Chapter Eighteen
Watching Ian hover behind the helmsman checking the compass course when he wasn’t badgering the crew to trim the sails, Jamie thought it a wonderment Shane didn’t restrict him to below decks.
The schooner was sailing close-hauled to the wind and skirting the shoreline as closely as she dared while the crew’s faces grew more mutinous by the moment.
Only the fact that Shane remained on deck, except for brief naps over the past seventy-two hours when Ian nodded off, probably saved his brother from an icy swim to shore.
Jamie had actually risked an icy plunge himself when he reminded Ian that he might lead their clan, but on board ship, a captain’s word was law. And Shane, for all his scholarly pursuits, had a will of steel and an iron fist to back it up, if need be. Facts his crew obviously knew.
Not that Jamie blamed Ian for being near crazed. The only thing they knew was Jillian had been gravely ill when Shane left. No one gave voice to the thought that she might be dead by the time they got there.
Jamie balanced the wooden tray with its tin bowl of broth and oatcakes in one hand and knocked on Mari’s cabin door, not waiting for her response before entering.
She was lying on the berth, her face still a sickly green.
A canvas hammock attached to the bunk and secured to the wall kept her from sliding onto the floor as the ship pitched.
She waved a hand feebly. “Go away. I cannot eat anything.”
“’Tis a wee bit of broth to settle your stomach.”
“I do not want to cast up my accounts again.”
Jamie placed the tray on the small bolted table with high-fiddled edges to keep the bowl from slipping, unsnapped the hammock and sat beside her, holding out his hand. “Ye will feel better if ye sit up.”
Mari looked at him doubtfully, then put her hand in his while he eased her to an upright position and put an arm around her shoulders to brace her. She clung to his other arm and closed her eyes.
“The room is spinning.”
“Give it a minute. It will stop.” At least, he hoped it would. Mari had not eaten in two days, and she needed food.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, her hands still holding tight to him. Under any other circumstances, he would have been tempted to pull her closer to him and kiss those trembling lips that were mere inches from his. He felt a hard twinge in his groin and checked the thought.
“I hate boats,” she grumbled.
Jamie grinned. “Aye, lass. I am nae too fond of them myself.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “But you do not get sick.”
“I did when I was a bairn. Shane used to take great pleasure in seeing me hang over the rails, until I got old enough to put him on his arse once we got on dry land.”
She rubbed her stomach. “How did you overcome it?”
“With time ye get the feel of the ship, but the best remedy is being on deck, in the fresh air.” Jamie reached for the bowl and lifted a spoon to her mouth. “I will take ye up once ye have a bit of broth.”
“I do not think—” she said and then stopped as the warm liquid filled her mouth.
“’Tis nae bad, is it?” Jamie asked.
Mari swallowed and looked surprised. “It tastes rather good.”
“Aye. That would be the wee drop of brandy I put in.”
“Brandy? I have never had spirits.”
“Dinnae fash. ’Tis nae enough to harm ye. A wee drop helps settle the nerves.” Jamie lifted another spoonful to her mouth. “Try some more.”
This time she opened willingly, and he was reminded of the last time he had fed her. She had fought him at every step, and he’d had to pry her mouth open. Weeks had passed since then. Were they any closer to getting along?
His cock stirred again, reminding him that getting along wasn’t exactly what his other head wanted. Jamie studied Mari as her luscious mouth opened and then closed on the spoon as he fed her more. To have that mouth closing on him…
He gave himself an inward shake. Mari was only being compliant because she was near to starved.
Once she had her strength back, she’d be planting another grey hair on his head.
Mari didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful to place her feet on solid ground as she was when the ship finally docked near Perth in the Firth of Tay. Even though they still had several uncomfortable days ahead of jostling in a carriage, she would never again complain about bumps in the road.
From Effie’s pale, pinched face, she was probably mirroring Mari’s thoughts. For once, the maid seemed to have nothing to say. She just climbed into what was really more of a small wagon than a carriage without a complaint.
After giving orders to the driver, Jamie climbed in with them while Shane and Ian mounted horses and rode on ahead.
Mari was as anxious as Ian to see Jillian, but she knew having them all ride would just slow him down—not to mention Effie’s fear of the animals.
Mari almost smiled. She was actually beginning to like the big beasts.
“Wrap the plaids around ye,” Jamie said, handing one to Effie and taking another to lay across Mari’s lap as well as his and then tucking a part of it under her chin.
Effie frowned at the intimacy of having one blanket covering the both of them, but Mari ignored the look.
The wool felt blissfully thick, cutting the sharp cold that seeped in through the wooden slats, and Jamie’s body heat enveloped her like a warm cocoon.
She had no objection when he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. She felt cozy and sheltered.
Effie’s frown grew deeper.
“I have nae wish for the lass to catch a chill,” Jamie said affably. “’Twill nae help Jillian to see her sister ill.” He gave the maid his dimpled grin while he put his free hand on top of the plaid. “Will it please ye if ye can see where my hand is?”
The maid’s cheeks coloured, and Mari felt her own face warm. Little did Effie know the hand Jamie had around her shoulders was leisurely stroking her arm, causing an entirely different kind of heat to radiate.
Effie nodded. “I have a duty to see to Mari, you understand.” Then she smiled. “I know you are a gentleman and would not take advantage.”
Mari stared at her maid, not quite sure whether to be amazed because Effie was smiling or at what she’d said.
Jamie, a gentleman? And, as for not taking advantage…
his wayward hand, beneath the protection of the plaid, was inching its way much too close to her breast. She glanced at him, suspicious of his motives, but he was smiling blandly at Effie, practically mesmerizing the woman.
A gentleman indeed.
And how long were they going to be on the road?
Mari shifted her weight on the hard plank seats of the wagon two days later and rethought her vow never to complain about bumps in the road again—although what they traveled on could hardly be called a road, at least by English standards.
It seemed to be more of a washed-out gully with huge ruts and jutting rocks.
They’d had to change from the original wagon—which Mari now regarded as luxurious as any London landau or barouche—for this squat, lumbering box that rattled and shook precariously as the four sturdy, shaggy Highland ponies plodded painstakingly along.
Mari knew a lighter-weight carriage with spindly wheels would never have handled this terrain, but her bottom was in desperate need of more cushions.
“’Tis nae long before we will be at Oban and be rid of the wagon,” Jamie said as she jostled against his thigh and almost landed in his lap from the latest jolt. He grinned as he righted her. “Although I dinnae mind if ye wish for me to hold ye.”
“I am quite capable of sitting—ooph!” she said as she crashed against him again in a half sprawl.
“Are ye?” This time he tucked her alongside him, his arm around her waist. “I think it best I deliver ye to yer sister in one piece.”
“Humph,” Effie said from the opposite bench, but this time she frowned at Mari.
What? Did her maid think she was doing all this slipping and sliding on purpose? Her poor body sported bruises each night when she put on her night rail since slamming into Jamie MacLeod was akin to running into a rock wall.
“How far is Oban from your home?” she asked to change the subject.
“Nae too far. A half-day by water.”
“Another half-day?” Mari groaned and then stopped abruptly. “Wait. Did you say by water? We have to get on another boat?”
Jamie gave her a sympathetic look. “I fear so, lass. With the storm that chased Shane, the pass at Glen Coe will be completely snowed in.”
“There is not a way to go around it?”
“Nae. ’Twould take too long, and we wouldna ken if any pass were open.” He gave her hand a squeeze as the wagon lurched to a shuddery stop. “’Twill nae be as bad as the North Sea. Loch Linnhe be somewhat sheltered.”
Mari exchanged a dubious glance with Effie as they both stood on the dock an hour later waiting to board a vessel about half the size of Shane’s schooner.
The boat bobbed in the short chop, straining its lines.
A fine mist sprayed over her as the waves sloshed against the pilings, and Mari drew her travelling cloak closer, but the damp cut through anyhow.
Effie sneezed and tugged her scarf tighter.
Jamie appeared with the captain. “There is shelter below decks,” he said as he helped Mari onto the gangplank while the captain helped Effie.
“Oh, no. I am not sitting in a hole again.”
“’Tis dry and warm.”
“I have no wish to cast up my accounts again.” Mari planted herself firmly by the rail—and then swayed as the boat rolled beneath her feet.
Jamie steadied her. “Ye will catch a chill out here. Go below.”
“No.”
His jaw set in the way Mari was familiar with, and she braced herself for a round of arguments, but Jamie surprised her by saying nothing. The captain grinned at him.
“’Tis a good thing I’m nae needing help with the sails,” he said. “Ye seem to have yer hands full with the Sassenach.”
Jamie nodded grimly. “Ye have no idea.”
The captain’s grin widened, and he escorted Effie to the open hatch and ladder that led down. The maid cast a doubtful look at Mari and then, as a gust of wind sprayed water across the deck, she disappeared below.
“Ye really should follow yer maid’s lead.”
Mari lifted her chin, mainly to keep her teeth from chattering. “I…I…like…it on deck.”
Jamie shook his head and unwrapped his plaid from his shoulders and put it around Mari’s. “Ye are more stubborn than my sister, Bridget. I hate to see what happens if the two of ye butt heads.”
“I am sure we will not,” Mari said and then frowned. “I cannot take your plaid. You will freeze.”
“I am used to the weather.”
“That may be, but with this mist, you will be soaking wet. Ian will throttle me if you catch your death of cold.”
“Ye could do me the favor of going down below then.”
“I will be ill down there.” Mari hesitated and then she sighed. “I suppose we could share the plaid.”
Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. “Do ye regard me as the lesser of two evils, lass?”
“That is not—” she retorted hotly and then stopped.
He was teasing her again—the rogue—when she was just trying to be kind.
Mari would have stamped her foot in frustration except her footing was chancy at best, and she certainly did not need to plummet to the deck.
“Oh, hush,” she said grumpily and extended an arm, holding the plaid out. “Do you want to share or not?”
Jamie’s eyes darkened to amber and he slipped behind Mari, pulling the plaid around them, encircling his arms around her waist while he tugged her against him. “If ye insist,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.
Mari was instantly warm all over. How strange—what a difference a plaid could make.
By the time the boat docked in the shallower water in the estuary off Loch Linnhe, Mari was beginning to feel quite the accomplished sailor—not that she’d had anything to do with handling sails, but she hadn’t slipped and fallen flat on the rolling deck, nor had she cast up her accounts when Jamie finally persuaded her to go below since the wind had sharpened and the captain needed every available hand on the sheets.
Mari had even managed to nibble on some hardtack that tasted surprisingly good in the salt air, but that might have been because the bowls of broth Jamie had sent down contained another wee drop of his brandy.
Even Effie’s color returned by the time they were helped down the gangplank, although she mumbled something about how being on a boat was near as bad as being close to a horse.
“’Tis nae far now,” Jamie said as one of the wharf workers led a horse and sleigh out from the small building that served as a boarding stable for those who travelled by sea and back.
“Ye might find this a bit more to yer liking,” he said to Effie as he helped her and Mari into the rear of the sleigh where furs were heaped in a pile.
In no time, he had both of them covered to their chins.
To Mari’s delight, warm bricks lined the bottom of the sleigh and she sighed in bliss.
Her toes felt half-frozen since the thin leather half-boots had been little protection from the water that sluiced over the decks.
Jamie climbed onto the driver’s seat and Mari frowned.
Why wasn’t he sitting beside her? There was room, and he would be much warmer.
Sharing the plaid on board ship had proved how important it was to share body heat.
Really, he could catch a quite a chill up there exposed to the wind and mist that seemed to hang like a veil over the water’s edge.
“Would you not be more comfortable back here?” she blurted as Effie gave her a poke.
Jamie turned to look down at her, his eyes changing from gold to amber.
“Aye, lass, I would, but this is Ian’s sled.
He left it here so we will nae be needing a mon to drive us home.
” With that, he tapped the reins to the horse’s rump and the animal took off at a trot.
Mari thought it probably knew it was headed for its own warm stable and a good portion of oats.
Home. For Jamie, though his own isle was even farther north, this was home.
Mari looked at the passing landscape covered in white velvet with crystal icicles hanging from brown branches.
To their left, the slate-colored water of the estuary shone silver in the weak, wintery sunlight, while to the right Ben Nevis rose majestically, green conifers gracing its steep hillside, its summit lost in the misty clouds.
This was also Jillian’s home now. She had written about how much she loved the mountains and glens and ruggedness of the Highlands, and how she looked forward to spring and seeing the heather on the moors. Mari took a deep breath.
Did Jillian still live to enjoy the spring?