The White Gull

by Laura Strickland

  “No, I meant—Declan.”

  Again Maggie snorted. “Not for a year. Why? Have you?”

  Lisbeth got to her feet unsteadily. She knew she would see Declan every time she encountered Timmy around town as he grew. In ten years or so, would he look like the lad Lisbeth had first met at the school house that fateful day?

  She asked hopefully, “You haven’t seen Pat, have you? I don’t suppose—well, that you were also with him?”

  The side of Maggie’s mouth curled. “Afraid not, Mrs. O’Shea. I’ve not seen Pat for an age, and anyway, he never came to call. Accept it—your man was barely your man at all. He wasn’t worth your tears, so run away, little widow, and let me be.”

  Lisbeth did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain slanted down in a gray curtain as Rab sailed into Lobster Cove harbor, the weather further weighing on his heavy heart. His eyes searched the harbor front for a glimpse of a big black dog and a slender woman; of course they would not be there. Lisbeth had no way of knowing when he would return.

  Lisbeth. He ached for her presence as with an open wound. He wanted to touch her, yes, and claim her lips with his own, to bed her even more. Most of all, though, he just wanted to be with her, craved the warmth and safety of her company. Home. Lisbeth represented that to him, and always had.

  It had gone hard with him, leaving her on the tail of telling her about Maggie’s bairn. The news must have shattered her world. And Rab did not bring her good tidings now.

  How could he expect her to put all this madness behind her and take up a life with him, Rab? For he knew his heart would be satisfied with no less.

  He helped Jeff dock the boat, and they parted with no more than a nod, both anxious to get home. Rab ducked his head and ran up Maple Street, the raindrops striking his shoulders like stones. The town appeared deserted, everyone having taken cover from the rain. When he drew near the forge, he saw smoke struggling from the chimney of his quarters, and his heart leaped.

  He rapped at the back door, happy to find Lisbeth had barred it. She swung the door open and bounded forth into the rain, into his arms.

  For the space of several moments neither of them spoke. Rab tucked her hard against him, cuddled to his heart, and forgot about the rain.

  Far too soon she lifted her face and laughed. “Come in out of the wet.”

  She towed him into the room, where Kelpie claimed his attention. The place felt warm and smelled of new-baked bread. The tight knot inside Rab’s chest loosened for the first time within memory. He ruffled the fur on Kelpie’s great head before looking at Lisbeth again.

  Wordlessly, she returned to his embrace, her arms wrapping around him tight. Had she wanted this as much as he had during their long days apart? Dare he hope she might one day come to love him?

  This time when she raised her face he claimed her lips with his. The kiss carried all his longing, all his need and desire. She met it with passion of her own, parted her lips beneath his even as she wound her arms about his neck. He dove into her, heedless of anything besides this craving, too long denied.

  She pressed her body against his and he felt all of her—breasts, thighs, long slender legs. Her hands moved across his shoulders and tugged at his jacket.

  She broke the kiss to say, “Let’s get these off of you.”

  “What?”

  “Your wet clothes.”

  Rab’s heart thudded painfully. Did she mean all of them? He stood like an overgrown child while she stripped the jacket from him and set it by the fire. Next she unbuttoned his shirt and drew that from him also. When her fingers moved to the buttons on his trousers, he caught her hands.

  “Lisbeth.”

  It went hard with him to object. He had longed for this the whole time he was away, and stood ready for her beneath his trews. But she would want to hear what he had to say first.

  She did not meet his gaze. Instead she stood quiet beneath his touch, though the collar of her dress stirred with her quickened heartbeat.

  “Lisbeth,” he said again, gently, “what is this?”

  “Let me welcome you, Rabbie. Let me warm you.” She did look at him then, raised those great, fey eyes to his, and he drew a breath at what he saw there: desire flaring bright enough to match his own.

  Aye, and it would be so easy to accept what she offered, shuck the rest of his clothing, remove hers, and carry her the few steps to his bed. Worship her with his hands, his mouth—at last answer the yearning that had dogged him so long.

  Make Lisbeth, in truth, his home.

  He forced himself to say, “Lisbeth, I bring news.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Again she pressed herself into his arms, this time making a delightful friction against the bare skin of his chest. He felt her tremble, and his desire heightened impossibly.

  She tipped her head back, and her gaze once more claimed his. “I ached for this the whole time you were away, every minute.”

  “As did I.” She must feel the weight of him pressing against her. He let his desire for her show in his eyes, hiding nothing. Above all, his Lisbeth deserved honesty.

  “Lisbeth, I would trade my soul for a night with you. But I would never want you to regret it. I think you should listen to what I have to say.”

  A rueful smile tugged at her lips; he felt it then—his Lisbeth had changed while he was away, had strengthened and somehow armed herself.

  “Honorable to the end, Rabbie,” she said with affection, “and better at guarding my welfare than I. Very well, then, tell me what you learned.”

  ****

  Again they sat at opposite ends of the bench by the fire, close enough to touch, Rab with a hot drink in his hands. Lisbeth had forced it on him along with a warm, dry shirt. Kelpie lay at his feet, as near as the big dog could get.

  “I found Pat,” he began without preamble. “Spoke with him, in fact. He’s living in a place called Irish Cove, on Cape Breton.”

  Lisbeth drew a breath. Dismay flared in her eyes, but little surprise. She said nothing, though her fingers tangled together on her knee.

  “He’s been there since the end of the last sealing season. I do believe he means to stay. He’s living with a woman he met, a widow like yourself. I spoke at length with both of them.”

  “That means he hasn’t been back to Lobster Cove.”

  “It does, aye.”

  Rab watched the implications of that move in her eyes. She drew another deep breath, and the pulse in her throat quickened again, but not with desire this time.

  “I do not suppose Pat can be behind the pranks that have been played on me, then.”

  Regretfully, Rab shook his head. “The woman with whom he lives—Fiona MacIvie, by name—says he’s been with her since the winter. She seems an honest sort, and I believe her. She has a wee child from her first marriage and is expecting again wi’ Pat’s child.”

  Lisbeth did look surprised at that.

  Softly, Rab went on, “Pat has changed from the wild lad he once was. I think he means to settle down with Fiona, for good.”

  “Did he say why he left Lobster Cove so suddenly after Declan’s death?”

  “He did not. Would not, no matter how I pressed. I do believe he was hiding something on that count. I had a chance to ask him directly when his lady went off to tend her bairn. He led me to think ’twas grief sent him off—harped on about what a great wound it was losing Declan, and the two of them so close. But I sensed something else beneath it all.”

  Lisbeth lifted troubled eyes to Rab’s face. “What does that mean for us?”

  “It means there is no easy explanation for the man you ha’ been seeing. ’Tis not Pat, of that I am convinced.”

  “Then, who?” Lisbeth got to her feet and paced the limited space in front of the fire. Almost wildly, she said, “It must be Declan. He has to be alive. He did not die at sea.”

  “Whisht!” Rab bade her, unwilling to have it stated aloud. The last thing he wanted, Go
d help him, was for Declan O’Shea to be still in this world and drawing breath. He almost preferred the prospect of Declan’s ghost—and what did that say of him? He knew how Lisbeth had always felt for Declan; he knew, too, just how deeply he loved this woman. Would he truly condemn her to bereavement?

  Aye. Aye, and aye—for Declan could not love Lisbeth as much as he did. No one could.

  As calmly as he could manage, he said, “I do no’ see how it could be. The White Gull came back in pieces. How could he survive that storm?”

  “I don’t know either. But he was a strong swimmer; he and Pat both used to go out and flirt with the riptides.”

  “On a fair day, aye. Lisbeth, men who know the sea said the White Gull was probably struck by lightning. He’ll be at the bottom of the sea.”

  “Then his ghost has returned, dripping sea water. I know what you’re thinking—”

  “You do not!”

  “You think I must be mad.”

  “Nay, lass, for did I not see him as well, up on the coast road?” Rab frowned. It had been dark, but Kelpie had struggled with someone tangible, a flesh-and-blood man, and not Pat. Dread roiled Rab’s gut and regret seized him like a sickness.

  Lisbeth looked him full in the eyes. “Rab, I have a confession to make.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lisbeth bit her lip. Rab was not going to be pleased with what she had to tell, but she’d determined their relationship, were they to have one in the midst of all this madness, must be honest. Besides, she refused to surrender the strength she’d discovered since waking from her troubled dream.

  Still holding his gaze, she began, “I went to see Maggie Grier while you were gone. I saw her child.”

  Consternation flared in Rab’s eyes, but he sat quietly and displayed no other reaction. Declan, in similar circumstances, would have charged about and hollered, let his temper flare, cursed, and carried on.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She had to stop comparing Rab and Declan; they were nothing alike. Thank God.

  After contemplating it for several moments, Rab nodded unhappily. “Aye, well—I should ha’ known you would.”

  “He’s Declan’s child, beyond question.” Suddenly restless again, Lisbeth turned away. “Poor babe.” To have such a father, no less such a mother who let him lie and cry himself to sleep. What would he become?

  She went on doggedly, “And that means nothing I believed was true. My marriage was not what I supposed; Declan was not who I thought. He never loved me.”

  The last came out in a wail Lisbeth would recall if she could. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. But she’d lived with the illusion of Declan nearly half her life, and it went hard to feel it break up around her.

  “I would no’ say that.” The opinion came softly, in Rab’s deep voice.

  “Yes, well—I would. What kind of love is it that cheats and lies and deceives? I would never, never betray you so, Rab!”

  She paused abruptly, all at once realizing what she had said, and the truth of it. She loved this man right down to the roots of her soul, as she had never imagined loving anyone. That, as much as the discovery of Declan’s infidelity, had destroyed her dream.

  Rab’s eyes, blue as the deep sea, met hers without prevarication. “Nor I you, Lisbeth,” he said simply. Only, she knew there was nothing simple in such a love given and received. She felt humbled, entrusted with such a priceless gift.

  By heaven, she had chosen the wrong lad all those years ago in the schoolyard. And now she—now they—paid the price.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?” Rab got to his feet and pulled her gently into his arms. Warmth and comfort enfolded her, and her heart ached not with loss but longing.

  “I should have known,” she said into his shoulder. “I should have seen him for what he was. How could I have been so foolish, so shallow?” For she had chosen the bright waves dancing on the shore, when the deep constancy of the sea awaited her.

  “Forgive me,” she implored.

  “There is naught to forgive.” His lips traced her hairline, graced her temple. Desire and frustration flooded her in equal measures.

  “And you,” she said. “You never wed anyone else.”

  “There never was anyone else,” he answered plainly, and she felt his heart pound against her, great beats like the pulse of her world.

  “Emily Cooper—”

  “Emily Cooper is a fine woman. But she is no’ you.” His lips found the corner of her mouth, and she took fire like the forge when he fanned it. She wanted nothing more than to rest in this man’s hands for the balance of her life, but she feared she couldn’t.

  She knew Rab Sinclair, guessed what his answer would be even before she bade him, “Rabbie, take me to the bed.”

  “Och, Lisbeth—” Resistance stiffened his muscles beneath her hands.

  She reached up and trapped his face between her hands. “Will you make me beg?” She kissed him deeply, as she had never once kissed Declan. She wanted to pour her love and need into him so he could taste them. She wanted to present herself to him like a gift, without restraint. She needed to be one with him this night.

  But he broke the kiss before they tumbled over the edge together, and spoke but one word. “Declan.”

  “I don’t care.” With Declan, Lisbeth had lived a lie. Rab represented truth on a level she could trust. “Ah, Rabbie, please, please!”

  She emphasized the plea with little kisses on his jaw and chin.

  “There is no going back from it.”

  “You think I want to go back? If I give myself to you this night, Rab, it’s for life.”

  “Then I want it to be right, lass. I want you with a free heart—no strings, no ties.” Very gently he put her from him and gazed into her eyes. “If Declan’s alive, you are still bound to him.”

  She parted her lips to protest, but he forestalled her. “It does not matter if he deserves your loyalty—we know he does not. You deserve it, Lisbeth. You already lived one lie—I will no’ have you live another wi’ me.”

  She bent her head and rested it against his chest. “But I want you so.”

  “Aye, and I will carry that to my bed this night. But I will go. I ha’ waited more than ten years for you, Lisbeth. I can wait a bit longer to make it right.”

  “But, Rab, how can it come right? We are no closer to answering the questions that haunt us. It would have been far better if it had been Pat playing tricks on me.”

  “I ken, lass.”

  “If Declan’s alive, why hasn’t he come forward and let people know? Where’s he been all this time? Why appear now, and to me?”

  Rab shook his head. “We will get to the bottom of it somehow, I promise.”

  “If he wants to see me, talk to me, perhaps let me know he’s alive, maybe we should lay a trap for him. I could go back to the cottage.”

  “No.” Rab seized her shoulders. “Absolutely not. Give me your word you won’t go there alone.”

  “I could take Kelpie. And you could hide nearby. If we could catch him…”

  “I will no’ take such a chance with your safety—nor let you take such a chance.”

  “But, Rab, I’m no longer afraid, now I know he’s alive. I will fight any way I must for what’s between you and me.”

  “Aye, and bless you for it. But you are not going up there to lure him.”

  “It’s just Declan.”

  “Is it?” For an instant, pure highland superstition shone from Rab’s eyes.

  “You don’t believe he’s alive?”

  “Part of me does; part of me does no’.”

  “But Kelpie struggled with a flesh-and-blood person and tore his sleeve—you just said so.”

  Rab gave a crooked smile. “And Kelpie is named for a magical creature that can come out o’ the sea or a loch and lie wi’ a flesh-and-blood woman, is he not?”

  “That’s just a tale, a legend.”

  “You said yourself Dec
lan always did have some magic about him.”

  He had certainly woven a spell over Lisbeth. And how many other women?

  “Give me your word, Lisbeth, so at least my mind may be at rest this night.”

  Instead of giving him assurance, Lisbeth kissed him again, hoping to distract him from a promise she dared not give.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Is anyone to home?” The call came from the back door, which Lisbeth had left open to the fine afternoon. Yesterday’s rain had flown and the clear scents of sea and wind competed with that of the bread Lisbeth had just taken from the small oven at the side of the hearth.

  In the forge, Rab instructed Dougie; Lisbeth could hear the murmur of their voices punctuated by the banging of a hammer; just by listening she could tell which of them plied it.

  She looked up, hoping Frannie had come to call, and instead saw Mignon leaning in the doorway.

  And just where did the woman think she was bound? She wore a splendid walking suit of dark green and a matching hat that perfectly accented the color of her auburn hair. Her cheeks looked slightly flushed and her eyes bright.

  “Mignon!” Lisbeth exclaimed in surprise and discarded the tea towel with which she’d lifted the hot pans. “What a surprise.”

  She smoothed her hands down over the plain dress she wore—one of her oldest—and rued she’d not taken more care pinning up her hair that morning. Most of it had now fallen and straggled down her neck, and her apron bore stains.

  “I walked down from the bluffs,” Mignon confessed. “It is such a lovely afternoon. But it is farther from the house than I thought, and now I’ll need to walk home again.”

  “Well, sit down and take a cup of tea first,” Lisbeth offered, hoping Mignon would not accept.

  But Mignon agreed with alacrity. “I will not say ‘no.’ My, your new kitchen is cozy.” She settled on the bench by the hearth and removed her hat. Lisbeth swung the kettle over the fire, wondering why Mignon had come, since they did not usually pay social calls on one another.

  “I wanted to ask you to do a job of sewing for me,” Mignon said, just as if she had heard the question in Lisbeth’s mind. “Rather a big job, if you’re not too busy now that you’ve moved in with Rab.”