Sapphire Sea

by Kelsey McKnight

  They collapsed together upon the hard deck, Gaspar atop her, searching her face with those gray eyes she had missed so much. She reached up a shaking hand to brush the dripping hair off his forehead, her fingers lingering upon his cheek. He was truly there and she was safe in his arms again.

  “Are you…are you real?” Her throat was sore from screaming and swallowing the briny water.

  “Of course, meu único ouro.”

  He pressed his lips to hers and she tasted salt and didn’t know if it came from the sea or her tears of relief and joy. But as quickly as his mouth had come, it left again. He stood and pulled her up.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked fiercely, looking her over. “You could have died, had I not heard you. What in the world you thinking?

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what?”

  “I couldn’t let you leave.”

  “But you told me to go.”

  “And I was a fool, a perfectly absurd little fool to do so,” she managed to choke out through her emotion.

  “How did you end up in the water?”

  “I-I jumped.”

  His eyes widened. “You jumped? Meu Deus, can you even swim?”

  Gwen nodded. He seemed angry with her. His tone was harsh. His fingers dug into her arms, and his gaze was almost wild. Even his crew hung back, silent and observant from afar. “What were you thinking? You could have drowned!”

  “I couldn’t let you leave. I made a mistake and I had to do something to stop you before I lost you forever.”

  He didn’t respond at first, but loosened his grip, dropping his hands to her waist and drawing her close. He dipped his head down, touching their foreheads, his eyes closed. They stayed together like that for several moments and Gwen savored the feeling of being in his arms again. She would spend the rest of her life dripping wet and freezing if it only meant she could stay with him forever.

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means that I love you.” She held up a hand to show him the sapphire ring. “It means that I’m yours.”

  He pulled back to pore over her face, his brow furrowed and his eyes holding a pained expression. “And I love you, meu único ouro. But the sea…you cannot bear it.”

  “I learned that I can bear anything in this world except being apart from you. I cannot allow it to happen again. I need you, Gaspar, and I was a fool to not see it earlier and let you leave.”

  “And I will never leave you again. We will dock now and I will sell my ships, buy a home where your people live. And we—”

  “No, you’re not going to sell your ships or anything of the sort. When I chose you, I chose all of you. When I said that I was yours, I meant it. I will never be separated from you again and I want to be a part of your life in every way and your life is upon the sea.”

  “But you’re so frightened.”

  “Once, you promised me that you would not let me fall, let me drown, let any harm come to me upon your ship. Do you mean to break that promise?”

  “Never.”

  “Then I have nothing to fear.”

  Gaspar pulled her into a deep kiss, pouring all the unsaid emotion from his lips into hers, holding her so tightly against his chest, she could barely breathe. But she was happy, finally happy, so blissfully, sinfully happy. And now she was free.

  “Now, meu único ouro, let us embark on the greatest adventure of all.”

  Epilogue

  There had never been a wedding like it in all the years of the MacLeod clan. There was no church, no priest, no solemn wedding vows and no traditional masses. It was a ceremony of color and cultures unlike any the Highlands had ever witnessed.

  Gwen wore a pale peach gown made of the lightest silk from Gaspar’s stock. It was cut low, with slightly puffed sleeves hanging off her slim shoulders. Pearls trimmed the neckline and blooms of pure white, early summer rhododendrons were tucked in her loose curls. She thought they looked better than any wedding veil.

  The ships only had to stay a week after Gaspar plucked Gwen from the sea. Just long enough for Gaspar to formally ask her to marry him, for both of them to press their case of marriage to Conner, and to send missives to Spain that the eligible heiress was no longer eligible. And it was just enough time to make a new gown for the occasion, at the behest of Gaspar. If it had been up to Gwen, she would have married him in the same wet, dirty dress she wore when she almost drowned.

  “Are you ready?” Flora asked as she put the final flowers in Gwen’s hair.

  “I’ve been ready for weeks.”

  “You’ve only been engaged for six days.”

  “But I’ve been ready for much longer.”

  Flora smiled. “I know the feeling.”

  She dabbed a bit of the lavender perfume Gaspar loved so well behind her ears and replaced the vial upon her dressing table. The maids would collect everything she didn’t pack to bring aboard the ship before they left in the morning. But she would miss her chambers dearly.

  Before leaving, she took one final look around the bedroom she grew up in. It had served as her nursery upon her birth and now as her bridal chambers. One day, she might visit and sleep again in the familiar four-poster bed, or perhaps a child of Conner and Charlotte’s would claim it as their own. No matter what the future held, it was no longer her room, her home. She lived in the sea now, joining the world of the selkies like in the tales and midnight stories of her youth.

  Charlotte and Penelope were waiting in the hall when Gwen and Flora stepped out, their children safe with a hired nursemaid. They would serve as her wedding party and they giggled and made quiet jokes all the way down to the main hall, where Conner and Drum stood.

  “Are ye ready, lass?” Conner asked, his eyes uncharacteristically misty.

  “Everyone keeps asking me that and the answer will always be the same.”

  “Ach, my wee sister,” he said gruffly, taking her hand in his. “I hope ye’ll be happy.”

  “I will,” she promised in return as they stepped out into the sunlight.

  The wedding was hastily planned and left no time for elaborate marital parades or for all their family and friends to join them. But that was all right by Gwen. She didn’t need all attention on her, just a few words of promise between her and Gaspar.

  Once a lone bagpiper had struck up a tune, the small party marched toward the cliffs overlooking the ocean. There was a large group of people gathered there, more than Gwen thought there would be. And as she grew closer she saw that most of the village had come, Angus and Grace, Sorcha with her family, the tavern owner with his barmaids, and every person Gwen had ever helped during their times of illness or injury. Mixed within the sea of plaid were the grinning, tanned faces of the Portuguese sailors, who would make up her new neighbors. But she had eyes for no one but Gaspar.

  He looked quite unlike himself in a pair of black breeks and matching cutaway coat. His hair was brushed back off his face and he even wore a pale gray cravat that was the same shade of his eyes. He was freshly shaven and showed a set of brilliantly white teeth as he smiled at her.

  She had no bouquet, making it easier to go to him at once, taking his hands in hers. They were steady and comforting, not that she was nervous in the least bit. This wedding was one born of love. She could hardly wait for the ceremony to begin—and end—and looked around for the unofficial officiant.

  The man pushed through the crowd and took his place with his back against the stones that jutted up off the edge of the cliffs. It was Gwen’s special place on the MacLeod lands and she didn’t think she ever saw a finer backdrop for her wedding, even though it would not be blessed by the church. The officiant was the lesser captain who sailed one of Gaspar’s ships. Apparently captains were capable of officiating weddings and Gwen was not one to argue. She would have left with Gaspar even without a marriage certificate.

  “Good day,” the man began in heavily accented English. “We meet here today beneath a clear sky and beside calm wa
ters to witness the marriage of Gaspar Christiano Alexio Florencio and Gwendolyn Isla MacLeod. May the seas that bear you never be a burden and may the breeze fill your sails with enough wind to always find one another. May your ship be your home and hearth, but may the anchor never cause you to sink. May the salt waters be the land beneath your feet, but your cups always filled with fresh drink. May you love, respect, and care for another and trust in our Lord as your compass. And may you find happiness together for all of your days on land and sea.”

  Gaspar squeezed her hands and cleared his throat before beginning to speak, his eyes always upon hers. “Gwendolyn, today before your family and friends and my own crew, I will make you several promises. I promise to always love you and protect you from harm. I promise that all I have, and all I will acquire, will be yours as well as mine. And I promise, above all, to never let you sink, for I shall always be by your side.”

  Gwen felt tears well in her eyes at his unexpected words. She didn’t know there would be any personal exchange, but she had to say something. “Gaspar, I would like to make you some promises as well. I promise to always love you and to always love your crew as you do. I promise to explore the old world and the new with you, all upon your ship with you as my captain in all things. And I promise to always trust you, as I know you will never let me sink.”

  “As these people as my witness,” the officiant began again in a booming voice, “I pronounce these two married.”

  Gaspar grinned and picked Gwen up and twirled her in his arms, crashing his lips to hers.

  The spectators erupted in a roar of applause and cheers in several languages and Gwen laughed aloud in joy as Gaspar placed her back upon the earth. She was a married woman at last, and to a man she loved more than anything in the world. They would live aboard La Sereia and travel to distant lands together, taking in all the world had to offer. She would no longer experience things only through the pages of a book. She would be leaving the only home she had ever had for the unknown.…

  But she welcomed all the adventures yet to come.

  ***

  Two Years Later

  Charlotte sat perched upon the edge of the checkered picnic blanket, her hand on her swollen stomach. The child would be born soon and she was savoring the sweet, fresh air of early autumn. She knew she would soon be too pregnant and uncomfortable in her own skin to make the familiar walk down to the cliffs. She barely made it as it was, and relied heavily on Conner’s strong support to guide her over the rocks.

  She watched wee Ian take hold of Alec’s hand as they ran away from Rose. The little girl was still a bit unsteady, but toddled after them all the same, her pink skirts lifted to her knees. The three children shrieked in laughter as one of Ian’s faithful dogs bounded toward them, making them scatter like birds in a field. But they soon rejoined again, plucking sprigs of heather for some unspoken task that only children would understand.

  Flora picked up her baby daughter, Fauna, when she whimpered in alarm, then ran her hand over the little girl’s dark red hair. She murmured softly to her, quietly calming her back to sleep. Andrew was beside her, although his straight nose was buried in the newest of Drummond’s unfinished manuscripts—a collection of pirate songs and histories. But he looked up when Flora began to speak to him, listening with the rapt attention he always gave his wife.

  Nearby, Drum was conversing animatedly with Conner about something beyond the hills, his deep, vibrant voice echoing melodically around them. Penelope watched him from her seat beside Charlotte, the corners of her lips upturned. She had been slow to smile since she learned she would never bear another child after Rose’s difficult birth, but time—and Drummond’s steady love—had eased that pain and the small family visited often, something Charlotte was grateful for.

  She had just turned to call Conner to join her for lunch when Gwen and Gaspar strode up the incline from the docks. The youngest MacLeod lady was brown as a berry from her two years at sea and had first come home looking deliciously exotic with henna painted hands and wearing a gown of vibrant pink silk with gold embroidery. The pair shared a few words in animated Portuguese before coming to Charlotte, holding out the fresh bottle of imported champagne they had retrieved from La Sereia—a final gift from the worldly travelers before they departed again.

  Noting the fine vintage, she happily popped the cork, calling all four couples together to share a toast. Soon they would all part: Flora and Andrew home to London, Penelope and Drum to their estate, and Gwen and Gaspar to their next adventure on the sea. Each had found their match and built a life outside the homes and families they had known. There was no telling when they would meet again in Scotland, or anywhere else for that matter, for they were naught but leaves, scattered to the four corners with no telling who would return—and who would not—come the next autumn.

  It was only fitting they’d share one last glass—a parting drink.

  When they were all joined, their children among them, silent for once, it was Drum who sang. His voice rang out across the green hills and rocky cliffs, sending the song through to the villages and out to sea. It was an old song, resurrected anew. It told of friendship, farewells, and the longings of love they had found, and those they had left behind. It was a promise for them to return when they could, to reconnect with the brothers, sisters, and friends who’d taken life’s journey with them.

  And then Drum was silent and each person raised a glass to their lips.

  When each finished, Gaspar took Gwen by the hand and led her down the slopes to their ships, ready to cast off. Andrew and Flora collected their babe and got into the awaiting carriage that would bear them to the train back to England. Then Drummond and Penelope took Rose to their tethered horses, ready for the journey home.

  All that was left upon the cliffs—just as it had been in the beginning before friends and marriages and children—was Charlotte and Conner. The MacLeod laird and the emerald queen, alone again at last.

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  Acknowledgments

  Shout out to fellow author Sarah Fischer for loving this series as much as I do and putting in long hours “in the office” while I agonized over storylines and character development. A special thank you to my editor, Rosa Sophia, for making sure that my books were clean, organized, and always error-free. Love to my parents for always reading, sharing, and promoting my work—even when their copies ended up at the bottom of the ocean thanks to a hurricane. And some special sister snaps to Jacqulyn Paris King and all the lovely women who have joined the Σisters of the Σcottish Σtone.

  About the Author

  Kelsey McKnight is a university-educated historian from southern New Jersey. She has married her great loves of romance, history, and literature to create her first works that are set in Scotland. But she has recently begun to venture into the world of contemporary romance, drawing inspiration from true life. When she’s not writing, Kelsey can be found reading, drinking too much coffee, blogging, spending time with her family, and working for two separate nonprofit organizations.

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