The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  “I have some things I need to take care of. I won’t return for some time,” he said stiffly before he shut the door and barreled up the stairs. But his heart and mind screamed at him to go back. He turned around and rushed back to his cabin and grabbed the handle.

  “What are you doing?” He said out loud. He shook his head, backing away from the door. He was a man of honor, she a woman of honor. “Damnation,” he cursed and thundered up the stairs, nearly colliding with the ship’s surgeon.

  “Where are you storming off to, Captain?”

  “There are just a few things that require my attention,” he said, straining to keep his voice level.

  William shook his head. “I’ve been married for thirty-five years now. I know a lovers’ quarrel when I see one.” He rested his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Trust me, Captain. Whatever it is, you can’t walk away from it—it will only be waiting for you upon your return.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled at Tristan encouragingly. “Go to your wife and make amends. No matter who is at fault, just tell the dear girl you’re sorry, and all will be right.”

  Tristan’s hands clenched into tight fists as he resisted the urge to flatten William against the wall and push past him, but Tristan knew William would never relent. He was a sentimental and stubborn old man.

  Tristan scrubbed his hand over his face as he railed against every instinct screaming inside his brain. “Fine,” he snapped, then stormed back down the stairs and stood in front of his door again.

  “Take a few steadying breaths,” William cautioned, peering down from the hatch.

  “Heed my warning, William,” Tristan growled. “Take yourself to another part of the ship.”

  William’s eyes widened before he nodded and sidestepped out of Tristan’s view.

  Tristan turned his gaze back to the door and took several deep breaths. On the other side, awaited the most beautiful and admirable woman he had ever known. He flexed his neck from side to side.

  He could do this.

  All he had to do was sleep next to Rose in the narrowest bed in all Christendom and not touch her…not weave his fingers through her silken red curls or taste her full lips or grab her taut thighs and spread them apart and—”

  Enough, his mind screamed.

  He swung open the door, his heart racing, his breaths coming in great heaves.

  Rose lay in bed with the blankets pulled up under her chin, her eyes wide. “Ye accomplished yer many things quickly enough.”

  He shut the door behind him. “There were fewer than I thought.” He stood, staring down at her. He longed to rip the covers back, pull her into his arms, and show her just how hot he burned for her. Swallowing the curse that rushed up his throat, he turned and raked his hand through his hair.

  Then he whirled back around. “May I,” he said, standing close to the bed. He could hear the strain in his own voice.

  She nodded, the blanket still tucked under her chin.

  He lay down. Her whole body pressed against the side of his. The contact was unavoidable and pure torture.

  He blew out the candle. The darkness felt thick and heavy. All he could hear were their quick breaths. His body ached with a need so great he thought he might explode. Never had he wanted a woman so badly.

  “I lied today,” she suddenly said.

  He froze.

  “I barely slept at all last night.”

  Her words caressed him in the dark. The ache in his chest grew tenfold. “Neither did I,” he rasped.

  Moments passed. Their confessions hung suspended in the darkness, surrounding them.

  “I do not think I will sleep again,” she whispered.

  He swallowed hard, gripping the blanket in a death lock. “Neither will I.”

  Then he drew a deep breath, fighting for control. Releasing the blanket, he closed his hand gently over hers. Her fingers trembled in his grasp. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. He heard her breath catch.

  “Goodnight, Rose,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Goodnight, Tristan.”

  Tension filled the room, making it difficult to draw breath. He held tight to her hand and prayed for the dawn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rose awoke to an empty bed. Again, she did not know when she had at last fallen asleep, but judging by her clouded mind and aches in her back and shoulders, she knew it must not have been until the wee hours of the morning. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head to work the kinks out of her back. Then she stood and puzzled over her colorful new garments that were neatly folded on top of Tristan’s desk. Deciding it was best to avoid the delicious torture of having Tristan undress her again, she reached for the simple green tunic. But then she faltered. They could arrive in Calais that evening. She could only assume that the wife of a wealthy merchant would dress for such an occasion. The crew might be surprised to see her in the same tunic she had worn while helping Davy clean the anchor.

  She picked up an emerald brocade surcote. Touching the laces, she closed her eyes and remembered the pressure of Tristan’s fingertips running down her back through the fabric of her silk tunic. His warm breath had caressed her neck. The heat she glimpsed in his eyes had caused the fire of desire burning within her to ignite into an all-consuming, desperate inferno.

  She seized her burgundy kirtle. What did it matter if she had to control her passionate response to his undressing her? The real torture came after—when he finished and laid down beside her on the bed.

  Suddenly, she was desperate for fresh air. She finished dressing, pulling the shimmering green surcote over her head. This time, she didn’t pull as hard on the lacing. Then she slid her feet into her new sheepskin slippers and quickly smoothed out her hair with her fingers but decided to leave off the veil for the time being. Darting out the door, she hastened up the stairs onto the main deck and took a deep breath, welcoming the cool breeze on her hot cheeks.

  “Good morrow, Rose,” Davy called down from the crow’s nest above. She smiled and waved up to him. Then, she scanned the ship and locked eyes with Tristan.

  He stood on the stern castle with Philip who had a large parchment spread out on the table. Tristan smiled at her and signaled he would be straight down. He and Philip conversed a moment longer, and then he descended the stairs and crossed the deck to her side.

  “Good morrow,” he said.

  The strain from the night before was gone from his voice. His relaxed smile put her at ease. “You look lovely this morning,” he said before kissing the back of her hand.

  “Thank ye,” she said, happy for the relief of daylight. He wore a crisp white tunic that contrasted with his deeply tanned skin and made his amber brown eyes appear even brighter. “Ye look lovely as well.” She wove her arm through his. They started across the deck when William stumbled toward them. “That’s not how you’re meant to greet your wife,” William said before hiccupping loudly.

  “He played dice with Piper last night and woke up still soused,” Tristan said quickly.

  William stumbled back and then forward once again, stopping in front of them. “You must kiss her,” he slurred, pointing at Rose with a crooked finger. “That’s how you ensure the love remains strong.” William slapped Tristan on the back. “Go on man, kiss your wife.”

  Several of the crew joined in.

  “Come on, Captain!”

  “Kiss her, Captain!”

  Rose knew her face must have been as red as her hair. She met Tristan’s gaze. He shook his head slightly, a gesture to tell her not to worry.

  “It is time for bed, William,” he said kindly.

  “You needn’t be embarrassed,” the old man said. “One of the blessings of marriage is you get to kiss your wife.”

  “Kiss her, Captain,” Jacob chimed in.

  Tristan sighed and turned to her, his brows drawn together in apology. She stepped closer and nodded slightly, giving him permission to appease the crew. He reached for her. Placing his h
and on her lower back, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

  “No, man,” William drawled. “Not like that. Kiss her with passion.”

  Tristan raised a placating hand. “That’s quite enough, Will—"

  Knowing Willian wouldn’t quit until he was satisfied, Rose reached up, pulled Tristan’s head down and pressed her lips to his, stealing his words. Cheers erupted around them. They’re lips were stiff, their stance awkward. But then he drew her close, encircling her in his arms. His lips softened, and suddenly, she was drowning in his kiss. Heat shot through her. She stood on her toes, straining to wrap her arms tighter around his neck while his tongue gently grazed her lips, coaxing her mouth to open. Her lips parted. She moaned softly as his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking, caressing, filling her with an ache so sweet it hurt. The drumming of her heart drowned out the din of the cheers. There was no crew, no Messenger, no ocean or sky. Nothing existed, except her and him and the passion bursting from their souls.

  When he slowly pulled away, she swallowed the protest that raced up her throat. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. His eyes bore into hers. She looked away, lest she claim his lips in another kiss, but then she noticed the surrounding crew. The men stared at them, their mouths agape. Her hands flew to her warm cheeks.

  An instant later, Philip crossed to their sides, clapping loudly. “To the happy couple,” he cheered.

  The crew jolted free from the passionate spell they had cast and cheered along.

  “You both need to breathe,” Philip said quietly. His hands clamped down on their arms as he led them toward the forecastle. He turned to Rose. “Smile and wave.”

  Rose pasted a smile on her face and waved to the crew, who still cheered their display of ardent affection.

  Philip turned to them after they had mounted the stairs to the forecastle. “Do I need to toss you both overboard for a cool dip?”

  Tristan glowered at Philip. “It was a simple kiss to appease a drunk old man.”

  “Oh, is that what that was…a simple kiss,” he chuckled. “You made even this salty bachelor want to take a wife.” He started down the stairs, calling out, “Thankfully, I will be too busy overseeing business in Calais to find one.”

  “Rose.”

  She looked up at Tristan. His brow was drawn with concern.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “My apologies for William. He cannot hold his ale. I’ve warned him about gambling with the men. I’m sure he lost a lot more to Piper than just his good sense.”

  Her knees felt weak. Her heart pounded, but she fought for control and simply replied, “I’m fine.”

  He raised a doubtful brow at her.

  “Really, Tristan. ‘Tis not as if I’ve never been kissed before.” She blew out a rush of air. “Although I’ve never been kissed like that.”

  He groaned.

  Startled, she looked up.

  Once more, his eyes burned for her. He let go of her hand and started to back away. “I’m going to leave you now before I kiss you like you truly deserve.”

  She watched his tall frame cross the main deck, then climb the stairs to the stern castle where he stood with his back to the ship and his hands gripping the rail. Her gaze traced the wide breadth of his shoulders, then followed his torso down to his trim waist. With a soft groan she turned away and imagined the kiss she truly deserved.

  ~ * ~

  Rose gazed out across the grey water at Calais. Torch fire lined the docks, and even though the hour for supper had come and gone, the wharf still bustled with activity. The firelight allowed her a glimpse of sandy beach, which hugged the shoreline on either side of the harbor. A thrill of excitement shot through her. She could not believe that she was on a merchant ship docked in a French harbor. When she was a young woman, she would always see her brother, Quinn, off on his latest merchant voyage. She would wave as his ship sailed from sight, bound for London, Bordeaux, Flanders, and even Venice. Always, a part of her had longed to go with him to those distant lands.

  “Rose.”

  She drew a sharp breath and whirled around to find Tristan standing close behind her. “You startled me.”

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve been watching you. The eager look on your face reminded me of my first voyage. I was just eight years of age, but I can still remember my first glimpse of a new shore.”

  “It would be a lie, if I told ye I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of solid ground,” she said. “Although I am almost certain ye mean to tell me that I must wait until morning.”

  “I hope you are not too disappointed, but you’re right. Tonight, I will go ashore and oversee the unloading of our cargo and ensure Philip has everything else well in hand. In the morning, I will come for you.”

  “Will ye not sleep?”

  He smiled. “Eventually, I will collapse on deck with my crew and take whatever sleep is left in the night.”

  “I can help unload the cargo. I always help my brothers—”

  He held up a hand. “Stop right there. On this point, I will not yield. You are not going to haul lumber off my ship.”

  “The more hands ye have, the faster it will go.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Absolutely, never.”

  “If ye will only just—”

  He grabbed her in a crushing embrace, silencing her with a kiss. Slowly, her body softened against his. She reached her arms around his neck. He hadn’t intended to kiss her for so long, but her lips tasted of honey and she just felt so damn good in his arms. He tugged her bottom lip gently between his teeth as he pulled away. Her lids slowly opened. She stepped free from his embrace and reached for the railing. Her knuckles whitened as she held on. Even in the torch fire, he could see the flush to her cheeks. Coming to stand at her side, he, too, gazed out at the harbor, waiting for his own heart to cease its race.

  After several moments, she said, her voice still strained, “So, have ye decided how we will spend our time here?”

  He cleared his throat. “I have narrowed our choices down to just a few, but the final decision is yours.”

  “Go on,” she said, appearing more at ease.

  “In the center of town, I have a large house with servants who will see to your every need. On the morrow, I can take you to market, and you can add to your wardrobe or your collection of jewels, anything your heart desires.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Forgive me, but I’ve no wish to go to market. I have more tunics and strappings than I will ever be able to wear.”

  A playful glint lit his eyes. “Well, we can always remain on board. My business here will not take longer than a day or so.”

  She shook her head. “I simply must go ashore.”

  He chuckled. “I may have been saving the best for last. I have a very small, very modest cottage a short distance down the coast. There are no servants. It is kept up by the neighbor, and—”

  “Aye,” she said, interrupting. “That sounds wonderful.”

  He smiled. “I thought as much. Then it is decided. In the morning, Philip will take command of the Messenger, while you and I take our leave and spend the night on the coast. By the morning of the second day, we should be back on board, ready to sail across the channel to England.”

  She canted her head to the side and eyed him skeptically. “Is this cottage of yers truly humble, or is it small by the standards of a wealthy merchant?”

  “It is comfortably appointed but still truly modest. I promise you, Rose. You will not be disappointed.”

  She fingered the fine silk of her surcote. “Can I wear my plain tunic?”

  “You may wear whatever pleases you.”

  She smiled. “That does sound like heaven.” She crossed the forecastle and began to descend the stairs.

  “Where are you racing off to?” he said, smiling

  “To change,” she shot back, but then she froze and darted back up the stairs. “Loosen my laces,” she said quietly.

  “What?
Here?” he asked in a low voice.

  She arched her brow at him. “Would ye rather accompany me to yer quarters so we can be alone?”

  Heat flashed in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “Turn around then.” He quickly loosened her laces, then spread her hair out to make certain none of the crew would notice as she walked by.

  “Until the morrow,” she said, dipping in a low curtsy.

  “Sleep well, Rose,” he said, then bowed at the waist. His gaze followed her slender form across the deck. “I will miss you,” he whispered as she disappeared down below. With a deep breath, he forced his mind to return to the busy night ahead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rose took off her slippers before she climbed from the dinghy and sank her toes in the wet sand. It felt wonderful to be on shore. Thick fog made the air heavy and lent the landscape an otherworldly feel.

  Tristan offered her his arm. “Are you ready to see the cottage?”

  “Indeed, I am,” she answered, weaving her arm through his.

  They trudged through the soft sand, following a path lined with tufts of stiff seagrass. After climbing up a gentle slope, the cottage came into view.

  She chuckled at his side.

  He glanced down at her. “What is so funny,”

  She shook her head at him. “Ye are, and no mistake. Yer small cottage is more than three times the size of the home I grew up in with my parents, five brothers and wee sister.”

  He scratched his head. “Well, all right. Then it is somewhat modest.”

  She laughed before racing ahead to admire the grounds. Flat, white stones marked the path to the cottage door, and running along both sides were hedges dotted with pink sea roses. Coming up behind her, he clasped her hand and swung open the door. When she saw the inside, she gasped with delight.

  There was just one large room with a bed like she had only heard about in stories with four intricately carved posters and blankets that begged for her touch. A long table was pushed up against the wall beneath a wide casement with a single bench that stretched its full length. Along the back wall towered a large stone hearth and two high back chairs.