The next morning, Vivienne bid a tight-throated farewell to her father and Claudette. Though she tried her best to maintain her composure, she couldn’t help the tear that slipped free as she embraced her father.
“I’ll be back again soon, Papa,” she murmured, her voice thick. “I promise.”
Kieran stood like a granite mountain behind her as she gave her father one last hug. His silent presence was a reminder that she didn’t know when—or, in reality, if—she truly would return to her family home.
She turned to Claudette and pressed the pouch of coins she’d brought from court into the woman’s hand. “I’ll send more if I can,” she said. “I hope this will be enough to take care of—”
“Don’t fret, Lady Vivienne,” Claudette cut in, emotion filling her eyes. “I would never let anything happen to your father. I—” She bowed her black and silver head as if struggling with something to say. At last, she met Vivienne’s gaze once more. “Rest easy,” was all she said.
Pierre, a lad of no more than ten from the village whom Claudette had managed to bring on to the stables, rounded the keep with her and Kieran’s horses in tow. After Kieran helped her into the saddle and mounted himself, he took the lead, urging his horse northward.
Vivienne remained twisted in her saddle for a long while, waving at the keep even though she knew her father couldn’t see her. She hoped Claudette was describing it to him, remaining by his side until he returned into the keep.
She knew instinctively that she could trust her father’s care to Claudette. The woman was kind and attentive, and she’d noticed more than once on her visits home that the two seemed to share a quiet affinity for each other.
Yet knowing her father was in good hands and banishing all her fears to be leaving him were two different things. Ever since her mother had died, Vivienne had taken on his care as her responsibility. But how could she help him now that she would be far away, without the means to send money?
The day-long ride to Calais was passed mainly in silence. Vivienne succumbed to her worries, realizing repeatedly that she was biting her fingernails. Each time, she returned her hand to her reins, only to catch herself doing it again not long after.
When the bustling port town of Calais came into view at dusk, she blinked as if waking from a fitful sleep.
Kieran guided them into the heart of the town, halting at a large system of stables. He helped her down and hoisted both their saddlebags over his shoulder, then approached the stable master to negotiate selling their horses. A short while later, Kieran accepted a pouch of coins and hefted it to measure its weight.
“This should be enough to buy us passage to Scone.”
She perked up at that. “Is that where you are taking me? To Scone?”
Though she knew little of Scotland, having spent her entire life in France, she was aware that Scone was where King Robert the Bruce’s palace lay. And though she would be a stranger in a new land, if there was one thing Vivienne understood, it was how to function in a palace court.
Kieran eyed her, clearly able to read her sudden hopefulness.
“Dinnae get yer expectations up,” he replied. “We will pass through Scone, aye, but we willnae be staying. It is too public, too exposed, even with so many of the King’s bodyguards there.”
“Oh.” Though her heart sank, she tried to keep her chin lifted.
She followed him as he wove his way through the cobbled streets on foot, heading for the docks. Even before they reached the water, Vivienne could smell the sharp brine of the sea, mingled with the scents of tar and fish.
The docks swarmed with activity. The air was filled with men calling orders and shouting to each other in a variety of languages, most of which she didn’t recognize. Men lowered and raised crates onto ships of all shapes and sizes with rope pulleys. Others loaded cargo into wagons to be transported away from Calais. And a steady stream of ships seemed to be arriving and departing despite the fact that dusk was darkening into night.
Taking her hand in his to keep her close, Kieran began walking the length of the docks, making inquiries of the men as he went. When at last he got a nod of confirmation from one of the sailors about their destination, he pulled Vivienne toward one of the larger ships.
“Captain!” Kieran shouted up to the ship. A moment later, a blond head appeared above the gunwales.
“Who is asking?”
“Someone looking to line yer pockets with gold.”
The man snatched up one of the many ropes dangling from the rigging, and to Vivienne’s shock, he launched himself over the gunwales. But instead of landing with a bone-crushing crunch on the dock some fifteen feet below, he used the rope to swing down and plant his boots on the wooden planks with surprising grace.
Vivienne felt her eyes widen as she took in the sight of the man before them. He was a handful of years older than Kieran, yet he was a fair bit more weathered from the sun, wind, and salty air. His tanned face bore more than a few crinkled lines, yet his bright blue eyes shone with intensity even in the fading light.
He wore a simple tunic, breeches, and high boots on his lean, rangy frame. With his feet planted wide and his arms crossed, he rivaled Kieran for the most imposing figure on the docks. He looked like a fearsome Vikings from generations past.
“Oh?” the man replied, casually dropping the rope and eyeing Kieran and Vivienne. “And why would you do that, Scotsman?”
“Yer man there says ye are sailing for Scone. I’d like to buy passage.”
“Ja,” the captain replied in a Northern tongue, confirming Vivienne’s impression that he was a Norseman. “But I am in the business of shipping spirits, Scotsman, not people.”
“As I said, I’m prepared to pay ye handsomely.” Kieran removed the pouch he’d gotten from the stable master and hefted it to demonstrate the loud clinking of the multitude of coins inside.
The captain grinned. “Ah, now you speak a language I understand well. What are you offering?”
Kieran considered. “Half for a spot for me and the lass. More if ye can provide her with a private cabin.” He cocked a brow then. “Out of curiosity, what sort of spirits are ye transporting?”
The captain waved at the stream of barrels being loaded and unloaded from his ship. “From France to Scotland? Wine, of course. And from Scotland to France, whisky.”
Kieran opened the top of the pouch and removed one coin. “In that case, ye can have the entire pouch, assuming ye can provide the lady with a cabin.”
The captain tilted his head in assent, but he waited, watching Kieran with open curiosity.
“And ye may have this,” Kieran went on, lifting the single coin he’d removed. “If I can fill a waterskin with the whisky ye’re offloading.”
At that, the captain broke into a loud, barking laugh. “I like the cut of your jib, Scotsman.”
“Kieran MacAdams,” he said by way of introduction. “And Vivienne.”
She noticed that he didn’t introduce her as a lady, but given the way the captain’s keen eyes assessed them, she doubted the man missed much.
The captain dipped his blond head in a quick bow. “Captain Ganger Larsson,” he replied.
He turned from them and shouted to one of his men to fetch a waterskin and fill it from one of the kegs that was being rolled down the docks. As the sailor saw to his orders, Kieran approached the captain and handed him the pouch of coins.
“When will we depart?”
“As soon as the last of these barrels is loaded,” Captain Larsson said. “The wind waits for no man, nor does she care if the sun or the moon lights her way. Come, I’ll get you aboard.”
Captain Larsson brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled. In a flash, a wooden gangplank was lowered, Vivienne assumed for her benefit, for the captain seemed more than capable of climbing back up the same rope he’d swung down on.
The captain strode nimbly up the gangplank, and Kieran started after him, but Vivienne hesitated. Kieran turned questioning eyes on her.
“I’ve never been on a ship before,” she admitted, somewhat embarrassed. For as refined and sophisticated as she’d become at French court, in many ways she was still the girl from a small, humble estate in a landlocked corner of France.
“Dinnae fash, lass. Ye’ll be fine,” Kieran murmured reassuringly.
Reluctantly, she stepped onto the gangplank and let him guide her along, a steadying hand on her elbow.
Even though the waters of the harbor were sheltered and calm, she could feel even the slight sway of the ship beneath her. She could only pray that Kieran was right.