Afterwards, Cordelia gathered a heap of cushions on to the floor, leaning against one of the divans, while Iain stretched out upon it, as relaxed as she was with this strange but infinitely comfortable arrangement, which allowed a view of the shore on one side, the sea on the other. ‘The night falls so quickly here,’ she said, ‘like a curtain coming down. And the stars are so big, they seem so much nearer.’
‘It is very beautiful,’ Iain replied. ‘I had always thought it a sailor’s tale that you could reach out and touch them, but it’s almost possible, lying here, to believe that you could.’
Cordelia twisted round to look at him. ‘Iain Hunter, I believe you are turning into a romantic.’
Her shoulder was brushing against his knee. He smiled lazily at her from his prone position. ‘Moonlight, stars, a royal barge, a waiting desert and a beautiful woman. It would turn any man into a romantic.’
‘Any man who was not a rough Glasgow shipbuilder.’
* * *
Any man, Iain thought, restraining the impulse to touch her, even a Glasgow shipbuilder.
Cordelia’s face was in shadow, for the lamps were not lit, but he sensed her looking at him. She was unbearably close, unbearably out of reach. The silence between them was intense, filled with an acute longing. ‘We arrive in A’Qadiz tomorrow morning,’ he said bracingly, though in truth it made his heart sink. ‘You’ll be with your sister soon.’
‘Yes.’ She shifted out of his reach, curling her legs up to her chest, and wrapping her arms around them.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
Which meant there was definitely something, and it wasn’t the thing which must not be talked about, which left only one thing. ‘Tell me about Celia,’ Iain said.
‘What do you want to know?’
Prickly, definitely on the defensive, which, knowing Cordelia, meant she was much more worried than she wanted to let on. ‘What age were you when she left?’ he asked.
‘Thirteen.’
Her terseness confirmed his thoughts. She sat huddled, so patently struggling with whatever fears and insecurities this eldest sister aroused, yet equally patently determined not to let him see them. He wanted to help her, and the only thing he could think to do was to tell her of his own sister. To talk about something he had never talked about, in the growing dark, on what might well be their last night alone. Could he? Iain pulled his kerchief from his waistcoat pocket, shook it out and began to fold it methodically into ever smaller squares. ‘I was twelve when Jeannie—when I lost Jeannie,’ he said. ‘She was only just turned seven.’
Cordelia edged closer to him.
‘She was a bonny wee thing,’ he continued. ‘She had one of those smiles that could wind you round her wee finger. A terrible liking for barley sugar, she had, her hands were always sticky with it. Hair the same colour too, just like—like our mother’s, and eyes the blue of the sky on a rare summer day.’
‘Like yours,’ Cordelia said.
‘The only likeness we shared. Also from our mother.’
‘So you take after your father?’
‘I have no idea.’ The words were out before he could stop them, betraying the anger and hurt he’d thought long buried. ‘He’s been dead a long time,’ he said, which could well be true, for all he knew.
Cordelia reached for his hand, forcing open his clenched fist, removing the crushed square of cotton, twining her fingers his. He looked down at them, and forced himself to recall that other little hand, so trusting.
‘Did you lose your sister at the same time as your parents?’ Cordelia asked softly. ‘You told me that you were an orphan, I remember.’
Had he? Iain tried to recall. So accustomed was he to thinking of his mother as dead, he could well have led Cordelia to believe it was true. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. He tried to remember why he’d decided to talk at all. He moved, instinctively making to escape, but Cordelia’s grip on his hand tightened.
‘Tell me more about Jeannie.’
He did not know if he could, but he wanted to. He really did want to. ‘Funny to think that you are a wee sister,’ Iain said. ‘I can’t imagine you trailing about after anyone, not even as a bairn.’
‘Oh, but I did. I was forever wanting to be let in on Celia and Cassie’s confidences. I thought Celia the most elegant person it was possible to be, and Cassie the most beautiful, while I was just a—a ragamuffin in comparison.’
Iain laughed. ‘I find that very hard to believe. I’ll wager you were every bit as able to wind them all around your wee finger, just as Jeannie was.’ He leaned back against the divan, closing his eyes. ‘I remember,’ he said, and allowed himself to do so, for the first time. Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the fact that they were so very far from home, here on a wooden barge on the Red Sea. Another climate. Another continent. Or maybe it was just that Cordelia was the right person to tell. Whatever it was, his memories were golden for once, untinged by the dreadful loss, dancing into his mind and tripping from his tongue as lightly as Jeannie had danced and laughed, full of the joys, a wee sprite of a thing who could make even their mother’s drunken husband, the man they called father, smile.
Iain opened his eyes and sat up. ‘It was a Tuesday morn, the day of the accident. Our father was supposed to be working, but by then he was fonder of the hard stuff than hard labour. Jeannie must have seen him going into the tavern. She ran out in front of a dray.’ He heard Cordelia’s sharp intake of breath, but forced himself to finish. ‘Two huge Clydesdales there were pulling it, and she was such a wee tiny thing, she didn’t have a chance.’
He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried since that day, but he hadn’t talked about it either. His throat closed over. He felt it working, swallowing repeatedly, and couldn’t seem to control it. He couldn’t bear to look at Cordelia, though he could feel the force of her concentration, the strength of her grip clinging to him as if she would save him. Not that he needed saving.
He forced himself to unpick his fingers from hers, and shifted so that his back was to her. He breathed, deep gulping breaths of the warm, salty air, as he tried to get the image from his mind, the white feathers of the great gentle horses, the jingle of their heavy bits, the grinding of the dray’s wheels on the cobbled stones of the dockside road, the shouts, the screams, the crack of bone.
Soft hands slid around his waist. A body pressed against his back. Cordelia held him tightly, her cheek against his shoulders, and only then did Iain realise he was shaking. ‘I don’t know what she was doing there,’ he said, the question Cordelia hadn’t asked but he knew she was thinking it, for who wouldn’t? And it wasn’t true, that he didn’t know, though he had never asked for confirmation. By the time word reached him, his mother was hysterical, beyond questioning and reason, the man he called father was dead drunk, and Jeannie...
‘They said she didn’t suffer,’ he said.
‘You must hope so.’
It was that. The way she didn’t simply agree, the way she didn’t pretend she could know otherwise, the way she didn’t offer him false comfort. It was that, that wrenched the choking sob from him. It was the way she held him, her face to his back, her arms tight, holding him together yet allowing him his privacy that allowed the second sob out, and the third. He felt no shame, only an enormous relief. His shoulders heaved, then gentled. He felt strangely disconnected from himself, intensely aware of Cordelia yet at the same time, quite alone. He breathed, in and out, in and out, and let it wash over him, the grief, until it calmed, and though it was a cliché it was true, he felt emptied.
‘I was twenty miles downriver at the docks in the Port,’ Iain finally continued, turning, but still in the circle of her arms. ‘He—my father—he’d lost his job there, and had taken another at a yard not far from the Broomilaw, where you and I first met.’
; ‘So that is why you don’t drink.’ Cordelia touched his cheek, then burrowed her face into his chest. ‘You must think I am an ungrateful wretch, the way I have complained about my own family. I feel absolutely dreadful.’
‘In many ways, he was a better father than yours. He tried to do his best for me, and he loved Jeannie, even though...’ Iain caught himself. There had been more than enough revelations for today. He felt better, but he had no doubt lifting up that particular stone would make him feel a lot worse. ‘He was a drunkard, but he had cause,’ he said, and before Cordelia could comment, disengaged himself from her embrace. ‘I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel bad,’ he said gruffly. ‘I told you because I wanted you to know.’
* * *
Cordelia froze. I wanted you to know. It was a dangerous thing, this knowing, for it led to wanting more, and it led to more being demanded in return, and that wasn’t part of their agreement. She didn’t want to be known. ‘You wanted to reassure me,’ she said, because that made sense. ‘Because you could see I was worried about meeting my sister. To reassure me that at least I have a sister.’ She could have kicked herself. Not only did she sound ungrateful, she sounded callous. ‘I mean, you were trying to show that you understood what it is like to lose a sister,’ she continued ineptly, ‘not that I’ve lost a sister. Not the way you have, but...’ She trailed off, realising she was digging a bigger and bigger hole for herself. She’d mentioned her nerves merely in order to deflect him from seeing how upset and confused she was, but now she wished she had not, for she had inadvertently broached the subject she had been so keen to avoid. ‘It’s late,’ she said.
She should have known Iain would not be so easily deflected. ‘What is it that’s really bothering you?’ he asked.
This was the downside of confidences, Cordelia thought, this expectation that they would be returned. And the strange thing was, she wanted to, and that frightened her almost as much as the doing. ‘It’s nothing.’
It came out sounding exactly like the lie it was. Iain made an exasperated sound. ‘Our betrothal, as you never fail to remind me, might not be real, but I do understand what makes you tick. You don’t like it, but there it is. Now, you can either embrace it and let me help you with what is obviously troubling you, or you can do what you usually do, which is bottle it all up and hope it will go away. It’s up to you. Cordelia.’
She was angry, not with him but with herself. She hated being in the wrong, and she hated that he was so horribly right. She felt chastised, and she knew she deserved it, for she had behaved as pettishly as a child. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sounding far from it, ‘it is simply that I am accustomed to sorting out problems myself.’
A statement so obvious, and so mutually applicable, that she was not surprised when Iain did not deign to reply to it. With difficulty, she forced herself to examine the issue. ‘It’s not that I think Celia won’t like me, or that I won’t like her, but she is very—opaque. A diplomat, if you like. It is the one way in which she resembles our father. I am sure she will welcome me, but I am afraid that she— Oh, if you must have it, I am devilish scared that she will disapprove of me. She might not even like me!’ She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Iain in the gloom. ‘There, are you happy now?’
‘What do you think she’ll disapprove of?’
‘Well—you know—my being unmarried and—and unrepentant of my experience.’
‘So you’re planning on telling her all then, as you told me? Though I’m assuming you’ve never told your other sisters, since you did not turn to them for help when you left that ba—that man.’
‘I did not need help,’ Cordelia said. A lie. She could almost feel his mind probing hers, seeking out the truth. Looking down, she realised her arms were still defensively crossed, and quickly unfolded them, tucking her hands under her thighs. ‘I suppose now you will tell me that there is such a thing as being too independent,’ she said, unable to prevent herself falling back on her usual tactic of attack as the best form of defence, ‘but I am willing to bet that you never asked anyone for help either.’
‘I have not the wide selection of siblings you have to turn to. And, no, I did not say that because I wanted you to pity me, merely as a statement of fact.’
‘What about that man, Jamie?’
‘What about Jamie?’
‘You have entrusted him with the custody of your precious shipyard. That must surely mean he is a friend as well as a business partner?’
An uncomfortable silence followed. Cordelia would have given a lot to see his face, but lighting a lamp would mean he would then be able to see her, so she refrained. ‘I haven’t needed to ask for help,’ Iain finally said.
‘Any more than I have,’ Cordelia retorted. This time, the silence was weighted against her. She could positively feel Iain’s scepticism boring into her. ‘When I left Gi—the man who shall not be discussed, Caro was in the middle of her own scandal. She had left her husband. Not her current husband. And Cressie was still in the first flush of love with her husband, the Italian painter she eloped with. Actually, Cressie and Giovanni seem still to be besotted with each other. As are Sebastian and Caro. Sebastian is Caro’s second husband.’
‘Your sisters seem to be almost as unorthodox as you,’ Iain said.
‘Yes.’ Cordelia chewed on her lip. ‘I didn’t even try to get in touch with any of them, if you must know. Of course you know. Have guessed. Not at first. I was too—not ashamed. Yes, ashamed, but mostly I felt I’d failed, and I wanted to have succeeded in something, or not failed in something before I contacted them, and you might think that is just silly pride and foolishness, and so it was, but I would most likely do the same again,’ she finished in a rush. ‘Caro and Cressie are so happy, Iain. All of us have been damaged by our upbringing one way or another, but I am the only one who has not managed to put it behind me. You’ve witnessed how—how furious my father can make me, how he can hurt me.’
‘And I’ve witnessed you starting to come to terms with it.’
‘Come to terms, but I have not triumphed as they have. I know that is a strange word to choose, but it is how I am made to feel. You heard Aunt Sophia. And even Bella, when I told her that I was a wealthy woman in my own right, she was completely unimpressed, and seemed to think it was much more important that I made my peace with you. A man, you see. That is the pinnacle of success for a woman, having a man by her side.’
‘And all of your sisters have that while you don’t.’ Iain touched her shoulder briefly. ‘Yet you have succeeded on your own terms, Cordelia. Or don’t you actually believe what you preach?’
‘I don’t preach. Merely, I have to speak louder to be heard above the—do I preach?’
‘Not half as much as I rant on about steam engines.’
‘I suppose that what it comes down to is that I am on tenterhooks all the time, waiting to defend myself,’ Cordelia said sadly. ‘That is what is so difficult to bear. Being reunited with Cressie and Caro was one of the happiest days of my life. A huge consolation and an enormous disappointment, for I cannot ever make myself be wholly open with them.’
‘You know best of course, but do you think you were ever really that close, Cordelia?’
‘Yes, we were! Well, we were younger then and there was not— Oh, I don’t know. Do you mean that I expect too much of this reunion?’
‘I think you’re expecting Celia to plug a big hole that she can’t possibly fill. I think maybe you’ve always been much more alone than you realise. I’m thinking—’ Iain broke off. ‘You know what? Maybe it’s best that I stop telling you what I think. I’m just a shipbuilder, not a philosopher. Why don’t we just wait and see what happens tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow. I can’t quite believe it.’ Cordelia felt quite ill at the thought. ‘Iain, will you— Can I ask that you refrain from telling Prince Ramiz the truth about
us until I have spoken to Celia? If you can do so without compromising your business deal, that is?’
There was a pause before he answered. ‘That’s an awful lot to ask, Cordelia.’
Her heart sank. ‘You’re right. I should not have—’
‘The thing is,’ he interrupted her, ‘I’m anxious to make the most of all these concubines I’m sure the prince will have waiting for me, and I don’t want you to feel your nose is out of joint.’
‘Iain! You are outrageous.’ Cordelia chuckled. ‘I cannot imagine my sister tolerating even one concubine, never mind a harem full.’
Iain sighed theatrically. ‘In that case, I’ll just have to make do with you.’
‘I am terribly sorry, I know a plain Englishwoman cannot compare with an Arabian houri straight out of the pages of One Thousand and One Nights.’
‘I very much doubt any woman could compare to you,’ Iain said.
The laughter had gone from his voice. Cordelia caught her breath, quite taken aback by this admission. Iain too seemed startled. She sat frozen to the spot, her heart pounding, knowing that she should make some light riposte, unable to think of a single word. When he pulled her into his arms, she told herself that she would resist, but could not.
His kiss was soft, almost tender. He held her face between his hands as if afraid she might break, and tasted her as if she might dissolve. He kissed her slowly, carefully, keeping enough distance between their bodies so that they touched but did not press.
Water lapped at the dhow. A camel bleated. Somewhere on the sea side of the boat, there was a splash. The kiss went on and on and on. And then it stopped, long before it was enough, long after it was too much.
When Iain helped her to her feet, the boat was quiet, the crew sleeping, save for the night watchman, who looked at them impassively as they descended to their bedchambers. The small porthole was already open, covered with netting to keep out the mosquitos. Cordelia undressed and lay naked between the cool sheets, touching her lips, closing her eyes and weeping, a silent steady flow of tears she could not explain that left her emptier than she had ever felt before.
Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch Page 18