Sapphire Sea

by Kelsey McKnight

  It was unreasonable, how terrible seeing Gaspar with this other woman made her feel, but she couldn’t help how the sight churned her stomach. Although she kept looking away, her eyes would almost immediately swivel in his direction. She watched as the girl giggled at something Gaspar had whispered into her hair. It was too much for her to handle—her irrational jealousies—so she rose abruptly and stepped away from the party, blending into the darkness of the surrounding houses, far from the fire and lanterns that lit the square.

  The air was cooler away from the crush of bodies and energetic dancers, and Gwen gratefully took in deep breaths. But they did little to ease the angry heat building in her chest. She felt so foolish, taking in all Gaspar’s flirting, when that was all he was really good for. Well, besides his knowledge of the Spanish language.

  She meandered through the darkened streets with no true destination in mind, ignoring the faint ache in her feet. While she had no claim on the man, nor did she want to, being rejected by Gaspar still hurt her pride. The thought of it almost made her laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat when a hand clamped over her arm.

  Gwen let out a high-pitched shriek of alarm and kicked her leg backward. Her free hand dove into her pocket to pull out her small lady’s dagger. Her foot then made contact with something solid.

  “Droga!” the mystery man spat. “Gwendolyn, it is Gaspar!”

  She whirled, her heart beating violently against her breast and adrenaline coursing through her veins. The dagger was still clutched in her fist, ready to strike. “Gaspar? You startled me, you great lout!”

  “In all honesty, I was attempting to not frighten you.” He released her arm. “Still wish to stab me?”

  Gwen shook her head and gently slid the blade back into the hidden scabbard. “No, not at this particular moment.”

  “You left and I wanted to ensure you were safe.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m quite safe in the village loyal to my family, so you are free to return to your…dance partner.”

  Only the waning moon lit his features, but she could see his brows were furrowed. “Who?”

  “The girl you were chatting with, obviously.”

  Gaspar grinned and leaned casually against a building. “Do I sense jealousy, Gwendolyn?”

  “Hardly. It’s just rude to disappear without a word.”

  “Like you did?”

  She jarred. She had left suddenly and without a word. “I needed fresh air.”

  “Well Big Angus and Grace have…retired for the night. Some others are leaving as well. Shall we? Or will we stay longer?”

  “Return to the castle, I think.” She had no more desire to stay. The later the hour, the drunker the guests would be. She wasn’t a fan of overly drunken people.

  “Come, then.” He held out his arm for her to take. “We will ride back at once.”

  ***

  The night had gone cold and Gwen was thankful for his sturdy warmth behind her. It made for a comfortable journey back and her misplaced anger had vanished as soon as they left the village. In a strange way, she felt as if she won against the dark haired girl, as he had left with Gwen and not the strange beauty.

  “Beautiful night,” Gaspar murmured softly.

  “It is. I’ve always loved the night in the hills. The sky is so clear, you can see every star.”

  “You should see them in the open ocean. It is muito lindo…very beautiful. In a calm sea, the stars reflect off the waters, making it seem as if you’re sailing though the sky itself.”

  “That sounds like an amazing sight.”

  “It is. When we take you to Spain, you might see for yourself.”

  Gwen’s stomach lurched. “I hope the journey isn’t so long as to allow me to see much.”

  “Eager to meet your groom?”

  “Among other things,” she replied, her mind wandering to churning seas and thrashing waves.

  He laughed, the sound reverberating in her back. “If you let me, I will rid you of your fear.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You lie. I know you fear the ocean, but you should not. The sea is what gives us life. It brings us to exotic lands, allows us to trade, provides us with fish…yes, it deserves respect and fear, but also our gratitude.”

  “Then I suppose you can thank it for the both of us,” she huffed as a gust of wind swept through the valley, cutting through her cloak and light dress. She shivered involuntarily.

  Without a word, Gaspar took one hand off the rein, using it to settle the sides of his own cloak around her, helping to shelter her from the breeze. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her more tightly against his chest. As indecent and intimate as it may have appeared, Gwen found she didn’t mind the closeness. She was much warmer and terribly comfortable. She knew she should have fought the feeling of ease, but she was too tired and too content to worry overmuch.

  They rode in the quiet until the keep came into view, torches lighting the tops of the wall surrounding it. The night was still quiet though, the only sounds being the hooves of the horse upon the hard packed dirt and the distant waves of the ocean. When they reached the gates, a man waved them in with a nod and Gaspar brought Faodial to a halt beside the darkened front door of the castle.

  He leaped to the ground, leaving Gwen feeling his absence behind her. But then he raised his arms and swung her down, his hands lingering on her waist. Gwen felt her breath hitch in her throat at their closeness and almost wished he would lean down and kiss her.

  But as he seemed to do often, he read her mind and whispered, “I never touch a lady unless she asks it of me.” He leaned down a bit, their foreheads almost touching. “Do you ask it of me, Gwendolyn?”

  She bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed. Then the sound of a group of men approaching made them pull apart. The sentry was changing, and neither Gwen, nor Gaspar apparently, wanted to be found in a compromising position.

  He nodded at her, a short bow, and asked, “Then I will see you tomorrow? For our lessons, of course.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, a little breathlessly. Despite herself, she silently cursed the guards, but felt underlying guilt as she did so. She had no claim on the man, especially as she was a semi-engaged woman. But she also found that that it didn’t stop her from missing his company already.

  “Goodnight,” he said, but still didn’t move.

  “Goodnight,” she replied, just as still.

  He regarded her for a moment and then grinned and shook his head slightly, as if brushing off an unbidden thought. “I will take your horse to the stables. Go inside now. The night grows cold.”

  “Thank you for riding with me,” Gwen said politely, trying to prolong the moment.

  “Then I bid you boa noite.” He turned, leading Faodail to the stables.

  Gwen watched him disappear into the darkness—murmuring Portuguese into the horse’s ear—before going inside the castle. When she came to her room and whipped off her cloak, she found she was incapable of sleep. Her heart still raced from their evening together and the closeness in which they had spent it.

  So she sat by the window, watching the black waves by the cliffs and the single lantern that lit the ship below.

  Chapter Seven

  Gwen sat among the rocks, tucked in her usual corner between two stones. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she relished the lull in the wind that left the air mild. The sounds of the waves below roared in her ears. She closed her eyes, thinking of how it would feel to be out in the middle of the sea, hearing nothing but that distinct murmur of rushing water, having it surround her for miles. It was horrifying.

  “Am I interrupting?” Gaspar’s voice inquired from behind her.

  She looked over her shoulder, secretly pleased to see him. “No, I was just out here thinking.”

  “About your husband-to-be?” he asked, sitting down in the new spring grass beside her. His long legs dangled over the edge of the cliff and Gwen forced down an admonis
hment for him to be careful, lest he fell to his death.

  “No, not exactly.” She tore her gaze downward, but caught sight of a large ruby signet ring on his hand glinting in the sunlight. She had never thought to ask if he had been married, but he wore it on his ring finger. Gwen wondered how a woman would feel about having her husband gone for months at a time with no word. She watched Charlotte worry by the window every time Conner’s business took him away for more than a day.

  “Gaspar, do you…do you have a wife?”

  He laughed a bit and lay back, crossing his arms behind his head. “A wife? No, of course not! What made you think that?”

  She turned a bit to look at him. His eyes were closed and his breathing even. “Your ring…my brother didn’t always wear one, but shortly before my nephew Alec was born, he took to wearing his signet ring, as you do, as a sign of his marital fidelity to Charlotte.”

  “This was my father’s. I’ve never taken a wife.” He opened one eye to look at her and grinned. “But if a golden haired woman who can use a dagger and dress a wound walks into my life and begs me to marry her…” He shrugged and lowered his lids.

  “Stop teasing,” Gwen chastised. She followed a lone gull with her eyes as it dipped into the waves and flew higher up, past the top walls of the castle.

  “You will need to rid yourself of this fear of boats.”

  “I’m not afraid of boats.”

  “Then what are you afraid of?”

  “The sea,” she admitted quietly. “I told you that. If Eduardo does call me to be his wife, then I don’t know what I will do.”

  “Then we should remedy that. Come.” Gaspar stood and stretched his hand out to her.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he lifted her to her feet.

  “To my ship.”

  She felt the blood rush from her face. “No, I can’t.”

  “It is docked. No harm will come to you as long as I am beside you. I swear it.”

  Gwen shook her head violently, feeling her knees grow weak. “No, Gaspar, I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if something happens? What if the mast crashes into the boat and sinks and we all drown?”

  The corners of his full lips twitched, but to his merit, he didn’t laugh aloud at her fear. “You will not drown. I am an excellent swimmer.”

  She shook her head again.

  “Here, wear this.” Gaspar reached for his crucifix and medallion, pulling it from his shirt and placing it around Gwen’s neck. “Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors and merchants. He will not let you sink and neither will I.”

  Reluctantly, Gwen allowed Gaspar to take her hand begin pulling her down toward the low shoreline. If she was really going to go to Spain and marry the prince, she would have to overcome her fear, and soon. She wouldn’t like to enter her new country as a weak and fearful ghost of herself. Still, she kept her mouth clamped shut in fear she’d be sick from fright. Seeing the water from afar—safe in her little alcove—was vastly different than being on top of it with nothing more than some fancy pieces of wood to keep her from being dragged under.

  “Do not be frightened, Gwendolyn,” Gaspar whispered, squeezing her fingers. “I swear to you that you will be safe by my side. Always.”

  She looked up at the massive ship at the end of the hastily built mooring. It seemed bigger up close and she wondered if Gaspar would allow her to merely watch it from afar, but he was already trying to move them slowly forward to the dock. Gwen dug the heels of her shoes into the wet sand at the base of the beach. Gentle surf lapped at the pebbled shore and the boat swayed slightly with each motion.

  “I feel as if I’m going to faint,” she said. Gwen was never one to faint, but she assumed there was a first time for everything and whipped her head about, trying to find somewhere soft to land as her vision began to darken.

  Gaspar suddenly stood before her, cupping her cheeks in both of his palms, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Breathe deeply,” he ordered, holding her gaze.

  She mimicked his exaggerated breaths, feeling less like she might drop to the ground, but still scared out of her wits. “Can we go?”

  “You have come this far, meu único ouro, don’t stop now.”

  Gwen was so frozen and sick with terror, she didn’t even care to ask what he had just said to her. He was right; she was too close to turn back and may never allow him to bring her this close to the ship again. If she left now, her fear may follow her forever.

  “Are you ready?” Gaspar asked, releasing her face and taking her hand again.

  “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible over the waves.

  Gaspar pulled her gently toward the docks and Gwen wished she could close her eyes. But she knew she needed to be able to see to tell whether she was still on the wood or crashing into the water. Still, she chose to keep her gaze fixed on their tightly joined hands. They were firm, real, and something she could hold on to—literally—as she walked toward the unstable boat.

  “Capitão!” a voice called out from the deck of the ship as they reached the gangplank.

  Gwen stopped moving as she looked up to the boat. It was massive, enormous, a dark wooden vessel with tall masts and a bustle of activity within like a busy beehive. She took several tight breaths and cursed herself for wearing a corset that day. She could pretend the dock was more secure and sound than it really was, but she couldn’t ignore the light rocking of the ship, moving with the waves.

  Gaspar bent his face down toward her. “Hold tight to me. And step onto the plank with your right foot.”

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the boat.

  “Just do it.” He drew her tighter to him and willed her forward, up the gangplank.

  She stepped with her right, as instructed, and moved onward. Her legs felt like lead and she allowed Gaspar to half carry her up. Her heart thumped against her breastbone, almost painfully, and she dared not look to the side of the fenceless walkway. The ocean below called her and she was thankful when her feet were planted firmly on the deck of Gaspar’s ship.

  None of the sailors, who were each preforming some kind of task, gave her more than a polite nod as she joined the fray. Some were painting rails, others carried ropes or boxes. One was even polishing a large brass bell. For something that had been docked for more than a week, there was obviously much to be done to keep up appearances.

  “My ship is so large, you can barely feel the sea below,” he told her, releasing her hand and allowing her to get her bearings without his support.

  Gwen had to admit that she felt no different on the deck of the ship than on dry land. But she had the sensation she would feel differently if they were out on the open ocean and she could no longer see the cliffs around them. Still, she nodded in agreement as she followed him around the boat to the bow, which was pointed at the mouth of the cove, toward the sea.

  “Look down,” Gaspar directed, walking to the end of the bow and leaning over, pointing at something.

  “No, thank you,” she croaked, happy to not fall over the side and into the frigid water.

  “You must,” he said with a grin. “Trust me.”

  Gwen shook her head. “I’m quite content to not look down, thank you.”

  He held out his hand. “I cannot move until you come look.”

  “No.”

  “Please, senhorita,” he said seriously. “One look and then we can pretend the sea does not exist.”

  She bit her lip. On one hand, she had no interest in seeing the distance she would drop to her death if she fell. On the other, she knew that Gaspar wouldn’t stop pestering her if she didn’t, and she needed his help to get back to land. The gangplank was too frightening to even consider approaching alone.

  He grinned as she approached and sat down on the deck. She took his hand and gripped it tightly. “Look.” He nodded down toward the front of the ship.

  She lowered herself beside him, tucking her legs beneath her, her eyes wr
enched closed. “I’m fine here.”

  “Open your eyes.”

  Gwen did as she was bidden and peered over the edge of the deck. Her vision began closing in as she saw how far below the water was. It was a dizzying sight. “Hold me,” she breathed. “I don’t want to fall.”

  “You would never,” he murmured into her hair. His arm was already hooked around her waist. “I have you, and I will not let you fall.”

  She inhaled sharply as she tried to focus downward. But all she could see was dark water and white tipped waves. She felt the cross and Saint Nicholas medallion hanging heavy on her neck. She grabbed it and tucked the gold against her breast. “What…what is it that I mean to be looking at?”

  “Meu único ouro,” he told her, gesturing to a carved figure below his hand, off to her left.

  Gwen saw where he pointed. There was a cut wooden woman on the bow of the ship. In fact, she saw it was an intricately carved mermaid, her scaled tail wrapping around the bow. The mermaid must have been freshly painted, as her scales gleamed a bright sea foam green and her hair shined a deep yellow. For a moment, Gwen wished she could see the figure’s face.

  “She is lovely, não?” Gaspar asked. “Meu único ouro always guides La Sereia safely to port.”

  Gwen pushed back, away from the bow and planted her hands on the deck, facing the inner parts of the ship. While the mermaid was lovely, she couldn’t ignore the crashing waves below.

  “What do they mean—those words in Portuguese?” Gwen asked, looking down at his hand, which rested on the curve of her hip. Although it was improper, it made her feel safer, knowing he was holding onto her.

  “Le Sereia is the name of this ship. It means The Mermaid in your tongue,” he explained, his fingers tracing one of the small pink lines on her cream silk dress. “Meu único ouro means ‘my golden one.’”