The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 14

14

C aptain MacGalloway had not been wrong when he said that Cookie was to prepare a surprise. It wasn’t simply the dessert that was delicious, the whole meal was spectacular, with three courses—a flavorful consommé, perfectly roasted chicken served with cabbage and a loaf of real bread rather than biscuits, and a holiday pudding so sweet it made Isabella’s mouth water.

The captain reached for the wine bottle and topped up her glass. “I wish we had a wine cellar on board. I do believe a wee dram of port would complement the pudding perfectly.”

“This vintage is nice, though I’ve most likely had a tad too much wine for one sitting,” Isabella said, nonetheless reaching for the glass.

“I’m right fond of Islay whisky.” Mr. MacLean pushed his chair away from the table and looked to the other officers. “The meal was delicious, but it is time to make our rounds, men.”

Mr. Lyall stood and bowed. “As always, it was a pleasure dining with you, Miss Harcourt.”

“Och aye,” Mr. Erskine agreed. “You have been missed.”

She raised her glass and bowed her head. “Thank you, gentlemen. I have greatly enjoyed our meals throughout this voyage.”

“There are a few dinners yet to be served before we reach Savannah.” The captain pushed to his feet as well and offered his hand. “Would ye care to accompany me on a stroll across the deck?”

She placed her fingers in his sturdy palm. “I’d like that very much.”

Once they were outside, a gentle breeze greeted them, taking away the swelter from earlier in the day. Isabella turned her face to the wind, ever so glad she hadn’t bothered to don a bonnet. “I daresay the temperature is absolutely perfect at the moment.”

The captain brushed away a rogue lock of hair from his face, but it slid right back into place, nearly covering one eye. “I reckon nights like these are what keep men sailing.”

“Is that so?” she asked as they strolled to the ship’s rail. “I thought sailors took to the seas because of the promise of wages and the temptation of treasure.”

“Some do.”

She resisted the urge to twirl that roguish lock of hair around her finger, rather busying herself by running her hand along the hickory balustrade instead. “But not you?”

He followed her lead, walking beside her while the sails flapped overhead. “The sea is in my blood.”

“And so is the nobility—dukes, duchesses, and all that goes with the aristocracy and polite society.”

He flashed a discordant glance. “I left that world behind when I accepted my commission to the navy—havena looked back since, especially since my brother’s heir was born.”

“Hmm,” she mused. “No longer next in line?”

He picked up a cork bung that must have dropped onto the deck from a water cask and slid it into his sporran. “Thank the saints.”

“Why do you abhor the idea of inheriting a title? Your family seems to care for you very much.”

“My family is the best thing about the nobility.”

Isabella watched him as he strode forward, his tall frame solid, like that of a man capable of heavy labor. His kilt, always worn low on his hips, accented a pair of powerful calves. He turned toward the sea, shifting his fists to his hips, the stance making him seem as if he were in command of the world.

“Simply put, I might have been born into a dukedom, but being a lord with a courtesy title never suited me. I have too much of an adventurous spirit thrumming through my blood.”

Isabella patted her hand over her heart, trying to convince herself that she merely admired the captain’s physique—trying to convince herself that she had developed a fondness for him merely because she was in a tenuous state of uncertainty. Furthermore, insisting to herself that once she arrived in Georgia his memory would fade, replaced by a dashing image of Mr. Schuyler with splashes of grey hair at his temples. “Hence joining the navy and risking your life for king and country.”

Captain MacGalloway faced her, those eyes ablaze as if she’d struck a nerve. “Aye, and I’d do it again a hundred times over. The navy turned me into a man—showed me a life far more rugged than anything I ever could have imagined growing up in a nursery and the drawing rooms of the various homes and castles owned by the duchy.”

Clearly, whatever had contributed to compose the sum of this man’s character, it had truly turned him into a force to be reckoned with, regardless of if he was on the deck of a ship or carousing among London’s ton . “Yet you were—still are—a man who can command any ballroom, handsome and lofty enough to marry anyone he may choose.”

He smirked. “I shall never marry.”

“No?” Such a pity . “Whyever not?” she asked, her eyes meandering down to his chest.

Offering his elbow, the captain started off again. “I’ve known many married seamen, and not a one was happy. And I’m not about to become a blackguard who woos his wife and leaves her alone to bear the children whilst I’m off hauling whisky to the Americas and ferrying cotton to my brothers’ mill on the River Tay.”

“But surely if you fell in love with the right woman, you might decide to kiss the sea goodbye.”

“Not me. I’m married to my ship. I canna imagine saying goodbye to her. No more adventures, no more tempests to fight, no watching the sunrise alone on calm seas with nothing but water stretching to the ends of the horizon. I reckon I’d go mad.”

As they approached midship, music started by a group of sailors drew Isabella’s attention. They had made themselves comfortable, sitting amidst coils of rope and water barrels. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said.

“Good eve, Miss Harcourt. Ye are just the person I wanted to see!” Duncan hopped up, grabbed her hands, and pulled her into the center of the circle. “Play us a hornpipe, Thane!”

“You’d best make it a reel,” warned the captain as the men made room for him to join them. Goodness, he stood a head taller than most of them.

Thane, the former schoolteacher, must be a man of many talents, because he raised a fiddle to his chin and started to play a reel while another sailor rapped the hilt of his dirk on a quarter barrel to keep time, and another expertly played the spoons.

Isabella did her best to follow along while Duncan kicked up his heels like an overzealous sailor, his reel looked almost identical to the hornpipe he’d demonstrated for her during the Mr. Bogg’s incident. But the boy’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Laughing aloud, she let Duncan twirl her into circle after circle, until her head swam. “Stop!” she cried, only to have him release her hands and send her staggering and toppling straight into the captain’s chest.

Those strong arms wrapped around her and held her steady. “Easy there, lass,” he whispered against her ear.

She nearly swooned. “Perhaps I did imbibe in a little too much wine.”

The captain didn’t release her, his chuckle rumbling through Isabella’s body, making everything tingle. “I dunna think it is the wine so much as it is the experience of your dancing partner.”

“Och aye?” Duncan folded his arms over his boyish chest. “I can kick my legs higher than anyone on this ship!”

“That may be, lad, but ladies prefer a waltz to a hornpipe, or a reel, for that matter.” Captain MacGalloway gave Thane a nod. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Isabella’s mouth grew dry as the big Scot placed his hand on her waist and took hold of her right hand in preparation for a slow French waltz. Boldly, she shifted her gaze upward until she stared into those deep blue eyes. Beneath the night sky they seemed dark with want, staring at her with such intensity he made her feel as if he were able to see into her soul.

“But I’m a rather poor dancer,” she muttered feebly.

“Wheesht. Have you forgotten that we’ve shared a waltz?” He winked, a sly smile spreading on his lips. “I ken ye to be quite accomplished, lass.”

Thane began to play his fiddle, the tune sounding nothing like the raucous reel he’d played for Duncan. The instrument suddenly became an airy violin expertly singing a Mozart waltz fit for any ballroom in London. The ethereal notes swirled around them, as if attempting to merge their souls. Captain MacGalloway proved that expert marksmanship was not his only virtue. Yes, she’d danced with him before and noted his skill, but at the time she’d thought him an unscrupulous rake. Tonight the man demonstrated indisputable grace while maintaining unquestioned command, and Isabella had no difficulty following his lead. She also had no difficulty losing herself in the deep pools of blue presently captivating her attention.

She ought to be worrying about how closely he held her—only inches from his body—or whether she appeared to be smitten, or if she ought to put an end to the dance, because at least a dozen sailors were staring. But she would be unable to back away even if someone offered a chest full of Spanish silver. Isabella’s feet moved without effort as her heart soared, her attention utterly captivated by the Scot.

If only she could take this moment and freeze it—capture it in a bottle where she’d be able to revisit it time and time again. Even if she were able to seize this moment, how could she ever be able to replicate the feelings thrumming through her blood?

Captain MacGalloway led her through a series of turns, the last in concert with the end of the piece. He bowed while she curtsied, the breeze carrying the last vestiges of the final note out to sea—out to the place where history was kept.

“Cor,” croaked Duncan, his eyes wide, his mouth agape.

The others also appeared a tad stunned as they applauded. Isabella’s face warmed and she bit down on her bottom lip, praying no one else on the upper deck realized how much she had been captivated by the leader of their ship.

“I dinna ken ye could dance like that,” said the cabin boy.

The captain mussed Duncan’s hair, then looked to Thane. “Perhaps the lad’s ready to move on from hornpipes and reels. After all, he’ll most likely find himself in a ballroom one day.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Isabella took Captain MacGalloway’s elbow and, as he led her past Thane, she tapped the old teacher on the shoulder. “Thank you for the Mozart. Your mastery is truly inspiring.”

The voices of the men also faded with the breeze while Gibb led her to up the steps and to the bow of the ship. Isabella reflected back to when they began the journey—after she recovered from seasickness, she’d taken a stroll about the deck and found him there. “It wasn’t all that long ago we stood in this very spot and you showed me how incredibly liberating it is to look out over the abyss of the sea with the wind in my face, my arms opened wide. It was as if I were standing on the top of the world.”

“This has always been my favorite place of solace—to come here at night and listen to the sound of the sea and clear my head.”

Isabella glanced over her shoulder. She thought they couldn’t be seen by the men below, but she checked just to make sure. And once she had confirmed it, she gripped her hands tightly together over her midriff to calm her nerves and raised her chin until she again met his gaze. What she wanted was terribly taboo. What she wanted was unspeakable. Yet she knew that, deep down, she had the wherewithal to ask.

There are no bottles in which to trap memories.

She licked her lips.

He brushed an errant lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You look as if you have something to say, lass.”

A shiver of nervousness coursed through her. “I do.”

“Would you like to fly again?”

“No… I mean, I would like to, but there is something else I’ve wanted to ask, and since we are here…alone…I was wondering if…”

He leaned in, those eyes searching hers. “Hm?”

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind too terribly if you were to kiss me again,” she said as if making a business transaction. “After all, the last time you took me by surprise, and I wasn’t at all prepare?—”

Placing his hands on her cheeks, Lord Gibb MacGalloway smothered her final word with his lips. For the briefest of moments she stiffened, shocked by his sudden agreement. But as she sighed, her body relaxed and her fingers grew minds of their own and moved forward, sliding onto the captain’s waist. And with her sigh, a deep moan rumbled from the depths of his throat, sending frissons of energy crackling across her skin.

His full lips molding to hers, Isabella opened her mouth for him. His tongue swept inside and took up where their waltz had left off in a swirling mayhem of emotion. The big Scot proved magical, stroking deep, allowing her to savor his taste, the remnants of sweetmeats and the overtones of rum together with spices of cinnamon and clove.

When she sighed again, he shifted his hand around her, pulling her close. He deepened the kiss while trailing his fingers upward and threading them through her hair gently, expertly, delightfully. God save her, she never wanted this kiss to end. It felt too good and too right to be wicked.

She whimpered when he eased his lips away, not ready to stop. But then he trailed his lips to her neck, teasing the skin with soothing nibbles, tracing kisses along the sensitive flesh beneath her jaw. Again, he ran his tongue down the length of her neck, lingering as he found a new spot of utter sensitivity in the curve transitioning to her shoulder.

Arching her back, Isabella pressed her body along the length of him, bringing yet another surge of intense desire. “Gibb!” she cried out, clinging to him for dear life.

He chuckled—not a laugh, but a deep, rumbling murmur, expressing the same longing within her. “Did ye mean to call me by the familiar, Isabella?”

“Yes, Captain,” she replied, utterly breathless.

He kissed her again. “Then let it be so when we are alone. I adore uttering your name—Isabella, Issy, Bella. It is so very womanly, so incredibly irresistible.”

Unable to find the words for an adequate response, she cupped his cheek, rose onto her toes, and savored one more succulent kiss.

As their lips parted and he touched his forehead against hers, there was nothing more tempting than to remain in his arms for the remainder of the night, but she had already taken too much and was hanging on a dangerous precipice of no return. Drawing upon every bit of fortitude in her body, Isabella slid her palm to his chest and gently pushed away, putting a few inches between them.

“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I will never forget you.”

Before he could respond, she dashed to the stairs and headed for her cabin.