by Eliza Knight
“Och, lass. Do no’ be feeling sorry for me. ’Tis I who is feeling that way for ye. Ye’ve been a victim this whole time, and I can no’ figure out why they’d abuse ye so. Me, I can understand. Gille was always jealous.” Lorne shook his head.
“I think Shanna blames me for what happened with my parents. They disowned her because they did no’ want her reputation to tarnish mine. That was a harsh punishment for a young lass who had nothing and no one. She was no more than a child. Her anger must have festered while she was away. I tried to write to her and sneak the letters out of the house, but my parents confiscated them, and I never heard from her either. It wasn’t until they had passed that I brought her back, but by then, I think she already hated me.”
“Ah, makes sense, even if it is unfair. It would seem our siblings have taken normal rivalries between relations to a whole new level.”
“Aye.”
The carriage pulled up to the docks, and Jaime scrambled off of Lorne’s lap to sit across from him, smoothing her hands over her rumpled skirt as a groom opened the door for their descent. Their luggage was carried onto the smaller frigate with a minimal crew that they’d be using. Mungo and Alison waited behind them like stalwart bodyguards. As if their presence alone could keep the two of them from acting on their impulses.
Emilia met them at the docks and wished them luck. All of it was happening so fast as the sun rose on the horizon.
“Do take care,” Jaime started. “The whisky—”
“Sails tomorrow. Do no’ worry.” Emilia smiled confidently. “I have it all under control. I will no’ let ye down.”
“Ye are a gem,” Jaime crowed. “I think ye’re due a raise.”
“I will no’ turn ye down.”
“Well, ye know where to find me should ye need anything.”
“With all due respect as my employer—go. We will be fine.”
Jaime laughed, thanked Emilia again, and then hurried up the gangway with Lorne and their faithful servants.
The sails were let out, a brisk morning wind making their departure quick. No time to turn back. She would be alone with Lorne for possibly a week before her sister arrived. An entire week to get up to mischief.
Jaime shook her head. She should not be thinking about it that way at all. In fact, she should watch the seagulls that circled overhead as the ship moved away from the quay. And this time, she wouldn’t shoo them because she needed them as a distraction from the man who stood beside her.
“Are ye tired? Would ye like to nap?”
Jaime glanced up at Lorne and gave him a derisive look, all the easier to forget she wanted to kiss him. “Do ye think because I’m a female, I’m no’ used to waking before dawn? I’ll have ye know the reason I was ready so quickly was that I’d already been up for hours and dressed. I run a shipping company, duke, no’ a salon.”
Lorne held up his hands and backed away slowly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Ye need no’ bite my head off, lass. I was no’ suggesting the like at all. Only trying to see to your comfort.”
Jaime pressed her lips together. She wasn’t used to someone seeing to her comfort besides the people she paid to do it. The experience was foreign to her but pleasant.
Jaime leaned against the rail, gazing out over the ocean as the distance between them and the shore grew. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I’m just used to people thinking that because I’m a woman I’m no’ capable.”
Lorne joined her at the rail, his large hands flattened on the wood, but she could feel his eyes on her rather than the diminishing wharf. “Anyone who would think that does no’ know ye verra well.”
She cocked her head at him. “And ye do?”
“I think I do, lass.”
Jaime turned to look at him, studying his strong jaw, the line of his nose with the bump on the bridge from where it had been broken. His wide, full mouth that could do all sorts of things to her body, and then finally his eyes. A steel-gray, they were fathomless. Sturdy. Dependable.
Not at all the eyes that she’d imagined she’d see while she spent so much time hating him. But as she gazed into his eyes now, she saw the young duke she’d from nearly a decade before still lingering there. Only now, he was wiser, a little harder. And more serious. But the warmth of him, the confidence, the wit. Those things that she’d fallen in love with him for were all still there. Combined with the man he was now, they made him all the more appealing.
What a disaster.
“Ye might,” she offered. “But only time will tell.”
“Does that mean ye plan to give me the time?”
“Just that I’m considering it.”
But she was doing a lot more than considering it. There were parts of her she’d hidden away. Told herself that she would never be able to open those boxes and give voice to the hopes she’d had for a husband, a family. When she’d taken over the company, the business had been her main goal—her only goal besides the revenge against Lorne and seeing to her sister’s comfort. She’d tossed away any idea of a future family of her own.
And now Lorne had stormed back into her life, vibrantly alive, and offered the things she’d never dreamed she’d have. Had told herself not to even think about wanting.
Drat the tiny boxes she’d kept locked in her heart, for they were starting to peek open. Little whispers that try as she might, she couldn’t ignore. The more she listened, the more the bolted boxes wrenched open. Now, here she was, standing before him, wishing he would kiss her and that no one would care.
“What are ye thinking?” he asked. “Ye’ve a faraway look. And I’ll be honest, I’m intrigued because ye’re no longer frowning at me.”
Heat rushed to her face. “I was only thinking about how much has changed since ye came back from France.”
It was the first time she’d not said, “come back from the dead,” and the little tug at the corner of Lorne’s lip told her he’d noticed.
“Ye mean more than my brother selling ye my castle and then eloping with your sister?”
Jaime laughed and pressed her hand to her hot face. “I can no’ believe all of this is happening. It is almost too wild for the truth.”
Lorne chuckled. “If it were in a book, I doubt I’d believe it.”
“Me either. Although I’ve read some pretty fantastical tales.”
“Ye like to read?”
“Ah-ha! Something ye did no’ know about me,” she teased.
“Now that I think of it, I do recall seeing ye in the drawing room of your parents’ manse with your nose in a book.”
“Ye would be right.”
“I also enjoy books. It was one of the things I missed the most when I was imprisoned.”
“Will ye tell me about it? Your imprisonment.”
A dark cloud fell over his face, and she thought he would shut down, but he smiled. “A somber discussion should be done over tea, or whisky perhaps.”
“Why no’ both? We’re on a ship, after all. No one can tell us we’re behaving improperly by imbibing in spirits so early in the morning.” She glanced to where Mungo and Alison lurked nearby. “Except maybe those two. But we can tell them to leave us alone for a little bit, aye?”
“My kind of lass.” He grinned, and she led him into the captain’s quarters, which her captain had graciously given up during this particular journey. “Besides, the fact that we’re traveling together is liable to stir up enough trouble that morning whisky will be the least of our problems.”
“True.”
They sent Mungo and Alison to get tea, whisky, and sandwiches from the ship’s kitchen. While they waited, they made themselves comfortable in the cabin. She sank onto a well-cushioned alcove with wide windows staring out at the view, and Lorne sat in a wing-backed chair, his long, muscled legs spread out before him. She endeavored not to look at him, even though her wayward gaze kept roving over.
Goodness, but he was handsome and alluring. Unfairly so, to be sure.
She was amazed at how c
omfortable they could be together in silence, especially given a fortnight ago, she might have pulled a pistol on him if he dared get cozy in her presence. Even though she tried to hide her feelings from herself, it was hard not to feel warmer when he was around—even charged with an extra dose of energy that was as foreign to her as being timid.
Happiness.
15
The lass was so incredibly arresting.
Perched on the pillows, her legs curled beneath her, he could almost envision they were having a relaxing day in each other’s company rather than trying to head two idiots off at the pass.
As she stared out at the water, she looked peaceful. As though she belonged on the sea. From what he knew of the Andrewson Shipping Company, her father had inherited the business from his sire but had more interest in being in London than Scotland and even less interest in running a company. Before Lorne had left for war, it seemed the shipping company was on the verge of bankruptcy. Lorne could only credit its current success to the woman sitting before him.
What couldn’t she do when she put her mind to it?
Alison and Mungo did not knock as they entered. Lorne kept his face sober, rather than breaking out into a smile at the volatile expression on her face as the maid passed his way and how Mungo glowered at her. The two of them were getting along splendidly.
It was obvious the woman didn’t like that her mistress was alone with him—a concern Mungo didn’t have—and the persnickety lady’s maid was going to let Lorne know that she wasn’t going to make his life easy, or give them privacy. And that was fine by him. Whatever Alison needed to see that he was truly a decent man for her mistress. At Mungo had his back should the maidservant try to carve his heart out with a teaspoon.
With the tea service placed on the small table before them, Alison and Mungo took up guard by the door. Jaime poured out for the two of them, topping each cup of tea with a splash of whisky and a wink. The light sway of the ship barely registered with the liquid in their cups. She passed him his spiked tea and then raised her cup to clink gently against his.
“To resolutions.”
“Resolutions?” Lorne asked.
“Aye, we’ve a number of quandaries. And we’re going to need the fortitude to get through them.”
“Ah, aye, I see. To resolutions.” He sipped the liquor with lay a soothing path down his throat.
She picked up one of the small sandwiches and nibbled.
“Elegant fare for a ship.” Lorne lifted one of the sandwiches, taking note that not one of them held a cucumber. He didn’t bother to nibble but popped the whole square into his mouth.
Jaime laughed. “Only when I’m aboard. I think they like to remind me I’m a lady and not a coarse buccaneer.”
“Why can ye no’ be both?” He wiggled his brows.
She cocked her head at him, a soft laugh falling from her delicate throat. “Ye’d be the first man to suggest it.”
He grinned and raised his cup again. “Resolutions, remember? I like to be a trailblazer. After all, I did come back from the dead.”
Jaime flicked her gaze toward her maid and Mungo. “Ye may leave us. Both of ye.”
The maid narrowed her gaze, not wanting to exit at all, and Mungo appeared ready to throttle her.
“Alison, I will be perfectly fine, I can assure ye. The duke is a gentleman, and I am more than capable of handling myself. Why no’ go and have a cup, both of ye. We’ve some matters to discuss.”
Alison did not look happy at all about the prospect and flashed Lorne a glower that promised she’d slit his throat as fast as MacInnes would.
“I promise to take good care of Miss Andrewson. Ye have my word. And I’m as good as my word, am I no’, Mungo?”
Mungo nodded. “Aye, Your Grace.”
Alison bowed her head and exited, hesitating in shutting the door and then finally disappearing when Mungo yanked it closed for her.
“What are the odds she stands outside listening?” Lorne asked with a raised brow.
Jaime grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “We’d be fools to believe otherwise.”
“Mungo,” he called. “To tea, both of ye!”
A small scuffle sounded on the other side of the door that had Lorne thinking Mungo may have had to carry Alison off like a sack of wool.
“Ah, where were we?” Lorne said, pouring a healthy splash of whisky into his cup. “I believe ye wanted to know about my journey overseas.”
“I feel compelled to remind ye that ye’re under no obligation to talk to me about your time in prison.”
Lorne took a fortifying sip of his whisky. “I’ve no’ spoken to anyone about it. I gave the War Office the basic facts, but I’ve kept the rest to myself.”
“I will no’ pry if ye do no’ want to share. But as a friend—”
He interrupted her. “A friend, ye say? Is it true? Are ye feeling well?”
Jaime chuckled and popped the rest of her sandwich into her mouth. “I’ll deny it should anyone ask.”
“There she is.” He plucked another tea sandwich and ate it in one bite. “I want to tell ye, lass.”
Jaime settled back against the cushions with her feet tucked under her, teacup in her lap. She watched him—patient, no judgment—and he realized then, he wanted nothing more than share his story with this woman and this woman alone.
“We were close to defeat, but my men and I soldiered on. Fighting the demandable French, knowing that death was soon to be our sentence.” He paused a moment, feeling himself sink back onto that smoke-covered field, where bodies littered the blood-soaked earth. “I ordered my men to retreat. We needed to get away from the blasted cannon fire. And as we made haste, the ground around me exploded. I was knocked unconscious.”
Jaime was silent, but her expression said everything she felt—horror, fear, trepidation.
“When I woke, I was no longer on the field but in a dark cell. A dungeon in a French bastard’s fortress.” Her soft gasp was enough to make him want to leap up and pull her into his arms. To change the subject. Perhaps back to kissing. “Shall I stop?”
“Nay,” she whispered.
“All right, but ye must tell me if this is too much.”
Her wide brown eyes never left his. “I will. Please, continue.”
“All right.” Lorne washed the bitter memory down with the last dregs of his tea. “I did not know if my men had made it to safety or no’. No idea how long they planned to keep me.” He held out his cup for a refill. “For days, they questioned me. Tortured me. The only thing that made me think they did no’ mean to kill me was the fact that my wounds from the battlefield were treated, as were the wounds they inflicted through torture.”
“Lorne,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”
“No one did, sweetling. Else I imagine I’d have come home a lot sooner. They got inventive with their torment, pitting one prisoner against the other. Whenever I got close enough to one of the guards, I would fight him too in hopes of escaping or at least allowing one of the other men to leave.”
“Did ye know any of them?”
He shook his head. “Never met any of them in my life. But I never forgot their faces and if I came across them today, I’d recognize them. I didn’t realize how much time had elapsed. One day, the men and I devised a plan. When they unlocked the cell and we passed through, one of us stuck a slim piece of rock in the side slot, so they’d think they’d locked it, but truly the rock would block the bolt. We prayed it would work. And it did. When the guards settled down for the evening, which often meant drinking and gambling, we slipped right past them and into the night.”
“That easily?” She looked surprised, as she should be, because it wasn’t.
He shook his head but didn’t want to tell her that they’d overpowered and killed the guards. Stole their clothes and coin to book passage. But as he gazed into her eyes, he knew he could trust her with his dark secrets. “We did some things…”
Jaime nodded, a slight smile
on her lips. “Good. They deserved it.”
And that was that—full and utter acceptance.
Lorne set down his cup, took off his doublet, and rolled up the sleeve of his linen shirt. He’d seen her glance at the scars poking out when he’d come to help her on her ship. Seen the curiosity that lingered in her gaze. And he wasn’t afraid to share his wounds with her.
“What are ye doing?” she asked, eyes on his movements.
“I want to show ye my scars.”
“All of them?” She glanced at the door.
“No’ all of them, lass—we have to save something for the wedding night.” He was teasing, though he did hope a marriage between them would happen.
“Alison may have a fit of apoplexy.”
“She might.” He winked. “I hope ye will no’.”
“I’m no’ scared, Lorne. No scar ye show me would change how I feel about ye.”
He paused, unable to not tease her. “Are ye admitting to having feelings for me?”
“Aye, I’m just no’ going to tell ye what they are.”
He laughed at that and stood, walking to where she sat. He held out his left arm, so she could see the wicked scar that ran from below his elbow on his forearm all the way up to his shoulder, though he’d not pushed his sleeve up more than his bicep.
Jaime set down her tea and reached tentatively for his arm, her brown eyes gazing at him for permission. She untucked her legs from beneath her and stood.
Lorne nodded and felt the jolt of lightning through his skin when she traced his scar with her finger from the bottom to where his shirt sleeve stopped. She slipped her fingers beneath his sleeve, moving upward toward his shoulder, tracing the puckered skin.
“Is this from the cannon or their treatment of ye?”
Was it him, or did her eyes seem wetter than before? “The cannon.”
“Ye’re lucky no’ to have lost your arm.” Her face was grim, worried, and perhaps even a little relieved.
“I am.”
“I want to see the rest.”
Lorne stiffened, feeling the shock of her words down to his toes. Show her the rest… Lord help him, he wouldn’t do that. Not without an “I do” before a priest. He wanted her, both body and soul. Had been willing to give her the most delicious pleasure in the garden of her flat. But to show himself… It was a terrifying thought. Would make a woman run, he was certain. However, wouldn’t he want to know now if that was going to be her reaction, rather than find out on the wedding night that he was a battered and scarred monster?
