Sapphire Sea

by Kelsey McKnight

  “Preparing to leave?” Gaspar asked from the doorway, a bottle of wine tucked under one arm and a plate of bread and cheese on the other. He shut the door behind him and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her.

  “No, why would you say that?”

  “You look it.” He nodded toward his wardrobe. “If you ever feel the need to go on a jaunt, I have put a dressing gown there for you. It is meant for a French countess, but it would suit you better.”

  She felt the gesture oddly intimate, but decided not to question it. “That won’t be necessary. I was just hoping to get a look at some of your things.”

  He put the cork of the bottle between his teeth and pulled, letting it fall to the ground. “So you wish to snoop, do you?”

  Gwen flushed, taking the bottle. “Goodness, no. I’ve just never seen any of these wonderful treasures and paintings. Some I don’t recognize the artist, although I do spy some classics.”

  “Because I painted a few of them.”

  “You are an artist?”

  “I enjoy painting at times, but I would not call myself an artist.”

  “Which are yours?”

  He stood and made a quick round of the cabin, pointing at three small canvases. “This, this one with the ship, and that one beside the wardrobe.”

  She pulled on his discarded shirt, which fell to her thighs and covered her up enough so she wasn’t too scandalized, and went to join him to get a better look at the works. The first was simple, a landscape featuring the coast in the distance. The second was, as he said, of a ship, crashing against a harsh wave, lightning lighting up the sails. The last was of a dark haired woman, bathed in moonlight, wearing a flowing blue gown that brushed the cobblestone beneath her feet.

  “She’s beautiful,” Gwen whispered, brushing a finger across the filigree frame. A strange twinge of jealousy filled her at the sight of that lovely woman, so carefully painted.

  “My mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes. She died when I was very young, so I do not remember her face.”

  She placed a hand upon his arm, feeling ashamed of immediately thinking the worst. “I’m sorry.”

  “There is no need.” He cleared his throat and smiled at her. “What else here caught your eye?”

  “What didn’t? Everything is so exotic.”

  “Then travel and you will see many more amazing things.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered before taking a liberal gulp of wine and crossing back to the bed.

  “Why not?” he asked at he followed her and settled himself next to her.

  “I can be on this ship when it’s docked like this, but never…out there.”

  “You will have to at some point, when it comes time for you to go to Spain.”

  The wine soured in her mouth at the mention of Spain and she passed him the bottle. “Yes, but I will have no choice in the matter,” she explained, watching him take a drink. “I must go on a boat to the mainland or forfeit the wedding. I would never set sail willingly and never just for sport.”

  “Can I ask you, Gwendolyn, why do you fear the sea?”

  She felt her throat tighten and the heat of fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

  Gaspar noticed and cupped her cheek with his hand, setting the bottle aside. “Forgive me. I should not have asked.”

  Gwen shook her head and swallowed. “It’s a fair question.”

  “One that need not be answered.”

  “Yet, I shall.” She took a deep breath. “My father was fascinated by the sea. Granted, his duties as chief kept him on land, even before the restoration of the clans. But he loved to sail for pleasure, fish, and bring my mother shells—she gave me one, a delicate, spiraled thing of pure white and purple intertwined. I still keep it in my writing desk.”

  “A man after my own heart.”

  “But a man not as lucky as you. He drowned several years ago, just before I turned thirteen. We don’t know exactly what happened, and we never will. My father took his small sailboat out with another man. He wished to see the cliffs from all angles, as he was plotting the ways in and out of the castle, and wanted to see the wall during low tide. He was looking for any more hidden passages and sea caves. But something happened…something bad. Their boat flipped and crashed against the rocks. When he didn’t return, some men went to find them. They found…they found my father, at least. It was some comfort to my mother, being able to give him a funeral. Shortly after, she left to go live with my eldest sister and her husband, and Flora and I were sent to school in England.”

  “I am sorry,” Gaspar said in a hushed tone. “If I had known…I should not have pushed you to rid yourself of the fears you rightly hold, meu único ouro.”

  “I needed to. I needed to overcome them somehow.”

  He brushed his thumb over her cheeks and his fingers came away damp.

  “Goodness, I’m a sight!” She forced a laugh and swiped at her face, ridding herself of the evidence of her grief.

  “The most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” he assured her, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “And I have seen a great many sights.”

  Gwen lay beside him and burrowed into the crook of his arm, looking up at the side of his handsome face as he spoke. The mere sight of him calmed her wounded heart and offered a very welcome distraction. “What kind of things? Tell me. I need to think of something good.”

  A smile played on his lips and he closed his eyes as he spoke after a final, short kiss. “The markets of the middle east, for one. There are dozens of tables with spices, jewels, fruits you have never tasted and mysterious jars you dare not open. To get to the markets from the sea, you travel by camel, a great animal with humps upon its back.”

  “How novel,” she whispered.

  “And there are the ruins of Greece. Some monuments and temples to their old gods are naught but piles of stone now. But the mystery is still there and great cities hide beneath the earth.”

  “Beneath the earth?”

  “Sim. Several cities were buried by dirt and volcanic ash long ago. Now people sometimes find what’s left of homes and farms, deep beneath the ground.”

  “Amazing. What else?”

  “There are northern lights in Greenland—”

  “We have the lights in Scotland, too.”

  “Yes, but the colors are purer and reflect off the sheets of ice and icebergs, filling the water with vibrant greens and strips of violet I could never truly describe.”

  “That does sound beautiful,” Gwen admitted regretfully. “But it’s still only accessible by ship.”

  “If you could go anywhere, ship or not, where would it be?”

  She thought back to all the books she had read and maps she had studied. But reading about something and actually experiencing it were so terribly different. “You tell me, where should I go?”

  Gaspar paused a moment before speaking. “Well…I could see you on the streets of Paris, walking along the Champs Elysées in that cream and pink frock you favor, buying flowers from the shops and taking tea along the River Seine.”

  “You remember my dresses?” She smiled into his shoulder.

  “I’m not colorblind.”

  “Where else?”

  “Maybe on the shores of the island of Hispaniola,” he mused, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on her bare skin. “They have white sand beaches and water so light and clear, you can see straight through to the bottom of the sea. You can see the pods of dolphins and the vibrant corals that lay leagues below your ship. And the ocean there is so warm, it is like stepping into a bath.”

  Gwen thought of the icy waters of the loch near the keep, which was cold no matter the season. “That sounds lovely.”

  “It is.”

  “Tell me more.”

  He opened one eye and looked down at her. “You are very curious for someone who does not wish to leave Scotland.”

  “I’m allowed to be curious.”

  “How about you tel
l me something about your home, here.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” She sighed. “It’s green, wet, cold—”

  “Is that why your people drink so much? To ward off the cold?”

  She frowned, confused by his words. “What do you mean?”

  “When your man Angus married, we gifted them all the drink for the celebration. When I returned to the ship, I found the guests had almost completely wiped out our stores!” He laughed a bit. “It was very impressive.”

  “You gave them all that?”

  “Why not? I was a guest at a wedding in which I was welcomed with open arms. It was only polite.”

  “Are you always so overwhelmingly generous?”

  “How can I not be when in a beautiful country such as this? It really is amazing, full of effervescent culture, and savage in a way that makes me think of what man used to be like…almost like you.”

  Gwen giggled. “That isn’t a compliment.”

  “Is it not?” he asked, turning to face her. “Aren’t you beautifully savage but perfectly refined?”

  “I…I don’t know.” She couldn’t really understand what he was trying to say.

  “You are classically beautiful like a Botticelli painting, round in the right places and golden like the sun’s rays.” Gaspar ran his fingers lightly over her shoulder and to the swell of her breast. “But natural. You do not color your hair and paint your face like some women do. And you are smart, meu único ouro. Smarter than most men.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that!”

  He pressed his lips to hers. “And so humble.”

  “Says you.” She laughed as he hooked his fingers around the back of her neck. “You’re the least humble person I know.”

  “Who could be humble with a face like mine?” Gaspar teased.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if breathing her in. She thought to lower her lids as well, but found she wanted to look at him—to take in each arch and angle of his handsome face. As she took in his long lashes and the rounded curve of his lips, her heart lurched in a feeling she couldn’t quite place. Still, she stared at him, longing to memorize him.

  But suddenly the boat lurched and Gwen’s heart dropped to her stomach. “What was that?”

  “The wind,” he replied, opening his eyes.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Gwen tried to keep her voice steady. “Shouldn’t you check? What if we’re drifting away?”

  “We are not.”

  “But how do you know for certain?”

  “I have lived on this ship since I was sixteen,” he assured her, running his fingers through her hair. “If we were drifting off to sea, I would know it.”

  Gwen thought the motion was meant to be calming, but there was no way a mere fondling of her follicles could slow her heart rate. “But you can’t be absolutely sure without seeing for yourself, surely?”

  He sighed and kissed the top of her head as he moved to leave the bed. “I shall be back in a moment.”

  She was about to settle back in the wait when she realized that if the ship were to float away from the dock, the waves would probably send it smashing into the cliffs that surrounded the cove. If Gaspar was above deck and she was below, there was no way she could escape when the vessel began to sink.

  “Wait for me!” she called as he reached the door. She scrambled out of bed, throwing on just her gown and shoving her feet into her slippers

  He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re not leaving me here to sink,” she retorted crossly, hurrying to tie her loose hair back with a ribbon. She wanted to look respectable if her drowned body was to be pulled from an icy grave, and not as if she had just been ravished.

  “Leaving you here to sink?” he repeated dumbly.

  “Never mind, just hurry. We’re running out of time.”

  “After you.” Gaspar stepped aside, allowing her to dash past him.

  Gwen thought she heard him laugh as he followed her through the hall and up the stairs to the main deck. While it took her a moment to adjust to the fading daylight, she was extremely relieved to see they were still safely in port. She slumped against the wall beside the brass bell and tried to quell the shaking of her legs.

  “Come, you must lie down.” Gaspar cupped her cheek. “You are even paler than usual.”

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on the steady rocks of the cliffs to her right.

  He took her hand and began pulling her to the bow. “Come.”

  “Where?”

  “Just do what I ask without question for once, meu único ouro.”

  Gwen allowed him to lead her to the front of the boat. He helped her to sit on the edge, and even pushed her legs off the side to dangle. She tried to not look down, although she feared she would lose her slippers. He sat behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and making her lean back against his chest. It made her rather nervous for him to be the only thing that kept her from falling to her death, especially as she still hadn’t completely relaxed yet.

  “You won’t let go?”

  “Why would I? Then I would have to explain to Conner why his beloved sister is dead. I have a feeling he would burn more than just my ship.”

  “Also, we shouldn’t be sitting like this,” she whispered, looking back at the empty ship. “What if someone sees us?”

  “Has any Scot but you come to this boat?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “No one will see you and none of my crew will say a word, not that most could, anyway. Many do not have even a basic grasp of the English language. So do not fear, Gwendolyn, you are protected.”

  Gwen took a deep breath and tried to quell the battle of emotions within her. She reached up and held his hands, which were locked firmly around her torso. They were warm and steady. They made her feel safe. When she was in his arms, it was almost easy to forget that the ocean was waiting to swallow her up…almost.

  Chapter Nine

  Later that week, Gwen lay in Gaspar’s empty four-poster for a quarter of an hour before growing bored of waiting. He was up with the crew, supervising some provisions they had bought in the nearby village. While he had said he would be but a moment, he obviously had no true concept of time. This was evident in the full four days they had spent in bed, exploring each other’s bodies until the sun set. Until it was no longer passable as sunset, Gasper kept telling her there was still light left in the sky.

  Rising from the warm bed, she crossed the room to the wardrobe, where he had once said he placed a dressing gown for her use. Curious, she pulled open one heavy door, seeing a straight line of stacked shelves of plain shirts and other clothing. She opened the other and found a row of hooks. There were several overcoats and furs, then on the end, tucked behind something she thought might be bearskin, there was a flash of color among the browns and grays. Gwen took out a long pink robe of the finest silk. Small cream roses ran about the trim and it tied with a strip of silk the same color.

  She donned her new addition and milled about the cabin, as she hadn’t done before. During her visits they hardly ever left the bed. But without Gaspar to distract her, she had the freedom—and the clear mind needed—to inspect his exotic collection.

  There were delicate Chinese vases and containers on a shelf filled with colorful powders and bits of dried herbs and plants. She thought she recognized a few from her trading with Sorcha, but most were foreign to her. Stacked atop the desk were a pile of nautical maps and odd tools she had never seen. Along the walls, covering almost every exposed piece of paneling, were framed pieces of art, the likes of which would belong in almost any fine home in London.

  But one particularly large piece caught her eye. It was of a nude woman—perhaps a nymph—and she was lying peacefully upon a pile of cushions in a green wood, gazing dreamily up at the canopy of trees above with a smile on her lips. But it wasn�
��t the canvas that Gwen was drawn to, rather the frame. The gold filigree was thick and shined with careful care and maintenance. But the edge was slightly worn on one side. While the normal visitor might not have seen such an irregularity, Gwen had not found so many hidden passages in the MacLeod keep by being unobservant.

  She knew she shouldn’t; it wasn’t her business. But she couldn’t help herself.

  The frame pulled away easily from the wall, just as she suspected it might. The small room within was dark, but as her eyes adjusted to the sight, she was confused. While Gwen didn’t know exactly what she was looking at, she knew it was worth a great deal of money and she didn’t blame Gaspar for trying to hide it. So she climbed inside, impressed at how well it was secreted, but more impressed at the quantity of hidden objects within.

  Floor to ceiling shelves filled all three walls of the concealed chamber, which was no larger than a stairwell. Atop each shelf on the far wall, attached to the wood, were small boxes. Intrigued, she went to the closest one, unhooked it, and peered inside. Dozens of uncut diamonds shone dully in the feeble light that came from the cabin.

  Gwen had seen the ship’s ledger when it first came to port, and while she saw several gemstones and jeweled pieces in the log, there wasn’t any note of the diamonds. One box, such as the one she held, could be easily worth a hundred pounds. It would have been impossible to neglect such a collection in his note taking.

  Her feeling of unease grew as she opened each lid, seeing how every box contained more precious gems. While most were diamonds, there were also stones of deep blue, canary yellow, and something akin to an emerald but paler. All in all, there was a substantial fortune hidden away in the ship and Gwen thought she might have been the only person to know—aside from Gaspar, of course.

  “I see you have found my little storeroom?” he asked from behind her.