by Lily Baldwin
“Tristan, don’t ye dare block that—”
The sound of his broad sword carving into the floorboard reached her ears.
“Door,” she finished under her breath. She blew out a frustrated sigh. And then she turned to Elizabeth who clasped a candle in her fist, her eyes wide.
“You actually want to be up there?”
Rose nodded. “Of course, I do.” Then she cupped her hands and shouted, straining to reach Tristan’s ears above deck. “I would rather help the crew than wait for the storm to pass down here.”
“Don’t be mad at him, Rose. You know Tristan is only thinking of your safety and the safety of his crew.”
“He is overly cautious,” Rose answered.
Elizabeth smiled. “Of course, he is. He loves you.”
~ * ~
“Jack, what are we going to do? We’ve scoured the isles, and still there is no sign of Rose.”
Jack pressed his lips together in a grim line. He had no answer for Rory. They had visited every port in the Hebrides. No one attested to seeing a woman who fit Rose’s description, or the skiff Ian had built.
“I feel yer despair,” Alec said quietly, drawing Jack’s gaze. “Ye will turn yer back on Rose if ye give into it. She is alive. I am certain of it.”
Jack straightened and steeled his shoulders. “Alec is right,” he said to his brothers. “We hold fast to hope. We need to decide where to search next.”
Quinn came forward. “We should get word to the Abbot. He can send out agents to search the mainland.”
Jack nodded. “Let us return to Colonsay. Rory, ye can take our message to the abbot. The rest of us will start searching the coast.”
Alec dug the steering oar into the water, changing their course for home. Before too long, the sky began to darken. Ominous clouds writhed with terrific life overhead, but the wind was on their side, barreling them south past the Isle of Mull. Jack was certain they would reach Colonsay before the storm unleashed its fury upon their heads. But then, in the distance, a flash of lightning illuminated a massive square sail.
“Trim the sail,” Jack shouted over the wind. “Quickly, before we’re spotted.”
Rory seized the line and began carrying out Jack’s order.
Quinn grabbed the rails of their small vessel. “What is a ship that size doing so close to Colonsay? The nearest trade port is on Skye.”
Rory whirled around. “Is it a war ship? Do ye think we’ve been discovered?”
“It does not bear King Edward’s colors,” Jack observed. “’Tis a cog. It could be a merchant ship.”
“Or bounty hunters,” Rory warned.
“Quinn,” Alec said. “Ye know merchant ships better than any of us. How large is the crew for a ship that size?”
A great wave rocked their small vessel, but each man absorbed the motion in their stances.
“As few as ten but it can carry as many as thirty men,” Quinn answered.
Thunder roared around them. Then, suddenly, the sky erupted as rain battered down upon their heads.
“Jack, our ship is too small to weather this storm. The waves will tear her apart,” Quinn warned. “We must drift beyond its reach.”
“Nay,” Jack snapped. “Not until we take a closer look and find out who sails so close to our hideaway. Lads,” he cried, “take up yer oars.”
Battling mighty waves, they rowed closer to the cog. Water poured over the sides faster than they could bail it out.
Lightning flashed and in the fleeting brilliance, Quinn read the ship’s name. “’Tis the Messenger. I know this ship. She’s a merchant vessel owned by Owen Thatcher. He and his son are reputed to be good men.”
“They must just be passing through,” Rory said. “Mayhap, the storm brought them too close to shore.”
“Wait,” Alec shouted. “Look to the forecastle.”
The oar nearly slipped from Jack’s fingers, when his gaze settled on a slim woman with long, wet curls. A tall man, who he assumed was the captain, was walking toward her.
“’Tis Rose,” Alec cried. “I’m certain of it.”
Just as the words left Alec’s lips, the captain reached for Rose and tossed her over his shoulder. Fury surged through Jack as he watched her struggle against the man’s grasp.
“He’s taken her below deck,” Jack bellowed. “Row, lads. We’ve got a ship to board.”
~ * ~
“Rose, may I admit something,” Elizabeth said in the darkness as she gripped tightly to Rose’s arm. The ship rocked hard, thrusting them against the wall. Rose groaned and rubbed the emerging bump on her head.
“What is on yer mind?” she asked, mirroring Elizabeth’s casual tone. Shouts of the crew reached their ears. The wind screamed. Thunder roared. The waves pounded the hull.
“I’m terrified,” Elizabeth admitted in a calm voice that belied her confession.
Rose squeezed her hand. “Do not fash yerself. The Messenger is a fine ship.”
“But fine ships sink, too,” Elizabeth pointed out.
“That is true,” Rose replied.
“But…But,” Elizabeth stammered, losing all control. “I don’t want to be locked away in this tiny prison if it does.”
Rose lifted her shoulders, despite knowing the darkness would obscure her gesture. “That is precisely why I told yer brother to sod off.”
“I wish I had told him to sod off, too. We might have managed to shut him away in here, if we had fought him off together.”
“Hush now,” Rose said, sitting up straight. A new sound had combined with the might of the waves and the blasting thunder. The clanging of metal on metal reached her ears.
“What is that?” Elizabeth asked.
“It cannot be,” Rose muttered as she strained to hear.
“What?” Elizabeth insisted.
Rose slid to the floor, feeling beneath Tristan’s bed for a weapon. “The ship is under attack.”
“You cannot be serious,” Elizabeth cried.
“Do not panic,” Rose snapped while she shuffled on her knees, feeling for Tristan’s trunk. “Blast,” she cursed as the ship dipped and threw her back against the door. Ignoring the pain searing her skull, she scrambled forward and reached for the trunk. Lifting the lid, she frantically dug around for a dirk, but then she remembered her own blade with the sapphire gems and gilded hilt.
She reached for her chest, which was wedged beneath Tristan’s desk. She threw open the lid and wrapped her hand around the hilt just as someone thundered down the stairs.
“Quickly, get behind me,” she hissed, grappling for the bed.
“Blessed Mother, save us,” Elizabeth cried. Then a shrill scream fled her lips as the door suddenly swung wide and a man barreled into the room.
Rose roared and slashed her blade, but the intruder leapt back into the hallway. A flash of lightning illuminated his face. Her eyes locked with his. “Rory,” she cried. Then her knees gave way.
Rory reached forward and caught her. He pulled her close. “’Tis all right, Rose. Ye’re safe. We’re here, all of us, and we’re getting ye off this ship.”
Rose sucked in a sharp breath and pushed against his chest. “What have ye done?” she cried.
“What’s the matter with ye, Rose?”
“Let me go!”
As soon as her brother’s arms fell away, she raced up the stairs. Rain blurred the shadowed figures. “Tristan,” she cried. And then she saw him. Jack had his blade pressed to her husband’s throat.
“Drop yer swords,” Jack roared.
The crew’s weapons clattered when they hit the deck.
“Nay,” Tristan shouted above the din. “Do not listen to him. Save the women.”
“Jack,” Rose screamed, but then she slipped as a wave broke over the side of the ship. Alec, her brother with the gift of sight, rushed to her side and seized her arm, helping her to stand. They locked eyes. At that moment, Rose knew by the look of surprise on his face that he had seen inside her mind. He knew w
ho Tristan was to her.
Alec whirled around. “Jack, drop yer sword.”
“What the hell are ye talking about?” Jack shouted.
“He’s my husband,” Rose cried.
Jack froze. Then he looked at the man who stood captive beneath his blade.
“Listen to her,” the Englishman said through clenched teeth.
Rose seized Jack’s arm. “His name is Tristan. He’s my husband. Do ye hear me, Jack?”
A breath later, Jack lowered his blade, but the scowl still furrowed his dark brow. “Who the hell are ye?” he snarled at Tristan.
The writhing seas rocked the boat, causing everyone to lose their footing.
“Mayhap, we should discuss this after we secure the ship, or we are all going to die,” Tristan shouted.
Jack got right in Tristan’s face. “I might kill ye yet, Englishman.”
“Jack,” Rose admonished. “Thieves not murderers, remember?”
Another gust of wind barreled over the deck. “If we keep standing around,” Tristan snapped, “the angry sea might steal your chance.”
Jack sheathed his sword. Tristan scanned the deck. Then his gaze settled on Rose.
“Get down below,” Tristan and Jack said in unison.
“I will not!” She stood tall with her hands on her hips.
Tristan turned to Jack. “She doesn’t like being told what to do.”
Jack nodded. “Now that is something I do know.” Then he motioned to Alec who stood on Rose’s right. “Ye know what to do.”
Tristan lunged forward and grabbed Alec’s arm. “If anyone is turning my wife into a sack of potatoes, it’s going to be me.”
A smile curved Jack’s lips. “Alec, stand down.”
“Get away from me,” Rose shouted.
Tristan seized her and threw her over his shoulder. “Can I assume I just met the rest of your brothers?”
“Don’t change the subject,” she snapped.
He carried her below deck and kicked open the door to their quarters. Elizabeth screamed, her face a mask of terror in the shadows.
“Everything is going to be all right, Elizabeth.” He laid Rose on the bed, then locked eyes with his sister. “You stay put, too.”
Eyes wide, Elizabeth nodded as a whimper fled her lips.
Tristan shut the door and found his discarded sword, which he drove into the floor. Then he thundered back up the stairs.
When the storm cleared, Tristan scanned his decks. All his men were accounted for, plus four Scotsmen. Rose’s brothers stood in a line glaring at him. Unlike Ian, they all had black hair and fierce black eyes save one whose eyes were as blue as Rose’s.
“I know you all have a lot of questions. I will go down now and release your sister,” Tristan said, walking toward the stairs. Then he stopped and turned back. “We might be a few minutes. I have a feeling I’m about to weather another storm.”
Chapter Thirty
Rose leapt from the dinghy, sloshing through the surf. Water lapped at her tunic. Then she broke free from the reach of the sea. Her bare toes sank into the soft, white sand of Colonsay.
“Sweetlings,” she shouted, her heart pounding wild with delight.
She opened her arms wide, welcoming the oncoming surge of MacVie women. Amid joyful cries and peals of laughter, Bella, Catarina, Alex, Joanie, and Jack’s adopted lassies all piled into her arms and her heart until she fell back in the sand beneath the weight of their affection.
“We’ve missed you,” Bella cried, hugging her tightly.
“Where have you been?” Catarina asked.
Rose scanned their beaming faces. She smiled not knowing where to begin. Then she glanced toward the lapping waves and spied the spoils of her journey, and she knew exactly what to tell her lassies.
“I set sail to find my destiny,” she said. Then she pointed to Tristan who was walking toward them surrounded by her brothers. “And I found my husband.”
They erupted into girlish squeals. Questions and congratulations barreled from every direction. Laughing, Rose called out, “Lassies, I’m not done.” A hush settled over them. Then Rose pointed to the Messenger anchored off shore. “And I found my ship.”
They renewed their outpouring of excitement. Rose tried to keep up with their questions.
When Tristan and her brothers gathered around them, she untangled herself from their embraces, climbed to her feet, and threw her arms around Tristan’s neck. His lips claimed hers. She savored his kiss while her family continued to celebrate her return with laughter and cheer.
Later that evening, Rose stood alone once again staring out across the ocean at the moon, which hovered just above the horizon. It was full and burned bright like the passion pulsing though her veins. She was not the same woman who had once stood on that shore with an empty, restless heart.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “God is like the stars guiding a woman’s ship, but ‘tis the woman who makes her own destiny,” she whispered. Then she looked heavenward at the three stars forming Orion’s belt. “Yer mama has found her smile.”
“I didn’t know it had gone missing.”
Rose whirled around to find Tristan standing behind her. She reached out her hand to him. “It was missing for a long time,” she said, pulling him close.
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “I’m glad you found it, and I’m glad I found you. I was beginning to miss you.”
“What do ye mean?” she asked.
“When I returned to your hut after Jack showed me their fishing boats, you were gone. But Alec told me to look for you here, by the shore.”
She smiled. “I am often here.”
He scanned the smooth sand and jutting rocks. Then his gaze shifted to the star-studded sky. “I can see why.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “What do ye think of my family?”
“Now that your brothers no longer want to kill me, I’m really growing rather fond of them all.”
She laughed out loud. “Did ye see their faces when we started to regale them with our story.”
Tristan pulled her closer. “At first, I thought Jack was going to lunge for my throat when you told them about our feigned marriage. I’m glad he restrained himself.”
Rose chuckled. “Ye mistook Quinn’s arm around his shoulders for brotherly affection. Make no mistake, he was holding Jack back. But don’t worry, he was furious at me, too. But I think when we made it to the part where we were married in a church, by a priest with Ian present, that soothed his anger away.”
He laughed. “Before that he was likely planning how he was going to force us to wed and was relieved to know our hearts had already beaten him to it.”
Her laughter mingled with his. Then she sighed and rested her head against his chest as she gazed back out to sea.
“It is a beautiful night,” he said.
She nodded. “My ship looks particularly lovely bathed in moonlight.”
“Have you decided what you will do with the Messenger?” he asked.
“Eventually, I will give her to Ian. But for now, I am thinking of the places I wish to go.”
“May I make a request?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“Will ye sail the Mediterranean with me?”
Rose smiled up at him. “Are ye asking me to be yer new quarter master?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not.”
Her smile faltered.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I was going to ask if I could be your new quarter master, Captain MacVie.”
Laughter burst from her lips. She threw her arms around his neck. Her heart was so full it brought tears to her eyes. “Thank ye,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For giving me back my smile.”
He lowered his head. Their breath mingled. She stretched on her toes, pressing her lips to his. His scent enveloped her. His warm lips made her knees go weak. She savored his taste and the strength of his body. W
hen their lips parted, he stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Of everything the sea has given me, I never dreamed it would bring me you, Rose—My siren. My wife. My captain.”
More by Lily Baldwin
If you enjoyed Rose’s story, you won’t want to miss the other outlaws!
Alec: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws, Book 4)
Here is a sample of Alec’s story:
Chapter One
London, England
1302
Joanie Picard swept the silk robe from her mistress’s shoulders. Diana Faintree, a famed London beauty and singer, dressed in rich fabrics and vibrant hues, but she was as common as Joanie — both born to poverty, both fighting each day to survive.
Frowning, Joanie lifted Diana’s arm and inspected the red, horizontal stripes marring the fine skin below her shoulder — thick, evenly spaced markings left behind like a cruel keepsake from their master’s biting fingers.
“Leave them for now,” Diana said, keeping her eyes averted. “The morning grows old, like me, and we’ve still much to do.”
Joanie nodded and reached for the pumice stone. She ran her thumb across the abrasive, porous surface and winced. She loathed what would happen next. Glancing at Diana’s weary face, she couldn’t help but suggest, “Where it isn’t bruised, your skin is already so soft. Why don’t we skip the stone?”
“You already know my answer,” Diana said, her lips curving in a soft smile. “But I love you for trying. Go on,” she said, the last words at a whisper.
Joanie took a deep breath. Starting at Diana’s toes and working her way up her long leg, she set to work scouring Diana’s skin with the stone in small, circular motions.
“You’re too gentle,” Diana said, gritting her teeth.
Joanie looked up at her. “You are not well. I do not wish to hurt you.”
A forced smile stretched Diana’s lips wide. “I’m fine. You worry too much.” She shifted her gaze away from Joanie’s. “Do it right.”
Joanie looked longingly at the window and imagined throwing back the shutters and hurling the hateful stone beyond the palace walls. She tightened her grip around it. If only she could crush it to dust, but then her fingers fell slack, the stone neither soaring through the air nor crumbling to the floor. It filled her palm, and it was just as well — Diana would only procure another for her routine ablutions. For nearly five years, Joanie had served as Diana’s maid, and in all that time, they had never skipped her weekly rigorous beauty treatments — despite any new bruises received at the hands of their master or her failing health. Pressing her lips together in a grim line, Joanie gripped Diana’s thigh and continued scrubbing until her skin shone red.