She turned away from window, and as she did, something caught her eye. It was the oval sapphire. Started by its presence upon her finger, she shot up in bed. In the whirlwind of emotions that overwhelmed her at the parting on the dock, she hadn’t noticed it was still upon her hand.
Questions flew through her mind. Did Gaspar know? Did he want it back? Did she want to return it? Could she even handle parting from her last piece of him?
Gwen pulled off the ring and studied it in the fading light. It was beautiful; he had amazing tastes for such an oddly crude man. It was delicate with its web of diamonds upon a lace of gold, but strong. And he had been right; the blue of the sapphire was so close to own eye color, it was almost alarming. He had an impeccable talent for jewels.
As she studied it, she noticed something amiss. Around the base of the stone, tucked into the gold and diamond web was the tiniest of hinges. It was so slight, she might have missed it if she hadn’t been examining it so closely.
Intrigued, she pried the other side gently with a fingernail. The sapphire popped open and she peered inside, going quickly to the open window to see better in the dying light of the day. And as soon as the waning sun flashed upon the image within, she gasped. Etched upon a white base, hidden away, was a mermaid.
Gwen traced the tiny sea foam tail and the long golden waves of painted hair. The petite siren was almost a mirror image of the one upon La Sereia she knew had to have come from his own hand. She couldn’t believe Gaspar had the figure placed within the sapphire ring without telling her. It was one final joke, one final, secret message from the man who taught her Portuguese instead of Spanish. One final hidden chamber for Gwen to discover.
One final goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gwen sat in the study the next morning, surrounded by the ledgers and notes she had all but ignored since her affair with Gaspar had begun. The numbers were comforting, unchanging and deliberate, not capable of changing their lot in life—much like her.
Groaning, she pushed away the papers and leaned back in her seat, a sharp headache breaking out behind her eyes. Staring at the tiny numbers did little to help matters, but she felt it was her responsibility to put things in complete order before she left. Conner was certainly more than capable of maintaining his own accounts, but she had changed things so much throughout her time managing the household and the lands, she worried he would find it difficult to decipher.
She was just about to ring for some tea when Charlotte entered with Flora at her heels.
“Darling Penelope’s just sent word!” Charlotte exclaimed, holding out a letter.
Gwen’s heart lurched as she was reminded of Penelope and Drum’s daughter, little Rose. “Good news, I hope?”
“Better news than I could have ever have hoped for. She’d like us to come for a visit as soon as we’re able. Apparently, their house is finished now and there’s plenty of room for all of us to stay on for a week!”
“Is she well enough for us to visit?”
“Perfectly. She really just misses having a bit of female companionship and apparently Drum is quite overbearing. Having Conner come to distract him would probably be of great help.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see the baby.” Flora sighed with a smile. “I bet she’s a perfect little doll.”
“She is,” Charlotte agreed before turning back to Gwen. “So, would you like to go, Gwen? There may not be another chance before you leave and goodness knows it’ll be difficult for us to go to you.”
“Before I leave,” Gwen repeated quietly. “Yes, I suppose this will be my last chance to see them for some time.”
“When should we go?” Flora asked.
Charlotte thought a moment, tapping her chin with the tip of her finger. “As soon as can be arranged, I think. I haven’t had the chance to tell Conner about it, but I’m sure he would take no issue with us taking a little visit. If we can, maybe we can go in two days’ time…”
“I’ll go speak with Andrew and ensure we can arrange to leave for London from Penelope’s house,” Flora said brightly before dashing from the room.
“Quite eager to leave.” Charlotte laughed as the study door slammed shut, shaking a small portrait that hung beside the doorframe.
“It will be a lovely trip.” Gwen had tried to sound just as lively as Flora had, but even she could tell the tone of her voice lacked the life it needed to sound sincere. She hoped Charlotte didn’t notice, but by the look on her face, there would be no such luck.
“Stressful morning?” she asked with an air of seriousness.
“Yes, why?”
“You’re rather pale and I noticed you hadn’t much of an appetite at breakfast. Have you had lunch?”
She shook her head and straightened the papers upon the desk. “No, I was just about to take tea, though.”
“Shall I do it? I’ll fetch you a bite to eat as well.”
“No, don’t worry yourself over me. I have a bit more work to do now that I know we’ll be leaving soon.”
“You’ll work yourself to death like this. Go on and get some fresh air.”
Gwen thought to the ships in the harbor, their sails still visible over the edge of the rocks. She couldn’t bear to see them. “No, I’m well.”
“Just go for a bit. The sun and air will get you your appetite back.”
She knew Charlotte wouldn’t give in, so she rose, plastering a smile upon her face. “A ride certainly won’t hurt things any.”
“Good. I’ll finish up things here. Lord knows I’ll need to learn more about the running of the lands. You know as well as I that Conner can be quite hopeless with numbers.”
Gwen let Charlotte take her place at the desk and sullenly stalked out through the keep, almost tripping on one of little Ian’s dogs on her way to the courtyard. She didn’t feel much like riding, but she had neglected poor Faodail so terribly, she knew the poor creature would be ready for a good gallop. Besides, she was rather looking forward to getting some distance from her increasingly nosy family members.
But much to her surprise—and supreme annoyance—Conner was in the stable, looking over a tethered Faodail with an expert eye. She thought she might have be able to sneak away, back to the keep, without being questioned, but she brushed against an empty bucket as she snuck backward, knocking it over with a loud clatter.
Conner turned to her and grinned. “Gwen! I have no’ seen ye for days.”
“I was—”
She had been prepared to lie about how she was needed to tend to the recovering sailors, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Conner waved a hand and said, “Aye, I know ye were needed to heal upon the ships, ye kindhearted lass.”
She chose to ignore his praise, as doing so would only heighten the sensation of guilt. “Is everything well with my horse?”
“Oh, aye. I was just seein’ if the beast could fair well with sea travel.”
“Take the horse upon the ship?”
“Would ye wish to leave her behind?”
“Of course not. I just hadn’t thought about actually planning for her, I suppose.”
“O’ course you’re a bit more preoccupied with your weddin’ to think o’ such trivial things. Gettin’ excited, yet? Only last night I was tellin’ Charlotte to begin helpin’ ye with a gown.”
“Lovely.”
He placed a heavy hand upon her shoulder and his tanned features grew grave. “It’s all right to be a bit nervous, lass. But there’s naught to fear from marriage, nor the…marriage bed. If ye need to ask anythin’ about the—”
“Goodness, no!” Her voice came out in a shrill shriek of alarm.
“I do no’ mean me, ye daft lass!” he said between peals of laughter. “Do no’ bring the roof down about us with your wailin’, you’re scarin’ the horses. I was about to tell ye to seek out Charlotte if ye have any questions.”
“May I go out riding now?” She was desperate to escape not only the confines of the keep, but the entire conversat
ion.
“Aye, get on with ye, then. I’ve already cleared it with your betrothed—or his messenger at least—that ye’d bring your wee horse along if she could handle the time on the ship.”
“I’m so pleased my betrothed gave his permission,” she quipped sarcastically as a stable boy began saddling her mount.
Conner studied her beneath furrowed brow. “If there’s somethin’ amiss, or somethin’ ye feel ye need to keep from me, do no’ do so. I only wish ye well.”
“I know.”
He said no more, but kneeled down and cupped his hands, offering her a boost up to her saddle. With a final pat upon her thigh, he left her alone with her thoughts.
She left the stable in a hurry, more thanks to Faodail than to herself. She had been correct in assuming that the horse would be more than eager to flee the courtyard for the only land beyond the wall. They simply flew down the slope of the hill and weaved between the bramble bushes that dotted the landscape. Gwen was careful to steer Faodail to the right, away from the cliffs, but otherwise allowed the horse to set her own pace and their ultimate destination.
She felt free while riding, although arguably less than she felt on the ship. It still reminded her of old times before she grew from a girl to a woman, before the Spanish prince, before the Portuguese captain, before her life spiraled so far out of control she had no idea who she was anymore.
It was almost equally freeing to find that Faodail had taken her to the old stones. She hadn’t been there since her first goodbye to Gaspar and she hoped to glean some comfort, but none immediately came. Still, they were a constant in good times and bad and she almost wept at the sheer sight of them.
She dismounted, leaving her horse to graze at her leisure, and climbed the gentle incline that led up to the stones. She sat down with her back against a particularly squat one on the far end of the almost perfect circle that made up what had probably been a hearth. The air was warmer than it had been in recent days, but the dark rolling clouds that loomed upon the horizon promised a storm, which she welcomed.
As she sat in the quiet, running her fingertips over the sprouting grass that brushed against her plum colored skirts, she tried to ignore the ring. But with each movement of her hand, the bright stone flashed in the sunlight, screaming to not be ignored. Taking it off was an option, one she had thought over that morning when she awoke, but she found it impossible to muster the strength to pull the gold band over a single knuckle.
Of course, it would have to go when a true wedding ring came to take its place. But then what? Would she put it in the back of a jewelry box, banish the gilded mermaid to a life of darkness? Leave it in Scotland or take it to Spain? Or be terribly dramatic and toss it into the ocean? She could give it back to Gaspar, but that would involve another painful goodbye and she could never dare manage it.
And there was another option, a dreadfully wild and almost unimaginable option. She could keep it on. She could throw caution to the wind and go on a life of passion and adventure. There could be exotic lands, foreign adventures, a world of unexpected joys, all with a man who loved her more than she could ever dream. Her life could be a rare voyage to rival any she ever thought possible…if only she were a braver woman.
“Why can’t I do it?” she whispered to a white butterfly that landed just to the right of her knee. “Why can’t I just bloody do it?”
Gwen thumped a fist upon the ground in frustration, causing the small creature to hastily take flight. She thought it almost odd that the butterfly seemed braver than she. It knew not who she was, but came to sit beside her. It only left when frightened, but it grew near again, looking for a new place to land.
The ships would leave soon and Gwen would stay in Scotland to wait until she was beckoned to meet her husband at the altar. Logically, she knew it was silly to be so angry that the prince was stranger; after all, she was the one who’d pushed for the match and he could have been a perfectly nice man, but she found she suddenly hated him. What was once faint interest, then passive disinterest, had evolved into something akin to extreme revulsion.
She despised him so much, she couldn’t even recall his name in that particular moment. However, she could remember that she loathed his mustache, the way a secretary wrote “his” note, how ridiculously bland his face was. There wasn’t a single thing that endeared him to her. The prospect of being a princess was appealing on a childish level, but she had jewels, she had a position, she already lived in a castle. She couldn’t pretend to love a man just so he would give her what she had since birth.
But Gaspar…Gaspar, she did love. For the first time she admitted it, even to herself. She loved him with every fiber of her being and ached for him so fervently, she could hardly stand the pain. It tore at her soul and mind, occupying her waking hours and even those she spent in slumber. A life without that deep love seemed almost meaningless—worse than drowning in the sea she feared.
“I-I need to go,” she said aloud, scrambling to her feet. “Faodail!”
The horse trotted to her at once, looking equal parts eager and nervous for what was to come.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Gwen swung herself up to the saddle and kicked her heels into Faodail’s sides. There was never a better time for the mare to display how fast she could go.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time the cliffs came into view, Gwen’s eyes were stinging from the wind and Faodail was panting, unaccustomed to such frenzied flight. She nearly fell from her saddle when she saw the ships. Three were out in the open waters, their white sails opening fully to catch the wind, but she spied La Sereia still moored where it had been the day before. She didn’t know much about boats, but she knew they were preparing to take full advantage of the blustering winds to carry them to their next port.
Feeling her heart hammer loudly against her breastbone, she urged her mount down the hill, cursing herself all the while. She needed to reach the shore before Gaspar’s ship left as well. Once he was gone, there was no hope left for her—for them—and she refused to let this last chance slip through her fingers. But as La Sereia pulled up its ties and began to let down its sails, drifting away from the shore, she felt her heart being pulled away to sea.
Gwen leaped to the ground as soon as soon as Faodial came a halt at the edge of the dock. But to her dismay, the ship had already begun to leave the dock behind, gone to join its fellows in the open ocean. She ran down the mooring, searching wildly on the deck of the ship for Gaspar. Although it was only perhaps less than twenty yards away, she couldn’t see a single soul aboard.
“Gaspar!” she shrieked over the dull roar of the wave. “Stop! Gaspar, stop!”
There was no motion upon the ship. Gwen wasn’t sure what she hoped would happen; perhaps that he would hear her and immediately turn the ship about to collect her on the dock? Gwen shook her head, trying to clear her muddled mind. With each wasted moment, the ship grew farther and farther away.
“Gaspar!” she screamed again, hearing her voice quaver and grow hoarse. Behind her thunder rumbled from the storm that crept ever closer, adding a ridiculous feeling of dread to the already stressful situation.
Not seeing another option, anything else to mend the sorry situation she had forced upon herself and Gaspar, Gwen jumped.
The day was warm, but the water was bone-chillingly frigid. It had been years since Gwen had swam in anything larger than her private bath, and her frozen limbs were too shocked to move her forward toward the ship as she had longed to do. It took all of her strength just to keep her head above the surf as her sodden skirts began pull her down.
“Gaspar! Gaspar!” Gwen cried, half choking when a wave brushed against her face. Her body was beginning to tire, but still she tried to swim toward the departing ship, screaming all the while.
With a sudden pang of dread, she remembered a dream she had when Gaspar was lying wounded that night she went to him. She had been drifting alone in the sea, begging for salvation as La Sereia came into
sight. But instead of being plucked from the waters by Gaspar, the ship had passed her by, leaving her to her death. And as she struggled to allow air into her mouth instead of bitter salt water, she saw that nightmare becoming a reality.
Mustering the last of her strength, she called out for him once more. Perhaps it was her weakening resolve, or maybe it was what happened when one began to drown, but Gwen thought that there were no sounds in the air, save for Gaspar’s name, which was lingering somewhere above. And perhaps it was just her imagination, but she thought she heard hers in return.
She squinted up at the departing ship just in time to see a figure dive from the top of the boat, cutting cleanly into the water like a seabird. Blinking several times, she hardly had time to process what she saw when a head popped up beside hers.
“Gwendolyn, what the hell are you doing?” Gaspar shouted as his arms clamped around her waist.
It was as if the silence was sucked out as quickly as it appeared, replaced with wind and waves and Gaspar speaking to her without being able to understand what was said. Gwen couldn’t speak in return. Was she dead? If she was, she would be in purgatory at least, and not with Gaspar, if he were truly even there. Perhaps she was even hallucinating from drinking in too much seawater and on the edge of death.
“Gwendolyn, hold on to me!” he ordered as he began to swim with one arm toward the ship.
She complied, her teeth chattering painfully as her numb mind tried to understand what was happening. She tried to kick her feet, to help propel them forward, but all she managed to do was lose her shoes. But she had Gaspar—or at least she thought she did.
When they reached the side of the ship, the familiar rope ladder fell beside them from the deck with a loud clatter. He was saying something to her, but again she could hear little more than the ocean. Then, after apparently giving up on her being of any great help, he yelled up to his men. Before she knew it, her arms were looped over a ladder rung with Gaspar behind her, holding her in place. They were drawn slowly upward, finally being helped over the side of the ship by some of the sailors.
Sapphire Sea Page 20