by Lily Baldwin
“What about after? Will ye tell yer family yer new bride died?”
His eyes widened with surprise the instant before he shook his head. “My island bride prefers our home on Skye. Trust me when I say, my parents have passed their seafaring days.”
She raised a skeptical brow. “But what if ye decide to marry in earnest?”
“I am a man of the sea, Rose. I’ve no intention to wed.”
She looked surprised. “Why ever not?”
“It is not easy to love a sailor.”
Rose shrugged. “That which is worthwhile is never easy.”
“Well, what I’ve proposed will not be easy, but I assure you I plan to compensate you handsomely.”
She sat straighter. “How so?”
His lips lifted in a gentle smile. “I would not ask you to help me without ensuring you benefitted as well. I am a very wealthy man.” He leaned back against the door. “Name your price. But again, I insist you follow your heart and your conscience. I will understand if you wish to have nothing to do with this scheme. And please, take all the time you need to—"
“A ship,” she blurted, interrupting him.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Pardon?”
“Ye said I could name my price. I would like a ship, one equal to the Messenger.”
He considered her request. “The Messenger is the finest ship in my fleet. She is yours, if you decide to—”
She stood up. “Done,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake.
Climbing to his feet, he took her hand. “We have an accord then.”
She looked at him pointedly. “Ye cannot change yer mind.”
“A deal is a deal,” he agreed.
Now that they both stood in his confined quarters, their bodies nearly touched. Her blue eyes danced with excitement. A healthy flush colored the apples of her cheeks. He was struck by her beauty and vitality. His fingers twitched at his side as he resisted pulling her into his arms. Clearing his throat, he reached behind him to open the door. Then he stepped into the hallway and expelled a tense breath. He needed to be very aware of his powerful attraction to her. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable. Their relationship was now one of business, and that was how it would have to stay.
He turned to face her. “We have a busy day ahead of us. There are a few tasks that demand my immediate attention. For now, why don’t you rest a while in preparation for a trip to shore.”
Her eyes lit up. “I’m to go to Cardiff?”
He smiled. “Indeed, you are. You need a new wardrobe among other items too numerous to list. I will be down to fetch you within the hour.”
He started to turn away, but stopped and once more took her hand. “Thank you, Rose.”
A cheeky smile curved her lips. “The Messenger is thanks enough, Captain.”
Chapter Nine
“Why is the ship so quiet?” Rose asked as she sat across from Tristan in the dinghy Philip was preparing to lower.
“I have reassigned the crew to another ship. Before we set sail for France, we will take on a new crew, to which you shall be introduced as my wife, Mistress Rose Thatcher.”
She pressed her hands to her warm cheeks. “I do not think I’ve blushed for ten years.”
He smiled at her. “Not surprisingly, the rosy hue suits you.”
She scanned the empty deck. “I had not considered the crew, but ye’re right. For this to work, we must take every precaution. Our secret must remain between us.”
Tristan nodded. “Only Philip will continue on to France with us.”
“Ready when you are, Captain,” Philip said.
She glanced at the quarter master who flashed her a bright smile. “Have a wonderful time, Mistress Thatcher.”
Again, her cheeks burned. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Before you know it, we will feel like an old married couple,” Tristan promised. “We’ll start finishing each other’s sentences.”
She laughed. “And I’ll complain about how ye snore, and ye will grumble about my cooking.”
“I would very much like to sample your cooking,” he said.
She bit her cheek to keep from smiling as a jolt of excitement shot through her. She wondered if her brothers experienced the same thrill when they carried out secret missions for the cause. Jack and Quinn had both pretended to be monks to gain access to English fortresses, and Alec had lived within the king’s palace for months posing as an English merchant. Now, she had her own secret mission as wife to Tristan Thatcher, English merchant. Their cause was not as grand as Scottish independence, but saving an honest man and his family from ruination was no less noble.
Sitting straight and tall, Rose took a deep breath and scanned the side of the hull of the Messenger as they descended. She still could not believe that in a matter of weeks the great ship would be hers. The MacVies could each fish ten life times and not earn enough coin for a merchant cog.
“Do you see how the outboards overlap one another?” Tristan asked, pointing to the hull.
She nodded. “She’s clinker-built. The overlapping makes her stronger.”
“You do know your ships,” he said.
His praise made her smile. “’Tis in my blood.”
“What else is in your blood?” he asked. “I mean, if we are meant to be married, we should know more about each other. Why did you go to Jura after the massacre?”
She hated to continue to lie to him, but Colonsay was more than just a home. It was her family’s haven. Her brothers, all but Ian, were wanted men. No doubt their likenesses hung in every tavern from Cape Wrath to Dover. “Our father’s family hailed from Jura,” she lied. “When we were exiled from Berwick, we knew we would find welcome there.”
“Are your parents there as well?”
A pang of anguish struck her heart. “Nay, my parents and my wee sister were killed in the attack.”
As were my three daughters and my husband, her heart whispered, but she kept her silence. Tristan was a kind and trustworthy man, and they had an accord. Still, he did not need to know everything about her. She wanted to protect her heart like she wanted to protect her brothers.
“I am so very sorry for your loss, Rose,” he said, his brows drawn.
She took a deep breath, willing away her grief. “Tell me of yer family.”
He took up the oars and began to row toward shore. “My mother passed away when I was young, and my father remarried. Together, they have a daughter, my sister, who is quite a few years younger than I.”
Rose smiled. “How old is she?”
“She is five and ten.”
She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “She is young.”
“And spirited and incredibly kind-hearted.” A shadow crossed his face when he spoke of his sister.
“Ye’re worried about how the current situation will affect her,” Rose said knowingly.
“I am very protective of what I love,” he said simply.
She nodded. “As am I.”
Rose chewed her lip as she admired how his muscles shifted and flexed beneath his tunic. He dug the oars deep into the water, propelling them toward shore. The salty breeze lifted her unbound hair. She breathed deep the scented air and gripped the sides of the boat. Her pulse sped up the closer to shore they drew. She was about to set foot in a new town, and soon, they would set sail for France.
“I cannot believe this is all happening,” she said unable to contain her excitement. Then she felt embarrassed by her outburst. “Forgive me. I…I just feared life held nothing more for me.”
He smiled. “You were wrong.”
Her heart beamed. “I’ve never been happier to be wrong.”
A short while later, the keel of the boat dug into the sand. Tristan leapt over the rail into the gentle surf, heedless of his hose and boots.
She leaned over the side, eying the water lapping the shore. “I’ve been climbing out of boats since before I could walk.�
�� She smoothed her hands down her fine green tunic. “Had I worn Simon’s hose, I would slosh right through the surf.” She lifted her shoulders and looked up at him. “Suddenly, I don’t know how to get out.”
He laughed, the sound deep and rich, and once again, she was struck by how handsome he was. Before she knew what was happening, he reached for her. Sliding his hand beneath her thighs, he lifted her out of the boat and cradled her in his strong arms. She loosely hugged his neck as her heart started to race even faster. He smiled at her, and she smiled right back unable to look away. They were nearly halfway up the shore before it occurred to her that she was well out of the reach of the waves.
She swallowed hard, still not able to tear her gaze from his. “I believe you can set me down now, Captain.”
“Indeed,” he said, but he made no move to release her. She drew another breath and savored his masculine scent. When the beach was behind them, he slowly lowered her feet to the ground, his eyes never wavering from hers. Her mouth felt dry. She ached to wrap her arms around his neck again.
He stared down at her, his gaze intense and full of unspoken desire.
Her fingers twitched at her sides as she resisted the urge to reach up and weave her fingers through his thick, black hair.
His lips parted, and he took a step closer, his hand moved to clasp her waist, but then he froze before he took a long step back.
The tension shattered between them.
“The river ferry will take us into town,” he said, his words rushed as he pointed farther ashore.
“Excellent,” she blurted before swiftly walking away from him toward a large, flat barge. She needed to catch her breath and cool her face before she faced him again.
What had come over her? She was not a maid, given to blushing and staring and longing. She was one and thirty, and she had made an accord with the captain. Anyway, he had no interest in marriage, and in that moment, she realized neither did she. Now, she understood that she could make her own destiny. If she were married, she would have to obey her husband instead of her own heart.
So engrossed was she in her mental ramble that she walked right up to the riverman without the captain at her side. Despite the warmth of the day, he wore a black cloak over a patched tunic. His long, dull brown hair blended into his bushy beard. She could not tell where one ended and the other began.
“Wait for your husband before you board,” he said gruffly, holding out a thickly calloused palm to block her way.
Her husband?
“Oh, aye, indeed, I will just wait for my husband,” she said nervously. Tristan joined her a moment later and took her hand. “I’m so glad ye’re here, Captain,” she said, smiling up at him. “This man made me wait for my husband to board, and now, here ye are, my husband.”
An amused smile curved Tristan’s lips. “It was good of you to wait.”
She watched as Tristan pressed several coins into the man’s hand. “Can we embark? My wife and I have an appointment with the tailor. We do not wish to be late.”
“Right away,” the man answered, clearly spurred on by the new coin he added to his purse. He stormed over to where some children sat on a bench. “Clear the way for the captain and his wife,” he barked.
A frown darkened Tristan’s features. “Thank you, but my wife and I wish to stand and stretch our legs,” Then he crossed to where the children now huddled together, afraid of the shaggy riverman’s wrath. He squatted down and motioned to the bench. “Please, go back and sit.” They stared up at him with wide fearful eyes, but Rose watched their countenances slowly change. Soon, they all climbed back onto the bench.
“Thank you,” a woman in rough homespun wool said to Tristan. “I worry they will fall in.”
Rose could not help smiling up at Tristan when he returned to her side. He was as warm-hearted as a man could be, and this made her feel proud to be his wife—even if it was only pretend. “Ye’re a good man,” she whispered to him.
He pursed his full lips and pressed his finger to them. “Another secret you must keep or else my men will think I’m soft.”
She laughed. “Yer men adore ye, and ye ken they do. Never have men sung their captain’s praises more.”
He flashed her a sexy sideways smile, and she felt her knees go weak. She looked down at her tunic to escape the heat of his gaze, which reminded her of what he had told the riverman. She fingered the soft fabric. “Ye mentioned going to visit a tailor, but ye’ve already purchased me this fine tunic. Surely, I do not need more than one serviceable gown.”
He gave a soft chuckle, the rich sound tempted her to once again meet his gaze. “As my wife, Rose, you will need many serviceable tunics, not to mention veils, wimples, jewels, and an assortment of other items.”
Her eyes widened at the list of treasures he intended to buy for her. “If ye think that is all necessary, but my brother’s wives have warned me about wimples and headdresses. I might have to draw a line there.”
He smiled. “I don’t blame you. They do seem very confining, and since you are my Scottish bride from the isles, I believe wearing a veil alone would be appropriate.”
A short while later, Rose rested her hand comfortably on the captain’s arm while they traversed the long dock. She upturned her face to the warm sun.
“Are you happy to be on solid ground?” he asked.
She smiled. “Indeed. It feels heavenly to stretch my legs.”
They carried on down a dirt road, passing peat huts with thatched roofs like her own on Colonsay. Soon, the one-story homes and shops gave way to two and three-story stone buildings. It was in front of a tall stone building with an oversized pair of scissors hanging above the door that they stopped.
Tristan opened the door for her. “After you, my dear.”
Rose smiled and started to step forward, but then she hesitated. “What am I to expect?” she said. “I’ve never been to a tailor. I’ve always made my own clothing.”
“Expect a flurry of activity. This will not be a relaxed visit, given the demand of my order. They will be measuring, poking, and prodding you amid a dizzying array of fabrics and colors. I promise that you will be exhausted before we leave.”
“Will I survive?” she jested to hide her sudden nerves.
“You will, but it is to the tailor and his staff that we must give our sympathy. While I take you for a stroll through the market to recover, they will be working their fingers to the bone to complete our order in time for our departure on the morrow.”
“Och, those poor people.”
“On the contrary, I will be lining their pockets heavily to complete the task. Trust me, Rose, they are glad for our business.”
Rose entered and straightaway a short, stocky man in green hose and a darker green tunic made of thick brocade seized her hand. “You must be Captain Thatcher’s bride.”
She opened her mouth to confirm his statement when he jerked her forward, robbing her mouth of words. A breath later, she was standing on a stool surrounded by half a dozen sets of scrutinizing eyes and as many pairs of poking and prodding hands.
“My dear,” Tristan called to her over the heads of the tailor and his servants. “I would like to introduce you to Roger the Tailor. Roger, this is my wife, Rose.”
Roger stood next to her. “Pleased to meet you, Mistress Thatcher. Lift your arms.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” she said in jest, but the tailor either didn’t appreciate her humor or his brain was too full of measurements, colors, and fabric to have heard it. She raised her arms and saw the smile on Tristan’s face, demonstrating that he, at least, had enjoyed her jest.
Roger’s nimble fingers proceeded to pinch and poke her from head to toe while he barked orders at her and everyone else in the room. Servants with arms full of draping cloth moved around the room like a dance, gracefully swooping close to her with new fabrics, then backing away again as someone else stepped forward. Colors flashed by her eyes as they were arranged across her shoulders then whisked a
way.
“Bring me the olive brocade, Thomas,” Roger shouted.
A moment later, a thin boy with wide eyes and a panic-stricken face disappeared to the back of the room. When he finished selecting a fabric, he raced back to Roger’s side.
“Does that look like olive green to you, boy? You are my apprentice. Do not shame me.”
Rose watched the boy glance at the dark green swath of brocade, clearly uncertain whether his answer should be aye or nay.
“No, it is not,” Roger barked.
The boy’s eyes grew even wider as he raced back to the teeming shelves where he stood unmoving, his hands gripping his hair. Rose’s gaze flitted between the impatient tailor and the nervous lad, wishing there was some way she could help. But then Tristan crossed the room and assisted the lad who looked like he wanted to throw his arms around the captain’s neck in gratitude. Her heart flooded with warmth as she met Tristan’s gaze. She decided in that moment that there was nothing more appealing in a man than quiet confidence. Tristan wore his size and strength with graceful ease. He was humble and good, and he led his men with a firm but kind hand. If she did ever decide to marry again, she hoped he possessed the same gentle strength.
When Roger at last bade her step down, Tristan had ordered seven tunics and surcotes of various silks and rich brocades, several kirtles, just as many veils and sleeping gowns, not to mention three pairs of slippers. She could not imagine how she was ever going to wear everything. It was amazing and ridiculous all at once. And one thing she knew for certain, it was an adventure.
“Ye’re right, Captain. I’m exhausted,” she said, her heart still racing from the excitement.
Just as the door was shutting behind them, Roger shouted. “Not that one, Thomas!”
Rose raised her brows in alarm. “Poor, Thomas,” she said, her heart going out to the hardworking boy.
“Thomas is very fortunate. He will become a great tailor under Roger’s tutelage. There are many young men in Cardiff who wish they were the one Roger had chosen to yell at.”