by Lily Baldwin
He smiled again. “I’ll never grow tired of hearing my name on your lips. Tristan,” he said, once more imitating her accent.
Laughing, she threw her apple core at him. “Stop that.”
With a mischievous grin, he seized the core and popped the entirety in his mouth. “I make no promises,” he mumbled while he chewed. Then he stood and offered her his hand. “Come along. We have more shopping to do. Then we can take a ride in the countryside.”
~ * ~
Tristan led Rose to a stall decorated with yellow bunting. He scanned the vendor’s wares: rings with various gems, many as large as blackberries, gilded circlets, and a variety of jewel-studded dirks. A slim dirk with a gold-plated handle embellished with three small sapphires caught his eye.
“This is the one,” he said, picking up the small dagger.
Rose looked up at him with wide eyes. “What am I to do with that?”
“It will adorn your belt.”
She clasped the dagger, her eyes wide. “Are ye quite certain about this?”
“You must trust me, Rose.”
He then selected three slender circlets, one a simple design of woven gold and silver, another encrusted with small emeralds, and finally one made of silver with a single sapphire at the center.
“What about this for your wife?” the vendor said, holding up an elaborate heart shaped headdress laden with jewels.
Rose met his gaze and discreetly shook her head.
Tristan turned to the man. “My wife’s tastes are simpler.”
The vendor smiled. “You’re a lucky man. She won’t drain your coffers.”
Tristan smiled. “Indeed, I am,” he said as the vendor took the circlets behind his table and proceeded to wrap them in layers of linen.
Rose stood on her toes and whispered in Tristan’s ear. “If he knew my bride price was an entire ship, he might not think ye so lucky.”
Tristan swallowed his laughter. “He would be wrong,” he rasped.
Having chosen her dirk and headpieces, he then considered the rings. “May I see your hand?” he asked.
She placed her hand in his. He inspected her long, elegantly shaped fingers before he turned it over. His thumb grazed her callouses the instant before she snatched her hand away.
“I know they don’t measure up to the hands of a wealthy woman.”
“On the contrary,” Tristan began, taking hold of her hand once more, “this is the hand of a strong woman, a woman who has worked and fought for herself and those she loves. You should look at your hands and feel proud, Rose. I know I do.” He then saw a ring of gold with delicate detailing and a large oval sapphire. “There is no ring that could match the beauty of your hands. Still, it would please me to see this on your finger.”
Eyes downcast, slowly Rose extended her hand. He slid the gleaming sapphire onto her finger, and for a moment, they locked eyes. Suddenly, he found himself without words. His mouth felt dry. There was something so intimate in the motion. It struck him to his core.
She stood unmoving. If she breathed, he could not detect the rise of her chest, nor did she blink. Then, suddenly, she took a small step back before slowly easing her hand from his grasp. When their fingertips touched, she paused for an instant as though she did not truly wish to break the contact. But a breath later, she dropped her hand and squared her shoulders. “What is next?” she asked. Her tone carried a casualness that did not reach her eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, indeed. I…I…” His mind still fixated on her hands, on her sky-blue eyes, on her soft red curls lifting in the breeze. He raked his hand through his hair. Then he started to laugh at himself. “Suddenly, Rose, I don’t remember what comes next. I can’t even remember my own name.”
She smiled, and the tension fled her shoulders. “I think we have already established that yer name is Tristan.”
“That’s right,” he said in jest. “What would I do without you, Rose?”
“Marry Lady Roxwell is my guess.”
He shivered playfully. “It is all coming back to me now.”
She smiled. “Did ye not mention something about a ride in the countryside?”
“That is what I forgot.” He turned to the vendor and gave the man extra coin to deliver the items to the Messenger. Then he offered Rose his arm. “Do you ride?”
Rose shook her head as she wove her arm through his. “Not particularly well.”
He stopped and smiled down at her. “You can man a small vessel, but you cannot ride a horse?”
She raised her brows. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, you are just a very interesting woman.”
“Interesting,” Rose said, tasting the word. She smiled. “I like interesting.”
With the sun now shining directly overhead, the market had grown crowded. He held tightly to her hand while he led her through the throng of shoppers and vendors toward the outskirts of town. When they arrived at the stable, the young master brought them a chestnut mare.
Tristan swung up into the saddle. Then, he reached down to her. She squealed as she soared through the air.
“Ye surprised me,” she said when she landed in his lap.
He smiled. “Good, because you surprise me constantly.” He nudged his horse in the flanks. Once they cleared the town gates, Rose gripped his arm tighter.
“Faster, Tristan,” she cried.
“Now, now, Rose,” he said in her ear. “Robert gave me strict orders not to push you too hard. Whether you know it or not, your body is still healing.”
“Save yer caution for yer next wife,” she teased and took the reins from his hands. “Come on, lass,” she said to the mare and snapped the reins.
“You little minx,” he said, laughing. He held her tighter, pressing her against his chest. He savored the feel of her warm curves as they galloped across the field.
“To the sea,” she shouted, before steering them toward distant cliffs,
He tensed as the cliffs approached. Still, she thundered forward. Just as he was about to intervene, she pulled sharply on the reins, bringing them to an abrupt halt. Below them, white crested waves barreled toward the coast.
He expelled the breath he’d been holding. “For a moment, I thought you were planning on trying to fly.”
She turned her head and looked back at him, her eyes dancing. “I’ve never done that before either.”
He eased the reins from her grip. “Why don’t we save that for another day. For now, we should be heading back. The new crew has likely arrived, and we must make proper introductions.”
“Oh yes,” Rose said, imitating his English accent. “I would like to present Captain Tristan Thatcher and his wife, Rose Thatcher.” She turned to him then. “Ye know, this could be quite fun.”
He smiled. “I’m already having a grand time.”
Chapter Eleven
Rose stood beside Tristan, his hand at rest on the small of her back while Philip presented each member of the new crew to her. The welcome she received was a refreshing change from the last time introductions had been made. She knew some of the men might worry about having a woman on board, but since she was the captain’s wife, they were unlikely to voice their concerns. Each man smiled and bowed at the waist in turn. Some even seemed genuinely happy to meet her.
“It is a rare pleasure,” said a stocky man called Piper. He had a rim of wispy blond hair around his bald head and a tattered, faded red kerchief around his neck. Rose spied a small flute tucked into his belt alongside his dagger. The merry glint in his eyes made her believe that at any moment he might break into song.
Next, she met the cook, Timothy, who swept his hand high before bowing with a gallant flourish. Then without a word, he darted back down to the galley, from which Philip said he seldom emerged. After Timothy disappeared, a hefty man came forward. Her eyes widened when Philip introduced her to Jacob. At first glance, he appeared wider than he was tall. His arms bulged with thick, rippling muscles, and when he breath
ed, his barrel chest expanded, spreading the laces of his tunic. Beside him stood a young man of no more than ten and seven years. He had red hair every bit as bright as hers and a sweet face spattered with freckles. “I’m Davy, Mistress Thatcher,” he announced before Philip could. When Rose smiled at him, his cheeks turned almost as bright as his hair.
“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Davy.”
A short while later it was time for dinner. Rose, Tristan, and Philip sat at a table that had been carried onto the forecastle. It was Davy who brought their tray around. He set a wooden bowl, brimming with a richly scented stew, in front of her, plus a large slab of buttered bread.
“Is there anything else I can get you, Mistress Thatcher?” the young lad asked.
“I have all that I need and more, Davy. Thank ye.” Her words of praise heightened the flush of cheeks. Grinning at her, he started to back away without serving Tristan or Philip.
Tristan cleared his throat. “Ah, Davy, do you think we might have some stew as well?”
Davy’s eyes widened. He rushed forward, serving his captain and quarter master all the while his cheeks grew redder and redder, until Rose thought he looked like a blushing ball of fire.
“Will that be all, Captain?” Davy said, bending in an awkward bow.
Tristan wore a bemused smile. “Yes, Davy, run along now.”
The cabin boy scurried away, down the forecastle stairs, then into line with the other men who held wooden bowls and awaited their ladle of stew from the cook’s pot.
“Did you enjoy your trip ashore?” Philip asked, drawing her gaze.
She smiled. “Enormously.”
Tristan leaned in. “I have given Philip the details of our meeting and our union.”
Philip grinned and raised his cup of ale. “To the happy bride and groom,” he said loudly.
“To the happy bride and groom,” the crew echoed, raising their cups high.
Rose and Tristan both arched their brows at Philip before they turned and smiled at the men. After they downed their drinks, Tristan leaned close, speaking quietly to Rose. “Moments before we spotted you drifting on the waves, I prayed to the sea for an answer to my trouble, and then you appeared.” Before he continued, he scowled at Philip. “I also prayed for the sea to send me a new quarter master, but that request has gone unanswered.”
“We’ll just have to keep praying,” Rose said, unable to hold back her smile.
Philip sighed dramatically. “One day in the not too distant future, you are both going to thank me.”
“We’ll thank you for not making any more toasts,” Tristan said, arching his brow.
Rose nearly spit out her half-chewed bite of stew. “Or speeches. Definitely, no speeches.”
Philip winked at her as he slowly started to stand. Then he stretched his arms wide. “Attention, men, I have a few words to—”
Tristan and Rose each grabbed one of the quarter master’s arms and yanked him back down. “Do I need to send you to your room again?” Tristan scolded.
But Philip only smiled. “I shall behave myself. You both have my word.”
“Why do I not believe ye?” Rose said, smiling.
Their meal continued without further antics from Philip. Before long, the sun dipped just below the horizon. Rose stared out to sea at the soft rippling waves shimmering violet beneath the twilight sky.
~ * ~
Tristan studied Rose’s profile as she cast her gaze out over the darkening sea. He could feel her passion. It was the same passion that burned inside him. The spirit of the waves and tides lived inside her. He could feel it pour off her whenever she grew pensive and gave herself over to its power. Her hands gripped the table. He knew she was likely unaware of how her fervor showed on her face. He leaned closer, drawn to the longing that mirrored what he felt in his own heart. But then he stiffened the instant after a look of utter anguish crossed her features. It was fleeting, like the flap of a bird’s wing, and yet he knew what he had seen.
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you all right?” he said in a soft voice.
She turned back to look at him, her brows drawn in confusion. “Of course, I am,” she said smiling. “’Tis a fine night. I’ve a full belly. I’m aboard a magnificent ship that will soon be voyaging to France. There is little that could improve my mood.”
She wasn’t lying. He could see the joy now glinting in her eyes. Whatever darkness had entered her thoughts had come and gone. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what secret sorrow she carried with her.
He stood and offered her his arm. “Would you like to take a turn across the deck before you retire?”
She put her hand in his and smiled. “I would, indeed.”
The memory of her quiet sadness remained within him. He wanted somehow to take whatever it was that pained her away. “It is strange, Rose. But somehow, I feel like I’ve known you much longer than a week.” He chuckled then. “It’s absurd, I know. In so many ways, we are still strangers to each other, and yet…”
She nodded. “I feel the same way. I think it is because, despite all that separates us, we are very similar creatures.” She raised her arms to the sky and turned to encompass the surrounding dark water. “’Tis the sea that binds us. There is more salt water than blood flowing through our veins.”
He chuckled. “I believe you’re right.”
He led her down the hatch to the cabins below.
“Where will ye sleep?” she asked. “Surely, ye cannot sleep above deck. Won’t that raise questions among the men?”
He motioned to the door across from his. “Philip has given up his room. He will be the one to sleep aloft.”
She pointed to the door farther down. “Why does he not sleep there?”
“That room is for the surgeon,” he explained.
“Oh, of course. When will he arrive?”
“I expected William earlier. You will like him. He’s a good man. He sailed the first ship I captained, in fact.”
“I look forward to meeting him.”
For a moment, they stood unspeaking, their gazes locked. Without thinking, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then jerked away when he realized what he had done. “Forgive me. I forgot myself. It just seemed natural.”
She pressed her hand to her cheek. The slightest smile curved her lips. “I’m not offended.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise you, I will not allow another slip like that.” Then he bowed low at the waist. “Goodnight, Rose.”
“Goodnight,” she said softly before turning into the room, her gaze holding his until the door closed between them.
He flattened his hand against the slatted wood of the door and blew out a long, slow breath. “Be careful,” he whispered out loud to himself. Then he turned and headed up the stairs, shaking his head. He needed to keep his ever-growing attraction to Rose in check. They had entered into an arrangement that required great care. Too much was at stake. He could not allow his mind to be muddled. He thought of his lips pressed against her soft skin. He had inhaled the scent of her hair.
“Blast,” he cursed aloud as he started across the main deck. Where was his usual control?
He mounted the stairs to the forecastle and was surprised to find Philip standing with William Asher, the Messenger’s new surgeon.
“When did you come aboard?” Tristan said, smiling.
William clasped his outstretched hand. “Just now.”
“It has been too long, old friend.”
“Indeed,” William agreed. “I believe it has been five years since we sailed together. I was happy to receive your message. I left almost immediately and rode straight through the afternoon and evening to reach Cardiff as quickly as I could.”
“I can tell,” Tristan said with a chuckle. “Forgive me, William, but you look shattered.”
William nodded, his smile still unwavering. “That I am, but forget about me. I want to congratulate you. Tristan Thatcher has taken a wife! You
can imagine my delight when I heard the good news. When can I meet her?”
“She has just retired for the night, and I suggest you do the same. There is much to be done on the morrow.”
William eased his neck from side to side. “I admit these old bones of mine are tired. Now, if I remember correctly, the captain’s room is the one on the right and the surgeon’s room is the second on the left.”
“Your memory serves you well, old friend,” Tristan said. “Let me know if there is naught else you require.”
“I will. Now, I insist you indulge an old man, and allow me to say once more, congratulations on your marriage.”
Tristan dipped his head. “Thank you, William.”
After the surgeon disappeared below deck, Philip gave his report. “Everything is well in hand for the night. Davy has first watch. Why don’t you also retire, Captain.”
“I intend to,” Tristan said. “I just want to give William time to settle in. I don’t want to risk him seeing me go into your room instead of mine.”
“Let us have another ale then,” Philip suggested while he reached for the pitcher. After pouring two cups, he handed one to Tristan, who had become pensive.
“Do you really believe we are on the right course?”
Philip gave him a quizzical look. “We have sailed from Cardiff to France more times than I can remember.”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
Philip took a long sip. Then he pointed out to the surrounding water. “The sea is vast,” he said, his voice quiet. “Vaster than either of us could ever know.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully.
“Of all the ships and islands, of all the waves and tides, the sea chose to bring Rose to you.”
“What are you saying, Philip? That Rose was destined to find us?”
Philip shook his head. “No, not at all. Rose was not destined to find us.” He stood up and downed the last of his drink. Then he set his cup on the table and headed for the stairs. “She was destined to find you,” he said.
Tristan sat for a while, Philip’s words echoing in his mind. He stared up at the moon. He had always felt an affinity with the soft orb. At the moment, the crescent’s glow reflected on the rippling waves. “Did you send her to me?” he whispered.
