Chapter Ten
“Why is the ship so quiet?” Rose asked as she sat across from Tristan in the dinghy Philip was preparing to lower.
“I have reassigned the crew to another ship. Before we set sail for France, we will take on a new crew, to which you shall be introduced as my wife, Mistress Rose Thatcher.”
She pressed her hands to her warm cheeks. “I do not think I’ve blushed for ten years.”
He smiled at her. “Not surprisingly, the rosy hue suits you.”
She scanned the empty deck. “I had not considered the crew, but ye’re right. For this to work, we must take every precaution. Our secret must remain between us.”
Tristan nodded. “Only Philip will continue on to France with us.”
“Ready when you are, Captain,” Philip said.
She glanced at the quarter master who flashed her a bright smile. “Have a wonderful time, Mistress Thatcher.”
Again, her cheeks burned. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Before you know it, we will feel like an old married couple,” Tristan promised. “We’ll start finishing each other’s sentences.”
She laughed. “And I’ll complain about how ye snore, and ye will grumble about my cooking.”
“I would very much like to sample your cooking,” he said.
She bit her cheek to keep from smiling as a jolt of excitement shot through her.
She wondered if her brothers experienced the same thrill when they carried out secret missions for the cause.
Jack and Quinn had both pretended to be monks to gain access to English fortresses, and Alec had lived within the king’s palace for months posing as an English merchant.
Now, she had her own secret mission as wife to Tristan Thatcher, English merchant.
Their cause was not as grand as Scottish independence but saving an honest man and his family from ruination was no less noble.
Sitting straight and tall, Rose took a deep breath and scanned the side of the hull of the Messenger as they descended. She still could not believe that in a matter of weeks the great ship would be hers. The MacVies could each fish ten lifetimes and not earn enough coin for a merchant cog.
“Do you see how the outboards overlap one another?” Tristan asked, pointing to the hull.
She nodded. “She’s clinker-built. The overlapping makes her stronger.”
“You do know your ships,” he said.
His praise made her smile. “’Tis in my blood.”
“What else is in your blood?” he asked. “I mean, if we are meant to be married, we should know more about each other. Why did you go to Jura after the massacre?”
She hated to continue to lie to him, but Colonsay was more than just a home.
It was her family’s haven. Her brothers, all but Ian, were wanted men.
No doubt their likenesses hung in every tavern from Cape Wrath to Dover.
“Our father’s family hailed from Jura,” she lied.
“When we were exiled from Berwick, we knew we would find welcome there.”
“Are your parents there as well?”
A pang of anguish struck her heart. “Nay, my parents and my wee sister were killed in the attack.”
As were my three daughters and my husband, her heart whispered, but she kept her silence. Tristan was a kind and trustworthy man, and they had an accord. Still, he did not need to know everything about her. She wanted to protect her heart like she wanted to protect her brothers.
“I am so very sorry for your loss, Rose,” he said, his brows drawn.
She took a deep breath, willing away her grief. “Tell me of yer family.”
He took up the oars and began to row toward shore. “My mother passed away when I was young, and my father remarried. Together, they have a daughter, my sister, who is quite a few years younger than I.”
Rose smiled. “How old is she?”
“She is five and ten.”
She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “She’s young.”
“And spirited and incredibly kind-hearted.” A shadow crossed his face when he spoke of his sister.
“Ye’re worried about how the current situation will affect her,” Rose said knowingly.
“I am very protective of what I love,” he said simply.
She nodded. “As am I.”
Rose chewed her lip as she admired how his muscles shifted and flexed beneath his tunic.
He dug the oars deep into the water, propelling them toward shore.
The salty breeze lifted her unbound hair.
She breathed deep the scented air and gripped the sides of the boat.
Her pulse sped up the closer to shore they drew.
She was about to set foot in a new town, and soon, they would set sail for France.
“I cannot believe this is all happening,” she said unable to contain her excitement. Then she felt embarrassed by her outburst. “Forgive me. I...I just feared life held nothing more for me.”
He smiled. “You were wrong.”
Her heart beamed. “I’ve never been happier to be wrong.”
A short while later, the keel of the boat dug into the sand. Tristan leapt over the rail into the gentle surf, heedless of his hose and boots.
She leaned over the side, eying the water lapping the shore.
“I’ve been climbing out of boats since before I could walk.
” She smoothed her hands down her fine green tunic.
“Had I worn Simon’s hose, I would slosh right through the surf.
” She lifted her shoulders and looked up at him.
“Suddenly, I don’t know how to get out.”
He laughed, the sound deep and rich, and once again, she was struck by how handsome he was.
Before she knew what was happening, he reached for her.
Sliding his hand beneath her thighs, he lifted her out of the boat and cradled her in his strong arms. She loosely hugged his neck as her heart started to race even faster.
He smiled at her, and she smiled right back unable to look away.
They were nearly halfway up the shore before it occurred to her that she was well out of the reach of the waves.
She swallowed hard, still not able to tear her gaze from his. “I believe you can set me down now, Captain.”
“Indeed,” he said, but he made no move to release her. She drew another breath and savored his masculine scent. When the beach was behind them, he slowly lowered her feet to the ground, his eyes never wavering from hers. Her mouth felt dry. She ached to wrap her arms around his neck again.
He stared down at her, his gaze intense and full of unspoken desire.
Her fingers twitched at her sides as she resisted the urge to reach up and weave her fingers through his thick, black hair.
His lips parted, and he took a step closer, his hand moved to clasp her waist, but then he froze before he took a long step back.
The tension shattered between them.
“The river ferry will take us into town,” he said, his words rushed as he pointed farther ashore.
“Excellent,” she blurted before swiftly walking away from him toward a large, flat barge. She needed to catch her breath and cool her face before she faced him again.
What had come over her? She was not a maid, given to blushing and staring and longing.
She was one and thirty, and she had made an accord with the captain.
Anyway, he had no interest in marriage, and in that moment, she realized neither did she.
Now, she understood that she could make her own destiny.
If she were married, she would have to obey her husband instead of her own heart.
So engrossed was she in her mental ramble that she walked right up to the riverman without the captain at her side.
Despite the warmth of the day, he wore a black cloak over a patched tunic.
His long, dull brown hair blended into his bushy beard.
She could not tell where one ended and the other began.
“Wait for your husband before you board,” he said gruffly, holding out a thickly calloused palm to block her way.
Her husband?
“Oh, aye, indeed, I will just wait for my husband,” she said nervously. Tristan joined her a moment later and took her hand. “I’m so glad ye’re here, Captain,” she said, smiling up at him. “This man made me wait for my husband to board, and now, here ye are, my husband.”
An amused smile curved Tristan’s lips. “It was good of you to wait.”
She watched as Tristan pressed several coins into the man’s hand. “Can we embark? My wife and I have an appointment with the tailor. We do not wish to be late.”
“Right away,” the man answered, clearly spurred on by the new coin he added to his purse. He stormed over to where some children sat on a bench. “Clear the way for the captain and his wife,” he barked.
A frown darkened Tristan’s features. “Thank you, but my wife and I wish to stand and stretch our legs,” Then he crossed to where the children now huddled together, afraid of the shaggy riverman’s wrath.
He squatted down and motioned to the bench.
“Please, go back and sit.” They stared up at him with wide fearful eyes, but Rose watched their countenances slowly change.
Soon, they all climbed back onto the bench.
“Thank you,” a woman in rough homespun wool said to Tristan. “I worry they will fall in.”
Rose could not help smiling up at Tristan when he returned to her side. He was as warm-hearted as a man could be, and this made her feel proud to be his wife—even if it was only pretend. “Ye’re a good man,” she whispered to him.
He pursed his full lips and pressed his finger to them. “Another secret you must keep or else my men will think I’m soft.”
She laughed. “Yer men adore ye, and ye ken they do. Never have men sung their captain’s praises more.”
He flashed her a sexy sideways smile, and she felt her knees go weak.
She looked down at her tunic to escape the heat of his gaze, which reminded her of what he had told the riverman.
She fingered the soft fabric. “Ye mentioned going to visit a tailor, but ye’ve already purchased me this fine tunic.
Surely, I do not need more than one serviceable gown. ”