved it into Charlotte’s hands. “Send it back unopened, please.” Then she lay back down among her pillows, pulling the blankets back up over her shoulders. She was fully awake now, but had no interest in drawing herself out from her warm, sleepy cocoon.
“But why? Aren’t you curious?”
“No, and you shouldn’t open it either.”
Charlotte pouted, her fingertips tapping on the gold clasp of the box. “But I want to see.”
“Don’t,” she chastised, her voice more harshly toned than she meant. “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea that what he’s doing is welcomed. It’s not right.”
“Fine,” Charlotte replied in a stiff tone. “I’ll do as you ask and pass it off to be returned. Would you like a note sent as well?”
“No.”
Charlotte tapped her chin with her finger, as she always did before suggesting something absurd. “You know…this is awfully reminiscent of when Conner sent me my emeralds when we first met.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything, merely pointing out the similarities,” she replied, her voice a mask of innocence.
Gwen rolled over so her back was to Charlotte. “Well, stop pointing things out. I fear that the captain is merely trying to provoke me.”
“And why would he do such a thing?”
“Because he’s an obnoxious cad who thrives off making other people uncomfortable.”
Charlotte hummed something, but Gwen didn’t wish to ask what it was.
She tried going back to sleep once Charlotte left, but she was too irritated to rest. She had been awakened at the crack of dawn because Gaspar wanted to annoy her. Well, it had worked, that was for certain. She begrudgingly slid from the warm cocoon of her blankets and hurried to wash her face and dress simply in a warm plum gown. She pinned back the front curls of her hair and was just about to step out the door when a maid stopped her.
“These were sent for ye, miss.” The maid held out two blue, velvet boxes and a book of poetry with fine, gold lettering.
Gwen eyed the packages suspiciously. “Who sent them?”
“The Portuguese captain,” she responded meekly. “I took the first gift down to shore but I was given these to bring back.”
“Any note?”
“No, miss. A man just gave them to me and said I was to tell you the captain sent them.”
Gwen groaned. “Take them back, if you please, or give them to one of the kitchen boys to return.”
The maid looked down at the boxes and back up at Gwen. “Ye do no’ wish to open them?”
“No, just go.”
Gwen pushed past her and stalked down the hallways until she was safely in the privacy of the spacious library. A large pile of accounts and bills of sale awaited her, but she looked forward to the monotony of numbers. They were stable, predictable, fixable, and she didn’t need to fear them pestering her unbidden. Unlike men.
She worked through several ledgers, noting the annual income of each tenant’s farm into her book with a delicate hand. But after several hours, she was beginning to regret skipping breakfast and rung the bell for a servant. She thought she deserved a break from her work, as did her poor, cramped fingers.
Once she had ordered tea and sandwiches be brought up, Gwen began tidying up the desk. She stacked the old receipts, put away the pens and ink, and got up to burn the soiled and unusable papers she’d used for scratch. She had just begun to feed the small fire when she heard the door open behind her.
“Just place my tray on the desk, if you would be so kind,” she instructed, still carefully slipping papers into the flame.
“As you wish, Senhorita.”
Gwen felt her blood run cold in her veins, but the hot heat of annoyed anger quickly replaced the sensation. She stuffed the rest of the pages roughly into the fireplace and stood, wiping her hands on her gown more roughly than they deserved. Then she took a deep, steadying breath to calm her nerves before turning around.
Gaspar leaned against the desk, smirking as he observed her. His signature white linen shirt hung open almost to the waist, which was cut by a black belt. A gold chain looped around his neck and lay against his smooth chest, from which a cross and small medal hung.
“Do I leave you speechless?” Gaspar asked.
“Only because all the words I wish to say are not fit for a lady’s lips,” she answered briskly, going to the desk to pour herself some tea. She was frustrated to see there were two cups on the tray instead of one. Still, she filled a cup only for herself, ignoring the cream and sugar like always. She couldn’t serve him.
“I can think of many things a lady’s lips are fit for,” he murmured, leaning close as she sat down. “And none of them require speech.”
“You’re sickening.”
“Sickeningly handsome.” He winked and sat on the other side of the desk from her in a wingback chair. “So, Senhorita, why did you send back my gifts?”
“Because I didn’t care very much for them.”
“Oh, but I know you’re lying to me! These boxes were unopened and the book wasn’t even cracked.”
She took a sip of tea. It was an exotic, Chinese blend she usually enjoyed, but the flavor was tainted by his company. “I know what I like and I didn’t like your gifts.”
“If you only saw, I am sure you would have felt differently.”
Gwen sighed and placed her cup silently back on its saucer. “Gasper, your attentions would be better spent elsewhere. I’m sure your gift would be very welcome at the rather unsavory establishment in the village by the standing stones. They don’t often come into contact with the finer goods we enjoy here at the castle.”
“I told you before, I never touch a woman who doesn’t beg me first. Now, Senhorita—”
She gritted her teeth, the word Senhorita grating on her already frayed nerves. “Goodness, I cannot take you calling me that a moment more!”
He grinned widely and poured himself some tea. He took it black, just like her. “And what should I call you?
“I am Lady Gwendolyn MacLeod of Clan MacLeod.”
“Gwendolyn,” he copied slowly, his foreign tongue caressing each letter as it left his mouth. It made her almost uncomfortable…as if she’d been sitting naked before him.
“Gwen will be fine.”
“No, no, no, I think I will use Gwendolyn.”
“As you like,” she told him, picking up a sandwich, although her appetite was gone.
“Now that we are on a first name basis, will you accept my gifts?”
“Why are you so obsessed with giving me things I don’t want?”
“Because you won’t accept them.”
“That makes no sense.”
He leaned back in his seat and propped his booted feet on the desk, regarding her under his dark brows. “Because you pull away from me like my touch burns you, but when I look at you, you don’t look away. You gaze right back, like the rogue waves that crash in the sea. Fearless. Challenging me.”
She stared at him blankly before telling him, “You’re ridiculous. I’m not challenging anyone.”
“Then accept my gifts!”
“I don’t want to!” she shouted in return.
“But every time you send something back, it will be multi
plied until my ship is empty and she is all I have left to give.”
“I doubt your crew would be pleased to hear that,” she pointed out, thinking of the brawny men who crowded the beach.
“Then you must accept it for the good of my men.”
“If it will make you stop and leave me alone, I will take your gifts and leave you your ship.”
He clapped his hands together, making her jump. “Good news. Everything has already been delivered to your chambers and I await to hear how you enjoy them.”
“Everything? Already delivered?” she mimicked dumbly.
He didn’t respond at first, but stood, readying himself to leave her. He snatched a sandwich from the tray and gave her long look. “I await your message.”
***
Gwen ate her lunch in silence, trying to buy time before she clambered up to her rooms to see what Gaspar had brought her. She wouldn’t put it past him to be hiding in the hall just outside the library, waiting for her to pass in order to harass her some more. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, so she took eat bite slowly until her tea was cold and she was almost certain he would have tired of waiting for her.
As she walked through the corridors back to her chambers, she wished again that Flora was there to tell her what to do, or even Charlie, even though he was a bad role model. Or better yet, Penelope, who always knew just what to say and how to say it, without compromising her manners. Conner would merely have Gaspar flogged. Charlotte would say his insistence reminded her of her own romance. It was ridiculous.
She was almost afraid to open the door, and cracked it just a sliver to peer inside before entering. Luckily, there was no one within, so she entered the room and locked up behind her. Upon her bed was a pile of packages, boxes, and of rolls of fabrics.
It almost felt like Christmas or her birthday and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. She sifted through the pile, wishing she could send it back to save her own pride, but she also knew Gaspar would make good on his promise and bury her in gifted finery until she kept something.
Within the presents were four bolts of silk in rich colors, perfect for the summer season. She found a set of diamond bracelets and a gold locket featuring several black stones. Among the parcels were also four books in French as well as a box containing an entire silver toilette set—a brush, mirror, and a small comb.
The gifts were fine, and of wonderful quality, but she still felt guilty as she placed the silver and the jewelry upon her vanity and tucked the books in her nightstand to be read later. She put the bolts of fabric on the trunk on the end of her bed and wished the other Portuguese ships closer, so Gaspar could finally leave.
She was trying to make a good match of Prince Eduardo. From what she knew, he had never been married, was only a few months older than she, and wasn’t in direct line for the throne, as he was the fifth prince. Some might have found his distance from the crown to be an unattractive quality, but it was the opposite for Gwen. He still had titles and land and was looking for an equally moneyed noblewoman to wed, but she wouldn’t be trapped within the regulations the elder princesses and princes had to adhere to.
Gwen flopped into bed and lay back among her pillows. She wasn’t looking for a great love, as Conner, Drum, and Flora had found. She was much too practical for that and, dare she say, adventurous? She desired a great adventure—which a minor Spanish noble had to allow by the terms of her dowry, expendable riches—of which Spain had plenty of, and to see things she never would have outside a standard honeymoon tour of Europe.
Sure, she could travel from Scotland to Germany and Russia and the Indies, but that would require numerous trips on ships, which she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to bear. Spain, however, had direct train lines that were beginning to spider off all through Europe. A train she could handle—the unknown of the sea, she could not. The thought of the necessary sail across the English Channel to the mainland for the hypothetical wedding was enough to make her green about the gills.
If only she could obtain a response from the Spanish courts sooner. Conner had sent out a small portrait and letters the day before, asking for a portrait, emissary, and even a royal visit, if prince Eduardo’s schedule would allow. And, by Gwen’s calculations, it would take about two weeks for her messenger to reach Spain and another two for him to return, maybe longer if the prince decided to return with him. This meant she could be a Spanish princess by the end of spring. How novel.
Gwen giggled to herself and picked up her book on Spanish history, excited to learn more of this possible future.
Chapter Four
When Gwen came down to dine that evening, she had dressed plainly in smooth violet velvet that was nipped in at the waist by a black silk ribbon. She forwent jewelry, as she often did. Heavy gems weighed her down and the jeweled cuffs and rings her sisters all favored would get caught in her curled hair, which hung loose. She didn’t wish to prick herself with pins that caused headaches.
She meandered down to the feasting hall, in no particular rush. She wasn’t one for drink, which everyone else seemed to be. That limited her socialization options and she vaguely thought to the reputation of the Spanish court. It was said to be lively and joyful, and the descriptions of Madrid she had read about was something Gwen found she pined for. They seemed to be a musical and elegant people.
So entrenched in her thoughts of Spain, Gwen barely realized that she had already sat down at her usual seat to Conner’s left. She turned to her left, where little Ian sometimes sat, but found herself not looking at the miniature Scotsman she adored, but a swarthy captain, who was eyeing her with one brow raised.
“How did you find my tribute, Gwendolyn?” Gaspar crooned, pouring her some wine.
Gwen gritted her teeth. “Why are you here?” she hissed.
“Conner invited me.” He glanced toward her brother. “Isn’t that right, Conner?”
Conner tipped his goblet in response. “Aye, it’s too quiet around here.”
“Perfect,” Gwen grumbled as a bowl of soup was placed before her. Once again, Gaspar had ruined her appetite.
He leaned toward her, his elbow almost grazing hers. “Gwendolyn, how do you find life in Scotland?”
“The same as life anywhere else, I suppose.”
“Do you not crave the cities of the south?” His voice lingered on the word crave.
“I’ve been to London, went to finishing school in England…I’m quite content where I am now.”
“Then why go to Spain?”
Gwen fiddled with her spoon, her gaze still focused on the hall, watching the light crowd eat and talk amongst themselves. “That’s none of your business.”
“But it is…if I am the one who will take you there.”
Her head whipped around to him. “Pardon me?”
“Yes, when my ships come to meet me, we will go do some business. If the match between you and the prince is agreed upon, I will take you to Spain.”
Gwen felt her mouth go dry at the thought of sailing over open ocean and took a long drink of wine. “That won’t be necessary. I plan on taking the train.”
He grinned over the rim of his cup. “Over the sea to France?”
“Obviously not. I can handle the short trip to France well enough, but then I will be taking the train through to Spain.”
“There are no direct trains to Spain from France.”
“Then I can switch trains on my way,” she retorted, her stomach churning.
“You would have to travel by ship anyway, once you reach southern England. You might as well stay upon the vessel and go directly to your new home.”
“I’d much rather keep my time on a boat short, thank you,” she said primly, trying to keep the blush of embarrassment off her face. “People do it all the time—travel by ship and rail. I believe that is how most people travel, in fact.”
“But it would be thrice the cost and your luggage will be minimized upon the train.” He gestured with his fork.
&nbs
p; “I don’t need much, anyway.”
“What do ye need?” Conner asked, turning to her.
Gwen was about to speak, but Gaspar cut in. “Gwendolyn was just telling me her plans to travel to Spain by train.”
“And I was just telling him that the train lines are growing each day and there’s no need for me to travel all the way there by ship,” said Gwen tightly.
“Aye.” Conner talked through his full mouth. “But I’ve already made a deal with the good captain, if the match goes through. In writin’, I might add.”
Gwen stared at him, trying to convey her true feelings through her hard stare. “Conner, you know I can’t do that.”
Her brother frowned. “Do what?”
“Go on a ship,” Gwen muttered lowly, so that Gaspar wouldn’t hear.
“Ach, ye still go on about that?” Conner waved a hand and sat back in his chair.
Gaspar leaned forward, obviously eager to be included in the whisperings. “Go on about what?”
Gwen felt her cheeks flame. “Nothing.”
Conner opened his mouth but Charlotte, always one to look out for Gwen, elbowed him sharply in the side. Gwen made a mental note to thank her later.
“I see the topic distresses you,” Gaspar noted. “I will not ask again.”
She let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“But it seems we shall be in close quarters, Gwendolyn.”
“Not necessarily. I spend much of my day in the library and you upon your ship.”
“But I heard that you are in need of a tutor?”
Gwen closed her eyes for a moment, dreading what he was about to say next, for she could guess what it was. “Yes, this is true. I never studied Spanish. But I did write to my old French tutor to see if she could find a suitable lady for the position.”
“Well, you see, Portuguese and Spanish are sister languages.”
“So I’ve heard,” she murmured dryly, pushing about a carrot with her spoon.
“I could be your professor, Gwendolyn. You needn’t wait for a tutor from England when you have me among the cliffs, a short walk away.”
While logically she could see merit in his offer, she could also see many distinct issues with his proposition. The man was, apparently, incapable of being serious and seemed to adore goading Gwen into a confrontation. He would make a terrible teacher and she felt quite sure that she would learn nothing of value from him, except for how to possibly kill a man with a textbook.
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