As if he could read her thoughts, he began, “Gwendolyn, I know what you must think of me. You must think I am a flirt and a lay-about.”
“Among other things,” Gwen admitted.
“But I am fluent in many languages, as is obvious by my English.”
“Your English is very good,” she conceded, noting that he had never once used words incorrectly while harassing her. “But there’s still the matter of your conduct.”
“A man cannot help who he is.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you must learn if you propose to be my tutor. I wish to study the Spanish language, not get trifled with by a cad. If our arrangement is to work, you must uphold yourself to a standard that leaves no room for inappropriate behavior.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“But a necessary one.”
“I swear to you that I will attempt to be an honorable teacher.” Gaspar’s voice sounded sincere, but she noted a gleam of mischief in his gray eyes.
“Conspirin’, are we?” Conner asked, leaning toward them.
“Hardly,” Gwen responded, tearing herself away from Gaspar’s gaze. “The good captain was just offering to be my Spanish tutor.”
“Is that right?” Conner grinned. “That’s verra good news. Ye needed to begin your study right away.”
“Just as I said before,” Gaspar chimed in. “The Spanish courts can be a cruel place for a lady not of that land.”
Conner put down his goblet of wine and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Gaspar shrugged noncommittally. “Yes, yes. Many of the royal courts can be harsh to newcomers, especially those as fair as your sister. Among the dark haired senhoritas, Gwendolyn will be a golden beacon in the darkness.”
“And you believe they might be cruel to her?” Conner sounded worried and glanced toward Gwen, who stared at Gaspar with as much hate as she could manage.
Gaspar dared a look in her direction. Although he attempted to appear serious, the corners of his lips twitched. “Well…someone as gentle and temperate as your charming sister could be taken advantage of.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Charlotte cut in sharply. “Conner, don’t you have some correspondence to take care of in the library?”
He began to shake his head, but when his wife glared at him, he nodded and said, “Aye, I do.”
Gwen watched his brother get up and stride from the room, his wife tittering at his side. She rolled her eyes and pushed her soup away, aware of Gaspar’s stormy gaze still upon her. He watched her in a fascinated way, studying, probing. Each skim of his gaze felt like the cold wash of the surf.
She shivered and moved back from the table, eager to leave. “Do excuse me, I’m suddenly very tired.”
Gaspar followed suit. “I should go back to the ship. I’ll escort you to your rooms before I go.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” she told him firmly, leaving the small platform upon which the family’s table sat.
But he followed, quickening his stride to match hers, which wasn’t a difficult feat with his long legs. “When should we begin your studies?”
“Whenever suits you.”
He held the door open for her to the main hall. “Tomorrow, then?”
“All right, when?”
“Noon? You could come to my ship—”
“No,” she said, much harsher than was probably necessary. But then added in a softer voice, “No ships.”
Gaspar nodded, taking his cloak from a footman and throwing it over his shoulders. “Then I will come here, to the library, sim?”
“To the library,” she repeated.
“Until tomorrow, Senhorita.” And then he left with a sharp flap of a black cape, into the night.
Gwen stood in the main hall for a moment, listing to the quiet castle, waiting for something—anything to happen. She hoped for music, for laughter, for the boisterous sounds of life that used to make the castle come alive. But she knew the welcomed noise wouldn’t come. Perhaps the tenants would appear in a few weeks for a festival, or later on for a feast to celebrate something, but then they would leave and Gwen would, again, be alone.
Sighing, Gwen turned and went slowly up to her chambers, careful to keep her gaze away from Flora’s closed door. She knew the room within would be bare, save for the furniture, and she couldn’t bear it. All their lives, they had been separated by little more than a wall, if they had not been sharing a room, when her older sisters had still lived at home. Now, there was nothing. In fact, she was the only one who still dwelled in that hall and the only sounds she heard were the soft tapping of her slippers on the stone and the crackling of the fireplace, which had been recently fed.
Once her door was closed behind her, she kicked off her slippers and began unbuttoning her gown. She let it fall to floor, leaving her in her silk shift. Her room was too hot, the fire making it far too warm for her liking. She crossed the room to the window, hoping to let in the night breeze to cool her, when she saw a pinprick of light out in the cliffs. She opened the iron frame and leaned into the cold, salty night air, squinting to see into the distance. But then she remembered what was anchored among the rocks…Gaspar’s ship.
Gwen drew back and closed the window, locking it with a swift snap, and then drew the heavy brocade curtains shut. She’d much rather bake in the heat than think about the Portuguese ship, or its captain.
Chapter Five
Gwen paced in the library, her nose buried in a short history of Spanish royalty she found buried on a high shelf. While she spoke four languages, she didn’t have the knack for them that Conner did. Besides, the French and German had been ingrained in her from a young age, becoming second and third nature. But anything else had been deemed unnecessary, and thus untaught.
“Beginning early?” a voice said.
Startled, she looked up to see Gaspar standing beside a large globe. He prodded it, sending it spinning on its axis.
“Yes, I wanted to be prepared for our lesson.” Gwen snapped the book shut and crossed to the desk, taking a seat. “Please, sit down.”
He nodded and dropped onto a chair on the other side, leaning far back in the velvet cushion. “So, Senhorita, where shall we begin?”
She motioned to the books that had been carefully selected and stacked between them in order of importance. “I thought we would start with some general geography, and then turn to basic conversation. Afterward, I’d like to—”
Gaspar held up a hand. “Please, Gwendolyn. You are learning a language, not planning an invasion.”
“I enjoy being precise and methodical in all my doings so I’ve mapped out a series of lesson plans for you to follow.”
“That does not sound like a enjoyable way to live.”
“It is an enjoyable and rather necessary for things to run smoothly. Now, if you’re done picking apart my personal life, let us get to business.” She nodded pointedly at the stack of books.
Gaspar regarded her for a moment before nodding. “Yes, we will begin with the basics, but we will not use your plans. I am the teacher and I will conduct your studies. Have you any knowledge of the Spanish language?”
“Not really. I don’t have much in the way of educational Spanish volumes. I ordered a few, but there’s no telling when they’ll come from Edinburgh—that is if they have them in store.”
He grinned, flashing his bright white teeth. “All the better. So, repeat after me…Olá.”
“Olá,” she repeated slowly. “That means hello, correct?”
“Sim.”
“Which I know means yes, based on context clues. But I thought the Spanish for hello was hola?”
“You wanted to learn to converse with your future husband, Não?”
“Yes—I mean, sim.”
“Then trust me when I say you shall soon be able to speak the true language of love.”
***
The lesson passed quickly, with Gwen parroting Gaspar’s every word until he deemed the class at an e
nd. She had only learned several words and a few choice phrases: hello, goodbye, my name is Gwendolyn, yes, no, horse, carriage, castle, how do you do, and very well, thank you.
Gwen stood and began tidying up her sheets of carefully penned notes. But as she placed each paper in a neat pile, she felt Gaspar’s gaze, penetrating the side of her head. She turned to look at him. “May I help you with something?”
“Não.” He was looking about the library curiously, then stood and began to mill about the large room, picking up odds and ends and running his tan fingers down the spines of several books. But he paused before a display of short daggers called sgian-dubh, lined up on an elevated rack between two lines of French novels.
Gwen watched out of the corner of her eye as he picked up three of the blades, testing the weight and sharpness of each in turn. “Do take care. Conner keeps all the castle’s weapons in perfectly working order, even if they look decorative.”
“Do not fear, Gwendolyn. I’ve handled bigger and sharper knives than these.” He then glanced over his shoulder at her, as if ensuring she was watching, before tossing each knife in the air and catching them deftly. His nimble hands caught each one before launching them in the air again. All the while, he kept his gaze trained on Gwen.
“Please do look at the daggers you’re juggling. You’ll lose an eye playing about like that and then I’ll be expected to nurse you back to health,” she chastised, nervously watching the blades as they flipped about in the world’s most dangerous juggling act.
“Do not fret, Gwendolyn. This is but child’s play.”
As if the daggers knew he wasn’t taking them seriously, one slipped awkwardly and hit him full on the arm, slicing the skin. Gwen gasped audibly as he caught the last two in his uninjured hand. He set them back in their places—after wiping the bloodied one on his pants—and inspected the wound.
He glanced down and shrugged. “Well, that didn’t go as I planned.”
“Serves you right,” Gwen huffed, seeing he wasn’t truly hurt. “Careful to not get any blood on the oriental carpet and follow me.”
Feeling annoyed to have Gaspar trail in her wake, she led the bleeding man through the corridors and up to her chambers, where she kept several medicinal items out of habit. When she was younger, she was always tending to Conner and some of the lads he played with, as she was the only girl who could stand the sight of nasty gashes and ill-healing cuts. So, tucked on a shelf in her washroom was a slim box filled with odds and ends that still came in handy more often than not.
“Are these your chambers?” Gaspar asked as she opened the door and ushered him inside, careful to leave it open behind them.
“Yes. I keep some necessities tucked away in here.”
He followed her through the room, gaping around at her private space. “Rather dull in here.”
“Dull? I have some of the finer bedding and furniture in the Highlands, not to mention these tapestries,” Gwen said from the door of the washroom, feeling rather offended.
“I see little of you in here.”
“There’s not much to see.”
“But I do see some rather familiar items…such as a book I know for certain I gave to you.”
She felt her cheeks heat at being caught actually using his presents. The volume in question was still open upon her bed. “I couldn’t let a perfectly good book go to waste.”
Although he looked as if he wanted to, he didn’t respond. Rather, he came in to join her and sat down at the low stool beside the claw foot tub, his bleeding arm slightly raised.
“It’ll be faster to tend to you myself, rather than send you down to find someone else to do it in the kitchens.”
“You tend wounds?”
“When I must,” she replied, sifting through the cabinet before finding the box. She placed it upon the dresser that held her washbasin and held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
“You won’t faint?” he asked suspiciously.
Gwen rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “For goodness sake, I’m telling you to let me see it, now comply before you sully the floor.”
He raised his brows, but obeyed, showing her the injury. After dabbing at the skin with a clean cloth, she looked it over, bending and flexing his fingers and testing the depth of the cut. Then she filled her basin with clean water and let the arm soak a moment.
“It’s not bleeding much, but it’s rather deep. I think you’ll need stitches.”
She pulled out a needle wrap, a spool of silk, scissors, and a small bottle of vinegar and then washed her hands. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” She carefully pulled a thin needle from the wrap and cut a length of silk to use. Then she poured some vinegar over the needle and silk until she was content that they were clean enough for her use.
Kneeling down, she carefully withdrew Gaspar’s arm from the basin and dabbed it dry. With the basin set aside for washing, she instructed him to keep still before again inspecting the depth of the wound. Then she quickly drew the needle through the skin, noting how still and silent he was while other men might at least tense.
After laying several tiny stitches, the wound was sealed and she cut off the loose ends, then drew out a strip of clean linen with which to wrap his arm. She looped it over quickly, tying it tightly so it didn’t slip off, but not so tightly it would hurt.
When she was done, he looked down at it and nodded. “You did very well, Gwendolyn. Better than most ship surgeons. Obrigado.”
“Obrigado?” she questioned, packing up her supplies, setting some aside to be cleaned.
“Thank you,” he explained, peering at her from under lowered lashes. “Your future husband…he is lucky to have you.”
Gwen thought his tone odd, but brushed it off. “It’s kind of you to say so.”
“Is he a good man?”
“I suppose so.”
“You suppose so?”
She took her time putting away her medicinal box, thankful to not have to face him. “Well…I’ve never met the prince.”
“Yet you will be his bride?”
“It’s the way nobles have done it for thousands of years,” she retorted, feeling her cheeks flush. “Nothing at all strange about it. In fact, if you look at the timeline of the world, it’s very much the norm.”
“Surely you have been writing letters? Learning of one another?”
“It’s a new engagement.”
“And you have no ring? Is there no ring in the culture of the Spanish now?”
Gwen rounded on him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I hope it’s acute blood loss that’s making your tongue wag thus. It’s entirely inappropriate for you to be asking me these kinds of questions.”
“Can a professor not take an interest in his pupil?” he asked, his gray eyes glinting.
“Not that kind of interest.”
Gaspar sighed heavily, as if heaving off a great load. “You are correct, Gwendolyn, and I apologize. I merely wish to have an honest amizade…an honest friendship with you.”
“Then let me be honest and perfectly clear. You are my tutor, and I don’t appreciate your line of questioning.”
“But why? What do you have to lose by being honest with me? I am leaving soon. I have no ties to Scotland, save some shipping contracts, and none at all with the Spanish. Can we not be friends…confide in one another?”
Gwen blanched. “Confide in you? Why ever would I do such a thing?”
“Were you not listening? I have no reason to care what you tell me, nor do I have any interest in betraying your secrets. You seem as if you have a lot on your mind and I have an interest in easing it.”
She paused, thinking over his words. In a way, he made a lot of sense. There was a lot on her mind at present, where her potential future husband was concerned, and she thought that it might be prudent to speak it over with someone who knew about the country and its royals—or at least claimed to. Besides, she could use a bit of a friend, particularly when the castle was so empty of those
she loved.
“But why have an interest in my thoughts on my marriage?” she wondered aloud to him.
He shrugged, bending his fingers in turn, as if to test the flexibility. “It may be some weeks before I can leave for home. What better diversion is there than the company of a beautiful woman who needs my assistance? Much better than my men, and more pleasing to look upon.”
“Stop with the constant flirtations, please.”
“I cannot help it.” He held his hand to his heart. “The blood of a flirtatious people flows through my veins.”
“Well…try and perhaps we might be friends.”
“I can try, but I make no promises, for when I am your company, I cannot control my mouth as it longs only to sing your praises.”
Feeling completely exasperated, Gwen grabbed his good arm and pulled him up to stand. “I must say you’re off to a terrible start.”
“I have always been a slow learner.”
“Then I hope you’re a better teacher than a student,” she said dryly, looking at the bandage. “If you’re lucky, there won’t be a scar. But try to keep it clean and tell me if you require anything for it.”
“I wouldn’t care if it did scar. Years on a ship have given me tough skin. What’s another mark upon a sea of them?”
For a fleeting moment, Gwen felt an unexplainable urge to touch his hand—to feel the coarse palm and the long, strong fingers entwined with hers. The uninvited thought made her feel flushed and she quickly looked away.
“Really, do as I say and keep it wrapped tightly in clean cloth while out or working.”
“I take it you will not come to the ship and change the dressings for me?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.
Gwen took him by the shoulder and steered him out of the washroom, through her chambers, and into the corridor. “Remember, friends don’t flirt, nor do they act like fools.”
Sapphire Sea Page 5