Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “No, madam. Your sister started it.” Before she could think of a fitting reply, he said, “Oscar is a fixture in your household, then?”

  “Yes.” Eve couldn’t imagine her home without him.

  Lord Rushton popped the last of the roll into his mouth as he swung a leg over the bench seat. He sat down and swung his other leg over the bench. “If your father lets Oscar go, I will hire him.”

  Eve broke from her thoughts. “What?”

  He swallowed the stew he’d spooned into his mouth. “I will employ the brute.”

  “Brute?” she echoed.

  “He is a very large man and he did hit me very hard. Brute.”

  She wasn’t sure if the satisfaction in his voice came from his assessment of Oscar or his delight with a palatable meal.

  He took another spoonful of stew and followed that bite with a large chunk of roll. “This is really quite marvelous,” he said through the indecent mouthful.

  Eve took two steps and plopped down on the bench beside him, her back to the table so she could see his face. “Really?”

  “Really what?”

  “Will you hire Oscar?”

  He nodded, eyes on the roll, and swallowed.

  “My lord!” Eve threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “Thank you.” She was instantly enveloped with the smell of soap, sea, and man. Her cheek warmed with the contact of his skin and she was flooded with memory of his hand cupping her derriere and grinding her stomach against his hard length.

  Eve released a stuttered breath…then realized he had gone still.

  Her heart thumped madly and she found she didn’t know what to do. Thankfully—or maybe to her mortification—he said in a low voice, “Had I known this would be your reaction, I would have offered Oscar employment days ago.”

  Holy God, she had to say something—do something—but she got another deep whiff of his scent and her mind muddled.

  “While I would love to take advantage of this situation,” he said, “I fear the man I am offering to employ would shoot me if I did. As we have yet to arrange the generous marriage settlements you assured me I would give, it might be better if I commit the crime after we are married rather than before.”

  Booted feet sounded in the corridor outside the galley and Eve jumped back as if bitten. An instant later, Oscar appeared in the doorway. He halted and looked from her to Lord Rushton, who was stuffing another large spoonful of stew into his mouth with the gusto of a starving man. Eve was certain he was exaggerating his enthusiasm.

  “I hope you had one of those rolls,” he said to Oscar. “They are the finest in all of Great Britain.” The earl tore off another bite of roll and nodded to him.

  Eve jumped up. “Let me prepare Grace and Lord Somerset’s food.”

  “Do not forget Oscar,” Lord Rushton said.

  Eve frowned. “He will eat when he returns.”

  “He will take his supper in his hammock, then get some much needed rest. Your protector will do you no good if he collapses from exhaustion.”

  “I think you are being melodramatic.”

  He shrugged. “Think what you will.”

  She hesitated, then realized arguing was fruitless, and readied a tray. When she turned from the small shelf after removing two cups, Eve found Oscar still standing inside the doorway, staring at Lord Rushton. She suddenly realized that Oscar would join Lord Rushton and Grace’s home, not Eve’s and Lord Somerset’s. How had she not caught that when Lord Rushton offered to employ him?

  “You all right, Miss?”

  Eve jarred from her thoughts to see Oscar staring at her.

  “Oh, yes. I’m fine.” She handed him the tray.

  “Your dinner is there,” Lord Rushton told him. “Deliver the food to Somerset and Miss Crenshaw, then get some rest. After Miss Crenshaw has had her dinner, I will see her to her cabin and Somerset will keep watch over them until morning.”

  “I’ll leave the tray and return,” Oscar said.

  “No need,” Eve said. “I will be going directly to our cabin after I clean up.”

  “You have nothing to worry about, Oscar,” Lord Rushton said. “I did not ensure Miss Crenshaw’s safety thus far only to be the one to undo all the good I have done. If nothing else, you can rest assured, my father would have my hide if I did.”

  “If there was any hide left,” Oscar said, and, thankfully—or perhaps not so thankfully— he took the tray and left.

  Eve found she couldn’t move.

  “Dish up some of your wonderful stew and sit down with me, Miss Crenshaw.” Lord Rushton turned slightly and extended his empty bowl toward her. “I’ll have a bit more, as well.”

  She filled his bowl and gave it to him along with two more rolls, then dished up a small amount of stew and took a roll for herself.

  She sat across from him. “I am sorry, sir.”

  His mouth quirked. “So am I, though doubtless my regrets are different than yours.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “One way or another, I’ll get you killed.”

  “There are worse ways to die.”

  It took Eve a moment, then she realized his meaning and rolled her eyes.

  “You cannot blame me,” he said.

  Eve snorted. “Men.”

  “He takes good care of you.”

  Despite the fact she hadn’t forgiven him for taking Lord Rushton’s side against her, affection warmed her heart. “He has pulled me from many a scrape.”

  “Is he in love with you?”

  “In love with me? Good Lord, no. He would never deign to look in my direction. My father would never countenance it.”

  “Do you want him to look in your direction?”

  “My lord! He is like a brother to me.”

  Lord Rushton shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he considers you a sister.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s in his nature to protect, but he is not in love with me. In fact, I am certain he is sweet on our housekeeper’s daughter.” A moment of silence passed as she took a small spoonful of stew, then she asked, “What did you tell my father in your communication to him?”

  “I told him Halifax had kidnapped you and that I’d shot him. He would have found that out soon enough, and I preferred he heard it from me rather than the rumor mill. I said your sister was with us, but gave no other explanation, and added that we were headed for Mull and would contact him once we arrived safely.”

  “It was good of you not to mention that Oscar and I kidnapped you.”

  “That was a matter of expediency,” he replied. “The less said in a letter, the better. Your father is no fool. I have no doubt he’ll discover the truth.”

  “Only Grace, Oscar, and I know.”

  “But your sister left Manchester with an entourage and went to Gretna Green. Your father may not guess that Oscar kidnapped me, but he will deduce that his daughters colluded to get me to Gretna, and Oscar aided you.”

  Eve picked at her food. “Do you think he would believe I agreed to go with you and planned to trick you into marrying Grace instead?”

  “Yes.”

  He’d answered too quickly, which peeved her. But he was a man, and all men believed all women would fall prey to their charms. Though few eligible women of Society would prove Lord Rushton wrong, and too many ineligible women would prove him right.

  “Still,” Eve said, “I do not believe my father will believe you went willingly to be married. It’s hopeless.”

  Lord Rushton’s lips twitched in amusement as he popped the last of the roll into his mouth. “I feel certain he would, in fact, believe just that.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot see why. He knows you have no plans to actually marry me—or Grace, for that matter.”

  “On the contrary, he is certain I will marry you.”

  Lord Rushton rose, rooted out two tin cups from a cupboard, and poured wine. He buttered two more rolls, then set a cup in front of her and reseated himself.

  He took a lon
g swig of his wine. “Drink it. Wine relieves tension.

  Eve took a swallow and grimaced. “What is this?”

  “A very bad wine. Finish it up.” He drank the rest of his.

  She eyed the contents, but took another gulp. “Not as bad the second time around.”

  “It never is.”

  “How do you occupy yourself, my lord?” Eve bit into her roll. “We see you only in passing on our walks, and not always then. Surely you aren’t keeping yourself confined down below as we are?”

  “You are not down below, Miss Crenshaw. The second mate gave up his private cabin for you.”

  Eve nodded. “I knew the cabin belonged to an officer. You must have paid a pretty penny for this excursion, my lord.”

  He grinned. “The very reason I enjoy full freedom of the ship—as much as the captain, in fact.”

  “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate to have been allowed even the privilege of slaving away in the galley.”

  “You were not pressed into service.” He ripped his roll apart and ate the piece. “You begged to be allowed to cook. But had I known what a skilled baker you are, I would have chained you here and stood guard myself.”

  “You must have eaten half a dozen of those rolls,” Eve said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

  “It would be worth it. When did you learn to make these? They really are the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Our cook is the finest in Manchester. That is the one area where my father insists upon the best.”

  “I heartedly agree,” Lord Rushton said. “She taught you well.”

  “She did, to my mother’s mortification. When I was eight, I begged Mrs. Larson to teach me. I have no doubt it began as an indulgence, but by the time I was twelve, I had mastered hot cross buns and pigeon pie, to name two of my favorites. At a dinner party my mother hosted she discovered the bread she served to guests had been prepared by my hand and nearly had an apoplexy. She threatened poor Mrs. Larson with unemployment. My father warned me to go into the kitchen only when my mother was out of the house and demanded Mrs. Larson give the first of my fruits in payment for his silence.”

  Lord Rushton grinned. “I can see you sitting on a stool at the counter alongside the honorable Mrs. Larson.”

  Eve laughed with the memory. “I was a sight. I had a terrible habit of getting as much flour on me and the surrounding table and floor as I did in the bowl.”

  His gaze traveled down her frame and her cheeks heated. “You aren’t quite as much of a mess now.” He reached across the table and she froze when he brushed at something on her right cheek. “A smudge of flour,” he said. “Some things never change.” He grinned. “You will likely need a bath after this.”

  Eve turned her attention to her stew. “One can only dream.”

  “The captain has a tub in his quarters. Perhaps I can arrange something.”

  She snorted. “You are being cruel. I cannot believe you would allow Grace and me a bath when you will barely permit us to leave our cabin.”

  “It would be a great risk,” he said with gravity. “If the men knew there were naked woman aboard ship that would most assuredly incite mutiny.”

  “My lord, you make them sound so ferocious that I wonder how in heaven’s name you have managed to control such a motley crew.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” he said. “Did it occur to you that I spend my time fending them off?”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “They have not so much as glanced our way.”

  “Oh, they have, indeed, glanced your way.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I know because I am a man. It would be impossible for them not to look.”

  A tremor rippled through Eve’s stomach. “Not all men are like you,” she ventured.

  He grunted. “Indeed not, but in this respect, these men are like me. Unlike me, however, some would not hesitate to force their attentions upon you.”

  “You did force your attentions onto me.”

  He flashed a smile so charming her breath caught. “You are too irresistible to resist.”

  Eve blinked. He laughed, clearly comprehending that she hadn’t forgotten his kisses—and more—and she quickly said, “Where the sailors are concerned, I think you are trying to scare me.”

  “I am, but it is only because it is the truth.”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic, my lord.”

  “I promise you, on this, I do not exaggerate.” His attention was on his roll and he dunked it in his stew with obvious relish. “I left no doubt in their minds that I would kill them if they disobeyed me.”

  “Kill them—you are teasing me. No one would actually hurt us.”

  “Invariably, there is always one bad apple, and that is more than enough to do damage. Now,” his eyes shifted to her, “what payment should I extract in exchange for arranging your bath?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Erroll took the final step from the lower deck onto the upper deck and sighted the captain on the port side of the ship. The bow lamp in the binnacle had been dimmed, but moonlight illuminated the looking glass he peered through, aimed at the Scottish coastline. Erroll crossed to him.

  “My lord,” the captain said, as Erroll stopped beside him. “Have a look at this.” Captain Mercantile handed him the spyglass. “To the north there, in the small cove.” He pointed.

  Erroll fitted the glass to his eye and slowly scanned right until moonlight illuminated the tip of a mast beyond the rocky crags on the coastline.

  “I would say the ship is a brigantine,” the captain said.

  Erroll discerned a second mast. “You have a good eye.”

  “According to my map, they set anchor in a small cove just around that bend ahead,” Mercantile said. “Well away from any port. Do you have much trouble with pirates in the channel here?”

  “None.” Erroll lowered the glass. “With Trafalgar behind us and the Barbary Coast War nearly two years past, the seas are safer than they have been in decades. If Jefferson steers clear of our ocean we might be able to deal with Old Bony post haste and settle back into our lives.” Such as they were. Erroll returned the glass. “I suspect the brigantine anchored in that cove in order to deal with an unexpected problem.”

  “Might they have gone ashore for water or hunting?” the captain asked.

  “If the captain has a taste for game bird.”

  Erroll thought of the excellent meal he’d shared with Miss Crenshaw earlier that evening. If the brigantine’s captain had a cook as skilled—and beautiful— he would certainly find reason to keep her busy in the galley…and his bed. Something Erroll should be working on, instead of stopping to help a ship in trouble. The lady had agreed to bake another batch of bread thus ending the negotiations for her bath with his acquiescence.

  The thought of indulging in more of her rolls tomorrow—and the thought of her naked in the captain’s massive tub at this very moment—were enough to induce Erroll to order Captain Mercantile to slow their speed. He would hate to reach their destination before he’d had a chance to enjoy more rolls…and her. A mere fantasy. Oscar wasn’t about to let her out of his sight long enough for Erroll to kiss her, much less strip her naked. Not to mention, Somerset stood guard along with the brute to ensure the ladies’ privacy while they bathed. That left only the pleasure of the morrow’s bread making for Erroll to enjoy.

  “Do you know this area?”

  Captain Mercantile’s question intruded upon the mental picture of Miss Crenshaw at the counter pounding her bread batter into submission wearing nothing but a white apron.

  “Yes, I do,” Erroll said. “My father owns land on this side of the island. Travel by coach is impossible from here, which is why I wanted to put in at Tobermory in the north. Let’s have a look at that ship, Captain.”

  Captain Mercantile called an order to change course and, twenty minutes later, they glided into the cove with Erroll and the captain on the quarterdeck. The captain stood ready with a mega
phone while Erroll scanned the ship through the spyglass. His gaze snagged on the swivel guns mounted to the side of the ship. They appeared well kept. A shout went up and Erroll shifted the glass. Half a dozen men on deck pointed at the collier. One man disappeared below deck and, a moment later, the man returned with another man Erroll wagered was the captain or first mate.

  Once the collier drifted close enough, the captain shouted through the megaphone, “Captain Mercantile of the Margaret Ann. “Are you in need of assistance?”

  “Captain Johnson, here,” the biggest man shouted back through a megaphone. “We discovered water in the bilge and put in to have a look.”

  “How much water?” Mercantile called.

  “A few inches.”

  “Did you find the source of the leak?”

  “No,” Johnson shouted, “but there’s no new water in the last two hours.”

  “May I?” Erroll nodded to Captain Mercantile’s megaphone. The captain handed it to him, and both men took two steps to the left to stay closer to Johnson as the collier drifted while Erroll shouted into the megaphone, “What are you transporting?”

  “Wool from Fort William.”

  “My first mate is an engineer,” Captain Mercantile told Erroll. “He can have a look, if Johnson likes.”

  Erroll relayed the information, but Captain Johnson shook his head. “Thank you, but no. We have lost precious time as it is. My investors will be none too pleased if we fall further behind.”

  Erroll grinned. “Aye, investors are often a pain in the arse. As it happens, I represent Captain Mercantile’s investors. We delivered coal in Belfast and are sailing onto Tobermory to meet with prospective buyers about importing coal onto the island.” To Erroll’s relief, Captain Mercantile listened to this lie without betraying surprise.

  “You are not familiar with these waters?” Captain Johnson called back.

  “No,” Erroll replied. “We were told the game on the island is excellent, though. I anticipate a little hunting. This cove has easy access. What do you know of the bird game here?”

  Captain Johnson took several steps to his left to keep in line with them and shouted, “I sent someone ashore earlier. My man said there was nothing of consequence within a half hour walk.”