The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  Ian’s smile faded as he glanced at her so-called husband. “Follow me,” he said, stepping inside.

  Rose scanned the large room. The Anchor Tavern teemed with men, mostly fishermen and sailors judging by the smell. The din took her by surprise. Booming laughter blasted her ears. Barmaids squeezed between the tables and chairs while maneuvering their full trays, all the while smiling and swinging their hips to the pipers playing on the far side of the room.

  “Mary keeps a lively room,” Ian said, smiling down at her.

  “Ian,” a woman called out from across the room.

  He smiled. “Here she is now.”

  Rose’s eyes widened when she saw the tavern’s proprietor. Her unbound red curls skimmed her waist as she crossed the room to welcome them. Rose wagered they were roughly the same age. She also had bright blue eyes.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Mary said to Ian. Her accent was refined like Tristan’s, and she walked with a regal grace.

  “Good evening,” Ian said, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “We were hoping to use the back room,” he said in a low voice.

  Mary smiled. “Of course,” she said and winked at Rose. “Follow me.”

  Ian led the way through the packed room. Rose glanced back to make sure Tristan and Ramsay followed, but Ramsay held Tristan back.

  “Don’t fash yerself,” Ian said. “Ramsay will bring yer…er…”

  “My husband,” Rose said pointedly.

  “Aye, yer husband will join us in a few minutes.”

  Mary led them behind the bar to a door half hidden behind a stack of barrels. Rose watched as the tavernkeeper reached into the bosom of her tunic and pulled out a small key. She unlocked the door, then turned to Rose. “Follow me, lass,” she whispered, her accent suddenly as Scottish as Rose’s.

  Eyes wide, Rose followed Mary down a long hallway, then inside a room that was comfortably appointed with a large table and several chairs.

  When the door shut behind Ian, Mary seized Rose in a crushing embrace. “I would know ye anywhere, Rose MacVie!”

  Astonished by Mary’s sudden transformation, Rose didn’t know what to say to the woman hugging her like they were old friends.

  “Yer brothers said we resembled each other, but looking at ye now, why ‘tis like looking in a mirror!”

  Ian chuckled. “Rose, this is Moira. She is one of us, one of Abbot Matthew’s rebels. She maintains this tavern under the guise of English Mary, a refined and wealthy widow. ‘Tis a safe place for Scotland’s rebels to meet and rest. Her tavern is actually one of several in London maintained by the Abbot.”

  “I know all yer brothers,” Moira said, her eyes bright. “All handsome devils, to be sure. And they all talk about ye, the eldest MacVie. They say ye’re the one who’s truly in charge.”

  Rose laughed outright. “Someone has to keep them in line.”

  “Did the Abbot send ye here on a mission?” Moira asked.

  Rose shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “That’s why I’ve brought her here,” Ian explained, arching his brow at Rose. “To learn how she came to be in London.”

  Moira’s gaze darted between the two red-haired MacVies. She cleared her throat, clearly having sensed the current tension. “I will give ye some privacy to catch up.”

  “Thank ye, Moira,” Ian said. “And would ye be a dear and send in Ramsay and the Englishman.”

  “Aye,” Moira agreed. “I’ll send them in with full tankards. Ye both look like ye could use a drop.”

  After Moira left, Ian turned to Rose and quickly said, “I kept yer…er…husband away so ye could meet Moira. She’s always wanted the chance. I don’t know how much he kens about the cause.”

  “I’ve told Tristan nothing,” she said. “Not because I don’t trust him or worry that he wouldn’t be sympathetic to our cause. He has no love for his king or the ruling class. But I worried the knowledge could be dangerous, not just to him but also to his family.”

  Ian nodded his approval.

  “Quickly,” she said. “Before they come. Are ye and Ramsay here on a mission?”

  He nodded. “We are.”

  She squeezed his hand. “When I see our brothers again, can I tell them ye’re well?” she asked, feeling suddenly anxious for her wee brother’s safety. She was used to her brothers carrying out dangerous missions, but it never ceased to worry her. She knew they risked their lives, but they did it for the cause—they did it for Scotland.

  He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Do not fash yerself, Rose. I’ll be fine.”

  A moment later the door swung open and Tristan and Ramsay came inside.

  Rose looked at the three oversized men. “Yer all big as oxen,” she said, chuckling.

  Ian motioned to the chair across from him. “Sit down,” he said to Tristan.

  Tristan’s calm never wavered despite Ian’s harsh tone. Rose’s heart swelled with pride. A lesser man would have escalated the situation by taking offense. But she knew Tristan understood that, despite his size, Ian was only one and twenty and a protective brother.

  Tristan sat across from Ian, giving her brother his attention, and after Ramsay set down four tankards of ale, he sat on Tristan’s left.

  Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “Start from the beginning, Rose.”

  She expelled a slow breath, her mind suddenly racing. She lifted her shoulders. “I do not ken how to begin.”

  Ian brought his tankard to his lips but paused to say, “Start from the last time I saw ye, waving to me from the shores of our home.”

  Rose took a deep breath. “I took the skiff ye made me and sailed away from home.”

  Ian stood, bumping the table and spilling the ale. “What do ye mean, ye sailed away from home?”

  She knew it had been a foolhardy thing to do. Still his tone made her defensive. “I wanted to do something, something different. I wanted to go exploring,” she explained.

  Ian raked his hand through his red hair. “Are ye telling me Jack let ye sail off on yer own?”

  Guilt weighed on her conscience. Rose shifted in her seat. “I didn’t exactly ask him.”

  “Ye mean ye just left? Ye didn’t tell anyone?”

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “I would never do that. I left a note.”

  Ian’s eyes, the same blue as hers, widened in surprise. “What do ye mean ye left a bleeding note?”

  She squared her shoulders. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  “Ye mean to tell me that right now Jack and the others have no idea where ye are?”

  She winced a little thinking of her brothers who, she suddenly realized, were likely scouring the isles for her. “Nay, they do not know I am here, but we are due to set sail for home very soon.”

  “We? Oh, aye,” Ian said, narrowing his eyes on Tristan. “The husband. How is it that ye and Rose have come to be married?” Ian asked, his voice raising louder with every word.

  Ramsay stepped in then. “Ye need to calm down, Ian.”

  Ian whirled on Ramsay with flashing blue eyes.

  Ramsay thrust his hands out. “Don’t be getting all hot with me. I’m just trying to help. No good can come from ye losing yer temper again.”

  Ian took a deep breath and sat down. He laced his fingers together on the table. “Tell me,” he said, calmly.

  “Well—” Tristan started to say, but Ian interrupted him.

  “Rose!” Ian snapped. “Tell me, Rose.”

  She thrust a finger in Ian’s face. “Don’t snap at him. Your anger is with me, but ‘tis misguided. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I only did what ye told me to do. I made my own destiny. I chose to set out from Colonsay, and I chose this man,” she said, redirecting her finger to point at Tristan. “Ye could not find a finer man were ye to scour all of Scotland. Aye, he’s a sassenach, but his birth mother was Scottish. He bears no love for Edward, or any noble for that matter, English or Scottish.”

  Ian stood up, his hands
pressing flat on the table. “What I want to know is how ye came to be married.”

  Rose threw her hands up. “I told ye, I set sail on my own.”

  “And?” Ian pressed her.

  “And I was surprised by a sudden storm. The wind split the mast, rendering me unconscious. When I awoke, I was onboard the Messenger.”

  “Stop right there,” Ian said to Rose before turning to Tristan. “Now, ye may speak.”

  Tristan’s face was composed as he began. “I am a merchant. Having finished my route through the Isles, my crew set our course for Cardiff, when we happened upon your sister drifting on the remains of a boat. She was feverish, near death, in fact. After three days, her fever broke, and she awoke.”

  “Did ye wait a day until ye married her?” Ian barked.

  “Ian, he’s telling ye how he saved my life and ye’re yelling at him,” Rose interjected.

  “Ye could only have known each other a few days. And now ye’re married.”

  Tristan cleared his throat. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Ian snapped.

  Rose put her hand in Tristan’s. “We fell in love, Ian. ‘Tis as simple as that. Now stop being such an arse. Tristan Thatcher is a good man.

  Ian stiffened, his eyes wide. “Are ye Commodore Thatcher?”

  Tristan nodded. “Now that my father has retired, I am Commodore Thatcher, but I still prefer the title of captain.”

  Ian smiled. “Why didn’t ye say so in the first place. I’m acquainted with Captain Bellerose. My brother, Quinn, sailed several voyages with the good captain. He advised me to seek ye out, if ever I wanted my own contract. He speaks very highly of ye and yer family. In fact, I believe ye know our very dear friend, Abbot Matthew.”

  “I am indeed acquainted with the good abbot. I had the pleasure of meeting him in Berwick some years ago. Nearly ten now that I think on it. He had several messages for me to deliver in London.” Tristan offered Ian his hand, which he accepted straightaway.

  As they shook hands, Tristan continued, “Rose has spoken of your interest in becoming a merchant.”

  Ian nodded. “Indeed. We MacVies have long been sailors and fisherman. I am saving for a ship.”

  “You will be happy to know that I already promised to replace the ship Rose lost—the one you built for her.”

  Ian smiled. “That must please her, no doubt. Rose has always loved the sea. A wee skiff is just the—”

  “He’s giving me the Messenger, Ian,” Rose said, interrupting. “’Tis a cog, the best in his fleet.”

  Ian’s eyes lit up. “A cog! But…I…” His face beamed. “I cannot believe it. A cog!”

  At that moment, Ramsay stood. “I’m sorry to break up yer reunion, but, Ian, ‘tis getting late.”

  Immediately, Ian’s face grew serious. “Aye. Ye’re right.” He turned to Rose. “Forgive me. I must go. Ye understand, right?”

  She nodded. Of course she did. He was in London for a purpose. Scotland needed him.

  “Ye go ahead.” She raised her arms, and he scooped her into a hug. “Just ye be careful,” she whispered.

  He nodded and smiled down at her. “Will ye meet me here at noon in two days’ time. I wish to see ye before ye sail home.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be here. I promise.”

  Ian kissed her on the cheek before he turned to Tristan. “Remember, I am one of five brothers. The others aren’t as nice as me.”

  Kissing Rose on the cheek once more, he turned and followed Ramsay out the door.

  Rose smiled at Tristan. “Well, now ye’ve met my youngest brother.”

  Taking her hand, he leaned back in his chair and pulled her onto his lap. “That wasn’t too bad. He only tried to slit my throat.”

  She laughed. “He was just trying to scare ye. MacVies aren’t murderers.”

  Tristan cocked at brow at her. “Well, that’s comforting.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I have to ask, Rose. Why did you tell your brother that you set sail from Colonsay and not Jura?”

  Her brows drew together. “Did I say that?”

  He nodded. “You did.”

  She winced. “I wasn’t perfectly honest when we first met, but in my defense, you were a stranger. Not knowing what sort of man you were, I didn’t want to tell you exactly where I lived. Just near enough so that after ye dropped me off, I could make my own way home.”

  “That I can understand.” But, despite his apparent lack of concern, his brow furrowed.

  “What is wrong then?” she asked.

  “We have a problem. Now, it is not just my family who believes we are married.”

  She touched her fingertips to her lips. “Ye’re right.” She groaned and rested her head on his shoulder. “Things just got even more complicated, didn’t they?”

  “Aye, they did,” he said, imitating her accent. He pulled her close. “Aye, they did.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Tristan left his white horse with Darby and walked hand in hand with Rose through the courtyard of the Thatcher fortress. Just as he lifted his foot to mount the first step, Rose stopped and gripped his hand tighter. “I don’t know if I can go back in there. I can’t face Iris.”

  Her outburst mirrored his own reluctance. He turned and cupped her cheek, bringing his forehead down to hers. “Then I will take ye to my own house in town, and in a few days, we sail for Scotland.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “But I don’t want that either, Tristan.” Her voice cracked. “I will miss you terribly.”

  He pulled away just enough to look hard into her eyes. “Do not speak as if all this is over. This is not goodbye,” he vowed.

  She buried her face in his neck.

  He stroked his hand down her hair. “I prayed to the sea for an answer,” he rasped. “And it sent you to me on a wave.”

  She pulled back and looked up into his amber eyes. “I dreamt once, when I was just a wee lass, that love would come to me from the sea.”

  He froze, his lips a breath from hers. “Love?” he whispered. His heart pounded. “Do you love me, Rose?”

  ~ * ~

  Rose opened her mouth to answer, but then the door to the hall flew open and Elizabeth burst upon them. “Oh, Tristan and Rose, mother and I have had such a wonderful idea! Please come inside.”

  Elizabeth stepped quickly down the stairs and hooked arms with Rose, pulling her toward the doors. Rose glanced back at Tristan, her confession of truest love unspoken on her lips.

  “It was really my idea,” Elizabeth said excitedly. “And I made certain Darby watched for you to alert us of your return so that I could tell you as soon as possible. I can scarcely hold it in.”

  Rose lifted the hem of her tunic with her free hand as Elizabeth nigh sprinted toward the family solar, pulling Rose behind.

  “Calm yourself, dear sister,” Tristan called out. “You are liable to trip and send Rose sprawling to the ground.”

  Elizabeth dropped Rose’s arm just outside the solar and burst through the door. “They are here!”

  Rose stopped and turned, reaching to take Tristan’s hand. “What is going on?” she hissed.

  He lifted his shoulders. “I have no idea.”

  Iris and Owen stood, when Rose and Tristan entered.

  “Have you told them?” Iris said quickly to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It nearly killed me, but I held my tongue just like you asked.”

  Iris smiled. “Good girl.” Then she turned and looked at Tristan and Rose and motioned to the chairs near the hearth. “Do sit down. Your father and I have something we would like to propose.”

  Rose groaned inside. She wasn’t sure her heart could handle another proposal.

  Owen smiled at Rose as he sat in the chair across from hers. “I wish to apologize. I did not give you a very warm welcome.”

  Rose shook her head. “Nay, Commodore Thatcher, ye needn’t—”

  “What? Apologize?” he said, interrupt
ing her. “On the contrary, I must, but that is only the beginning of what I must say to you. But first, if I might digress—please call me Father, or if it suits you, you may call me Papa like Elizabeth.” Owen’s eyes glinted as he held her gaze expectantly.

  She gripped the arms of her chair, guilt twisting her stomach.

  “Will ye do that for me?” Owen asked.

  She nodded. “I will, Commodore.”

  “Commodore? Who is that?” he said with a wink.

  Her face warmed. “I meant…Papa.” The word tore through her heart. How she hated to lie to him.

  Tristan squeezed her hand before he started to stand. “We’ve had a very long day. Perhaps whatever you wish to tell us can wait until the morning? Rose is tired and—”

  “No!” Elizabeth burst out. Her hand flew in front of her mouth. She blushed pink to match her tunic. “Forgive my outburst. I just could never sleep if we waited,” she said, nigh bouncing out of her chair.

  Iris cleared her throat. “Please sit back down, Tristan.”

  Tristan looked at Rose with apologetic eyes before reclaiming his seat.

  Iris scooted to the front of her chair, her face beaming. “What Elizabeth is desperately trying not to say…is that—”

  “We have all come to admire you, Rose,” Tristan’s father said, interrupting. “We wish to apologize for our cold welcome.” Owen shifted his gaze to his son. “I never should have betrothed you to that woman. I was blinded by ambition. Rose has more worth in her small finger than the whole Roxwell bloodline.”

  “I accept your apology,” Tristan said, standing. He bowed to his father. “Thank you.” Then he reached for Rose. “And now, we really must retire.”

  “No,” Elizabeth screeched. “We’re not done!”

  “The one regret we have,” Iris began, “is that we were not able to be present on your wedding day.”

  “And we were thinking,” Tristan’s father said, taking over, “since you were married at sea that—”

  “That we could throw you a proper wedding and have it solemnized at church,” Elizabeth blurted, then fell back into her seat, breathless.

  Rose froze.

  Tristan froze.

  Iris’s gaze darted from one dazed face to the other. “Well, aren’t either of you going to say anything?”