Love's Guardian

by Dawn Ireland

  Alex wiggled in closer to the fence, trying to see around a rather large woman with a hat to match. “I see them. Which one is Edward’s Folly?”

  “The chestnut with white stockings.”

  A man with a booming voice that wasn’t hinted at by his girth announced from a platform, “The tapes are up.”

  Almost immediately, a hush fell over the crowd. Even the horses stilled. Collectively, everyone seemed to hold their breath until they heard, “They’re off.” The roar of the crowd appeared to propel the horses forward, clumps of turf following in their wake.

  He studied Alex as she watched the turn where the horses would come into view. A sun-burnished curl had escaped its bondage and was now doing a languid dance on the curve of her cheek.

  He liked her. It was as simple as that.

  When was the last time he’d enjoyed an afternoon more? What she expected and what he could give were two different issues, but was that any reason for them not be civil? Just because he made the decision not to love, especially the woman he was going to marry, didn’t mean he couldn’t like her and enjoy her company, did it? Like was not the same as love. So, he liked her.

  The horses came into view. Each animal’s muscles strained, while their hooves beat out a rhythmic pounding in the soft earth. Edward’s Folly inched up on the inside, coming neck and neck with a large bay. Alex noted the larger horse struggling to keep pace. In the last moments, Edward’s Folly leapt ahead, and a great burst of speed made him appear to fly over the finish line.

  Alex couldn’t believe it. In the excitement of the moment, she jumped up and threw her arms around Declan’s neck, her feet not touching the ground. He caught her. She felt him stiffen for an instant, before hugging her to him.

  Finding herself at eye level with the cleft in his chin, her legs dangling, there was nowhere else she’d rather be. She raised her gaze to his smiling eyes, eyes that were no longer guarded, at least for the moment.

  “We won.” She hugged him tight, then threw back her head and laughed. She felt the answering rumble in Declan’s chest before his laughter poured out of him, hesitant at first, then gaining in intensity.

  He twirled her around, their joy forming a cocoon, shutting out the crowd around them. “Yes,” Declan shouted to the heavens. “We won.”

  “How badly do you want to marry Worthington?” Luther adjusted his cuffs, appreciating the double layer of lace at their edge.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Catrina perched on the edge of a pink striped settee that graced her pink and white morning room. Her hands fluttered over her organdy silk skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

  He loathed pink, almost as much as he loathed the woman who had decorated this room. Oh, she had ambition, and could be clever, but she was weak. Something he could use to his advantage.

  With deliberate steps, he closed the short distance to Catrina. He reached down, cupped her chin in his hand, and waited until she looked at him.

  “I think you know exactly what I mean. Haven’t you heard? Worthington’s going to marry my cousin.” He tightened his grip. “If you’d kept him occupied as I asked, it never would have come to this.” He rubbed his thumb on the skin near her mouth. “Such a lovely face. It really would be a shame...”

  Fear crossed her features. They both knew that without her looks, she would have no prospects for a future.

  He allowed Catrina to jerk her head out of his hand.

  “I did as you asked. Worthington’s mine. He’s only feeling sorry for Lady Lochsdale.”

  “Sorry enough to marry her?”

  “He’s not going to marry her!”

  Catrina’s petulant voice grated on his ears. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, making certain the disbelief he felt showed on his face.

  She dropped her gaze and toyed with the lace on her overskirt. “You’re wrong. You’ve been listening to rumors.”

  “Have I? Alex told her maid, who happens to be in my employ, that the announcement is going to be made at the ball this Saturday.”

  “He wouldn’t.” Catrina stood and practically knocked him aside as she headed for the door. She stopped short of opening it and turned. Bitterness robbed her face of its beauty. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The Countess can’t have him. I’ve worked too long and hard for this proposal. I’ve put up with his cold arrogance for almost a year now. He owes me his name.”

  “I’m in total agreement with you.” He gave a slight shrug, his palms turned upward. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but you needn’t worry. I’ll see to it he doesn’t marry her.”

  He drew his snuffbox from his pocket and took a pinch, then waited. Catrina fidgeted with the pearls at her neck until he closed the box with a snap.

  Catrina jumped.

  He did so enjoy the little things. Smiling, he replaced the box and brushed at his sleeve with one long-fingered hand before looking at Catrina. “Might I suggest a solution?”

  Wariness crossed her face, but she returned and seated herself on the chair closest to the door. “Continue.”

  “My spies tell me Worthington hasn’t been spending much time at home. And his valet is willing to tell anyone who’ll listen about an agreement he overheard between Lady Lochsdale and Worthington.” He paused, savoring the brilliance of his plan. “This, combined with an item I now have in my possession, should work to our advantage.”

  From his pocket, he drew a small obsidian statue of a horse, his thumb lovingly caressing the chip on the base.

  He gazed into Catrina’s eyes and gave her a slow smile. “I understand it was a gift.”

  Chapter 19

  Alex felt like a child on Christmas morning.

  “You can look now.”

  Declan’s voice competed with a cacophony of sounds and smells she’d know anywhere. She opened her eyes. For a moment, the bright sun blinded her, but then her vision cleared. They stood near their carriage at the edge of a rough, planked dock.

  People milled about in front of them: sailors loading vessels, prostitutes clad to entice, travelers saying farewells to loved ones. A nearby vendor sold medals and charms for a safe journey. Not far from there, a man hawked mementos of England to foreigners.

  The array of noises was as varied as the throng. Gulls cried their displeasure as the fishmongers beat them away from their wares. Voices flowed and ebbed with the calls of vendors to each new passerby. Sails snapped in the wind. Barrels and crates creaked as they were hoisted aboard vessels. They all blended to become a kind of music Alex hadn’t heard in years—music she’d missed.

  “Thank you.” Alex turned toward him, tears in her eyes. “Grandfather refused to let me spend time on the docks. I think at first he was afraid I’d run away, and later, he didn’t consider it proper.”

  “I had no idea I took a risk in bringing you here.” Declan’s eyes and voice held an uncharacteristic note of mischief. “Do you promise not to run away?”

  “And where do you think I’d run to?” She turned to him, and her voice lost its teasing quality. “Especially when I’m finding more and more reasons why I should stay.”

  Declan ignored her subtle compliment. Acknowledging it would only encourage her attachment to him. Instead, he pointed to a ship barely visible in the third berth. “I thought you might want to stow away aboard that vessel.”

  She turned, and her quick intake of breath told him she had finally seen the reason for their journey.

  “The Merry Elizabeth. Oh Declan, how?” Alex looked as if she were seeing a ghost.

  “Captain Malachy sent me a note yesterday when he heard about your grandfather.”

  “Paddy? Paddy’s now the captain?”

  “Your grandfather put him in charge of the Merry Elizabeth shortly after you came to live with him. Padric Malachy has been a fine captain. He’s waiting for us.” He started to propel her toward the dock, but she held back.

  �
��Did you tell him I was with you? It’s been so long.” She twisted the bracelet on her wrist. He reached over and put a hand on top of hers, his fingers stilling her movement.

  “He couldn’t wait to see you.”

  With a firm hand in the small of her back, he negotiated a path for them through the crowd, until they stood at the bottom of the gangplank. Paddy waited at the top. His legs were planted, as if even now he steadied himself against the roll and pitch of the ocean. When he saw them, he opened his arms.

  Lifting her skirts way above what was proper, Alex dashed up the gangplank, her footing as sure as the twelve-year-old girl he’d known all those years ago. She flew into Paddy’s arms, burying her face against his chest.

  Declan followed at a more sedate pace, giving them a moment together. When he reached the ship, he met Paddy’s gaze over the top of her head.

  The captain’s grizzled face showed the years he’d spent in the sun. Lines etched the corners of his watery blue eyes. Delcan thought the wrinkles appeared deeper than the last time they’d met. Even his hair and closely cut beard were now totally iron gray instead of salt and pepper. He’d aged, but he still carried the spark of integrity and wisdom that had led Declan to suggest Paddy would make a fine captain.

  Holding Alex as if she was his daughter, Paddy rocked her back and forth, murmuring endearments. He nodded to Declan. “Thank you for bringin’ her.”

  Paddy held Alex an arms length away and studied her face. “Yer grandfather done right by you. Yer all grown up right proper like. Sure I was that I’d never be seein’ you again and now, here you are.”

  “Where have you been all these years?” She captured his hand and clasped it in both of hers. “No one told me anything about you or The Merry Elizabeth. How long are you staying? What about the crew?” When she took a moment to breathe, Paddy stopped her.

  “Hold on now. In time, we’ll be answerin’ everything. Right now, I have someone I want you to meet.” Paddy motioned to one of the interested bystanders gathered in clusters around them. “Tommy, you might be rememberin’ Alex here, bein’ as her father were your first captain.”

  A strapping young man with sandy colored hair and freckles stepped forward. He had a plain, open face, with a smile that was disproportionate to the rest of his features.

  Alex went forward and grabbed his hand. “I remember you. You were our cabin boy.”

  He pulled himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest. “I’m a bowsun now.”

  “So you are.” Alex smiled at him, and the young man blushed to the roots of his hair.

  “I thought you might be showin’ Alex around.” Paddy gave her a wink. “Or is it ‘Lady Lochsdale’ now?”

  “It’s Alex, and I’d love to.” She turned back to Declan. “Do you mind?”

  “Not in the least. Paddy and I have some catching up to do.” Declan fought the impulse to call Alex back. He couldn’t possibly be jealous of a green boy. Just the same, he’d make his meeting brief.

  By the time he’d discussed the manifest for the next shipment to India and filled Paddy in on the situation with Luther, two hours had passed. When they came to the fore of the ship, they found Alex, her panniers gone and her skirt tied up between her legs. She and Tommy were engaged in a contest of skill.

  Declan groaned and Paddy chuckled as they watched Alex wield her knife in expert fashion.

  Her blade landed in the center of the barrel lid with a thunk, right next to her opponents. “As you can see,” Declan said, shaking his head, “she more than remembers the things you taught her.”

  Home. Alex glanced here and there around the captain’s cabin. The heady aroma of tar, damp wood, and stale smoke was achingly familiar. The large cot and heavy wooden table were still nailed in their accustomed places, ready to brave the pull of gravity when the ship climbed a wave.

  Seated in her accustomed spot at the table, she could almost believe she’d never left, except that Paddy and Declan sat in her parent’s places, and she was no longer a child.

  Her index finger traced the initials “AK” carved in the tabletop. She’d been confined to the cabin for two whole days when her mother discovered what she’d done. It had been worth it. At least a part of her remained.

  Her father’s sea chest no longer graced the corner. It had been an ornately carved wonder with claw feet, but the current captain preferred a plain, strong crate, like the man himself.

  Sitting back from the remnants of the mid-day meal, Paddy lit his pipe. “Are you sure you’d be wantin’ to marry this one here?” Using his pipe stem, he pointed at Declan. “Yer father would want me to be sure it was love you’d be feelin’ for him.”

  “I love him. Yes.” She could hear the “but” implied by her response. She didn’t want to admit to Paddy that her betrothed didn’t love her. She glanced at Declan’s impassive face. Why didn’t he say something?

  Paddy gazed at her for a long moment as he worried at his beard with callused fingers. “Good, I’d not be wantin’ to fight one of my prize pupils.”

  She put her hands to her chest, mock indignation in her voice. “I thought I was your prize pupil.”

  “That you were.” Paddy gave her a wink. “But your betrothed caught on quicker than any man I’ve known, him not bein’ born to the sea and all. Still, it’s glad I am you’ve not forgotten what I taught ya. Speakin’ of which.”

  Paddy got up from the table and crossed the short distance to the chest, then threw back the lid. The smell of sandalwood tickled her nose. She smiled. After all these years, it must still be his favorite scent.

  He drew out what appeared to be a knife sheath with thin leather straps attached. “I bought this several years ago. It reminded me of you.” He shook his head, and the lines around his eyes became deeper with his grin. “You were always complainin’ you couldn’t get to that blade of yer’s fast enough. I thought this might help.” Paddy returned to the table, shoved the plates aside, and laid the tangle of leather in front of them.

  “It’s a knife sheath.” Declan picked the gift up, then turned it over in his hands. “How’s it worn?”

  Paddy glanced at Alex as if he expected her to answer Declan’s question, but she’d never seen anything like it. She gave a slight shrug.

  His bushy eyebrows raised, Paddy gave her a reproving look and shook his head. “I thought you’d be knowin’. It’s a neck sheath.”

  “Really?” She’d never actually used one, but from what she’d heard, they gave the advantage of added speed when drawing your blade. She grabbed it from Declan and tried to untangle the straps.

  Her clumsy fingers finally managed to free the loops. She stood and slipped the harness on, then buckled the supple leather under her breasts. She adjusted the straps until they felt secure across her shoulders, then reached down to retrieve her new knife from her boot. With a feeling of satisfaction, she tucked it into the sheath that lay between her shoulder blades. Her hair tended to get in the way, but with a little practice it shouldn’t hinder her.

  “Course, she’d be wearin’ it under her clothes.” Paddy’s face lost its normal jocularity, and he gazed at her, concern clouding his eyes. “It’s not much, but I’d be feelin’ better if you wore it. Least wise until the weddin’.”

  The threat of her cousin hung unspoken in the air. She didn’t want to think about Luther. It had been a perfect day up till then. “Thank you, Paddy. Don’t worry. I’ll wear it.” She gave him a hug. “But I’ll never learn to use it if I don’t practice. Let’s go try it.”

  She headed out the door and up the ladder before Paddy or Declan could stop her. When she returned to the contest area on the foredeck, she was glad to see their target still hung on the mast. Several of the sailors from the morning acknowledged her as she paced off the distance from the barrel lid.

  The man she’d beaten in the morning gave a little bow. His mustache, the predominate feature on his face, turned up on the ends. She suspected that passed for his smile. You�
��d never see his mouth under all that hair. She grinned in reply, then turned to face the target.

  On her first few attempts, long strands of hair took flight with the knife. She normally threw underhanded, which would have been awkward from the neck sheath. With this new overhand style, she couldn’t get the correct rotation of the knife. Between the pain of yanking out her hair and the new throwing style, she didn’t hit the center once.

  She shoved up her sleeves and tried to focus on the middle of the barrel lid. Declan rested his hand on her arm, just as she started to throw. The blade spun out of control, veered to the left, and landed in a sack of grain that hadn’t yet been stored below.

  “Now see what you’ve done.” She shrugged off his hand, then retrieved her blade. She hadn’t thrown that wild since she was eight years old. Her embarrassment added to her frustration.

  “Come along, my lethal tigress, it’s time to go.” Declan stood, arms folded, acting like he expected to be obeyed.

  “I need to practice. I’ll return later.” There was no reason she couldn’t stay. She’d be safe with Paddy.

  In three steps Declan covered the distance between them. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms as if she were a child.

  “Declan, put me down. I can walk.” She squirmed, to no avail. The obstinate man simply tightened his hold.

  “I’m well aware of that, but this way I’m sure you won’t stow away.” A glint of humor and desire swirled in the depths of his gaze. She became aware of the increased rise and fall of his chest. At that moment, only Declan’s ragged breathing and dark edged blue eyes existed.

  The screech of a gull broke the spell, and he looked away, his gaze coming to rest on her feet. “Besides, you’re ruining your slippers.”