Hot, meaty stew and rich wine bolstered them both, making it seem almost easy to make their way through the wide road running through the center of the village and on to the harbor.

That, and the way none of the tavern’s patrons had so much as looked twice at either of them.

“See, lass,” Quinn murmured as they elbowed their way along the wide walkway of wooden planks which ran the length of the harbor, “I told ye. So long as we keep to ourselves and pretend as though there is nothing amiss, no one will think twice of our traveling together.”

Perhaps if he repeated this enough, he would believe it.

It was entirely for her benefit that he put forth a confident attitude. In reality, this was the most dangerous stage in their journey, as there was no chance of escaping an angry crew while in the middle of the North Sea.

While he had always been a strong swimmer out of necessity, he little longed to test his mettle in open water.

If they caught wind of his true purpose—either because the lass allowed the truth to slip out, or because of a mistake on his part—it would be over. He would be lucky to escape with his life when all was said and done.

Once again, he gave Ysmaine credit for her courage. She walked with her chin high despite the fear he knew coursed through her veins. She had cowered against him from the moment they’d reached the village until the moment they took seats in the tavern.

He took it she’d never spent time among so many at once—to say nothing of the nature of the men who wandered about the docks and the village beyond. Rough men, men who lived their lives on the sea. Merchants, tradesmen, peddlers.

All of them mixed together in a teeming, shouting mob.

None of them above leering at a beautiful lass such as the one whose arm was linked with his.

He would not allow her to let go, awkward though it was to push their way through the crews who unloaded crates of goods from the ships docked at the piers. Sidestepping barrels being rolled down long planks which extended from ship to docks.

More than once did a man call out to Ysmaine, inviting her to go sailing with him. More than once did the chorus of knowing, lascivious laughter ring out from groups of half-drunk men lingering about.

She took it well, as though she’d heard such invitations before.

Perhaps she had, it occurred to him that he knew little about her in that regard. Her father had been quite a figure in Clan Fraser, he knew. It seemed unlikely he would have allowed his clansmen to speak to her that way, or that he would have left her open to such language and behavior.

But he had not known the man. Far stranger things had taken place.

They reached the second-to-last ship, which one of the shipping agents along the dock had confirmed was the one sailing to Cherbourg before continuing down the coast of France.

It was a smart, single-masted ship built from oak and fitted with a square sail which the crew was in the process of lowering. Its fresh appearance—he suspected it was a new ship, as it did not bear the worn quality of the others docked nearby—led Quinn to wonder how much more enjoyable the journey would be under better circumstances.

He nudged Ysmaine to hurry, hoping against hope that she would manage to do her part as they had planned. The ship’s captain may not be as well-inclined to provide passage to a lass, or might charge more simply because he believed he could get away with it.

The man cast a shrewd eye toward Ysmaine as they approached, and Quinn was certain to keep the jeweled sword in plain view. A silent warning.

“Good evening to you, sir,” Ysmaine began, her good manners coming up at once. “I’m looking to secure passage for my escort and myself.”

The man spat, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Aye? And where are ye looking to go, then?”

Ysmaine flinched at his sharp voice, which Quinn knew was most likely sharper and more booming than usual in an effort to intimidate. She swallowed hard but did not back down. “Cherbourg. The Marquis d’Orsay waits for us. He sent his man to escort me back to his estate.”

It was Quinn’s turn to be looked up and down by the captain. “I see. And did he give ye the fare you’ll be needing to make such a sailing?”

“Of course. We need only your permission to board.” She patted the sack she carried beneath one arm, full of dried meat and vegetables. “We have our own provisions. As soon as you determine what would be a fair amount to pay for two passages to Cherbourg, we can be on our way.”

She spoke with such conviction, such clarity of purpose. He had expected her to wilt beneath the captain’s scrutiny, so, too, had the captain, if the look of grudging admiration he tried to conceal was any hint.

When he spoke again, he sounded more like a gentleman than before. “I suppose half a shilling would do the trick, if ye only intend to go as far as Cherbourg and will be taking care of yer own provisions. I warn ye, though, that I do not keep accommodations for passengers. This is a cargo ship, the cabins used by myself and my crew. Understood?”

Ysmaine favored him with a brilliant smile. “Yes, of course. So long as we can make it to France.”

She had done it. He had doubted her, but she’d put his doubts to rest. She could handle herself in the face of crude, overbearing men who would likely wish to take advantage of her.

He nodded when the man’s back was turned, flashing her a smile he hoped shared his admiration and faith in her.

Only when they were alone, in the bowels of the ship, did he dare speak. “Ye did fine, lass.” He patted her on the back, a bit awkward, to be sure, but it was all in the service of giving her greater confidence.

She sank down onto a wooden crate, holding her face in her hands. “I shook so. Did you not see me shaking?”

“Nay, lass. Ye looked for all the world as though ye knew what ye were about and what ye wanted.” He chuckled as he sat on the floor in front of her. “Did ye see how the captain changed his attitude when ye told him we brought our own provisions? And that ye were merely waiting for him to name his price? I thought he would soil himself on the spot!”

She laughed, hands over her mouth. “He did look surprised,” she admitted.

“Surprised? You knocked him over, lass. Well done.” He did not notice his hand rubbing her knee until it was too late. He had caressed her without meaning to, a friendly gesture, one meant to bolster her spirits, but one easily mistaken for something more intimate.

He pulled his hand back, looking down at her feet.

She cleared her throat. “Now. He said it would take two days to reach Cherbourg. That is when we will truly face a challenge, is it not?”

The lass was merely doing her best to move past that awkward moment, and he could not have adored her more for it if he tried. She seemed to possess an instinctive understanding of him, as he did of her.

He adored her far too greatly, all things considered. It would pain him beyond measure to take his leave of her.

“Aye,” he agreed, gruffer than he had intended, but in need of a way to mask his torment. The softening of his opinion of her. “We shall ask about, or, rather, you shall, since I still do not trust myself to speak. Especially in front of the French.”

“They will know you for a Scotsman in an instant,” she whispered with a soft chuckle.

“Aye, they will that. You will ask, then, where the Marquis can be found. He has sent for you. I expect almost anyone would be able to tell ye where to find his estate.”

She waited, eyes wide, breath all but held in anticipation. “And then what?”

A fair question. One to which he did not yet have the answer.

“I will think on it as we sail,” he decided, then changed the subject by arranging his bedroll for her. “You ought to rest. The bandages on your leg will need to be changed in the morning.”

She gasped as though suddenly coming to a realization. “What will you sleep on?”

He had made his bed out of a horse blanket, using the saddle as a pillow, but they had sold the beast in Burghead to pay for their passage.

He shrugged. “I shall make do. Ye must consider, lass, how often I’ve made a suitable bed out of far less than a floor and a pack of garments beneath my head. I shall be quite comfortable.”

She did not look convinced as she settled in, though it was clear from how quickly she relaxed that she was indeed exhausted. The stubborn lass required constant reminding that she was recovering from serious illness and ought not push herself too hard.

Their quarters, if they could be called that, were humble. All around them sat boxes and crates, sacks and barrels, all of which would be transported to Cherbourg and other points along the coast of France. The cargo provided privacy, at least, the two of them having worked their way to the rear of the hold.

Would that the sea might remain calm throughout their journey, or else they could be crushed by falling or sliding cargo as they slept.

The thought kept him alert, always on the watch while Ysmaine slept behind him. He assumed she slept, at the very least, since she went silent soon after lying down.

What would he do once they reached the shore? He hadn’t thought his plan out that far. he’d never thought any of it out, really, merely acting and reacting as situations presented themselves. So far, this approach had served him well.

But a Marquis would be no fool. Nor would he wish to part with his money so easily. Without the threat of a murdered bride hanging over his head, how could Quinn convince him to pay the ransom?