Betting the Scot Page 29

  “What will happen to the ship and the cargo?” Declan asked.

  “Law of salvage,” Alex said. “It’s ours.”

  They all stopped chewing.

  “What do you mean?” Ian asked, his mouth full.

  “The ship is ours,” Alex said, as if it were obvious to any fool. “Equal partners. All of us that fought for her. You, me, Da, Fergus, Magnus, Hamish, Declan, the vicar, and Peter.”

  Peter popped to his feet. “Me?”

  “Not I,” Vicar James said. “I’ll take a crate of wine for the church, but I can’t be part of this venture.”

  “What will we do with a ship? None of us kens how to sail,” Declan said.

  “Well,” Alex said. “We can sell the ship and the cargo and split the profits, and that would be the end of it.”

  “Or we can sail it.” Peter shot both fists in the air in a gesture of victory.

  He laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm for a moment before he realized the lad was serious.

  “We’ll hire a crew and an honest captain. We’ll sail the ship to Canada or America and sell the cargo.” Peter’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Then we’ll gather another load of furs or tobacco or cotton and sail back to Edinburgh. We’ll be rich.”

  Alex looked around the circle of men. “What do you say, Declan? You’ll need someone to ship your whisky. You’d fetch a better price in America.”

  He nodded, still considering.

  “And you, Ian? You’re furloughed indefinitely. The rest of us have duties here. You’ve always wanted to see America. You could be our chief mate, watch over our investment, see we get a good price. Take Peter with you, if you like.”

  “I’ll be your cabin boy,” Peter said, breathless. “I’d be a good cabin boy.”

  Ian laughed. “Nae, Peter. You ken more aboot ships than any of us. You’ll be our quartermaster.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Balforss had been turned upside down with the arrival of four new guests. The staff ran themselves ragged bathing, clothing, and feeding the rescued women. Haddie, the two girls from the kitchen, and the woman from the laundry ran up and down the stairs, carrying buckets of water, armloads of clothing, and trays of food. Everywhere Caya turned, she was bumping into someone shouting down the hallway or bustling in and out of bedrooms. And everyone was talking at once.

  “Haddie, I need more hot water.”

  “Has anyone seen my other stocking?”

  “I’ll have more tea and perhaps a little jam with my toast.”

  Caya gave Morag Sinkler her green gown, as she was closest to her size. Then she washed, changed her clothes, and went below stairs to escape the chaos.

  She passed the door to the laird’s study, where Dr. Farquhar and Flora were tending to Magnus’s injury. Magnus bellowed Gaelic words that sounded suspiciously like curses. It was necessary for Dr. Farquhar to shave off Magnus’s beard to stitch him up properly, and the angry Scot was having none of it.

  “If ye come near me wi’ that straight razor,” Magnus growled, “I’ll ram it up your—”

  Unable to hear herself think, she left the entry and wandered toward the back hallway. Her body was at odds with her mind. Too exhausted to sleep. Too weary to keep still. Too relieved not to worry. What was wrong with her?

  She groped blindly through a haze of emotions. Guilt over having been the cause of the recent violence was the pervasive feeling, and yet battering away at her guilt was relief that the other women had been saved from what surely would have been a hellish existence. She felt anger, too, and resentment for her brother’s selfish behavior, and at the same time a perverse sadness for the loss of Jack. But mostly, she felt loved. Declan still loved her. In spite of everything, he loved her, and she loved him. He’d forgiven her. Could she forgive herself? After all that had happened, would she be right to marry Declan?

  She woke from her thoughts standing in the kitchen, wondering how she’d gotten there. Mrs. Swenson had five pots on the boil and was cutting up three ducks for roasting. As harried as the cook was, she found a corner for her to sit.

  “There now, lassie. Help yerself to scones and tea.” Mrs. Swenson resumed her work on the ducks.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Swenson, but I don’t think I can eat anything just yet.”

  “Poor lass. Did they hurt you?” Mrs. Swenson gasped and inspected her neck. “Did someone try to…?”

  “Yes, but Declan stopped him.”

  Mrs. Swenson trilled her relief, grabbed a jar of salve, and applied a gooey dollop liberally to Caya’s wound. “Such a fright ye must have had, being taken by pirates, of all things.” She stilled for a moment, then cupped Caya’s chin in her hand. “That’s an awfy sad face for a lass what’s getting married soon.”

  Caya’s lower lip trembled. “After Jack and the ship and the whisky…” She swallowed hard. “After everything that’s happened, do you think it’s right for me to marry Declan?”

  “Whyever would you think that?” Mrs. Swenson pulled a stool close and sat. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No. I love him. I suppose I’ve wanted to be Declan’s since the first night I saw him. But Laird John, he doesn’t seem to want us to marry. After the battle, Declan asked him again if we could handfast and he wouldn’t allow it.”

  “He told Declan you weren’t allowed to wed?”

  “Well, no. He said I’d been through too much and I needed to be with the other women.”

  “Och, lass, that doesnae mean he won’t allow the union. The laird’s just looking after you. Sometimes men think they know us women. They think we need their protection all the time and that we need to be handled with care. They forget how strong we are. They forget who brought them into the world in the first place.” Mrs. Swenson brought the edge of her apron to Caya’s face and dabbed away her tears. “If you know in your heart that you’re ready to be Declan’s wife, then it’s time to pack your things and go to him.”

  Caya searched all over the house and the grounds for Laird John. She checked everywhere. No one had seen him. Finally, she stopped Flora on her way out of Laird John’s study.

  “If he’s not in the house or in the cow byre, he’s down by the old mill,” Flora said. “There’s a spot he goes when he’s hiding from me. He thinks I don’t know aboot it. Silly man.”

  Caya carried her travel bag and a basket of food down to the old mill and found Laird John sitting at the river’s edge, sipping from a silver flask.

  “Did Flora tell you where to find me?”

  “Yes.”

  “She thinks I don’t know that she knows about this place, the wee bizzum.” He took another pull from the flask and pointed to her bag. “I see you’re going somewhere,” he said. “Did it get too loud in the house for you, too?”

  She set her basket and bag down and sat next to Laird John.

  “You had us scared to death with worry,” Laird John said, his voice gentle like he was talking to a child. “We thought we’d lost you.”

  “How can you be so kind after all the trouble I’ve caused you?”

  “Your brother’s sins are not yours, lass. You needn’t atone for them. He has paid the ultimate price for his folly.”

  “I’m sorry. I put everyone in danger, and Declan almost lost all his whisky.”

  “Och. That was only a quarter of his stock. The rest is stashed in other places.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a while and said, “That’s a lot of whisky.”

  Laird John smiled. “You’ve only been here a little while, a nighean, but we’ve come to love you like a daughter.”

  “I love you all, too. And I can never thank you enough for caring for me and for saving my life.”

  “Then why are you leaving?”

  “I’m going to live with my husband now. Declan needs me.” She squeezed Laird John’s arm. “But I didn’t want to go without your blessing.”

  “I knew from the beginning you were perfect for Declan.”

  “Then
why—”

  Laird John stopped her with a gesture. “You needed time, both of you,” he said. “Declan needed time to realize that one doesn’t win a wife in a game of cards and expect everything to unfold like in a dream. He needed to work hard for your hand. And you needed time to know Declan, to understand the man, to believe him worthy of your love.”

  “I do love him.”

  “Do ye understand what it means to handfast, lass?”

  “Declan said it’s like a temporary marriage until a clergyman can perform a ceremony.”

  “And do you want to marry Declan?”

  “I love him, and he loves me.”

  He leaned down and gave her a whisky-breath kiss on the forehead. “Then you have my blessing.”

  …

  The sun hung low in the west by the time they finished. Ian and Peter remained aboard The Tigress, guarding the newest Balforss business venture and arguing about which new name would be best for their merchant ship—Challenger or Sea Wolf.

  Declan, Alex, and the vicar made the last trip to shore with the launch. His shoulders ached as he pulled on the oars.

  “Vicar,” Declan said, “last night, when I told you I would wed Caya, you offered to sanctify our union.”

  “Yes.”

  “Caya would like that…as would I.”

  Oswald’s face rippled with sadness for a moment then brightened. “With joy.”

  “You’re a good man.”

  Vicar James smiled. “As are you.”

  “Thanks for helping.”

  “You can thank me by coming to church regularly.”

  Declan and Alex laughed.

  “What day is it?” Declan asked.

  “Saturday,” Vicar James said.

  “Will you say a few words over Jack Pendarvis’s grave tomorrow?”

  “Of course. We’ll see him buried in the kirkyard after Sunday service.”

  They reached the shore and pulled the launch onto the beach. Declan wanted a drink. He wanted to eat. He wanted to sleep. Most of all, he wanted Caya, to lay beside her, feel her skin against his, listen to her breathe.

  Hamish and Fergus, God bless them, were waiting on shore to help carry up the last of the whisky. Tired as they were from the strain of the night, they offered to take Jack’s body to the undertaker and drive the wagon of casks to the Pentland Warehouse. The whisky would be safe there until Declan could find a better place to hide it.

  Gullfaxi and Goliath waited where he and Alex had left them the night before. They climbed into their saddles, stiff-limbed and grunting with effort, and let the horses find their own way home in the twilight while they closed their eyes and swayed in their saddles. They didn’t speak the whole way home. He had never known Alex to remain quiet for that long. When they parted company at the juncture to his house, Alex made a guttural sound that Declan took as goodbye.

  Back home at Taldale Farm, his stomach ground out a protest when he filled Gullfaxi’s feed bin. He slapped the horse on the neck. “You’re a good friend, mate.”

  Stumbling through the kitchen door, he wondered idly who could have left a lamp burning so late at night. When he found supper laid out on the bunker before him, he almost collapsed with gratitude. Bread, a pint of ale, and a covered plate of warm ham and neeps. Beside it, a glass containing a fistful of gowans.

  Caya.

  Caya had left him supper. No doubt she was just as exhausted as he, but she had gone to the effort of seeing to his comfort. She loved him. His beautiful wife loved him. Happy tears rolled down his cheeks. He swiped them away and pulled off his boots. She’d left him water and a towel to wash his face and neck. Having no chair, he sat on the floor in front of the hearth and ate. The food tasted like love.

  When he finished, he wasn’t certain he had the strength to climb the stairs. The fire had been banked for the night. He considered curling up in front of the kitchen hearth. But he knew he wouldn’t like waking on the cold kitchen floor, nor would his sister like finding him there tomorrow morning.

  He got to his feet, collected the oil lamp and, with eyes half closed, he shuffled through the dining and drawing rooms. When he reached the stairs and grasped the bannister, he paused. Something was different. Someone had left a cloak hanging on the newel post. Had Caya forgotten her clo—

  Declan turned his gaze upward and climbed the stairs to the second floor in a dreamlike state. The door to his room was ajar. He pushed it all the way open, his heart thumping hard in his chest. The oil lamp’s soft yellow light shone on an angel asleep in his bed.

  He set the lamp on the bedside table and watched her for a long while. She stirred, sighed, and opened her eyes. When she saw him, she sat up and patted the pillow. He still wasn’t certain if she was real or just a trick the fairy people had played on him.

  “Come to bed.”

  She was real. Declan eased himself down on the edge of the mattress, and said, “Will you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you for what?”

  “I’ve been stupid about the dream, a right ass. I love you, Caya. Even if I never dreamed you, I would still love you. How could I not?”

  She kissed him then. Set her sweet lips upon his. Swiped her delicate tongue across his bottom lip and let out a soft sigh when he trailed kisses down her neck.

  Caya reclined on the pillow and pulled back the bedclothes. “Come. Lay your head on my heart.”

  He crawled into bed next to her. She smelled of soap and clean linen. He draped an arm and a leg over her soft body, then settled his head on her bosom.

  Caya hummed a tune, the sweet sound making a soft vibration against his cheek. Words formed, ruffled his hair, and wafted through his consciousness.

  And I would love you all the day,

  Every night would kiss and play,

  If with me you’d fondly stray

  Over the hills and far away.

  He closed his eyes and sank into the warmth of her body.

  …

  Caya woke with the skylark’s song. Cool rays of predawn light spilled across their bed. Declan lay next to her on his back, his lips slightly parted, thick black lashes resting on his cheeks, and his dark beard stubble making the chiseled lines of his face stand out. He was beautiful to her.

  Sometime during the night, he had risen and removed his clothes. She admired his bare chest. Dark fur spread out across his muscles like the wings of an eagle, then trailed in a line down the middle of his belly and disappeared under the bedlinens. He was fast asleep. She could lift the bedclothes and peek…

  Declan stirred, and she jerked her hand back. He rolled to his side without waking, presenting her with a tantalizing view of his smooth, muscled back and the very top of his… For goodness sake, it was Sunday.

  She slid out of bed and tiptoed to her gown hanging on the door. She needed to wash and dress for church. Inside the adjoining room—the room Declan had made for her—she cleaned her teeth and washed her face in the basin.

  Caya had just finished tying the garters around her stockings when she heard Declan call out.

  “Caya!”

  She ran to the open door connecting their rooms. Declan sat up in bed, his hair in tangles around his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes once and stared back at her.

  “I thought I dreamed you,” he said in a sleepy voice. He let his eyes roam up and down her body. She wore only her shift. He’d never looked at her like that, with such hunger, and though she knew it was sinful, she liked it.

  “I was getting dressed for church.”

  “I’ll take you back to Balforss.” He threw off his covers and leaped out of bed, remembering too late that he was naked and bobbing about.

  She stifled a nervous laugh at having glimpsed his parts in a condition similar to the last time she’d seen them.

  “Och, sorry.” He grabbed a corner of the bedclothes and pulled it across his hips to cover himself.

  “You need to shave first. I’ll heat some water.” She returned to her room and bent to
poke up the fire.

  By the heavy thump of his bare heels on the floorboards, she knew he must be dressing. The pace increased to a rapid fump-fump-fump-fump. Was he hopping up and down? The floor shook with what sounded like a horse hitting the ground.

  “Och!”

  “Declan?”

  “I’m all right.” He thundered into her room, still buttoning the fall of his britches, hands shaking, eyes wild with panic. “Does anyone know you’re here? I need to get you back before they find you missing.”

  She stood and held up her palms to calm him. “There’s no need.”

  “Jesus, hurry and get dressed. I have to get you back.”

  “I’m not going back.”

  Declan froze. “What?”

  She smiled. “I live here now. I’m your wife.”

  His mouth hung open. Did he not believe her? Did he not understand her? Or had he changed his mind? “You do still want me to be your wife, don’t you?”

  An odd look appeared on Declan’s face. One she couldn’t interpret. “Well now,” he said. “That all depends.”

  “Depends on what?” Oh God. Was he changing his mind? Did he wake up and realize she was a fool for trying to save her brother?

  “I ken you love me, but I need a wife who will trust me,” he said and took a step closer. “I ken it’s a hard thing for you to trust given all the lies your brother had told you. And me, I was wrong to take you from him the way I did. I gave more thought to my daft dreams than I did for your happiness and I’m sorry for that, but…”

  “But what?” Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

  “When I thought you were lost to me, when I thought I’d never see you again, I knew that I loved you more than my own life. I was ready to toss my life away to save you. That’s how much I want you, need you, love you.” He held out his hand just like that fateful morning in front of the Crown Tavern. “So, I’m asking you, do you trust me?”

  Caya swallowed back her tears and slipped her hand into his. “Yes. I trust you with my life. And if you’ll have me, I gladly give you my heart, my body, and my soul. Your love is all that I want in this world. All I shall ever need.”