Thirty

Jamie arrived at Moll’s two days before his ship was to sail. He might have stayed an extra day with Catherine, but there’d seemed little point. He would have had to lie to her or tell her things that would only make her more upset. He was confident she’d be waiting for him on his return. She was angry now, but he knew women well enough to tell when one was besotted. She’d even admitted it. He couldn’t help a slight grin. She’d said she loved him. No one had said the words to him before and actually meant them, but he knew Catherine did. It was awkward, to be sure, but he was already growing accustomed to the thought. It had proven easier than he’d expected, and not at all unpleasant. It was another burden, though, one that bound and tangled, demanding acknowledgement and some kind of reciprocal response.

Molly came up behind him, as if sensing his thoughts, wrapping both arms around him. “Remember what I told you I’d do to you the next time I caught you?” she murmured, nibbling his ear and reaching a hand to tug at the fastening of his breeches.

“Remember I told you I was married?” Removing her hand, he encircled her waist and hauled her down, settling her comfortably on his knee.

“That’s never stopped a lusty lad who’s far from home.” She pouted and rubbed against him, then reached across the table for a tankard of stout. “We’ve known each other a long time, Jamie. Have you no kiss for your old friend Moll after all the joy she’s given you?”

“I’m hard-pressed to refuse you, lass, when you put it like that.” He took a healthy swig of beer, placed his tankard deliberately on the table, and bussed her on the cheek.

“Not like that!” Molly protested, shifting around to straddle him and lowering her mouth to his.

“Here now, lass! You’ve claimed your kiss already.” Jamie wrestled her back onto the bench beside him. Their exertions were having a salutary effect on his anatomy, and his eager prick strained against the material of his breeches, much to Molly’s delight.

“She must be old and ugly to leave you walking around all swollen like that. Let Molly kiss it better, poor boy.”

“No, Moll,” he said patiently. “She’s young and pretty—a beauty, in fact.”

“But this is where you are tonight, Jamie, and this is what you’re wanting. Your prick can’t lie.” She tried to guide his hands to where her nipples thrust hard against her bodice.

“My prick doesn’t know its own mind, love, but I do. Whatever I’ve got to give belongs to her. Leave off, sweetling.”

“Well, I’ve never known you to pass up a tumble. God’s blood! Are you fallen in love, Sinclair?”

“Do you mean am I subject to melancholy, tears, and terrible fits of jealousy? Does my heart tremble when she passes? So it appears, my dear, but I’ve yet to decide. Next, I’ll be subject to vapors and trembling, fits of megrim, and sleepless nights. She’s quite unmanned me.”

“You’ve bedded her?”

“Of course I have. It hasn’t helped. It’s only made things worse.”

“Those are the symptoms. I’d say you’ve tumbled hard.”

“Will it pass, Moll?”

“That’s hard to say, Jamie. For some it’s said to be a lifelong affliction.”

“Good evening, friends!” The door burst open and the sound of penny whistle, fiddle, and clinking glasses drifted into the street as Jean, a Dutch sea captain named Van Kroeger, and a nondescript bookish man named Fredrick, wearing a black frock coat, crowded through the door. “Are we interrupting?” Jean asked, pushing through the crowd with his entourage and planting himself at the table.

“How could you be, my dears, when you’re all so unobtrusive, padding about on little cat’s feet,” Jamie said, reaching out to shake their hands.

“We’re soldiers and sailors. A brawling, noisome lot. It’s for others to move out of our way. What are we discussing—trade, high seas adventure, a woman?’

“Not a woman, the woman,” Molly said, taking advantage of the moment to reach under Jamie’s coat and search for his purse, running her hand appreciatively across his chest as she did.

“You’ll not find it there, Moll, try a little lower,” Jean encouraged. Leaning in toward Jamie he crooked a finger, and pointed to the corner, whispering in his ear. “Look over there, mon ami. A veritable goddess. That, my friend, is the devil’s playground. I wonder who she is?”

Jamie’s gaze followed where Jean pointed and stopped, transfixed. Freezing amber eyes watched his, unblinking and stony. His breath caught in his throat. Merde! Her eyes look like hell frozen over. She was dressed in boots and breeches, but it was clearly for her own comfort. She’d made no attempt at disguise. Honey-colored hair tumbled past her shoulders, and proud breasts were outlined clearly beneath the linen of her shirt. Two of Sullivan’s men were with her, and all three were well armed.

“That, my friend, is my wife.” He lifted his arm and carefully removed it from around Moll’s shoulders, wondering how long Catherine had been watching. Too fucking long, Jamie boy. How will you explain this, and what the hell is she doing here? He extracted Moll’s arm from beneath his coat and tossed her several coins, his eyes never leaving Catherine’s. “My company’s arrived, Moll. Prepare us a meal and a room upstairs, if you please, there’s a good girl.” He should go and talk to her, try to explain, but her eyes cut through him like daggers, there were king’s men in the room, and tonight he was a lowly merchant seaman, with no excuse to approach such an exquisite creature.

Molly coughed, beckoning from the stairway for him to follow. Looking back at Catherine, he raised his mug in a toast.

“I have known many,

and liked not a few,

but loved only one

this toast is to you.”

Downing his drink in one swallow, he slammed the mug on the table and went up the stairs without looking back.

Catherine rose and threw some coins on the table. “Come, gentlemen. There’s nothing for us here.” Wait for me. She snorted, recalling his words, then tossed down her drink, reached for her hat, and elbowed her way out the door, letting the wind slam it shut behind her.