The Bride Price (A Historical Romance)

by Karen Jones Delk

  “Good girl.” The Scotswoman nodded encouragingly. “Ye must always be open to new experiences, for ye ne’er know which might be the greatest adventure of yer life.”

  Bryna and Aggie were friends before the Mab had passed from the channel into the Gulf of Mexico. While they unpacked in their tiny cabin, laughing and bumping into each other with every move, they got to know each other. Soon Bryna found herself pouring out her story. When she had finished, the sympathetic Aggie seemed even more determined than before to protect her young charge.

  Accustomed to caring for others, Aggie had no trouble keeping her word to Mother Veronique. As the mother of daughters, she was well practiced in the role of chaperone, and until Lieutenant Derek Ashburn boarded the Mab in Bermuda, she could quell the advances of an unsuitable admirer with a single disapproving stare through her lorgnette.

  Bryna had been alone at the railing when Derek arrived at the Hamilton dock on Bermuda. Her breath had caught in her throat at the sight of him. Surrounded by a chattering bevy of females, the wives and daughters of his fellow officers who had come to see him off, he was dashing and handsome in his scarlet-and-black uniform. Raptly, Bryna watched as the British soldier made his farewells, bending to kiss the hand of each woman before he turned and strode toward the gangway without a backward look.

  The young man was slender and well-proportioned. He carried himself erectly and his shoulders were lithe and muscular. Curly chestnut hair framed his rather aristocratic face and his hazel eyes were warm and amiable the moment they met hers.

  Bryna realized with horror that he had seen her gawking at him. He was not yet aboard, and already he would think she was not a real lady. She ducked her head in embarrassment and quickly turned away, but he had seen the interest in her eyes.

  Derek introduced himself to Aggie and her ward at dinner that very evening. Although the Scotswoman could not fault his behavior, she made it clear that she did not like him. Toward her, he was a gentleman, polished and courteous, but there was a hint of flirtatiousness in his manner toward Bryna.

  The girl was flattered by his attention. For the first time in her life, she felt pretty. For the first time she was being courted, and for the first time she was in love.

  Bryna was ecstatic to spend every waking moment with the young Englishman. During the days they strolled the deck endlessly, their heads close as they talked. In the evenings they played chess or talked in the salon, under Aggie’s watchful, myopic eye.

  “Can’t we get away from that old dragon for a while?” Derek finally asked one day as he and Bryna walked around the main deck. “Our promenade this morning has been no fun with her sitting on that bench. This is the fourth time we’ve passed her, and she glares at me through those spectacles every time.”

  “Aggie is not an old dragon,” the girl defended her friend laughingly. “She’s just looking out for me.”

  “I don’t think she sees well enough to look out for you,” he muttered. Bending close, he whispered, “Try to get away after dinner, Bryna, and meet me on deck.”

  “But what—”

  “Please come. I want to talk to you.” His breath was warm and stirred the hair over her ear.

  ‘‘I’ll try,” she promised, trying to ignore the shiver his nearness brought.

  That evening Bryna excused herself from the salon early, pleading a headache, and stepped out onto the deserted deck. The wind was high and cool, whipping her skirt against her legs, and the moon had gone behind the clouds. The girl hesitated a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blackness and wondered whether Derek had changed his mind.

  “Bryna.” She barely heard her name over the creak of the timbers and moan of the wind in the rigging. Her heart pounding, she turned and saw Derek standing in the shadows.

  “You...you said you wanted to talk to me?” she stammered, suddenly ill at ease.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, love,” he murmured.

  Capturing her hands, he drew the girl into the shadows beside him. As Bryna looked up at him, she could not see his face clearly in the darkness, but she knew he was going to kiss her, just as certainly as she knew she should protest. But she did not.

  When Derek’s mouth met hers, Bryna felt a pleasant surge through her body. She parted her lips tentatively and was gratified when his arms tightened around her. Then she gave up thought and experimentation, surrendering herself to blissful, unaccustomed sensation.

  Later, when the young man walked her to her cabin door, Bryna thought she saw love in his eyes, and she believed that she and Derek would be together forever.

  She had believed—until last night. Unshed tears burned her eyes and tightened her throat. Closing the lid of her trunk with a bang, she sat down on the narrow bunk that had been Aggie’s.

  Last night she had been such a fool. She had crept out to meet Derek again while her chaperone slept. This time the night had been serene and perfect. The gentle breeze was surprisingly warm and the full moon was reflected on the water. She had flown to his arms, her lips seeking his this time. Then he had led her to a bench, where they’d sat in silence for a time, their backs against the railing as they listened to soft accordion music floating up from steerage. Nestled against Derek’s chest, Bryna sighed contentedly.

  “What? A sigh? Aren’t you happy, my love?” he asked playfully.

  ‘‘I’m very happy,” she murmured.

  “As am I, my darling. I will treasure the memory of the last few weeks. I am only sad it is our last night together.”

  “Our last night?” Sitting bolt upright, she turned to look at him.

  “Well, er, yes.” He did not meet her gaze. “The captain says we’re right on schedule and should arrive in Gibraltar tomorrow. From there you will go on to Tangier to meet your long-lost father, won’t you? After a short visit in Gibraltar, I intend to go home to England.”

  “But...” Still searching his face, the girl shifted on the bench until she was outside of circle of his arms.

  Derek raised an eyebrow knowingly and shook his head. “Bryna, surely you knew it must end when we reached our destination.”

  “I thought—” She suddenly wished the night were not so bright that he could see her.

  “I am afraid I know what you thought, my dear,” he chided gently. “I can always tell a woman with marriage on her mind, and I’m hardly ready for that.”

  “I thought you loved me. I even let you kiss me.”

  “I found it very pleasant, but a harmless flirtation doesn’t mean I am ready to give up my freedom.”

  “Perhaps you supposed it to be harmless, monsieur,” she said icily, rising to leave.

  “Bryna, listen to me.” Derek grasped her arm to stay her.

  Without saying a word, she looked down pointedly at the hand gripping her arm. Then she lifted icy blue eyes to his in an unspoken command.

  Derek released her arm at once, but he requested softly, “Stay a moment, Bryna. At least let me explain.”

  “Très bien,” she said in clipped tones, going to stand by the rail a short distance away. “I would like to hear what you have to offer as an explanation.”

  “Damn, this is not going well at all.” Wearily raking his fingers through his hair, Derek moved to stand behind her.

  “What did you expect?” she snapped at him over her shoulder. “You took advantage of me.”

  “I did not take advantage of you, Bryna.”

  “What do you call stealing kisses on a dark deck?”

  “Stolen? I judged them freely given,” Derek responded tartly. “Are you truly so naive you do not know what could have happened between us?”

  When she refused to answer or even to look at him, the young man took Bryna’s arm and gently turned her to face him. His hands on her shoulders, he bent toward her, speaking to her as if she were a child. “I never behaved as less than a gentleman with you. But I never offered more than the time we had together here. I enjoyed our little shipboard romance, didn’t you?”


  “Shipboard romance?” He felt her body stiffen under his hands. “Is that all it was to you—a way to relieve the tedium of a long sea cruise?”

  In the darkness, he flushed at the accuracy of her accusation. He had known he wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, from that first day at the dock in Bermuda. Impatiently he countered with a challenge. “Can you say you did not enjoy our time together?”

  When she still did not answer, he continued, “You are very sweet, Bryna, but I cannot wed you or even court you. Try to understand: when I marry, I need a wife with position and influence.”

  “I do understand.” Her face, pale in the moonlight, was set and angry as she stared up at him.

  “No, you don’t,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “I think you’re an exquisite, delightful girl, Bryna, but if I cannot marry you, I will not insult you by offering you anything less.”

  “Do you really think I would consent to anything less?” She drew herself up proudly and glared at him.

  “Nothing I say seems quite right tonight.” Derek sighed, wishing he could undo the damage of this conversation. “I am sorry if I hurt you.”

  “I do not need your apologies, Monsieur Ashburn, or your pity,” Bryna replied curtly. “Good night and good-bye.” With all the dignity she could muster, she turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER 3

  “See the tall mountain oer there?” Aggie pointed across the narrow Straits of Gibraltar toward the purple hills of North Africa. “That’s one of the Pillars of Hercules, Jabal Mūsā.”

  Bryna listened politely, her face set resolutely toward shore. She presented a rigid back to the travelers ranged along the deck behind her, but she was acutely aware of them and grateful that Derek was nowhere to be seen.

  “Soon ye’ll see something truly magnificent.” The woman turned her eyeglasses to the port side of the ship. “Any moment now.”

  Just then the Mab veered toward the coast of Spain, and before them rose a mighty rock that could only be Gibraltar.

  “Look at it!” Aggie cried, disarranging her elaborate hat with her lorgnette as she bounced with excitement. “What a bonny sight! And what a fine thing to be home again!”

  “It is impressive,” Bryna agreed, squinting against the blinding sun. Above them the cliff face loomed, gray and barren against the vivid blue sky.

  ‘‘‘Tis indeed,” the Scotswoman agreed proudly. “Its Arab name is Jabal Târiq, after the Moorish sultan who conquered Spain.”

  “I thought there was a city here.” A woman’s plaintive voice reached them from down the deck. “I thought we were going ashore.”

  “We will indeed go ashore, madame,” the captain answered heartily, “but I fear you’ve been misinformed. Gibraltar is not a city, only a small town.”

  “I do not see how anyone could live in this desolate place,” the woman responded dubiously. “It looks as if it is washed by the sea on every side.”

  “We know better.” Aggie winked at her young friend merrily. Barefoot sailors scampered in the rigging overhead, furling the sails as they were lowered. The Mab veered again slightly and the tiny town of Gibraltar, built in a cleft between cliff and sea, came into view. Slowly now the ship neared the dock. On shore, the scarlet uniform of the English army and the plaid kilts of the Highland regiment stood out in sharp contrast with the somber black suits of Spanish merchants and the white robes of city Arabs.

  “Where can Gordon be?” Aggie fretted, peering anxiously through her lorgnette. “Surely he’ll nae be late to meet me.” Suddenly the sweep of her spectacles over the dock halted and she clutched Bryna’s arm with her free hand. “There he is. That’s my Gordon, that handsome man comin’ around the warehouse there. D’ye see him?”

  “I see him,” Bryna affirmed. She spotted the portly man with flaming red hair and whiskers emerging from a narrow side street and picking his way through the dark-skinned crowd. It would be difficult to miss Gordon Moore anywhere, she decided.

  Suddenly the girl’s gaze fell on a slender young man wearing an English uniform, and her heart gave a lurch. His nonchalant stance and sleek good looks reminded her disturbingly of Derek. Quickly she averted her eyes, her attention returning to Aggie’s smiling husband. Gordon stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The picture of a prosperous merchant, he rocked gently on his heels while he waited for the Mab to tie up.

  Dragging the girl by the hand, Aggie charged toward the gangplank, nearly bowling over the more sedate passengers in her path. She and Bryna were the first to disembark. Gordon stepped forward expectantly, and the couple flew to each other’s arms, both talking at once, excitement broadening the burr in their voices.

  Unwilling to intrude on the joyful reunion, Bryna lingered near bottom of gangplank. Awkwardly she turned to watch the other passengers disembark. When Derek appeared at the top of the gangway, she whirled hastily and found Gordon inspecting her curiously.

  She was a comely lass, the Scotsman decided at once, a bit tall, but she had a fragile look about her with that dark hair and fair skin. He suspected strength and determination were masked by those delicate features that with enormous blue eyes gave her face an almost fairylike quality. Her pale blue traveling dress was modest in cut and very proper, but it did not disguise the curves of her slender figure. At the base of her throat nestled a simple oval locket, engraved with roses. She wore no other jewelry, but she bore herself like a queen.

  “Aye, ye’re an O’Toole.” He nodded approvingly. “I can tell just by looking at ye. My Aggie says ye’re a fine lass. Welcome to Gibraltar, Mistress Bryna. I’m Gordon Moore.”

  “Bonjour, M’sieur Moore, and thank you. I am pleased to meet you at last. Your wife has told me so much about you.”

  “All of it fond lies. Ye know my Aggie is blind, but did ye mow her blindness was caused by love?” With a grin he drew his protesting wife to his side. “I do nae see yer father,” he said to Bryna. “If I know Blaine O’Toole he dinna know which boat ye were on or he would hae been here. Do nae worry aboot a thing, lass. We’ll take ye to our house and send word to him.”

  “Merci. How long will it take him to arrive?”

  “If he’s in Tangier, he should be here within two days. If nae, it may take a bit longer. But no matter, ye’re welcome to stay wi’ us as long as ye need to.”

  * * *

  Across the dock, Derek joined his cousin, Frederick Masterson.

  “Welcome to Gibraltar, cuz,” Freddie greeted him. “Ready for a bit of fun?”

  “I could use some excitement,” Derek agreed heartily. “Lord, but I’m tired of serving in every dead little outpost in His Majesty’s realm. I am thinking seriously of resigning my commission.”

  “No.” Freddie was shocked. “You’ll feel differently after your furlough.”

  “I doubt it. I haven’t had a reasonable assignment in two years. You can’t imagine the heat in the Caribbean.”

  “And you can’t imagine the heat in the Mediterranean,” Freddie answered blithely. “Well, I vow our casinos will outdo anything they’ve got in Bermuda.”

  “You can be sure of it.”

  “I say, are you still devilish lucky at cards?”

  “Devilish lucky,” Derek confirmed, conveniently forgetting the stack of IOUs he had nearly bankrupted himself to pay before leaving his last post.

  But Freddie had stopped listening. His eyes were on Bryna and her companions. “I say, who is that beauty?” he asked urgently. “Was she on the ship with you?”

  “Her name is Bryna O’Toole.”

  “O’Toole? Is she related to O’Toole Effendi?” Freddie asked excitedly. Then, noting his cousin’s puzzled look, he explained hastily, “That’s what the natives call Blaine O’Toole. He is one of the wealthiest traders in North Africa. Used to be a mercenary soldier—a colonel, I think. But he’s a civilian now and made a fortune in spices.”

  “How wealthy is this O’Toole?” Derek’s tone was casual.

  “Wealthy
enough to bribe his way into business in Morocco. No easy task, that. Hear he lives like a bloody king in Tangier.”

  “Didn’t the sultan close the country to all foreigners?”

  “He closed the interior,” Freddie corrected. “It’s risky, but European ships go in and out of Tangier all the time. A few brave and very prosperous kaffirs—that means infidels, y’know—even live there. You never said, is she related to Blaine O’Toole?”

  “I believe he is her father,” Derek responded dryly.

  “Do tell.” His cousin whistled under his breath, his gaze still on Bryna. “She’s stunning. Can you introduce me?”

  ‘‘You’d be wasting your time, old man. She’s a lovely girl, but rather young and unsophisticated.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Indeed, who cares?” the other man answered slowly. He watched her as she left the dock. There was more to Bryna O’Toole than met the eye, he decided. Throwing a companionable arm over his cousin’s shoulder, Derek urged, “Tell me more about O’Toole Effendi, Freddie.”

  “I will, under two conditions.”

  “Yes?” Derek regarded the other man warily.

  “One, you buy me dinner. Hadn’t finished luncheon when your ship was sighted, and I’m famished.”

  “All right. And two?”

  “Two, I’ll tell you about him if you will tell me about his daughter,” Freddie bargained with a stubborn glint in his eye.

  “Agreed.” Derek laughed aloud.

  “Marvelous. Never know when I might undertake an expedition to Tangier myself. Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to woo an heiress, y’know.”

  “I know, cuz, I know.”

  “We really must find you a decent suit of clothes, old man. Ain’t right that you should wear your uniform on furlough, especially if you’re thinking of becoming a civilian.”

  “You can take me to your tailor after you’ve told me about O’Toole, Freddie.”

  “After you’ve bought me dinner,” the other man retorted. Then, arm in arm, the cousins strolled to Freddie’s carriage.

  * * *