Chapter Five
The man stood. Her gaze traveled the length of his great height. She’d wager he could even look Ian in the eye. A warm smile curved his lips as he bowed. “My name is Tristan Thatcher. You are on board my ship, the Messenger, and presently, you are in my quarters.”
Her eyes widened. “Yer quarters?” she gasped. “How did I…” Her voice trailed off as her fingers reached for her brow. She winced, feeling the bandage. Straightaway, she knew it was where the mast had struck her. She closed her eyes against the memory of howling wind and roaring thunder.
“The storm. There was a storm. I was sailing. It was too late to turn back.”
“Please, try to remain calm,” the man said softly.
She gripped the blanket so hard her knuckles whitened as the intonation of his speech broke through her muddled thoughts. “Ye’re English. This is an English vessel.”
Slowly, the man sat back down beside her, which set her heart to race faster. She squeezed as far as she could against the wall.
A moment later, he stood again. “You need not fear me. I have no quarrel with the Scottish. In fact, my mother was Scottish, God rest her soul.”
~ * ~
Tristan held his breath as he watched the woman’s grip on the blanket slowly loosen. Still, tension remained in her stiff posturing. He could only imagine how terrified and confused she must feel—to wake up in a strange place and in the company of an unknown man. More than that, he knew some of her worry and fear must have been for her fellow travelers. He cleared his throat, deciding it would not be fair to give her any false hope. “We came upon you, floating on splintered timber, the remains of your vessel, no doubt.” He swallowed hard, hating to say the words, but he knew he must. “You were alone. Whomever you sailed with, I’m afraid, has likely been lost.”
She did not burst into sobs as he had expected. Instead her brows drew together, and she looked confused. “But I set out alone. There was no one on board my wee skiff but me.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “You were sailing the open waters alone…in a skiff?”
She shook her head. “Nay—I mean aye, I was alone, but nay, the storm must have swept me out to sea.”
He canted his head as he studied her. Now that her hair was dry, the color was as red as the feathers of the Scottish Crossbill. Her sunburn had already begun to fade. He suspected her skin would clear to creamy white with a spattering of freckles across her nose. The color of her eyes easily bested the brilliance of the summer sky. He could look at her for hours. There was something almost otherworldly about her beauty, but what manner of woman set out in a boat on her own?
He considered the rumors being tossed about by his men: she was a silky or a siren who would bring them nothing but disaster. Cook asked the captain to throw her back to the sea, fretting she belonged to one of the Blue Men who would crash their ship into rocks if they kept her. He had ordered the men to desist their superstitious gossip, arguing she was a flesh and blood woman. When he asked if they wanted her blood on their hands, they all desisted straightaway.
Despite her ethereal beauty, her humanity was not in question in his mind. It was apparent in the fear he glimpsed in her eyes. He reached out and gently squeezed one of her hands. “You are safe now.” He still did not know her name, but he didn’t want to rush her.
She muttered something, her eyes dropping to her lap.
“Pardon?” he asked.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze once more. “My name is Rose,” she said as if reading his thoughts. She took her hand out from under his and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she said her name again, her voice imbued with strength. “Thank ye for rescuing me, Captain Thatcher. When can I expect to be home?”
He smiled, pleased by her frankness and the change in her demeanor. “I’m glad you asked that, because we’ve all been wondering where exactly you came from.”
“I hail from,” she started to say, but then she paused. Her eyes darted to her hands and then to a place on the wall above his head. “Jura. I hail from the Isle of Jura.”
“Are you certain?” he asked. “You seemed to hesitate.”
She nodded. “My mind is still muddled, but I assure ye, Jura is my home. When did ye say ye can take me?”
“Rose,” he began cautiously not knowing how she would respond to news that her return would not be imminent. “I will gladly bring you home, but it will not be possible for some weeks.”
“Weeks?” she said, sitting up straight, her eyes wide with alarm. “But why so long? Can ye not change course?”
“It isn’t as easy as that. Judging by your location and your condition when we spotted you, you must have drifted for at least two days. Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive.”
Her eyes grew wider still. “I can’t believe I’ve been gone for two days.”
“Longer than that, my dear. You’ve been battling a mighty fever for the last three days. Since you came aboard, we have distanced ourselves from the islands. We’re currently anchored just off Cardiff.”
“Where’s that?”
“Wales.”
“Wales!”
“Yes, and in two days’ time, we set our course for France.”
“France!”
He chuckled. “Yes, France. I’m sorry to alarm you, but I do have a schedule to keep.”
“Forgive me, Captain. Ye can imagine my surprise.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Rose. We’ve made a habit of surprising one another. Imagine my surprise, shock actually, when my lookout told me he saw a woman drifting on the meager remnants of a boat.”
Just then a soft rapping on the door intruded upon their conversation.
“Enter,” Tristan said.
Robert appeared at the door. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “She’s awake!”
Tristan turned back to Rose. “This is Robert Appleby, the surgeon who has tended you these last days.”
Robert squeezed just past the entryway. Then he dipped his head in greeting. “You have brought excitement to what has become a very routine trade route. Most of the crew is still convinced you’re a siren or a silky.” The surgeon paused as his laughter trailed off. “You aren’t actually a siren or a silky, are you?”
She smiled slightly. “I assure ye I’m an ordinary woman.”
Tristan held her gaze for several moments, taking in her strength and courage. “I believe you are a woman, but ordinary? That I strongly doubt. Ordinary women are not found adrift on the sea with no land in sight.”
A sadness flashed in her eyes. “My skiff is destroyed then.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She sighed. “And after Ian worked so hard.”
“Your husband, no doubt, will think nothing about the skiff. He will be too overjoyed to see you in one piece.”
“I’m not married.”
“No?” he said not bothering to hide his surprise. She must have been near thirty in age. It was unthinkable that a woman as beautiful and courageous as she could be unmarried, but then that would explain why she would have the freedom to set out alone in the first place.
“Who is Ian?” he asked.
“My youngest brother. He made me a fine, wee ship.”
“You have brothers then?”
“Aye, a crew of them—five in total.”
“How did they allow you to venture out on the sea alone?”
Her eyes flashed bright with indignation, and the blanket fell away from her shoulders as she clenched her fists at her waist. “I am a woman with one and thirty years. I do not require the permission of my wee brothers in any matter.”
Robert chuckled. “Mind yourself, Captain. She’s got a temper to match her hair.” The old man’s voice grew softer as he continued, “just like my beloved Clara.”
Tristan glanced over his shoulder and saw tears glistening in Robert’s faded blue eyes. “My wife,” Robert said in explanation. “You are very like her in appearance. I would guess in other ways, too. She passed away ten years ago now, may God rest her soul. But she had gumption, fueled by her fiery hair. I loved her spirit,” he said, his voice cracking. “I will take my leave before I start blubbering.” He pointed to the bundle on her bed. “There is a clean tunic and a pair of hose from Simon, the cabin boy. They will have to do until some proper clothes are made for you. If you are feeling strong enough, you may take a turn on deck. But mind, you don’t overdo it.” He stepped out into the hall, then glanced back. “You really do remind me of my Clara.” In a muffle of tears, he was gone.
A sad smile curved Tristan’s lips as he turned back to Rose. “He loved his wife very much.”
“There is no finer or greater magic than true love,” she said softly.
She was right, or at least Tristan assumed she was right. His parents had known true love. Obviously, Robert had, as well. Tristan had never been on dry land long enough to fall in love. Still, talk of true love and magic only fueled his desire not to marry Lady Roxwell.
“If yer brow furrows anymore, ye’ll look like ye have a mustache.”
“Pardon?” he said, meeting her gaze.
She laughed. The sound was light and musical and flooded his heart with warmth. “Forgive me. ‘Tis what I’ve always said to my brothers when their worries make them too serious.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I needed the reminder.” Then he stood. “Although it’s impossible to tell in this small, dreary room, it is a fine day. The sun is shining. The waters are calm. If you have the strength and inclination, it would be my pleasure to escort you aloft. We can take a turn about the deck.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m curious about the ship, but I’m, admittedly, exhausted. Still, fresh air will no doubt do me good.” She nodded suddenly. “Perhaps just a quick turn then.”
“Agreed,” he said, smiling. “I will step out while you dress. Join me in the hall when you’re ready.”
Tristan again paced two steps in one direction and two in the other. What if it was too soon for Rose to be out of bed? What if the salty air was too much for her weakened lungs? Just as he was about to rap on the door and suggest they wait until the morrow, the door swung wide, and Rose stepped out into the hallway. The moment their eyes locked, his concern vanished. She looked radiant. Her red hair fell in a tangle of wild curls to her waist. When she smiled up at him, soft lines crinkled at her eyes. In truth, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“’Tis a might too big,” she said, smoothing her hands over the loose tunic.
He could barely make out her slim form in Simon’s clothing. “Wait just a moment,” he said, stepping past her into his room. He opened the small trunk wedged under the bed and pulled out a soft, black belt.
“If you’ll allow me,” he said, holding up the long, woven cord.
She raised her arms, and he reached around her waist, tying the belt so that it fell gently at her hips.
“That’s better,” she said. “Thank ye.”
He offered her his arm. “If you grow too weary, we will return straightaway. But for now…” He paused to gesture to the open hatch. “The sun and sea await your gaze.”