Much Ado About Marriage (14 page)

“Och, Duncan, you’re angry at the Hurst woman for getting the best of you, but you’re just going to make things worse. Please think about this—”

“I have thought about it, and that’s the way it’s to be.” Duncan’s jaw was set as hard as a rock.

Fia sighed and tucked away the heavy velvet bag, the links on the silver rope chain clinking. “You’ll live to rue this day.”

“Why? For teaching a lesson to a tiny white witch? Her head doesn’t even reach my shoulder.”

“Her powers won’t be measured in mere inches.”

“Mine can.”

She frowned. “How—”

“Never mind,” he said hastily with a sheepish grin. He gave her a quick hug. “Ask no more questions, lass. You leave the Hurst woman and her confounded powers to me, while you take care of the English queen. The amulet could turn her favor in our direction, and we may have need of it before Queen Mary’s done with us.”

A call came from the ship, and Thomas approached them.

Duncan sighed. “The tide’s turning.” He cupped Fia’s cheek with one of his big, rough hands, his voice suddenly gruff. “Remember to write often, lass.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to intrude, but we must go.”

“Sassenach, take care of my cousin. If you don’t, I will come for you and—” MacLean rested his hand on his broadsword.

Thomas met MacLean’s gaze with a cool one of his own. “As of this day, she is mine and thus protected.”

Fia caught MacLean’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Duncan, I—” Her voice broke and, his own eyes wet, Duncan enveloped her in a hard hug. For a long time, they stood thus, the huge highlander and his tiny cousin.

Thomas didn’t know where to look. The two were obviously close—even closer than Thomas had realized, more like brother and sister than cousins. He was oddly relieved by that.

Finally, MacLean gently set Fia back on her feet, his dark eyes suspiciously bright. “Good-bye, lass.”

Her face wet with tears, she choked out, “Good-bye, Duncan.”

“Off on your adventure.” With a final warning look at Thomas, MacLean called his men and tromped back up the hill to the horses, his kilt swinging about his powerful legs, his cape swirling behind him. Thomas noticed that the laird swiped an arm over his eyes, though he didn’t look back.

Mary bustled up, carrying the items she deemed too precious to let another touch. MacKenna was hard on her heels, cradling a bundle of brown fur.

“There he is!” Fia’s smile broke through her tears like the sun through a bank of clouds. “I thought the wee rabbit was already on the ship.”

MacKenna looked disgusted. “He’s been on the ship twice now and keeps escapin’. Thunder and Zeus are already sleepin’ in the hold.”

“Damned nuisance, the lot of them,” Thomas said.

Fia started to retort, but then Robert MacQuarrie strode up, his lace-bedecked appearance causing MacKenna to eye him with distaste. Though Fia didn’t know the fashion at court, she had the impression she was seeing the best of it right here.

He swept a bow, his blue eyes merry, his teeth flashing white in his trim black beard. “Robert MacQuarrie, Viscount Montley, at your service.”

Fia dipped a curtsy. “Lady Fia Mac—” She flushed and cast a glance at Thomas, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, I know your name, Lady Rotherwood,” Montley said gallantly, hooking his thumbs in the wide, silver-worked black leather belt that set off his plum-colored velvet doublet and silver-edged short cape. “Pray tell, where
did
you procure such a fine rabbit?”

Fia had to smile. For all of the horrible tales she’d heard about Robert MacQuarrie, he didn’t
look
like a coward. Indeed, the boldness and merriment in his blue eyes warmed her heart.

She held the rabbit aloft so he could see the animal better. “Lord Thomas came from Mull. He’s an islander.”

“Lord Thomas?” Montley asked, a quiver of laughter in his voice.

“Aye. I named him after—” Fia inclined her head toward Thomas. “He saved the poor rabbit, you know.”

Montley turned an incredulous stare on his friend.
“You
saved a
rabbit
?”

“Mind yourself, Montley.” Thomas took Fia’s arm and firmly marched her up the long, wide plank that led onto the ship, leaving Robert to assist Mary.

“Yes, but . . . a
rabbit
?” Montley called after him.

But Thomas was already boarding the ship, where he was greeted by a welcoming cry from the crew.

The feel of the ship beneath her boots helped to lift Fia’s spirits.
Finally, I go to London!

She stood to one side, watching as Thomas, looking dashing despite his ill-fitting clothing, set the crew to putting the ship to sea.

Mary took the rabbit and headed belowdecks to their quarters to help Angus in storing their numerous trunks, Montley following to offer his assistance.

The wind rose as Thomas stood on the foredeck, his feet planted wide, his arms crossed over his chest as he roared instructions at his men. There was a flurry of movement as the ropes holding them to shore were removed and coiled back on deck.

Fia’s heart swelled as the ship began to move out to sea. The great sails unfurled as the wind ruffled Thomas’s hair and swished Fia’s skirts about her legs. The sails caught the wind, snapping loudly as the billowing canvas filled, and the ship strained eagerly toward the sea.

It was glorious. Fia leaned against the railing, the salty windy blowing her hair and streaming over her, calming the beat of her heart. The island faded behind them, a misty green slash in a deep blue ocean as the ship sped along. She turned and met Thomas’s gaze, and offered a tentative smile.

He almost returned it, but then turned away and resumed shouting orders to his men.

Fia turned back toward the sea. She would find a way to reach this obstinate man she’d been forced to wed. Perhaps with time, they could at least develop a friendship.

She couldn’t help but be glad she was married to
Thomas and not Malcolm. Thomas had potential. He didn’t yet possess the noble qualities of the heroes of her plays, but who knew what might happen?

Meanwhile, her entire life stretched before her! A sudden grin lit her face and she lifted it to the wind and sun, letting the roll of the ship raise her spirits.

The
Glorianna

Sailing for London from the Isle of Mull

May 10, 1567

I’ll be a loose-limbed Greek, Cap’n! Is that salted pig?” The first mate, Henry Simmons, peered into the open barrel.

Thomas glanced up from the supply list. “’Tis a whole side of pork.” Unfortunately for Thomas’s wishes to make haste to London, the ship had needed supplies, so they’d gone straight to the closest safe harbor on English soil. Simmons was a force to be reckoned with and he’d managed to complete the task in a little under three hours.

Now, with the hold freshly stocked, and the winds lifting, they were under way once again. If the weather held, they’d be in London in three weeks’ time, maybe less.

Thomas sent a quick glance at the ladder down to the hold. The lower deck held the deckhands and the ship’s storage; it was also the home of Fia’s nag and her ragged dog. The upper level held the officers’ cabins, the galley, and an area for the crew to eat in. And now it also held one other item of interest—Fia.

Thomas tried not to think about it, but as darkness fell
it was becoming more and more difficult
not
to. She was his now. His for the taking, as was a husband’s right. But if he did so, that would make their marriage permanent. There was still a possibility that he could enlist Queen Elizabeth to set the marriage aside if Fia remained a maid.

The first mate began issuing orders to a sailor about the repair of a sail stored in the hold, and Thomas took the opportunity to step away and enjoy the beauty of the day. He faced out to sea and leaned back against the mast, a feeling of deep satisfaction slowly rising through him. Whatever troubles the future held, he was once again back on ship and in charge of his own destiny. For now, Fia was safe belowdecks, and Scotland was merely a place of memories. He could almost feel the fetters dropping off as the wind filled the sails and carried him home.

His relief was overshadowed by the fact that he’d failed in his mission.
Damme, I wish I’d managed to keep hold of that letter. Walsingham will be disappointed.

Watkins, a lanky, red-haired bos’n’s mate, scrambled to the deck. “Cap’n, I bring ye word from Lord Montley. He says to tell ye that now we’re under way, he’s going to allow the women from their cabin.” The freckled brow puckered. “Least, I think that’s what he was sayin’. ’Tis hard to tell.”

Simmons snorted. “Montley is a coxcomb. He was the devil of a trial to abide on the way here.”

“Full of spirits, was he?” Thomas asked.

“He walked about spoutin’ enough poetry to sicken a man.” Simmons spat over the rail.

Thomas laughed.

Simmons cast a sardonic glance at Watkins. “Don’t mind the cap’n. He’s been sort of giddy since he took hisself
a wife. Sad that we’re cursed now, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Simmons, that’s the biggest untruth I’ve ever heard from you. ’Tis a foolish myth.”

“Cap’n, everyone knows women on board ship is bad luck, and a Scottish wench—”

“Wench?” Thomas asked softly.

Simmons flushed. “Lady, I mean. A Scottish lady is twice the ill luck of an English one.”

Thomas shot a hard look at his first mate. “I’ll not have it said that having either the countess or her maid aboard is ill luck. If I hear such again, that man will find himself keelhauled.”

Simmons swallowed noisily. “Aye, Cap’n. Watkins, tell the men.”

Watkins nodded and scurried off, looking a bit pale.

Thomas usually preferred to captain through respect rather than fear, but he also knew the way of the uneducated and highly superstitious crew. If they came to believe Fia was a danger, they’d blame her for every mishap that occurred—and there were plenty of mishaps to be had on the wet, slippery deck of a ship crisscrossed with ropes and brass rings, men running hither and yon and climbing upon the rigging in their bare feet.

Simmons rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Cap’n, I hope ye know I didna mean to say anythin’ ill toward yer lady.”

“I know. But such loose talk can break down the order on ship.” Before the first mate could apologize again, Thomas said, “Tell me something of more interest: how did Lord Montley come to be upon my ship? I heard that you fetched him yourself.”

“Aye, Cap’n. When ye didna return as planned, I knew we’d a situation on hand and that lace-ruffed arse was the closest thing to an Englishman I was like to find so far north.” Simmons added grudgingly, “The man’s a sissified braggart, but he do know his way around both ship and sword. The man can handle both gale and attack; few cap’ns other than yerself can say that.”

“He’ll be moved to tears by such a declaration.”

Simmons flushed. “Now, Cap’n, don’t ye be repeatin’ what I said! He’ll come spoutin’ some nonsense at me, and I’ll be right back to not likin’ him again.”

Thomas chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me. Well done, Simmons. He may be of use yet. Come, let me set the course; then I’ll inspect the rigging.” He consulted with Simmons, then left the wheel.

The weather was cool and clear, perfect for sailing, and for just one moment, he wanted to think about nothing but the pleasure of being off that cursed isle.

Rumor would spread that the famed Wentworth luck had taken a beating. Thomas knew it wasn’t really luck that had supported his family for so many successful decades, but hard work and careful planning. Somehow, he’d allowed his desire to assist Walsingham in protecting the queen to interfere with his usual calm thinking and strong common sense. He should never have ventured onto the island without some assistance.

It was odd. He could usually count on Lord Walsingham’s advice on covert missions, but this time Walsingham’s spies had failed to detect a number of things.

Thomas leaned against the railing that lined the high deck, the waning sun warming his face. The sea jauntily rolled along, the sun dancing across the glistening water.
Riding high and tight, the ship cut through the white-topped waves.

He wondered what Fia thought of the
Glorianna.
Her obvious delight at being at sea had lightened his mood. She might not have been the bride of his choosing, but at least she understood the joy of a sailing ship.

She was a rare one for adventure, which he found surprisingly appealing. He loved a good adventure, too, which was why he continued to assist Walsingham, but one did not marry a woman who yearned for adventure. One married a woman who yearned for hearth and home and an orderly house. That was the sort of woman he planned to make his countess, once he’d gotten his current predicament resolved. He wouldn’t call this a marriage—not something done under the shadow of a sword.

Queen Elizabeth would take it very unkindly that one of her subjects had been forced to the altar in such a manner. With Walsingham’s support, Thomas was certain an annulment could be arranged. That one thought kept him calm.

All he had to do was deliver Fia to London still a maiden. His gaze returned to the ladder leading down to the hold, and he remembered the feel of her against him, the taste of her. Temptation always tasted better when denied, he told himself wryly.

Still, there was no reason not to be a welcoming host. He should look in on her and her maid and see if they were well settled. The sea was rougher now, and it was possible she might not be feeling well.

Thomas made his way down the ladder. Robert was probably entertaining Fia with some improbable tale, flirting outrageously and noting how the soft wool of Fia’s gown outlined her lush body—

Grinding his teeth, Thomas hurried his steps. Serviceable wool was
not
seductive, though he’d have been lying if he didn’t admit that on Fia, wool took on qualities he’d never thought it could.

Perhaps it wasn’t ordinary wool, but a special Scottish weave that was impossible for an English loom to create. The wool hugged and molded every delectable curve with a loving familiarity that made a man’s mouth water.