Chapter Thirteen
Rose opened her eyes. She lay on her side, Tristan’s warm body curled around hers from behind. His arm encircled her waist, and his leg held hers captive. Never had there been a more willing prisoner. She was surrounded by him. His warm breath caressed her neck. She held still, savoring his tender strength.
He stirred. She closed her eyes and made her breaths deep and even.
“Rose?” he whispered.
But she didn’t move or speak.
His arm slowly loosened, releasing her waist while the pressure of his leg slid away. A few moments later, she heard the door quietly open, then close once more. She turned to ensure the room was empty. Then she fell back down on the small bed, exhausted and elated all at once.
~ * ~
Philip sat across from his captain at the table on the forecastle. He was attempting to go over the ship’s accounts and supplies in preparation for setting sail, although Tristan was not making the task easy. Philip read off the number of barrels of ale in the hull. “We have more than we need. In fact, our supply should hold until we reach London. Should I cancel our standing order when we reach Calais?”
Tristan didn’t respond. Instead, he stared out over the rails, but at what Philip could not say.
“What do you think, Captain?”
“Good,” Tristan replied absently, his gaze unwavering.
“Interesting,” Philip said. “I appreciate your insight.” He cleared his throat before moving on to the next concern on his list. “Did you log the sacks of wool? We have two more than what our records show?”
Tristan murmured something incomprehensible.
Philip crossed his arms over his chest as he considered the dark circles under his captain’s eyes. “We’ve also ploughed the hull and planted a crop of oats.”
Nothing.
Philip chuckled. “Captain, the ship is sinking.”
“Fine, whatever you think.”
“Captain!”
Tristan looked up at his quarter master in surprise. “What’s come over you, Philip?”
“Me?” Philip said, pressing his hand to his chest. “In the last few minutes you’ve replaced our cargo with soil, and you let the Messenger sink to the bottom of the sea.”
Tristan sat straight and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Forgive me. I admit my mind is elsewhere, and I barely slept.”
Philip raised a quizzical brow. “Why was your sleep so troubled?”
Because Rose and I shared my bed last night.
“I’m not really sure why,” Tristan answered.
“All right, so you’re tired, but why are you so distracted?”
This morning, Rose’s round bottom was pressed against my hard length, and I had to dart out of bed before she awoke and felt my desire.
He lifted his brows and shook his head. “No reason comes to mind.”
Philip cleared his throat. “Before turning in last night, I…ah…went to my old cabin to ask you a question. You can imagine my surprise when I found the bed empty, and you nowhere else on the ship.”
“It’s not what you think, Philip,” Tristan said sternly. “Rose and I have decided to share my cabin to ensure tongues do not wag. Nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen. Rose is a woman of honor, just as I am a man of honor.”
Philip held out a placating hand. “I never would have assumed otherwise.” Then he looked over Tristan’s shoulder, and his face brightened. “Here is your beautiful wife now.”
Tristan turned and watched Rose cross the deck. She looked magnificent in her simple, deep green tunic. Red curls skimmed her waist. She smiled as she walked past the crew who, in turn, dutifully bowed and greeted her, but then Tristan noticed the appreciative gazes that continued to follow her as she approached the forecastle.
“Your men admire your choice of bride,” Philip said behind him.
“Of course, they do,” Tristan said softly as he continued to watch her. “There is much about Rose to admire.” He turned then and looked at Philip. “Have you sent the message to my father?”
Philip nodded. “A rider left Cardiff yesterday bound for London with your marriage announcement and your apologies to both your father and the Roxwell family.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Philip.”
“What is excellent?” Rose asked as she lifted the hem of her kirtle to climb the stairs.
Tristan reached down to assist her. “Philip has just informed me that he sent out a message to my father yesterday, announcing our marriage.”
Rose’s eyes flashed wide, but then her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. “And so it begins.”
Philip raised his cup of ale. “To new beginnings,” he said before downing the remainder of his drink. Then he set his cup down. “I will leave you both now to break your fast while I check our water stores.” He bowed to Rose before hastening down the stairs.
Now that they were alone, the feelings she had stirred within him during the night came rushing back.
He had held her, buried his face in her hair, and it had felt wonderful.
He looked down at her. She stood stiffly at his side. The silence between them dragged on too long. He cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”
Rose smiled brightly. “Fine, like a babe, never better…and ye, how did ye sleep, Captain—I mean, Tristan?”
“Very well, indeed,” he said quickly. But then he felt a pang of guilt for having lied to her. “Rose,” he began and placed his hand on hers. “I must tell you that I—”
“Captain and Mrs. Thatcher.”
At the sound of William’s voice, Rose snatched her hand away as if she had been caught with her fingers in someone else’s coffer.
“Good morrow, William.” Tristan said. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” the older man replied. “And what about you two? How did you both sleep?”
“Fine,” Rose blurted.
“Just fine,” Tristan added.
William beamed up at them as he finished climbing the stairs to the forecastle. “Glad I am to hear. I am ready to set sail when you are,” he said to Tristan, but then he turned his gaze to Rose. “But not before I meet your wife. It is an honor, Mistress Thatcher.”
A beautiful smile curved her lips. “Please call me Rose.”
William’s face lit up in response. “Then you must call me William.”
“Agreed,” Rose said.
“Captain!”
Everyone turned and looked down to the main deck where Philip stood.
“The men are ready to set sail and await your orders.”
Tristan nodded and took her hand, gently leading her to the far side of the forecastle. “Are you ready?” he said in a low voice.
Rose drew a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “I may be a bit nervous, but I’ve not wavered from my decision for a moment. Do not fash yerself about me, Tristan. I’m a MacVie. MacVies were born for adventure.”