Rose_A Scottish Outlaw

by Lily Baldwin

  “Just as you instructed, I’ve set a table on the stern castle for you and the misses.”

  Tristan smiled and turned to Philip. “You know what needs to be done. Excuse me for now. I’m having dinner with my wife.”

  Tristan descended the steps all the while keeping his gaze trained on Rose. Even in Simon’s hose and worn tunic, she had radiated beauty. Now, clad in silk and jewels, she stole his breath. The colors brought out the dark copper flecks in her hair and brightened her skin. He reached her side and brought her hand to his lips. “You look magnificent.”

  “Thank ye,” she said, adjusting the belt over her hips. “I won’t lie. It was no small task to put on. I’ve never had to tie such long laces,” she said, showing him the back of her surcote. She smiled as she turned back around. “But the silk feels heavenly on my skin. ‘Tis as soft as a baby’s bum.”

  Her smile made Tristan’s heart warm. She deserved the finery she wore. If wealth were given by measure of goodness, he imagined Rose would be as wealthy as any queen. He offered her his arm.

  “Shall I escort you to our table?”

  He led her across the deck. Piper’s grin stretched from ear to ear when he bowed, and when they passed Jacob he just stared, his mouth agape.

  Tristan glanced at her and was surprised to note the discomfort on her face. The smile she wore did not meet her eyes.

  “What is the matter?” he asked.

  “I feel ridiculous, like a chicken dressed to look like a peacock.”

  He stopped and motioned to Davy who set his bucket and rag down and hurried over.

  “In the chest under my bed is a small looking glass. Please bring it to me,” he said. When Davy darted away, he led her up the stairs to the stern castle, where a table sat with two trenchers, one piled high with fried kippers and another teeming with stewed apples.

  She smiled. “Why, ‘tis our wedding feast!”

  He pulled back the chair and helped her sit before he claimed the one across from hers. “You did say the more truth to our story the better. Now, when my father asks how the kippers were, you can honestly say…”

  She smiled and selected one of the crispy strips of fish and took a bite. “They’re delicious,” she said, hiding a mouthful behind her hand. She swallowed and took a sip of ale. Then she asked with a wink, “but what of the stuffed game bird?”

  Tristan sat across from her. “The crew came back empty handed from their hunt,” he jested. “We’ll just have to enjoy some stuffed pheasant when we get to France.”

  “What will we do when we arrive in Calais?”

  “Our hull is packed with wool and lumber, which we will trade for wine from the Bordeaux region and olive oil that should be waiting for us from a Venetian merchant. There is also a merchant guild’s dinner, should you like to attend.” A shadow crossed her face, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Or we could have a quieter stay,” he said quickly.

  Her eyes brightened. “I would prefer that. I’m nervous enough about meeting yer family. I would rather not be introduced to anyone else, if it can be avoided.”

  “Agreed,” he said. Then he considered their choices. “I will think upon how we shall spend our brief time there.”

  Just then Davy came bounding up the steps. He handed Tristan a silver handled looking glass before bowing and making his way back down to the main deck. Tristan stood and circled around to her side of the table. Then he held the mirror in front of her face.

  Rose gasped, then closed her eyes. “That woman cannot be me.”

  “Take a good look,” he insisted, crouching behind her to see over her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes. At first her expression showed her discomfort, but then her features relaxed and softened. Slowly, a smile curved her lips, then widened until her reflection beamed back at them both.

  “You are beautiful,” he said softly.

  Through the mirror, she met his gaze. “Thank ye,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  “You needn’t thank me,” he said. “I owe you my life, Rose. Remember that.” Then he motioned to the full trenchers. “With this wind, the food will not stay warm for long.”

  She pinched an apple between her fingers and popped it in her mouth, moaning softly while she chewed. “Delicious,” she said. Just then the wind grew even stronger. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the forceful breeze. “We are keeping an incredible pace.”

  “Indeed, we are,” he said. “If the wind holds, we could be in Calais earlier than planned.”

  She looked south where dark clouds marred the distant horizon and flashes of lightning brightened the sky. “Are ye concerned about that storm.”

  He shook his head. “This wind will keep pushing those clouds south, ahead of us. We should enjoy a calm night, which means a restful sleep for everyone.”

  Well, almost everyone.

  He quickly forced his thoughts away from sleep. “More kippers?” he said, motioning to the trencher.

  When they finished their mock wedding feast, they took several turns around the deck before Tristan was called away to organize the crew for the night. Before too long, the silvery moon rose in the sky. Rose stared up at the kindred orb, but she realized, at that moment, her own inner light had changed. It no longer flickered cold and austere. Now, she felt as though embers glowed warm inside her heart.

  “We should probably turn in for the night,” Tristan said, coming up to stand beside her.

  Her hands gripped the railing at the mention of sleep. Nay, she was neither cool like the moon nor warm like smoldering embers.

  Desire burned inside her with the heat of a thousand suns.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rose took a deep breath, trying desperately to remain calm. Familiar arguments rushed to the fore of her thoughts.

  She was a woman grown, not an inexperienced maid.

  She and Tristan had an understanding, a business arrangement, and more than that they were becoming friends. Steeling her shoulders, she turned, and tried to appear entirely unaffected by his suggestion to retire for the night.

  Tristan offered her his arm. They descended the stairs to the main deck together, but when they reached the open hatch, he held back. “You go ahead to our room. I have some things I need to take care of, which should allow you time to get…er…more comfortable.”

  “Thank ye,” Rose said. With a brief curtsy, she turned and headed down the stairs to the captain’s quarters.

  She shut the door behind her and leaned her back against the slatted wood. Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes and saw Tristan’s handsome face: his warm, amber brown eyes and full, sensual lips. She touched her cheek, remembering his gentle caress when they had stood aloft in the crow’s nest, she nestled safely in his arms while the sea stretched out around her, endless and teeming with life.

  “Not helping,” she said out loud, as she pushed away from the door. If she was to make it through another night with Tristan stretched out alongside her, his robust body pressed tight—“Enough,” she snapped at herself.

  Seething with frustration and stifled passion, she yanked on the hem of her surcote, but it didn’t slide off like her usual clothing. Remembering the laces, she reached behind her, but the knot was cinched tight. After several minutes passed and plenty of tugging and pulling, she finally loosened the knot. But when she lifted her thick outer layer, it still wouldn’t budge. Straining, she tried to reach the laces higher up her back.

  “Blast,” she cursed.

  Bending over, she twisted her arm behind her and managed to loosen the first several, but she couldn’t reach higher. She twisted and turned and bent and cursed until she finally fell aback into an exhausted heap on the bed. A moment later, a knock sounded.

  “Come in,” she groaned. “Oh, please come in.”

  ~ * ~

  Tristan opened the door and rushed inside when he spotted Rose lying on the bed, panting.

  “Are you all right?” He press
ed his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  “I’m not sick,” she groaned. “I’m stuck.”

  “What do you mean you’re stuck?”

  “’Tis this blasted surcote. I’m caged within it. A prisoner, I tell ye, and I’ve surrendered. Ye’d best get used to copper, because it’s never coming off.”`

  He smiled down at her. “This is why women of means have serving maids. I will hire one on when we reach France.”

  She sat up. “Don’t ye dare. I could never ask someone to wait on me. Anyway, ‘tis foolhardy to wear clothing ye can’t take off yerself.”

  He offered her his hand. “Then allow me to help you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Ye’re going to help me undress?”

  He raised a brow at her. “Unless you prefer I get one of the crew, young Davy or maybe Piper.”

  Her eyes widened. She scrambled off the bed. “Ye’ll do.”

  “You can trust me to be a perfect gentleman,” he promised.

  Slowly, with a pained expression on her face, she turned, allowing him access to her back…her slim, elegant back.

  He cleared his throat and steeled his shoulders. Then with one hand, he swept her thick, copper mane over her shoulder. Her hair felt like silk to touch. He took a deep breath and reached out. He hooked his fingers underneath the bottom laces, located just inches from her magnificent, round derriere. Forcing his hand to stay on course, he gave a little tug. Slowly, he inched higher and higher. His gaze traced over the curve of her neck. His lips parted. He longed to kiss the hollow of her throat and draw her earlobe into his mouth. He wanted to taste every inch of her creamy white skin.

  His heart hammered in his chest as he loosened the final lace. Tension gripped his shoulders. His hands twitched in protest as he dropped his arms to his side. “I…” He paused to clear his throat, forcing out the words he had no wish to utter. “I believe you should be able to manage from here.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It hurt to leave her side. His body ached for her.

  “I have some things I need to take care of. I won’t return for some time,” he said stiffly before he shut the door and barreled up the stairs. But his heart and mind screamed at him to go back. He turned around and rushed back to his cabin and grabbed the handle.

  “What are you doing?” He said out loud. He shook his head, backing away from the door. He was a man of honor, she a woman of honor. “Damnation,” he cursed and thundered up the stairs, nearly colliding with the ship’s surgeon.

  “Where are you storming off to, Captain?”

  “There are just a few things that require my attention,” he said, straining to keep his voice level.

  William shook his head. “I’ve been married for thirty-five years now. I know a lovers’ quarrel when I see one.” He rested his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Trust me, Captain. Whatever it is, you can’t walk away from it—it will only be waiting for you upon your return.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled at Tristan encouragingly. “Go to your wife and make amends. No matter who is at fault, just tell the dear girl you’re sorry, and all will be right.”

  Tristan’s hands clenched into tight fists as he resisted the urge to flatten William against the wall and push past him, but Tristan knew William would never relent. He was a sentimental and stubborn old man.

  Tristan scrubbed his hand over his face as he railed against every instinct screaming inside his brain. “Fine,” he snapped, then stormed back down the stairs and stood in front of his door again.

  “Take a few steadying breaths,” William cautioned, peering down from the hatch.

  “Heed my warning, William,” Tristan growled. “Take yourself to another part of the ship.”

  William’s eyes widened before he nodded and sidestepped out of Tristan’s view.

  Tristan turned his gaze back to the door and took several deep breaths. On the other side, awaited the most beautiful and admirable woman he had ever known. He flexed his neck from side to side.

  He could do this.

  All he had to do was sleep next to Rose in the narrowest bed in all Christendom and not touch her…not weave his fingers through her silken red curls or taste her full lips or grab her taut thighs and spread them apart and—”

  Enough, his mind screamed.

  He swung open the door, his heart racing, his breaths coming in great heaves.

  Rose lay in bed with the blankets pulled up under her chin, her eyes wide. “Ye accomplished yer many things quickly enough.”

  He shut the door behind him. “There were fewer than I thought.” He stood, staring down at her. He longed to rip the covers back, pull her into his arms, and show her just how hot he burned for her. Swallowing the curse that rushed up his throat, he turned and raked his hand through his hair.

  Then he whirled back around. “May I,” he said, standing close to the bed. He could hear the strain in his own voice.

  She nodded, the blanket still tucked under her chin.

  He lay down. Her whole body pressed against the side of his. The contact was unavoidable and pure torture.

  He blew out the candle. The darkness felt thick and heavy. All he could hear were their quick breaths. His body ached with a need so great he thought he might explode. Never had he wanted a woman so badly.

  “I lied today,” she suddenly said.

  He froze.

  “I barely slept at all last night.”

  Her words caressed him in the dark. The ache in his chest grew tenfold. “Neither did I,” he rasped.

  Moments passed. Their confessions hung suspended in the darkness, surrounding them.

  “I do not think I will sleep again,” she whispered.

  He swallowed hard, gripping the blanket in a death lock. “Neither will I.”

  Then he drew a deep breath, fighting for control. Releasing the blanket, he closed his hand gently over hers. Her fingers trembled in his grasp. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. He heard her breath catch.

  “Goodnight, Rose,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Goodnight, Tristan.”

  Tension filled the room, making it difficult to draw breath. He held tight to her hand and prayed for the dawn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rose awoke to an empty bed. Again, she did not know when she had at last fallen asleep, but judging by her clouded mind and aches in her back and shoulders, she knew it must not have been until the wee hours of the morning. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head to work the kinks out of her back. Then she stood and puzzled over her colorful new garments that were neatly folded on top of Tristan’s desk. Deciding it was best to avoid the delicious torture of having Tristan undress her again, she reached for the simple green tunic. But then she faltered. They could arrive in Calais that evening. She could only assume that the wife of a wealthy merchant would dress for such an occasion. The crew might be surprised to see her in the same tunic she had worn while helping Davy clean the anchor.

  She picked up an emerald brocade surcote. Touching the laces, she closed her eyes and remembered the pressure of Tristan’s fingertips running down her back through the fabric of her silk tunic. His warm breath had caressed her neck. The heat she glimpsed in his eyes had caused the fire of desire burning within her to ignite into an all-consuming, desperate inferno.

  She seized her burgundy kirtle. What did it matter if she had to control her passionate response to his undressing her? The real torture came after—when he finished and laid down beside her on the bed.

  Suddenly, she was desperate for fresh air. She finished dressing, pulling the shimmering green surcote over her head. This time, she didn’t pull as hard on the lacing. Then she slid her feet into her new sheepskin slippers and quickly smoothed out her hair with her fingers but decided to leave off the veil for the time being. Darting out the door, she hastened up the stairs onto the main deck and took a deep breath, welcoming the cool breeze on her hot cheeks.

  “Go
od morrow, Rose,” Davy called down from the crow’s nest above. She smiled and waved up to him. Then, she scanned the ship and locked eyes with Tristan.

  He stood on the stern castle with Philip who had a large parchment spread out on the table. Tristan smiled at her and signaled he would be straight down. He and Philip conversed a moment longer, and then he descended the stairs and crossed the deck to her side.

  “Good morrow,” he said.

  The strain from the night before was gone from his voice. His relaxed smile put her at ease. “You look lovely this morning,” he said before kissing the back of her hand.

  “Thank ye,” she said, happy for the relief of daylight. He wore a crisp white tunic that contrasted with his deeply tanned skin and made his amber brown eyes appear even brighter. “Ye look lovely as well.” She wove her arm through his. They started across the deck when William stumbled toward them. “That’s not how you’re meant to greet your wife,” William said before hiccupping loudly.

  “He played dice with Piper last night and woke up still soused,” Tristan said quickly.

  William stumbled back and then forward once again, stopping in front of them. “You must kiss her,” he slurred, pointing at Rose with a crooked finger. “That’s how you ensure the love remains strong.” William slapped Tristan on the back. “Go on man, kiss your wife.”

  Several of the crew joined in.

  “Come on, Captain!”

  “Kiss her, Captain!”

  Rose knew her face must have been as red as her hair. She met Tristan’s gaze. He shook his head slightly, a gesture to tell her not to worry.

  “It is time for bed, William,” he said kindly.

  “You needn’t be embarrassed,” the old man said. “One of the blessings of marriage is you get to kiss your wife.”

  “Kiss her, Captain,” Jacob chimed in.

  Tristan sighed and turned to her, his brows drawn together in apology. She stepped closer and nodded slightly, giving him permission to appease the crew. He reached for her. Placing his hand on her lower back, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.