The ship’s healer was an old man with lines so deep in his face they could have been a road map from England to Scotland. His hair was dark gray and thin, with a permanently windswept look, but his eyes were sharp as he assessed Rosamond and she felt herself blushing at his steady perusal.

“Name’s Stitch, my lady, and Laird MacDougall said ye were in need of a healer.”

“Aye.” She glanced down at her wrist. As the minutes had passed since boarding the ship, her wound had started to sting, and she hoped that whatever he had in his satchel was something that would ease the ache and speed up the healing process. “I burned myself in the cave.”

Stitch clucked his tongue and led her to the small, circular table. For the first time she took note of the large, swirling knot in its center. He pulled out a chair and tapped the back for her to sit. He took his place across from her, setting a worn, black leather satchel beside him on the floor. “Put up your arm, lass. Let me take a look.”

Slowly he unwrapped the makeshift bandages MacDougall had used, revealing the angry burns beneath the smears of red from the cave walls.

The healer raised his brow. “Iron ore?” His tone was amused.

“Aye. Why are you making that face?”

Stitch chuckled and shook his head. He reached into his bag, pulled out a linen square and a bottle. He poured some clear liquid on the cloth and began to wipe away the red.

“Tell me,” Rosamond demanded, a little annoyed with the man. “Was it foolish for him to have put it on?”

“Nay, lass. The ancients used it, too. Let me ask ye something.” He raised a brow as if to say he was going to ask whether she gave him permission or not, so she nodded. “Have ye heard the legend of the caves?”

Rosamond frowned, thinking that the only legend coming out of the caves would be of her mad father leaving her there to rot. “Nay. Will you tell me?”

“Gladly, my lady. I grew up in Cornwall, was stolen as a lad by the King of Pirates, MacAlpin, served with his grandson, and I’ve been on this ship ever since, but a man never forgets a tale, and the smears of red on your skin makes me think there might be something to it. See, as a lad, I heard tell of an ancient King of Cornwall. Cador, he was named, and he ruled Cornwall before the time of King Arthur. That meant a lot to a lad growing up on the coast, as I was already trying to find the lady of the lake with a sword to make me great. Another great king? But his legend, it wasna anything I wanted doing with. Still dinna. But ye…” He trailed off, eyes twinkling. “Ye might have been enchanted by the magic.”

“Magic?” What on earth was he talking about? “Stitch, have you been in your cups already today?” Rosamond hated to accuse a man of drinking too much, but what was she to do? He wasn’t making sense talking about ancient kings and legends and magic.

Stitch chuckled, finished cleaning up the iron ore, and then reached into his bag pulling out three more little ceramic jars. The first, he plucked the cork from, stuck his finger in and came up with a goop that was brownish-yellow in color.

“Oh, do go on then,” Rosamond said with a huff.

“Are ye certain ye want to hear it, lass?” He smeared on the goop which felt cool and lessened the sting.

“I do not want to say that I do, but…I do.”

Stitch grinned and opened the second jar. “Now ye’re the one not makin’ sense.”

“Well,” she said primly. “It was distracting me from your ministrations, so please, go on.”

“All right then.” He smeared on another glob. “An oracle foretold of a daughter borne to King Cador and his wife, so enchanting that men would go to war over her. When she was born, Princess Aelwen was perfect, skin glowing like golden cream and eyes as blue as the sea. Fearful of the prophecy, the king had his infant daughter whisked away before she could even lay an innocent cheek upon her mother’s breast. The young page, Kael, assigned to do the whisking, was ordered to take the lass somewhere she’d never be found and to protect her for all time. The lad could only think of St. Agnes caves, where he’d played when he was young and often hid from his older brothers. He stayed with the princess, protecting her until she grew into a blindingly stunning woman, and he fell in love with her.”

Rosamond sighed as the soothing salve cured the ache on her wrist. She sat back in her chair, imagining the page raising the infant in the caves where she’d been. How had they survived when she’d not thought to live more than a few weeks at most?

“Is that it?” she asked.

Stitch shook his head, opened the third jar and took out a pinch of herbs and put it in a cup. He poured ale over top and handed it to her. “Drink. Kael and Aelwen lived in the cave of St. Agnes where ye were found, until one day the king returned for his daughter. Ye see, in ages old just like nowadays, the king needed to marry her off to an enemy to bolster an alliance. But Kael, now a man full grown, refused to let his love go. In his anger, the king thrust his sword through Kael and forced Aelwen away. But the princess refused to marry her father’s enemy, and managed to escape back to the caves, with the help of MacAlpin, king of the pirates. She returned to the caves where Kael’s body remained cool and preserved.”

Rosamond shuddered at both the story and the flavor of his powdered concoction. Right where she’d slept a man had been murdered. She was glad not to have known it then, else she might have seen through the darkness and imagined all sorts of spirits surrounding her. Stitch pulled out clean linens and wrapped them about her wrist, which felt vastly better already.

“All night, Princess Aelwen lay beside her beloved, having sent the pirates away. But a ship appeared on the horizon. Her father’s men had followed her to the caves, and meant to take her by force once more. But, Aelwen knew she could not go back. She found Kael’s iron sword, and she held it to her breast, thrusting it deep into her heart. If she could not be with her beloved in life, then she would be with him in death. A storm raged that night, lightning striking the ship that would have taken her to her enemies, killing all the men aboard. And with the raging storm, the tide rose higher than it had ever been before, washing into the cave, and carrying the bodies of the lovers out to sea, together forever in the waves. But it did not wash away a great stain of red upon the wall, the blood of Kael and Alwen. Legend is, if two people touch that stain, together, then they will fall madly in love for eternity, but they must touch it of their own free will. Did ye touch it, lass?”

Rosamond’s mind shot back to that moment in the cave where she’d pressed her hand over MacDougall’s upon the wall, how she’d begged him to take her with him. And he had. But it was all nonsense. Just a story an old man heard in his youth. Besides, he’d been running with pirates most of his life and everyone knew that pirates were notorious dissemblers.

She shook her head. “Nay. He merely scraped off some of the ore to put on my burn.”

Stitch clucked his tongue. “Too bad. The lad has been through much and could have used a wee bit of enchantment to heal his heart.”

Rosamond let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Not from me, sir.”

Even as the words slipped past, she imagined stormy eyes, swirling like the depths of the sea, and surrounded by a ruggedly handsome face. Tierney MacDougall, what was his story? Why did Stitch seem to think the man needed love to heal him? And why would he think Rosamond was the obvious choice?

And why did that suddenly interest her? “Tell me of MacDougall.” The request was out of her mouth before she had a chance to register having asked.

Stitch shrugged and put away his supplies. “I’ve nothing to tell.”

“But you said he’s been through much. What has he been through?”

Stitch reached back into his bag and pushed a vial across the table toward her. “’Tis not my tale to tell, lass. Take this if ye start to feel the pain. I’ll come change the bandages again in the morning.”

As unsatisfying as it was to have him brush her off, she had to respect that the old pirate healer would not divulge MacDougall’s pain to her. Still, she had to try. “Please, Stitch.” She leaned forward, opened her eyes just a little wider than usual, imploring. “Tell me just one thing.”

Stitch frowned, perhaps thinking of the consequences of sharing with her. “He was betrayed by his father, lass. And imprisoned for it. Ten years I think it were, in the Tower of London. Ye’d not think it by the looks of him. Kept himself healthy all this time.” He shook his head. “Impressive it is that the lad’s turned out the way he has. Despite all that, he’s full of honor and duty and kindness. Considers himself a guardian of those in need, as you, yourself have witnessed.”

Rosamond nodded, recalling the way he’d stood at the base of the cliff and told her he was going to help her, and as much as she’d wanted it, she’d tried to push him away, but he’d seen through her. “He was in the Tower of London? For ten years?” So close to her all these years, and yet she’d never known him.

“Aye.”

There had been several occasions that she’d accompanied the queen to The Tower for some festivity or such, and a few times she’d seen Scotsmen present, dressed in their fine plaids and boots, but the queen had never allowed them to speak. Even reprimanded them for looking at the massive men, for they were usually a foot taller than the English guards. Could she have seen MacDougall there?

Nay. She determined that with those brooding eyes, she would have remembered him if she’d ever seen him. Would have observed him despite a reprimand from her queen. Tierney MacDougall had a look about him that was unforgettable.

As the sun dropped over the horizon, the caves long behind them, Tierney gazed out at the open water, thinking about his lands, and how much must have changed since he’d last been home. Would his people welcome him back? For certes, those on the ship had. But would the rest?

Would they label him a traitor? Would they follow him in his quest to serve the King of Scots and not King Edward?

Behind him, Samuel shouted for the men to lower the sails for the night.

Tierney turned around, watching how the men worked in unison, fascinated by the mechanisms of the ship. As they worked the sail, they called out a warning, “Jibe-ho.”

A flash of golden locks caught his eye. Rosamond. She was walking down the starboard side of the deck near the rail, pausing to look out at the sea. What was she thinking? A ship could be a dangerous place. Ropes were coiled everywhere, water made the boards slippery, not to mention if any of the sailors had gotten it into their heads that death was a worthy price to pay for touching her.

A smile filled her face as she greeted one sailor after another. He watched in slow motion as she bent to pick something up from the deck. A swab mopping behind her stilled, another lad behind him fairly drooled from the sight of her arse in the air, as he stumbled and tripped over the extended mop. Tierney jerked forward. The bloke went flying, grabbing onto another lad who had hold of a rigging he was coiling and pinning in place on the bulwark of the starboard side. The knock had all three swabs bandying for balance. But it was hopeless. The telltale ping of the belaying pin, which had held the rigging in place, came loose and echoed in Tierney’s ears. He ran forward as the pin sailed over the lads’ heads and the ropes it had been securing whipped wildly through the air.

“Lady!” Tierney shouted as he sprinted.

With the men scrabbling for the whipping line to avoid a catastrophe, one of them knocked into Rosamond, upsetting her balance on the slippery wooden planks. As if Fate wished to test them all the more, a large swell put the galley to rocking. The lass fell backward, her spine hitting the rail, the top of her dipping out over the sea, and her legs flying up in the air. She screamed. The swabs screeched.

Tierney let out a string of curses as he lunged for her, grabbing hold of her ankles before she went end over end completely. As the ship rocked again, he wrapped his arms around her as they fell to the wooden deck, protecting her on top of him, rather than crushing her beneath his weight.

Safe from being tossed to sea, he quickly rolled, pinning her to the deck. “Bloody hell, woman, what were ye thinking?” he bellowed, his face inches from hers.

Their breaths heaved, chests pressed tightly together, the heat of her seeped into his skin. The rush of relief that he’d been able to get to her in time, making him feel mad with the need to kiss her. To celebrate life.

“I… wanted some air,” she choked out, tears gathering in her eyes.

Tierney dropped his forehead to hers, the relief of her almost dying rushing out in a breath, making it hard to hold up his own head. He planted his arms on either side of her, lifting some of his bulk from her body, but not all of it.

Noses pressed together, eyes closed, their breath mingled, the pull of her lips to his was almost too much. Tierney wanted to kiss her. All he had to do was move a hair’s breadth closer and he would be right where he wanted to be. Sweet smelling and soft, her lips called to him.

Opening his eyes, he gazed into hers, half-lidded with relief, and was it possible he was seeing desire there, too? The same hot-blooded craving that coursed through his own body?

Ballocks… This was not the way it was supposed to go. Although, he wasn’t certain what exactly he expected to happen. Just not this. As much as he desired her, he also had some measure of self-preservation. Kissing the daughter of the enemy, and any subsequent action doing so might lead to, was out of the question. Tierney pushed away from her, standing as she lay still on the deck. He reached down, grasped her hand and tugged her to stand tall, her body flush to his.

“Get back to your cabin. Dinna come out unless I escort ye. ’Tis too dangerous.”

Rosamond nodded, her chin wobbling.

Mo chreach, she was going to cry and he was the reason why. As she backed away from him, her brow furrowed at something over his shoulder. Eyes narrowed to slits, mouth dropped open and hand pressed to those blood-red lips, she whispered, “Papa?”

Tierney whirled at the same time a warning went up from the men. A ship was indeed sailing at full speed toward them.