Sapphire Sea

by Kelsey McKnight

  In alarm, Gwen dropped the small chest, scattering diamonds all over the darkened floor. But she made no move to pick them up. Instead, she found herself staring back at him, wondering if he would yell, fight, banish her from the ship…but as the moments passed, he did nothing. In fact, he didn’t look angry at all, merely amused.

  “Well, you weren’t very much impressed by the silks, jewelry, and books I sent you before. Are these more to your liking?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. “Shall I offer you boxes of gems?”

  She took his hand, allowing him to help her back into the main cabin. “I might have accepted, had they been a legal import.”

  He laughed. “You are a sharp one.”

  “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

  “You always surprise me, meu único ouro.” Gaspar closed the portrait hole with a dull click. “And I will not lie to you, for I think you would see through me in an instant. No, these gems are not in my books, nor will they ever be.”

  “But that’s terribly illegal. I don’t know the laws in Portugal, but I know enough to be fairly sure that you could be incarcerated if they were to find you to be a…a…”

  “Smuggler?” he offered helpfully. “Pirate? Man of fortune? Brigand?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed at his calm attitude toward his illegal activities. “Any one of those apply, I believe. Now, I don’t know about your homeland, but I do know that in several countries, you could be tried for some manner of piracy, Gaspar. It’s a very serious matter and—”

  “You are adorable when you worry,” he muttered, toying with the cream tie that held her robe shut.

  She slapped his hand away. “Stop that, this is serious!”

  “Do not worry, meu único ouro. I have never been caught before.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he was so stupid as to be taking such chances with his life and those of his crew. He was concealing a sizable fortune on his ship, and if the wrong people found out, he could be killed. “Should that make me feel better?”

  “I did not know you felt any sort of way. Tell me, what is it that you feel?” His gray eyes scanned her face as he waited for her response. While his words might have been innocent coming from anyone else’s lips, Gwen felt weight behind them.

  “I feel that you’re an idiot,” she snapped, turning away and crossing the room back to the bed. “I feel that you’re making very poor choices that could result in the death of your crew and yourself. I also feel that you are far too intelligent to throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for and you must rectify this immediately, lest you draw attention to yourself at a later date.”

  He came up behind her and placed his hands upon her shoulders. Then he bowed his head down to speak in her ear. “It is sweet that you fret, but you should not. I know what I must do and how to get my items where they need to go. That is why I waited here for my ships.” He pressed his lips to her neck before continuing, “We will split up the gems among us, each going to a new port. The jewels are tucked into orders, when necessary, hidden among larger purchases.”

  “And this works?” she questioned, feeling her heart race. She knew she had no right to be, but she was angry with him for being so stupid and reckless. “It’s a foolproof plan that will never fail?”

  “No plan is without error,” he conceded, sounding weary.

  “Let me see,” she demanded, rounding on him.

  He frowned. “The jewels?”

  Gwen took a deep breath and stalked over to his desk, taking a seat in the plush captain’s chair. “Let me see your plan. Show me your accounts and I’ll tell you what I think.”

  Gaspar raised a brow, but did as she commanded. He crouched down to open a hidden panel on the base of his four-poster bed and removed several leather bound books. He placed them before her then leaned on the edge of the desk, watching her as she scanned each line.

  While she wasn’t familiar with hiding goods from officials, she was always quick to find the indiscretions in any logbook. But the ledgers didn’t read anything odd, nor did any particular account jump out at her as being untruthful. Gwen was surprised at this, for she had known the moment Gaspar had tried to short her wine shipment on the morning of Flora’s wedding.

  “See anything?” Gaspar looked down at her with a small smirk. “I told you I was good.”

  “But what of when you sell the gems?”

  He shrugged. “We haven’t had such a large shipment before. But I got a good deal from the new mines in South Africa.”

  “South Africa?” Her mind wandered to the giant elephants and proud lions she had read about. “How exotic.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  She shook her head, putting herself back to the task at hand. “Right. So what’s your plan to sell them, then?”

  He shrugged. “I did not have one. I just purchased another ship almost a year ago, so I cannot put out any more funds. I suppose I will just…keep the money, sim?”

  Gwen blanched, snapping one of the books shut. “You foolish man. You’re just going to trot about the sea carrying thousands of pounds?”

  “Thousands?” He sounded surprised.

  “Yes. The resale value will be enormous.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  She leaned back in the seat, biting her lip in thought. “Well, if I were you…I would sell as much of the gems as I could to a trusted account. I take it you give large gifts often, as you did to me when you first arrived?”

  “Oh, no, meu único ouro. You are the only one I lavish with finery.” He reached out and brushed a curl away from her face.

  “Be serious for a moment, Gaspar.” She waved a chastising finger at him. “As I was saying, you need to rid yourself of as much of your gem stock to someone you trust, not anyone who may betray you. Do you have such a contact?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, then we should—” Gwen slapped her hand on the desk as a thought came to mind. “Penelope’s father!”

  “Quem…who?”

  “Penelope, Drummond’s wife!”

  “Who?”

  She smiled. “I forgot, you don’t know anyone.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Drummond is my cousin. He married a woman named Penelope whose father owns The Piccadilly Emporium. It’s a sort of large shop that deals with imports and you can buy all manner of wondrous good there from books to gowns to furniture.”

  “And how might he help me?”

  “He’s always looking to expand, and I know that he made some jewelry there for the ladies to purchase last season. I’m sure that if you brought your gems to him, he would buy a large quantity, and quietly. Truth be told, his business was failing before Drum gifted him the money to pay his debts and having such fresh stock would be a very attractive business prospect.”

  “But that still does not explain how we would hide the jewels from the accounts,” Gaspar pointed out, all mirth gone from his features.

  “Easy. Really, I don’t understand why you haven’t thought of this before. You would make a purchase of, say…Arabic spices. Well, you could seal the spice container, which really had diamonds within, and stow them in your cargo hold, as you would any other good.”

  “I don’t like the idea of such riches being below.”

  “And I don’t think it’s very smart to hide them so. How fast did I find them? It’s not safe.”

  “I see your point,” he conceded, toying with the gold crucifix around his neck. “But how would your friend’s father account for the jewels?”

  “It’s not uncommon for ladies and gentlemen of standing to have gems reset from older pieces and family heirlooms they already own. Or sometimes they even buy loose stones from a third party to be later set by a trusted jeweler. They could be hidden thus in the official papers, saving both of you from any legal woes.” Gwen took a deep breath when she finished, feeling quite pleased with how well she plotted and planned. It could d
o with some polishing, but it was overall a fine strategy that she felt very secure in.

  But Gaspar was silent. He merely stared at her, his expression unreadable.

  After several terse moments, Gwen whispered, “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am,” he replied, his mouth splitting into a grin. He knelt beside the chair, turning it so she faced him. “Meu Dues, Gwendolyn, you are a marvel.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “Do stop, it only takes a bit of thought.”

  “No, it only takes you.” He took both of her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “You have such a mind, Gwendolyn. I am in absolute awe of it.”

  “Do stop, you’re embarrassing yourself,” she told him. But really, she enjoyed his lavished attentions on something other than her looks. It was quite a new notion for her talents to be appreciated, instead of overlooked as they often were in the castle. She relished it.

  “I cannot help it.” He kissed her wrist. “Your mind is so maravilhoso…so wonderful.”

  Gwen giggled and leaned forward to allow him to tend to her lips. “You’re too much.”

  “Just please, tell me what I can do to repay you. Shall I give you some diamonds, perhaps? Some gold combs for you hair that were meant for a duchess?”

  She glanced over his shoulder at the four-poster. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s here!” Charlotte jostled Gwen roughly awake, shaking her shoulders.

  She opened her eyes groggily and batted her away. “What’s here?”

  “A letter from the prince!”

  Gwen shot up, untangling herself from the blankets. Charlotte held a sealed note in her hand. “Is that it?”

  “Yes! Conner’s opened the rest about your dowry, but this one is addressed solely to you. I haven’t read it either, before you ask.” She held out the letter and Gwen snatched it from her fingers.

  She ran her thumb over the wax seal that preserved the message. Suddenly, Gwen felt nervous. It bubbled in her stomach, making her feel ill. The discomfort wasn’t rational, but she thought it might be the unknown that filled her with dread.

  “Should I…should I leave you?” Charlotte asked, though Gwen knew she had no desire to leave.

  Gwen, still looking at her name written in spidery script, answered, “Yes, I suppose so.”

  She waited until the door was shut before slitting the letter open with her finger. She cursed herself for feeling so anxious. After all, it was naught but an arrangement, an agreement that brought on the potential union. Several deep breaths later, Gwen was prepared to actually read the words within. As soon as her gaze met the page, she was pleased to see it was written in perfect English. If the prince was fluent in her own tongue, then her poor Spanish would not be an issue.

  Eagerly, she began to read.

  Gwendolyn MacLeod,

  I have begun several messages, all which have been unsent. Your portrait spoke to me. Your eyes were languid pools of beauty and tales of your gentle nature and amenable personage have reached the court of my father.

  Although I am a fifth son, and far from the crown, I do hold titles and lands that will hold you in comfort and jewels befitting my bride. As the youngest daughter of your family, surely you can commiserate.

  As my father and your brother finalize the bargaining that will determine our match, please feel secure in knowing that I will make you a good husband and will enter into this contract of my own free will. Hopefully, you feel the same and we can enjoy a pleasant union.

  Yours,

  Prince Eduardo Ferdinand Juan Pablo de Bourbon

  She held the paper tight, unsure of what to think. On one hand, he had sounded like a kind and understanding man, but on the other, she felt nothing more than the kind of admiration one might feel for a nice neighbor or a stranger one might meet in the village. Of course, he was a stranger, but she thought that, perhaps while seeing something written in his own hand, she might feel a spark of…something. But all Gwen felt was dread.

  It was an odd and heavy feeling that pressed down on her chest. It held her tightly, squeezing the breath from her lungs and weighing her down. She read the letter again, hoping it would ignite something positive within her, but it was just words that meant nothing to her, even though she knew they should. After all, he was to be her husband.

  Her thoughts should have been directed firmly toward Eduardo, but her mind drifted to Gaspar. Gaspar was devilishly handsome, good-natured, quick to laugh, and even quicker to kiss. He was also a patient lover who lavished her body with passion, while also worshiping her mind. On the other hand, Eduardo was naught but a distant figure—a thought that hadn’t quite been finished, but was destined to be.

  Gwen shook her head and slipped from her bed, dressing hurriedly in a deep blue gown. She pinned a shawl over her shoulders and tucked the letter within her dress. As soon as she had tamed her curls and slid on her slippers, she crept down the stairs, careful to not draw attention to herself. She knew Charlotte would be curious to see what the prince had written, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to share it.

  But as she passed the library, Conner called her in. He sat at the desk, scratching something in a book. “Have ye read the letter, lass?”

  “I have,” she replied. “How are the dowry arrangements?”

  “No’ bad. I’ve already sealed the response and sent it out to be delivered. There’s a portrait here for ye as well.”

  Gwen swallowed. “A portrait?”

  “Aye.” He nodded to the side. “I did no’ tell Charlotte, she’d go mad if she knew and I wished to spare ye her excitement for the time bein’.”

  “How compassionate,” she grumbled, stepping over to where Conner had gestured. Upon a low side table beside an armchair was the painting in question. She took a deep breath before picking up the small, framed canvas.

  The man—Eduardo—was nice enough to look at with brown, slicked back hair and dark eyes. A pair of thin lips sat below a mustache. He was pale of skin and wore a black and red military jacket, trimmed in a fine gold braid. Several military metals sat upon his chest, although Gwen had a sneaking suspicion he had never held a weapon, save for ornamental pieces. Overall, he wasn’t unattractive. He just wasn’t…Gaspar.

  Gwen put the canvas face down upon the table and tried to take a deep, sobering breath. She had looked upon her future and saw nothing there. She turned on her heel, feeling uncharacteristically claustrophobic in the spacious library. Conner called out something behind her, but she quickened her step, fleeing the keep with her skirts raised above her knees.

  The note she had tucked into her bodice burned the skin of her chest as she ran, almost unconsciously, to the stable where her horse was eating. There were no stable boys to be found, but the horses were all fed and watered, tucked away in their stalls. They pawed at the ground as she passed, probably hoping for a spare apple.

  The mare nuzzled her nose into Gwen’s shoulder when she let her from her stall. Gwen savored the familiar touch of her animal and murmured low endearments in Gaelic as she quickly saddled and harnessed her for a ride. She had no destination in mind, but knew she needed to leave, to clear her head.

  As she began her gallop over the land, going farther than the sight of the castle, and even the small loch Charlotte was fond of visiting, she felt the tightness in her chest begin to loosen. But it did little to lift the numbness that still gripped her heart.

  She knew she should feel happy, excited, touched, and the fact that she felt none of those things almost began to deeply worry her. She wondered if she was broken—incapable of feeling these deeper emotions that one should feel toward their intended. Even when looking into his—painted—eyes, she felt absolutely nothing warm toward Eduardo.

  Her thoughts still fluttered about in her mind when her final destination came into view. A clearing of ancient stones greeted her. They probably stood tall once, looming over their human visitors in the form of a home or m
aybe a circle of standing stones, but now some lay tumbled to the side, others broken clean in half, giving in to years that passed.

  She leaped from Faodail’s back and left the pony to graze, content in the thought the beast would stay near to her, and stepped lightly over the grass to the nearest rock. They were old, there before even the massive keep she called home. Some said they came from the Picts who once roamed the land, but Gwen suspected they were an even earlier installment, one whose age or true purpose could never be rightly guessed. Her father, who stayed true to the old gods, thought the hill and its stones contained magic of some kind that couldn’t be put into words. She hoped to drink in some of their magic now as she fought to catch her breath.

  The stones were rough against her palm, but warm from the sun. She unpinned her shawl and tossed it aside, letting the cool spring breeze chill her. She strode around them, touching some as she passed and trying to call to mind something to inspire her into action. She pulled the letter from her bodice and read it again. And then again. And yet one more time before sighing and folding it back up and sitting down upon one of the fallen stones with the new spring grass lapping at her ankles in the breeze.

  It didn’t feel real. It was as if she was reading someone else’s missive. By now Conner would have already listed out her dowry for their approval. In fact, knowing her brother, he would have already sent out his reply without speaking to her. And why wouldn’t he? After all, it had been Gwen herself who pushed for the match and she was rarely one to change her mind once she decided on something.

  Logically she understood that it was a fine match, one that would make her a wealthy woman and help to bolster the admittedly mostly ceremonial Scottish clan system. A pact between two strangers was all it was—all it was meant to be—but Gwen was no longer sure what she wanted. It was as if all her plotting, planning, and leaving her emotions out of the equation finally came back to haunt her.

  Before, the thought of marrying the Spanish prince invited dreams of travel, adventure, and a carefully laden plan of two adults meeting for a common goal—marriage. But something had changed within her. Now all she saw was herself adrift in a foreign land with a man she had never even seen, save in portrait form. The once thrilling idea now weighed her down like a stone.