Chapter Nineteen
AULAY WAS PERCHED high above the ship, working to repair the top sail line that had whipped clean of its ties.
Jack Mackenzie was Aulay’s best sail man—he had an amazing ability to shimmy up the masts to the very tops when needed.
But his leg injury had left Aulay without a necessary sailor on deck, and he’d had to climb up the mast to do the repairs himself.
He watched the Livingstones below him. They were working under Beaty’s command, and in truth, it was a relief—his men were getting some much needed rest.
Yesterday had been cold and blustery, and today was bright and the wind calmer.
Aulay worked for the better part of an hour, finishing the repair just as the sun began to slide into the horizon.
He looked toward the setting sun and thought of painting it.
A powder blue sky with streaks of gold, a muddy brown line that was the coast of Scotland. Home.
This was the sort of seascape he loved, a vast canvas of water shining gold in the early evening light.
Aulay retrieved the spyglass at his waist and looked out over the vista to study it, to remember it, so that he might paint it one day.
That thin brown line would grow out of the water as they neared it, rising into sheer cliffs and rocks.
The surface of the water would turn an undulating deep, dark blue in the moonlight, and the sky a tapestry of stars on inky black.
He guessed they had a day and a half of sailing, no more, before they reached Balhaire.
They would sail between the Orkney and Shetland islands before turning south, down the western coast of Scotland, where his return would be heralded.
As they maneuvered into the private Balhaire cove, a bell would sound, signaling their arrival.
Mackenzies would begin to appear, a few at first, then groups of them, all of them hurrying the half mile or so from the castle and village that surrounded it, all of them eager to greet loved ones returned from the sea and the world beyond.
Aulay’s father used to come out of the castle to greet him, but in the last few years, he had not—a bad leg ailed him and he seldom walked down to the cove now.
No matter—his father always waited eagerly for Aulay in the great hall, his dogs at his feet, a fire in the hearth, a plate of food and a tankard of ale waiting for his son.
His mother would be there, too. She had long ago accepted his love of the sea, although she never understood it.
She was forever relieved when he walked into the hall, her beautiful smile illuminating the dark old castle.
His brother Rabbie and his wife, Bernadette, would have heard the bell, and would arrive just after him, coming from Arrandale with their children.
His sister Vivienne, her husband, Marcas, and their brood would join the family in the hall, and his nieces and nephews would beg to know what he’d brought them.
Catriona, Aulay’s youngest sister, would run down to the cove, too eager to see him and hear his tales.
She would trek up to the castle with him, her arm linked through his, peppering him with questions.
Catriona would have liked to have been someone like Lottie Livingstone, an adventurer, but her parents would never have allowed it.
Sometimes, Aulay’s oldest brother, Cailean, and his wife, Daisy, would be in residence, having come for a month or so from England where they lived. They would greet him with their young daughter in Cailean’s arms, their son, Lord Chatwick, in tow.
Aulay was allowed to play the part of prodigal son for a few days, returning to them with news of the world.
For those days, he would be pampered and loved.
It was the only way, he’d long ago discovered, to win his father’s esteem.
But slowly his family’s life would return to the routine, and Aulay’s star would fade under the blazing virility of his brothers, the chatter of his sisters.
He would fade into the wall hangings, sitting quietly to one side, listening to the details of a life that did not include him any longer, wanting to retreat to his rooms and paint.
He kept his personal experiences to himself—the women, the wine.
The exotic and the heart-wrenching situations he saw in every port.
He kept his personal life separate from his family because he found it difficult to describe the sun to people who had only seen the moon.
Nevertheless, Aulay had always enjoyed his homecomings immensely and looked forward to them with great enthusiasm—the same enthusiasm he held for the next voyage after that.
But this time, he dreaded coming home.
Understandably, his family would be devastated by his news—they’d all pinned great hopes on this voyage in spite of their great skepticism.
Aulay had convinced them this launch was the rebirth of their trade, a path of return to their days of glory.
What he would deliver was the news that they could lose everything.
The cargo must be repaid. He had to determine a way to do it, even if it meant selling his ship. The Mackenzies were not debtors, they were too proud for that. Not even in the meanest of times had they been in debt.
Despair twisted in his gut, and Aulay lowered the spyglass.
He had no doubt that his father would insist the Livingstones be brought to justice for the losses they’d caused the Mackenzies, and his brother Rabbie would agree.
They lived by simple rules at Balhaire—one did not take what was not theirs, and if they did, there were consequences.
Regrettably, consequences didn’t simply disappear because Aulay had experienced something rather profound on this voyage.
Their loss was not diminished because he’d happened to allow his heart to be filled by the woman who had taken their ship.
Bloody hell, when there were women of every stripe in the world, why had he developed such esteem for the very one he could not defend?
He didn’t want to think of it, or confront it until he absolutely must. It was tragedy enough that he couldn’t rid himself of his more salacious thoughts of Lottie, much less her demise.
He went to put the spyglass away, but a movement caught his eye and he steadied the glass once more, shifting it slightly to the right. He could make out the topsails of a ship along the coastline.
He lowered the spyglass and started down.
On deck, Beaty reported that he’d seen the ship, too. “I’ll keep an eye,” Beaty said. “You ought to have a wee sleep now, Captain. We’ll reach the islands before dawn.”
Aulay was grateful for the opportunity to rest and made his way to his cabin by way of the hold, where he helped himself to one of the last biscuits and some salted fish they’d managed to catch this morning.
When he returned to the deck, the sun had all but disappeared into a ribbon of pink evening light.
As he reached the landing of the forecastle, the door to the forward cabin opened and Lottie stepped out.
She hesitated when she saw him, then looked back over her shoulder and carefully pulled the door to.
They’d hardly spoken since he confessed he didn’t know what to do with her.
She looked better rested than she had in previous days, and the sun had put a rosy color in her cheeks.
Her hair hung over her shoulder in a thick rope, and she played with the end of it, seemingly reluctant to move one way or another, to cross his path or step back into the smaller cabin until he’d disappeared round the corner to his own cabin.
“Is that where you’ve been hiding, then?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the first mate’s cabin.
“Better there than at the top of the mast, like you.”
“You spied me there, did you?”
“Spied you? I thought you meant to leap to your death what with all the trouble.”
He could not suppress a sardonic chuckle. “If I intended to leap to my death, I would have done it long before today, aye?”
That earned him a wee smile. “Aye.” Her gaze fell to the biscuit and fish he held.
“I owe you thanks,” he said, and slipped past her, intending to walk on to his cabin.
She looked at him with surprise. “For what, then?”
“For convincing your men to work. You were right—they’ve been a great help to us. My men are rested.”
“I think you are the first to ever suggest that the Livingstones have been helpful,” she said wryly. “We’re a hapless lot, Captain. I thought we’d drive poor Mr. Beaty to drink.”
“I’d no fret about that,” Aulay said. “Beaty will search high and low to find something to drive him to drink.”
Lottie’s smile deepened.
Aulay gave her a nod. His head told him to go, to politely end this conversation, and he walked on, but as he rounded the corner, Lottie took a small step forward and asked, “Will you avoid me forever, Aulay?”
His heart leaped ahead of itself. “I’ve been commanding a ship,” he said, although that excuse sounded quite hollow to his own ears.
He was still moving, a sort of half walk, half hesitation.
“I mean to rest now, aye?” he said, and made himself walk on to his cabin.
He opened the door and walked inside, put his food on the table.
“Have you perhaps determined you ought no’ to put yourself in the company of a woman who will face a judge?”
He turned to the door. Lottie was standing there, her body silhouetted against a dark blue sky.
Aye, it was something like that, some regret eating at him, tearing him apart from the inside out, and once again, he was astonished that she seemed to understand him.
“What are you doing, then?” he asked. “Do you attempt to persuade me to be gentle with you when the time comes?”
“Will you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It willna be up to me, lass.”
“Then no,” she said, and smiled a little. “May I say something?” she asked.
Aulay leaned back against the table and motioned for her to continue.