by Marie Laval
Rose pulled down her hood and snuggled more closely into her cloak. It felt good to be out in the open at last, away from the sickly smells of her small cabin, even if the air was so cold it stung her face and burned her throat with every breath she took. How could people live in such a cold, dreary place? She bit her lower lip. If Westmore turned out to be as bleak as Wrath, would she be able to bear it, even with Cameron?
A speck of white fluff landed on her cloak, then another, and another. It was snowing! Rose looked up and smiled as flakes touched her face and sprinkled over her coat like delicate confections of icing sugar. She caught a flake on the tip of her tongue, tasted it and laughed aloud.
The big man with wild red hair sitting opposite who had introduced himself as MacBoyd – MacBear, more like – scowled at her.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
The laughter died on her lips and her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.
‘I’ve never seen snow before. Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘There’s nothing beautiful about it when you’ve no home, no warm clothing and no food to put in your belly,’ he grumbled in a burry voice she could hardly understand. He sounded angry, as if he held her personally responsible for people being homeless in the harsh winter.
‘Well … no, I suppose not,’ she stammered, feeling a little silly now. She sat straight and tried to ignore the flurries of snowflakes dancing in the wind, though all she wanted was to catch them in the palm of her hand, or taste them as they touched her lips.
She turned to the harbour where a crowd had gathered.
‘What are all these people waiting for?’
‘You, darling.’ He winked. ‘They can’t wait to take a good look at McRae’s latest fancy woman.’
Heat rushed to her face. Her fingers tightened in her lap and she stiffened her spine.
‘I am nobody’s fancy woman. I’ll have you know that I’m …’ She bit her lip, hesitating. She had promised Cameron to keep their marriage a secret until the ball at Westmore on Saturday. Nobody knew they had married in Algiers, not even Captain Kennedy.
The big man leaned over and grinned. ‘What was that, flower?’
She swallowed hard, shook her head.
‘Nothing. It was nothing.’
They didn’t speak again until the dinghy reached the harbour. MacBoyd grabbed hold of the ladder fixed onto the wall and extended his hand.
‘Come on, up you go,’ he urged as helped her to her feet.
Scrambling up the ladder in her cumbersome new cloak and gown, her layers of frilly petticoats and dainty heeled boots was no easy feat. She’d much rather wear her pantaloons, shirt and flat shoes but she had appearances to keep up now she was married to an important man, even if nobody knew about it yet.
She climbed high enough to peep above the harbour wall but all she could see were feet clad in scruffy boots, shoes and clogs. She rose a few more rungs and, this time, met dozens of men’s, women’s and children’s eyes, all glaring down at her in frozen silence.
‘That’ll be her – McRae’s new tart!’ a gangly child cried out as he pointed a dirty finger at her.
The crowd erupted in coarse laughter. Her heart pounding, her chest tight, she gripped the sides of the ladder. If that was the way the people of Wrath welcomed her, she’d go down into the dinghy and demand to be taken back to the Sea Eagle right away.
She didn’t have the chance. A giant stepped in front of her. Dressed in black riding boots, black breeches and riding coat, he was so tall and his shoulders so broad the already dark horizon darkened further.
‘Silence.’
His voice was deep and calm, the voice of a man used to being obeyed. The crowd hushed at once.
He bent down in front of her.
‘Well, well, who do we have here?’
Even though she could hardly see his face, she felt his eyes bore into hers, and it was enough to make her mind go blank.
‘Rose … Rose Saintclair.’
‘Where are the others, your servants, your maids?’
‘I … I don’t have any.’
‘Really? That’s a surprise. All right then, come up.’ He held both his hands out.
She hesitated a moment before placing her hands in his. He pulled her up and she flew straight into his arms, landing with a bump against his broad, hard chest. He was so tall she had to tilt her face all the way back to look at him. Her heart skipped a beat, then started bumping fast and loud.
His eyes were grey and framed by dark eyelashes, his nose straight and strong, his cheekbones high and sharp. Thick black stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and his hair flew around his face, the colour of a raven’s wing. There was something dangerous about him, something reminiscent of a brutal warrior from days long gone.
She wriggled to free herself but he didn't let go and his mouth curved into a mocking smile.
‘Well, fàilte, my sweetheart. ‘I’ll say this for McRae. If there’s one thing the rascal can do, it’s pick his fancy women.’
His hand slid from her waist and he patted her bottom.
Her reaction was instinctive. She swung her arm and lifted her hand to slap him. She didn’t have the chance. Without batting an eyelid he caught her wrist.
‘Steady on, sweetheart. You have a nasty little temper.’
‘And you have no right to insult me in this way, you vile brute,’ she hissed. ‘I am not Lord McRae’s fancy woman, as you so elegantly put it, I’m his wife!’
She had expected at least a shocked response or a grovelling apology but he merely smiled.
‘It’s all right, gràidheag, you don’t have to pretend.’
‘Pretend what?’
‘Pretend you’re married to the man. I don’t care if you’re McRae’s mistress or his laundry maid, if you scrub his back or his dirty shirts.’
‘I am telling the truth, you stubborn macaque,’ she shouted in frustration. ‘I married Lord McRae in Algiers four weeks ago.’
‘Please don’t scream quite so loud. I heard you the first time. I just don’t believe you.’
‘What?’
‘First you introduce yourself as Rose Saintclair, now you’re spinning me a tale about being married to McRae. Make up your mind, sweetie.’
He glanced at her hand. ‘I don’t see any wedding band on your finger.’
‘That’s because Cameron wanted to keep the wedding a secret. Never mind, I don’t have to explain anything to you. Now let go of me.’
She wriggled to break free, but he was still holding her wrist, leaving her no choice but to kick him hard in the shin with the tip of her boot – the very pointy tip of the fashionable new boots she’d had made in Algiers.
‘Ouch. Steady on, sweetheart.’
‘Let go of me, you deranged baboon! And stop calling me “sweetheart”.’
She kicked him again, harder. He muttered something in a strange, guttural language she didn’t understand and let go of her so suddenly she staggered backward and fell on her bottom on the hard, wet cobbles.
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beat hard, erratic. Tears blurred her vision as people sneered and clapped around her. She knew the McRaes and McGunns were enemies, but she had nothing to do with their feud, so why did everybody here seem to hate her so much? And why was the big hairy brute intent on humiliating her and not believing a word she said?
He stepped closer and offered his hand.
‘Come on, now, sweetheart. Let’s start again. I think we got off on the wrong foot.’
He sounded contrite but she wasn’t ready to forgive him. Ignoring his hand, she scrambled to her feet, and straightened her back. Attack was the best defence, her brother often said, and Lucas knew what he was talking about. He was the best scout in the whole of the Barbary States – or ‘Algeria’ as the French now called her country.
‘Take me to your master immediately,’ she started in a voice as cold and steady she could manage, ‘so I can ask him to have you whippe
d for your insolence.’
There was a collective gasp from the people around them. Not looking in the least impressed, the man crossed his arms on his broad chest and arched his eyebrows.
‘Really?’
She took another deep breath.
‘That’s what I do to disrespectful servants on my estate, and I can assure you they stop smirking after five lashes.’ That was an outrageous lie, of course, but no one here was to know.
‘If what you said earlier is true, then I see McRae chose his bride well.’ The man’s eyes were now hard as steel. ‘You and he are indeed a match made in Heaven, or in Hell. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I don’t approve of whipping people, or beasts, for that matter.’
‘And I don’t care a fig if you approve or not. It is for your master to decide your punishment, and from what I’ve heard of Lord McGunn, he is neither a patient nor compassionate man.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know I had such a bad reputation.’
Rose’s heart stopped. He wasn’t … he couldn’t be …
‘I realise I failed to introduce myself. I am Bruce McGunn.’ He bowed his head in a military salute.
‘You are?’ The words came out as a squeak.
His lips stretched into a tight smile that didn’t warm his eyes.
‘At your service, my lady. Now the introductions are over, shall we make our way to the Lodge?’
Rose took a step back. Captain Kennedy had it all wrong. She wasn’t safe at Wrath harbour, far from it. Everything here was hostile, from the dark skies and stormy sea to the people. And the scariest of all was the very man who was supposed to offer her protection.
‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m going back to the ship.’ She took another step back.
McGunn shook his head and smiled again.
‘I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere for a while.’
Chapter Two
‘What do you mean, I’m not going anywhere?’
Her eyes glittered in anger. He’d noticed their unusual colour straight away, of course. It would have been hard not to, since they were the exact shade of the wild irises growing in June near Loch Meadie.
A gust of wind blew her hood off and her hair tumbled onto her shoulders in a mass of shiny, honey-blonde curls which reached down to her waist. His breath caught in his throat. It was like seeing the sun after a long, bleak winter, or being pulled out of a deep, dark pit into the light. The edges of the cold, grey world around him faded and blurred, and all he could see was the woman in front of him, radiant like a bright summer’s day.
‘I want to go back to the ship right now.’ She stomped her booted foot on the cobbles.
He let out a breath and the world came back into focus. Forget sunshine and summer heat, the new Lady McRae – if that was indeed who she was – looked about to throw a temper tantrum.
Well, she could scream and rant all she wanted, he was reverting back to the old ways – seize, hold and barter. It had worked well enough for his people in the past, it would work for him now. Fate had blown the ship and the woman into his Kyle, and into his hands; he would be stupid not to grab the opportunity. If McRae wanted his bride and his clipper back, then he’d call off the bankers.
‘I said I want to return to the Sea Eagle.’
Her voice shook and tears now shone in her eyes. For some absurd reason, the idea that he’d made her cry annoyed the hell out of him. He raked his fingers through his hair, smelling the sweet, exotic orange-blossom fragrance she had left on his hand, on his coat and pretty much all over him as he held her close. He pressed his lips together, and a dark pulse started beating inside him.
‘And I said you can’t,’ he growled. ‘The clipper suffered some serious damage already. It won’t be fit to sail for a while, a week or two, maybe.’
There was no need to tell her any more for now. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with a hysterical female.
‘A week or two? That’s not possible. I must be at Westmore Manor for my husband’s birthday party on Saturday,’ she protested. ‘There’s going to be a grand ball, Cameron will announce our marriage, and introduce me to his family and friends.’
‘A grand ball? Strange how McRae has no qualms spending vast amounts of money entertaining when his people are being evicted from their homes.’
She shook her head and looked at him with a mixture of scorn and pity, the way one might look at a diseased dog or a pitiful creature crawling from underneath a rock. No one had ever looked at him that way – and certainly no woman. A flash of heat ran through his veins.
‘Cameron warned me about you and your kin,’ she started. ‘He said the McGunns were a sour, vengeful and jealous lot, stuck in their ways and always ready to blame the McRaes for their own failings.’ She paused and added, ‘I see he was right.’
His anger vanished at once. He had to give it to her. She was brave. Or mad. He didn’t often smile these days, let alone laugh, but his lips now twitched with repressed laughter.
‘Sour, vengeful and jealous? Anything else?’
She shrugged. ‘I could probably throw in hirsute, rude and arrogant … but I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.’ She paused. ‘I will tell Cameron not to expect you at the ball on Saturday since you don’t approve of people having fun. Somehow I don’t think he will be too disappointed. As for the Sea Eagle, Captain Kennedy is a very able sea captain. I’m sure he will manage to get it safely to Thurso despite that broken … thing – whatever it is – on top of the mast.’
‘It’s called a topgallant,’ he corrected.
She made a wide gesture with her hands.
‘Whatever. So it’s goodbye for now, Lord McGunn. I cannot say it was a pleasure to meet you.’
Her cloak billowed around her as she swirled round and walked towards the edge of the quay, fast and graceful, as if she danced on the cobbles. She bent down, grabbed either side of the ladder and started climbing down without even checking that the dinghy was still there. It wasn’t, of course, since MacBoyd had followed instructions and rowed it back to its usual mooring.
Bruce let out a curse and strode after her. The silly woman was going to fall straight into the icy water and drown. He reached her just in time. Sliding his hands unceremoniously under her armpits and oblivious to her screams, he lifted her to safety.
The tip of her boot stabbed his shin, her small fist connected with his nose. Then she caught a handful of his hair and yanked hard.
‘Stop this right now,’ he warned. ‘You’re making a scene.’
‘Get away from me, you stinking ape!’
He almost dropped her on the ground.
‘You certainly have a range of unusual expletives, sweetheart,’ he said, unable once again to repress a chuckle. ‘I’m curious to see what your pompous husband and his stuck-up mother make of them.’
‘There is nothing pompous about Cameron, nothing, and I already told you not to call me “sweetheart”. Now get off me, I’m going back to the Sea Eagle whether you like it or not.’
‘And how exactly do you intend to get there? The rowing boat’s gone. Look.’
He put her down on the cobbles and pointed to the harbour.
‘After all, what do I care?’ he added with a shrug. ‘If you want to swim back to the clipper and spend a rough night on board, you go right ahead.’
The crowd stepped closer, all eyes on her. The silence was charged with tension once again, the air thick with pent-up anger. The young woman must have felt it too because she darted anxious looks around her and wrapped herself more closely in her cloak, as if hoping she could disappear into it and become invisible.
She looked towards the ship then back towards the grim-faced villagers and her eyes filled with tears again.
‘I can’t swim,’ she whispered, bending her head down.
Something stirred inside him, something he pushed deep back down.
‘The water’s far too cold anyway, you’d freeze to death,’ he grumbled. ‘Come on then, let’s ride back to the Lodge.’
Taking hold of her arm, he pulled her to his side and led the way out of the harbour to the village square. He walked so fast she had to run to keep up with him. The crowd parted to let them pass, silent but for a few disgruntled comments in Gaelic.
He untied Shadow’s reins. She pointed at the horse.
‘You don’t expect me to ride with you, do you?’
His heart tightened. She looked as pale and fragile as a porcelain doll next to his huge black stallion.
‘Yes I do.’
He lifted her up and settled her on the saddle before she could protest, and climbed on behind her. He gave the horse a gentle heel kick and started on the track out of the village.
When he felt her body tremble against him he enclosed her more tightly in his arms to keep her warm. As he leaned forward her sunny curls tickled his face, and he breathed a lungful of her intoxicating female scent once more. He gripped the reins harder and focussed on the road. The sooner they got to Wrath Lodge, the better.
It wasn’t the tall, black horse she was scared of, but the man riding behind her. There was something raw and untamed about him which made her heart beat fast and her chest tight with fright.
He rode swiftly, oblivious to the ice and snow on the path, and to the wind which slapped her cheeks and burned her lungs. Every time she leaned forward, he pulled her back against him, his arms a steel cage around her. His hard chest pressed against her back, his chin, prickly with stubble, brushed the top of her head. She could feel his thigh muscles clench and contract with every bump, every turn of the track. Almost afraid to breathe, she closed her eyes tightly shut.
‘We’re here,’ he said after a short while.
She opened her eyes.
‘By Old Ibrahim’s Beard,’ she whispered under her breath.
Wrath Lodge stood on the cliff edge, forlorn and impregnable in the failing light. If it had looked like the gateway to Hell from the Sea Eagle, from up close it appeared an unforgiving war machine, a stronghold designed to repel sieges. It was impossible to imagine women being happy or children playing here.
