by Lily Baldwin
“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Davy.”
A short while later it was time for dinner. Rose, Tristan, and Philip sat at a table that had been carried onto the forecastle. It was Davy who brought their tray around. He set a wooden bowl, brimming with a richly scented stew, in front of her, plus a large slab of buttered bread.
“Is there anything else I can get you, Mistress Thatcher?” the young lad asked.
“I have all that I need and more, Davy. Thank ye.” Her words of praise heightened the flush of cheeks. Grinning at her, he started to back away without serving Tristan or Philip.
Tristan cleared his throat. “Ah, Davy, do you think we might have some stew as well?”
Davy’s eyes widened. He rushed forward, serving his captain and quarter master all the while his cheeks grew redder and redder, until Rose thought he looked like a blushing ball of fire.
“Will that be all, Captain?” Davy said, bending in an awkward bow.
Tristan wore a bemused smile. “Yes, Davy, run along now.”
The cabin boy scurried away, down the forecastle stairs, then into line with the other men who held wooden bowls and awaited their ladle of stew from the cook’s pot.
“Did you enjoy your trip ashore?” Philip asked, drawing her gaze.
She smiled. “Enormously.”
Tristan leaned in. “I have given Philip the details of our meeting and our union.”
Philip grinned and raised his cup of ale. “To the happy bride and groom,” he said loudly.
“To the happy bride and groom,” the crew echoed, raising their cups high.
Rose and Tristan both arched their brows at Philip before they turned and smiled at the men. After they downed their drinks, Tristan leaned close, speaking quietly to Rose. “Moments before we spotted you drifting on the waves, I prayed to the sea for an answer to my trouble, and then you appeared.” Before he continued, he scowled at Philip. “I also prayed for the sea to send me a new quarter master, but that request has gone unanswered.”
“We’ll just have to keep praying,” Rose said, unable to hold back her smile.
Philip sighed dramatically. “One day in the not too distant future, you are both going to thank me.”
“We’ll thank you for not making any more toasts,” Tristan said, arching his brow.
Rose nearly spit out her half-chewed bite of stew. “Or speeches. Definitely, no speeches.”
Philip winked at her as he slowly started to stand. Then he stretched his arms wide. “Attention, men, I have a few words to—”
Tristan and Rose each grabbed one of the quarter master’s arms and yanked him back down. “Do I need to send you to your room again?” Tristan scolded.
But Philip only smiled. “I shall behave myself. You both have my word.”
“Why do I not believe ye?” Rose said, smiling.
Their meal continued without further antics from Philip. Before long, the sun dipped just below the horizon. Rose stared out to sea at the soft rippling waves shimmering violet beneath the twilight sky.
~ * ~
Tristan studied Rose’s profile as she cast her gaze out over the darkening sea. He could feel her passion. It was the same passion that burned inside him. The spirit of the waves and tides lived inside her. He could feel it pour off her whenever she grew pensive and gave herself over to its power. Her hands gripped the table. He knew she was likely unaware of how her fervor showed on her face. He leaned closer, drawn to the longing that mirrored what he felt in his own heart. But then he stiffened the instant after a look of utter anguish crossed her features. It was fleeting, like the flap of a bird’s wing, and yet he knew what he had seen.
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you all right?” he said in a soft voice.
She turned back to look at him, her brows drawn in confusion. “Of course, I am,” she said smiling. “’Tis a fine night. I’ve a full belly. I’m aboard a magnificent ship that will soon be voyaging to France. There is little that could improve my mood.”
She wasn’t lying. He could see the joy now glinting in her eyes. Whatever darkness had entered her thoughts had come and gone. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what secret sorrow she carried with her.
He stood and offered her his arm. “Would you like to take a turn across the deck before you retire?”
She put her hand in his and smiled. “I would, indeed.”
The memory of her quiet sadness remained within him. He wanted somehow to take whatever it was that pained her away. “It is strange, Rose. But somehow, I feel like I’ve known you much longer than a week.” He chuckled then. “It’s absurd, I know. In so many ways, we are still strangers to each other, and yet…”
She nodded. “I feel the same way. I think it is because, despite all that separates us, we are very similar creatures.” She raised her arms to the sky and turned to encompass the surrounding dark water. “’Tis the sea that binds us. There is more salt water than blood flowing through our veins.”
He chuckled. “I believe you’re right.”
He led her down the hatch to the cabins below.
“Where will ye sleep?” she asked. “Surely, ye cannot sleep above deck. Won’t that raise questions among the men?”
He motioned to the door across from his. “Philip has given up his room. He will be the one to sleep aloft.”
She pointed to the door farther down. “Why does he not sleep there?”
“That room is for the surgeon,” he explained.
“Oh, of course. When will he arrive?”
“I expected William earlier. You will like him. He’s a good man. He sailed the first ship I captained, in fact.”
“I look forward to meeting him.”
For a moment, they stood unspeaking, their gazes locked. Without thinking, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then jerked away when he realized what he had done. “Forgive me. I forgot myself. It just seemed natural.”
She pressed her hand to her cheek. The slightest smile curved her lips. “I’m not offended.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise you, I will not allow another slip like that.” Then he bowed low at the waist. “Goodnight, Rose.”
“Goodnight,” she said softly before turning into the room, her gaze holding his until the door closed between them.
He flattened his hand against the slatted wood of the door and blew out a long, slow breath. “Be careful,” he whispered out loud to himself. Then he turned and headed up the stairs, shaking his head. He needed to keep his ever-growing attraction to Rose in check. They had entered into an arrangement that required great care. Too much was at stake. He could not allow his mind to be muddled. He thought of his lips pressed against her soft skin. He had inhaled the scent of her hair.
“Blast,” he cursed aloud as he started across the main deck. Where was his usual control?
He mounted the stairs to the forecastle and was surprised to find Philip standing with William Asher, the Messenger’s new surgeon.
“When did you come aboard?” Tristan said, smiling.
William clasped his outstretched hand. “Just now.”
“It has been too long, old friend.”
“Indeed,” William agreed. “I believe it has been five years since we sailed together. I was happy to receive your message. I left almost immediately and rode straight through the afternoon and evening to reach Cardiff as quickly as I could.”
“I can tell,” Tristan said with a chuckle. “Forgive me, William, but you look shattered.”
William nodded, his smile still unwavering. “That I am, but forget about me. I want to congratulate you. Tristan Thatcher has taken a wife! You can imagine my delight when I heard the good news. When can I meet her?”
“She has just retired for the night, and I suggest you do the same. There is much to be done on the morrow.”
William eased his neck from side to side. “I admit these old bones of mine are tired. Now, if I remember correctly, the captain’s
room is the one on the right and the surgeon’s room is the second on the left.”
“Your memory serves you well, old friend,” Tristan said. “Let me know if there is naught else you require.”
“I will. Now, I insist you indulge an old man, and allow me to say once more, congratulations on your marriage.”
Tristan dipped his head. “Thank you, William.”
After the surgeon disappeared below deck, Philip gave his report. “Everything is well in hand for the night. Davy has first watch. Why don’t you also retire, Captain.”
“I intend to,” Tristan said. “I just want to give William time to settle in. I don’t want to risk him seeing me go into your room instead of mine.”
“Let us have another ale then,” Philip suggested while he reached for the pitcher. After pouring two cups, he handed one to Tristan, who had become pensive.
“Do you really believe we are on the right course?”
Philip gave him a quizzical look. “We have sailed from Cardiff to France more times than I can remember.”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
Philip took a long sip. Then he pointed out to the surrounding water. “The sea is vast,” he said, his voice quiet. “Vaster than either of us could ever know.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully.
“Of all the ships and islands, of all the waves and tides, the sea chose to bring Rose to you.”
“What are you saying, Philip? That Rose was destined to find us?”
Philip shook his head. “No, not at all. Rose was not destined to find us.” He stood up and downed the last of his drink. Then he set his cup on the table and headed for the stairs. “She was destined to find you,” he said.
Tristan sat for a while, Philip’s words echoing in his mind. He stared up at the moon. He had always felt an affinity with the soft orb. At the moment, the crescent’s glow reflected on the rippling waves. “Did you send her to me?” he whispered.
The next instant the wind picked up, turning the gentle ripples into waves that moved the ship in an undulating rhythm. “I believe it’s time I turned in, too,” he said out loud. He started to down the last of his ale, but given he was already talking to himself and the moon, he decided against it.
He waved up to Davy, who sat alert in the crow’s nest, before descending the stairs. Standing in the narrow hallway, he laid his hand on the door, behind which Rose slept. He imagined her red hair spread out across his pillow. Her thick dark lashes resting on her porcelain cheeks. He turned away quickly before his imagination could wander farther across Rose’s sleeping form. He grabbed the handle to Philip’s room.
“It looks like you’re even more tired than me,” a voice said.
Tristan jerked his head to the right. William stood in his doorway.
“Good evening, William. Is there something you require?”
William shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.” He lifted his shoulders. “It is a part of growing old. You can actually be too tired to sleep. I was just going to take a turn on deck.” Then, he took Tristan by the arm. “You’ve had too much ale, my boy. That is your quarter master’s room. Here,” he said, turning Tristan to face the door to the captain’s quarters. “Now off you go,” William urged.
Tristan cleared his throat. “I…er…I.”
“To bed with you, man. You can’t even string your words together.”
Tristan gripped the door handle to his own room. “Goodnight then, William.”
Chapter Twelve
Rose lay in bed staring up at the slatted boards of the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind while she considered all that had occurred. Never could she have dreamed that she would sail on a merchant ship to Wales and France and London—places she could not conjure images for, even in her wildest imaginings. She had spent most of her life within the city walls of Berwick.
After the massacre, she and her brothers were exiled to a camp hidden deep within a Scottish forest where they lived for five years. Then, she had been forced to outrun the long reach of King Edward alongside her brother Jack, whose new bride was wanted for treason against the crown. For more than two years, she had lived on the isolated shores of their haven. Over time, her life there had changed as they were joined by her other brothers—all outlaws to the crown but heroes to the Scottish people.
She knew that right and wrong were often blurred when the law was made by the wicked. Her brothers had spent years robbing English nobles on the road north into Scotland, which was not only against the law of men but of God. It was one of the ten commandments. Thou shall not steal.
But the MacVie men had stolen from wealthy English nobles who had laid claim to Scottish lands. Every penny taken was given back to the Scottish people. They fed exiled orphans whose families were slaughtered during the massacre. They helped rebuild Scotland’s armies, which she did not doubt was the right thing to do.
Likewise, she knew aiding Tristan was the right thing to do, despite the deception involved. He couldn’t marry a woman tied to such a deplorable family, nor could he allow his father to face the consequences of his rash decision. What’s more, she could change the destiny of her family. With a ship like the Messenger, there was nothing stopping Ian’s dream of turning the MacVies into merchants.
She gasped as a soft rapping sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts. Before she could ask who was there, Tristan stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind him. She pulled the covers up to her chin.
“What are ye doing?” she blurted, but then she noticed he had his eyes closed.
“William, the new physician, saw me entering the quarter master’s cabin and redirected me, thinking I was too drunk to find my own room.”
“Oh,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “I am decent enough. Ye don’t have to stand there with yer eyes closed.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”
Again, Rose was struck by how devastatingly handsome he was. She resisted the urge to pull the blanket over her head. What was it about Tristan that turned her into a blushing maid?
He sat down on his desk bench and faced her. “If you don’t mind, I will just wait here for a little while and give William some time to return to his room and fall asleep. Then I will just pop across the hall.”
“But what happens in the morning?” she asked. “What if William sees ye leaving Philip’s room then, or he catches ye tomorrow night? Anyway, he is sure to realize that Philip is sleeping aloft with the other sailors. Will that not start tongues wagging?”
Tristan took a deep breath. “You’re right. We need a better solution. As we carry on, I’m certain we will run into bumps such as this along the way. But I do not doubt that our two minds will find the answer.”
Rose sat up, keeping the sheet tucked beneath her chin while she thought. Her gaze darted down to the floor space. It was hardly enough room for her to stretch out, but if she were to curl into a ball, she could wedge herself in the tiny nook.
She threw the covers back, but kept her arm demurely crossed over her chest. “I will just sleep on the floor.”
Tristan raised a brow at her. “Have we met before? Because I’m fairly certain, if we had you would know that this ship could be sinking, and the only way it could stay afloat is if you slept on the floor of my cabin—and still, I would never allow you to do so.”
She smiled at his jest. “I suppose ye’re right. ‘Tis a silly idea.” She spread the covers back over herself and nudged as far against the wall as she could. “There is only one solution,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “Get into bed.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly allow you to—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” she snapped, interrupting him. “Do not think for a moment that our arrangement comes with true husbandly rights. Ye’re not allowing me anything, nor do I need yer permission regarding any of my decisions. I am a woman grown, slightly long in the tooth, and I do not take orders.�
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He held his hands up in surrender. “I refused your suggestion not as an order from your husband but as a true gentleman.”
“And I appreciate that,” Rose continued, softening the tone of her voice. “But we must proceed as man and wife for our scheme to work.”
Tristan shook his head. “Forgive me, but I must stand firm, not out of disrespect for you but out of respect for your honor.”
“My honor?” she said impatiently. “Tristan, I’m the peasant daughter of a fishmonger. Do not fash yerself over my reputation or whatever else ye think is at stake. We have but one choice, to share this bed.”
He stood up, his brow deeply furrowed while he considered the space next to her. “Even if I could bring myself to agree to your suggestion, I do not think we will both fit.”
“Och, the bed is not that small. Stop fretting and climb in,” she insisted. “We’re both tired, and if ye don’t remember, let me remind ye that we set sail on the morrow.”
His eyes widened at her tone. “You just might make a fine quarter master after all.” He eyed the narrow bed again, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. He reminded her of someone reconciling themselves to mounting a horse for the first time.
She had to bite the side of her cheek to keep from smiling as she pressed herself against the wall. Then at last, he lay down next to her but on top of the covers. The side of his body pressed against her full length.
Her breath caught.
Straightaway, she questioned whether he had been right after all.
Her heart started to race. He lay as stiffly as she.
“Do you have enough room?” he asked, his voice sounding pained.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “’Tis fine.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m glad. Goodnight then, Rose.”
“Good night,” she answered.
Then he blew out the candle on the stand, and darkness claimed the room.
She could feel the warmth and hardness of his body pressed next to hers. It had been eight long years since she shared a bed with a man. She closed her eyes and listened to his short breaths. Her heart thudded against her chest, pounding harder with every passing moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch her quickening breaths, but that was the worst thing she could have done. His richly masculine scent invaded her senses. And she wondered what it would feel like to lay there wrapped in his embrace, her face pressed against his chest.