Snapping it shut, she strode back to the front of the library and looked through another in Spanish. It was the same: pages upon pages of words written in a language she knew nothing about. She was dumbstruck, tossing the book upon the desk, mind awhirl. It was true, she hadn’t exactly been studying during her long hours with Gaspar, but she knew some words and phrases. Unless…
Moving on a hunch, she climbed to the second floor of the library and sifted through the little read and largely ignored volumes, finally finding the one she sought. It was a thick black book with large silver embossed letters. As soon as she opened the cover, she found the truth. Gwen could read the passages—not all, but enough to know the book covered Portuguese history from the time of Julius Ceasar’s invasions up until the early Brigantine era.
Collapsing to the floor upon her knees, she let out a wracking laugh that sounded rusty to her own ears. She couldn’t believe the truth of it. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t known and never expected Gaspar to do what he did—the cheeky lout. But it was done. Gaspar hadn’t taught Gwen a lick of Spanish. It was Portuguese he had taught her, and Portuguese she knew. It was one final joke from the man who could coax laughter from her lips even in the darkest of times.
“Gaspar, you foolish man,” Gwen whispered to the empty library, tears slipping silently over the curves of her cheeks and dampening the pages of the book. “God, I will miss you.”
***
Gwen had spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, trying to compose a letter to Eduardo. It had to be done. She needed to begin building some sort of relationship with her future husband, if they were to have a comfortable life together. She ended up with a rather strained and awkward message that she wasn’t sure she would even dare to send…
Eduardo,
I hope this letter finds you well. All is well in Scotland, and with me. The castle is busy preparing for my possible departure and I find myself rather active as of late. I’ve been studying Spanish, but though by your letters, I see you have a great grasp of the English language. It’s quite a relief, given my slow learning of your mother tongue.
I have also received your portrait. What a grand uniform you have. I very much look forward to seeing it in person and learning more about your military prowess. Perhaps you might tell me about it in your next letter? I would love to know more of your life and experiences.
Do you care much for horses? I have a lovely dapple-gray named Faodial that I hope, very dearly, to be able to bring with me if I come to Spain. But I know journeys on a ship can be difficult to great beasts such as horses and I wouldn’t wish her harm.
Since we cannot meet for some time, I’ll tell you a bit more about myself. I’m rather good with numbers and can take care of a large household very easily. I’m not much of a cook, though, but I expect my prowess in the kitchen isn’t really your main concern! I adore the outdoors, but despise spiders. I also don’t mind the cold at all, though I’ve read the temperament of Spain is very agreeable.
What about you? Is there anything I should know?
All the best,
Gwendolyn
After she signed the letter, she rolled her eyes at her effort and pushed the paper away, disgusted. She sounded like a complete dolt and honestly didn’t care much for what Eduardo liked, didn’t like, wore, or anything else about him. Still, she felt he needed some sort of personal message from her, even if it was a little odd. If they were to be married, they would at least need to tolerate each other.
“Writin’ love letters, are we?” Conner asked with a grin as he entered the library, baby Alec asleep in his arms and a staghound following close behind.
“Hardly. I think I’ll toss this one out in favor of one less…terrible.”
He looked over the desk at the note and frowned. “That will no’ do, lass. The prince has no English.”
“No English?” Gwen shook her head. “That is impossible. He’s written me a letter in perfect English.”
“By the hand o’ a scribe, I expect. It was in one of the missives I received on the matter. I thought ye knew, or at least Charlotte told ye.”
She groaned, crumpling up the paper and setting it aside to be burned. “That’s terrible news.”
“Ach, no. Ye’ve been studyin’ Spanish all this time with the good captain. Surely ye can read and speak enough to get ye by?”
“Of course,” she lied, her stomach churning. “But I’m still learning and I wish I had a better grasp of the language in order to write him a letter at least.”
“A shame the captain had to leave so suddenly.”
“Yes, a shame.”
“An even worse that I’ll have to find a new trade ship to work with.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Whatever for?”
“The captain said he would no longer be comin’ north though our waters.” He bounced the baby in his arms as the bundle began to fidget. “He will no’ even be able to take ye to Spain when the time comes, as his new trade route keeps him south. I’ll have to sort that out as well, but do no’ fret, I’ll right it soon enough and find ye a new way to Spain.”
“I can take care of it,” she assured him, trying to keep a pleasant lilt to her voice.
“Eager to get to your new home?”
“This will always be my home,” she said quietly, feeling tears prick her eyes.
Conner frowned and drew close, Alec kicking his blanket off and beginning to cry. “O’ course, lass. I only meant that you’re eager to sort out your married life. Ach, I think there’s a great ye need to be told about married life…and your weddin’ night for that matter.” His ears pinked at the realization. “With our mother livin’ with our sister…well, I suppose ye’ll need to be told—”
“I know enough, don’t bother!” she said hurriedly, not interested in hearing the ins and outs of marital life as explained by her crass elder brother. “I can handle myself.”
“Just know, lass, that I will no’ tolerate him treatin’ ye with a hard hand. I will no’ abide if he mistreats ye in any way.” His tone was suddenly serious and Gwen almost felt as if she were in trouble by the sound of it. “This is your home as long as I am laird, or wee Alec, or even wee Ian, if it comes to that.”
Gwen looked up. “Ian?”
“Aye. There’s always a chance…” He drifted off, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Ye never know what the future holds and ye should live in the present, but always be prepared for what may come. When I took Ian in, he had my protection. But when I married Charlotte, I gave him my name as well.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“If Alec passes with no heir, the title and lands will pass to Ian. Now, I know that may be strange, seein’ as it should be one o’ our sister’s sons, but Ian’s my lad now, through and through. He has his place here as my son and ye do as my sister.”
Gwen sniffed, fighting back tears. She wasn’t ready for Conner to speak in such a manner, as he was usually just a giant tease. “Oh, stop it. I get all red when I cry.”
“Aye, ye do. Ye look like a squashed rhubarb pie. Now get up, lass. I think ye’ve had enough o’ the library for one day.”
Chapter Twelve
A few days later, Gwen had just sat down at the desk in the library when a harried-looking Charlotte dashed in. Her face was pink with excursion and she grasped a bookshelf for support as she fought to catch her breath.
“Well, spit it out,” Gwen commanded, growing nervous at seeing Charlotte so flustered. “Was Ian hurt? Did something happen to Conner? Where is baby Alec?”
“Penelope…Penelope…” She gasped. “Shes—she’s having the baby!”
“Now?” Gwen felt her stomach drop. It was too soon for Penelope’s child to come. If her timing was correct, she was only several months along. That was may be too early for a healthy babe. “It’s too soon.”
“I know.” Charlotte’s hazel eyes were wide with worry. “I’m leaving straight away. Will you come with me?”
“No, I thought horses would be faster. Would you mind riding such a distance?”
“Not at all.”
Charlotte turned on her heel and ran from the library. Gwen soon followed, her heart pounding against her breastbone so hard it almost pained her. Strange to think the first strong emotion she had felt in the week since Gaspar’s departure was fear—fear for Penelope, her unborn child, and even Drummond.
What would the gentle giant do without his dainty English rose? Drum was devoted to his wife and Gwen wasn’t sure if he would be able to bear her loss. And Charlotte! Those two had been friends since girlhood, two pieces of the same fine china who had been lured from home by the magic of Scotland.
She hastily redressed in a deep green riding habit and tied her hair up tightly into a bun. Then she shoved some sturdy dresses into a saddlebag and topped it with several packages of medicinal herbs. While she knew there would be medicine at Penelope’s home—if not a true midwife—she’d rather be safe than sorry. Finally, almost mechanically, she reached under her pillow to where the cross and medallion necklace had lain hidden.
Gwen pressed her lips to the crucifix before attaching it around her neck and shoving it into her bodice. It was almost a full day’s ride to Drummond and Penelope’s home in the best of conditions and there wasn’t a moment to be spared for hesitation. They needed to reach their lands by nightfall, and it was already nearly noon.
She had just turned a corner when little Ian stepped out from the stairwell.
“Ye leavin’?” he asked, his dark brows furrowed seriously.
Gwen paused, feeling irrationally vexed at being stopped midstride. “Yes. Penelope is having her baby, so Charlotte and I are going for a visit to help her,” she explained patiently, trying to keep her tone calm.
“Can I come? I want to play with them.”
“No, Ian. It’ messy women’s work we’ll be doing. When the baby is born and Penelope feels well enough, we’ll all go for a visit together and you can see the new baby. Won’t that be fun?”
He screwed up his tiny face for a moment, then responded in a mock grown-up voice, “Aye, that’ll do.”
Gwen’s lips twisted into a small smile. “Good lad. Now, keep an eye on Alec for us while we’re gone.”
“Goodbye!” He wrapped his arms around Gwen’s legs.
She patted him fondly on the head. “Run along, now. I mustn’t be late.”
Once Ian was back on his way, Gwen continued hurriedly down to the main hall where Charlotte stood with Conner, deep in conversation. But as soon as Gwen reached the landing, they both turned to look at her.
“All ready, then?” Conner asked her.
Gwen nodded, taking in Charlotte’s unnaturally pale face. “I believe so.”
“Then let’s be off.” Charlotte kissed Conner swiftly on the lips before leading Gwen from the hall and out into the bright sunlight.
Her usual horse, Faodail, wasn’t hearty enough for a hard ride, being more suited to leisurely jaunts. So two large warhorses had been prepared. It was good Gwen was an accomplished rider, for the giant beasts were frightening at worst and formidable at best. They were bred from Conner’s finest stock and most men wouldn’t dare touch them, but no others would do for the ride ahead of Gwen and Charlotte.
The second she was seated and their bags secure behind them, they were off, the thundering of the horses’ hooves filling Gwen’s ears. As they reached the bit of pressed dirt road that passed the way to the dock, she instinctively turned her head and felt the cross around her neck burn into her chest. She hadn’t been able to look at the sea since Gaspar had cast off, and she doubted she ever would again, save for when she left Scotland for Spain.
For a moment, she allowed herself to picture casting off on La Sereia, watching the keep disappear into the far distance, separated by dark ocean waves. She remembered the initial feeling of being onboard her first time, how horrified she was and how tightly she clutched onto Gaspar. It was as though he had been the only thing keeping her afloat in the tumultuous waters. But wasn’t that just what he had been to her—a safe harbor in the sea?
She shook her head roughly, trying to scatter the vivid memories of Gaspar’s arms around her and the sound of his heartbeat as they lay in the quiet of his four-poster bed. They would watch the light of the sunset slowly sink, casting multicolored gleams upon the ceilings, then the walls, the floor, and finally disappearing, leaving them in darkness. And even when the moon rose and the candles were lit, they would stay there, wrapped in an embrace until the time came for Gwen to reluctantly retire to the castle.
She tried to push the bittersweet remembrances aside, but it was no use. He had branded her. Not with a hot iron, though sometimes she felt the searing heat in her heart, but with his mouth, his hands, his sweet words of longing. She was forever changed, and she thought it might kill her.
“Are you all right?” Charlotte called loudly, steering roughly to the side, cutting Gwen’s horse off with her own.
Gwen pulled the reins, forcing her mount to a halt. “What?”
“You’re crying.”
She put her fingers up to her face, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. Embarrassed at being seen in such a state, Gwen dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her traveling cloak. “I…I’m just worried about Penelope,” she lied, steering her horse around Charlotte’s to continue on the path in a trot.
“No, you’re not.” Charlotte came up to her side, matching her horse’s stride.
“Yes, I am.”
“Stop lying to me, Gwen. I don’t think you have it in you to be a proper fraud. You never did.”
She glanced at her sister-in-law and then took a deep breath. Charlotte hadn’t always been good at reading people. Perhaps she really was a terrible liar. It would have been so easy to tell Charlotte the truth—to admit that it felt as if her heart had been torn from her breast when Gaspar’s ships sailed away. But she hardly felt that she deserved the peace of mind that came with verbally announcing her feelings. It wouldn’t do any good to reopen a wound.
“I suppose you needn’t tell me,” Charlotte said. “But you might feel better if you did.”
“How is it that every woman in this family, born into it, or married, has a hard time settling into life?”
Charlotte tapped her chin in the way she often did when she was surprised or faced with an interesting question. “Oh, well, I hadn’t given that much thought.”
“You don’t find it strange that we all have had our heart broken, then mended, or almost married the wrong man?” Gwen knew she probably wasn’t making much sense, but it was as if the words left her lips before she could sort through them. “That all four of us haven’t traveled the easy path to love? When I look at my older sisters, they all found their husbands easily, married without fuss, and now live perfectly average lives. Why didn’t we?”
“Are you thinking about that Spanish prince?”
“I suppose so.” Gwen trained her eyes on the empty hills ahead and the distant wisps of smoke rising from a faraway village. “But shouldn’t we be galloping just now? We’ve hardly just left.”
“We were for nearly two hours before we stopped. The horses could do with a walk and a rest, and so could I.”
Gwen started. She couldn’t remember traveling that amount of time. “Has it really been that long?”
“Yes. Now, what about Spain worries you?”
“Are we being honest? And will you keep my secret?” She dared a glance at Charlotte, who was staring at her intently.
“Of course.”
“I…Gaspar….” Gwen felt her stomach flip at saying his name aloud. The last time she dared to utter it was when he left her upon the hill. It felt odd and foreign on her lips, but she savored it all the same. “We had a…a liaison.”
Charlotte smirked. “Is that what we’re c
alling it these days?”
“You don’t sound very surprised,” she pointed out, picking up the pace of her horse.
“And you don’t need to marry that Spanish prince,” Charlotte asserted. “I mean it, Gwendolyn. You can turn around now and ride back to the keep to Conner and call the whole thing off and no one will be angry with you.”
For a moment, Gwen half considered it, but knew she couldn’t do something so foolish on a girlhood crush. After all, Gaspar was gone and he wasn’t coming back. He made that quite clear when he cancelled his contract with the MacLeod lands. Even if she called off her contract with the Spanish prince, there was no way of knowing she would even be able to contact Gaspar again. When she first offered him a shipping contract, it was through other avenues that were now closed to her.
It was clear that she would never see Gaspar again, no matter how much she dearly wished to see his face one last time. Gwen needed to move on and focus on the future, not dwelling on a whirlwind romance that merely lasted a few weeks. Spain was her future and Gaspar, her past—no matter how much it hurt her.
“Come,” Gwen began, breaking the silence. “We’ve dallied too long. We must ride.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Thank God ye came,” Drummond bellowed as he stomped down the stairs of his large stone house, a young lad following shortly behind. There were deep circles beneath his eyes, visible even in the dim light from the lantern he held.
“How is she?” Charlotte asked as the boy led their horses away into the darkness.
He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and Gwen’s heart lurched sickly for him. “No’ well. She…” His voice cracked. “She’s asked for her mother, but London’s so far….”
“We’ll sort her out,” Gwen promised, squeezing Drummond’s arm as he turned to take them into his home.
It was larger than Gwen thought it would be, warm and filled with hints of Penelope in the décor. There were several things she recognized from The Piccadilly Emporium, and the interior felt decidedly British, but it suited the pair, Gwen thought. Even through the small hints of construction that still carried on, she knew that Penelope must have been hard at work to make the house a home before the baby came.
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