by Lily Baldwin
He turned to Iris and Elizabeth. “It is time, ladies. I will escort you both inside.” Then he winked at Ian and Rose. “When you are ready, you know what to do.”
After Tristan’s family went ahead, Ian led Rose into the vestibule. Once again, her heart started to race and her palms to sweat, but she dared not wipe them on her silk tunic. She swallowed hard.
“Saints above, I’m getting married,” she blurted and made the sign of the cross.
Ian looked down at her curiously. “Rose, ye’re all red and flustered. What is the matter? Ye’re already married. The priest is just going to do the vows as a blessing.”
“That’s just it,” she said, speaking in a desperate whisper. She grabbed Ian’s hand. “Tristan and I have only been pretending to be married.”
“What?” he said, loudly, his voice echoing around them.
“Wheest,” she snapped.
“What the hell are ye talking about, Rose?”
“We only pretended to be married so that he didn’t have to marry the daughter of a wicked Baron, and so I could have the Messenger.”
Ian shook his head, “Ye’re not making any sense. Just tell me this, do I need to beat the hell out of Tristan, or not?”
She thrust her finger in his face. “Don’t ye threaten him.”
Ian threw up his hands. “Do ye love him, Rose?”
“With my whole heart,” she vowed.
He stopped then and smiled. “Then what are we waiting here for?”
She chewed her lip. “Courage, I think.”
Ian cupped her cheeks. “Remember, yer destiny is yers to make.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “I followed the stars just like ye told me to, and I found him.”
Ian held out his arm for her. “If he has earned yer love, then I want nothing more than to have the honor of walking ye down the aisle.”
Rose took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. On Ian’s arm, she stepped into the chapel. Sunlight slanted through the stained-glass window in beams of color. And there, standing at the alter with Philip at his side, was Tristan.
Her heart leapt as he smiled at her.
Suddenly, her nerves disappeared. The chapel faded away. The murmur of voices no longer penetrated her ears. There was only Tristan.
They stood now, holding each other’s hands, speaking vows that had been etched on their hearts since the beginning of time. When he lowered his lips to hers the chapel erupted in cheers from the Messenger’s crew. Rose blushed when Tristan pulled away and smiled at the men who whistled and waved despite their holy surroundings.
After the ceremony, she stood beside her husband while Tristan’s friends and family congratulated them, calling her Mistress Thatcher. More than once, she felt a rush of relief knowing that this time it was all real. When Philip appeared in front of her, she threw her arms around his neck, incapable of holding in her delight.
“I always knew pretense would become reality,” he whispered. He pulled away and smiled down at her. “The sea is a faithful mistress and rewards those whose love is real.”
“Thank ye, Philip,” she said. “I would not be here were it not for ye.”
“You are here because of who you are,” he said. Then he bowed to her. “I wish you both every happiness.”
The next moment, Philip’s trim, elegant figure was replaced by Ian and Ramsay’s massive frames. They both slapped Tristan on the back.
“We’ll be sailing for the isles in a few days if you want to join us,” Tristan offered to Ian.
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ye see, Captain, I’m not ready to return home just yet, but I do, in fact, need passage north for myself.” He motioned then to the large, blond blacksmith behind him. “And for Ramsay, and some…er…cargo.”
Tristan nodded. “That should be no problem. What sort of cargo?”
Ian smiled. “Oh, ye know, ‘tis just a bit of this and that, odds and ends and what not,” he said, winking at Rose.
At that moment, she knew she had to tell Tristan about her family of Scottish Outlaws, but when he suddenly swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the church and set her on his white steed, she decided it could wait another day.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Tristan urged Tom to gallop faster through the narrow winding streets, dodging livestock and wagons piled high with sacks of grain, fish, lumber, and other goods. He could not wait to have his wife in his own bed, naked for him to love.
“Slow down, Tristan,” she said, although her command was given through bursts of laughter.
“You ask too much of me,” he said, before pressing his lips hard to hers. Then, holding her even tighter, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, pushing his mount even faster. The road grew broader as they neared his three-story stone townhouse. When they reached the gate, Rose stared up at his richly appointed home. “Am I truly mistress of all this?” Rose asked, her voice soft with awe.
He laughed. “You are mistress of so much more than you realize, Rose Thatcher.” He leapt to the ground and swept her down beside him. “This is just one of many estates.”
“Welcome, Captain Thatcher.”
Tristan turned to greet his manservant. “Thank you, Peter,” he said and handed off his reins.
“We received your message,” Peter said in a low voice. “All your requests have been met.”
Tristan nodded his approval, then he turned to Rose. “Meet Peter. He keeps things shipshape here.”
Rose dipped in a curtsy. “I am pleased to meet you, Peter. My name is Rose.”
Peter appeared flustered. “I…er…it is a pleasure, Mistress Thatcher.”
Tristan smiled and pulled her toward the stairs.
“Did I say something wrong?” Rose asked, her brows drawn.
Tristan smiled. “Not at all. It is only that the mistress of a house does not typically curtsy to servants.”
Rose went from looking perplexed to upset. “Have I already behaved badly? I’m sorry, Tristan.”
He stopped just in front of the door. Pulling her close, he said, “Never stop being who you are, Rose. You are who I fell in love with.”
She smiled then and threw her arms around his neck. “I love ye straight to my bones,” she said, laughing.
He scooped her into his arms just as Peter hurried past them and threw open the door. Servants filled the entryway. “Good day, everyone,” Tristan said as he barreled past the onlookers and up the stairs. “I will introduce you to the rest of the staff and give you the tour later,” he promised. “But right now, I want to make love to my wife.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Say it again,” she begged.
“I want to make love to my wife!”
He thundered down the hallway, passing numerous doors. When he reached the master bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. He kicked it open and entered.
Rose gasped. “’Tis beautiful.”
Candlelight illuminated the room. Wild flowers, in crystal vases, decorated every surface. In the center of the room a tub gave off puffs of steam. There was wine, bread, and cheese on a small table near the hearth.
“First,” he said, setting her on her feet. “I am going to bathe you with the finest soaps and scented oils from faraway lands.” He turned her about and started to untie her laces. “And then, I am going to kiss every inch of your body,” he said, sweeping her layers of clothing over her head.
She whirled around, her glorious red curls skimming her waist and framing her full breasts. “I might want a say in what we do,” she said, stroking her hands up his chest, then wrapping her arms around his neck. He groaned when she pressed her naked curves against his body. “That’s a very big tub. I think ye should climb in with me.”
Her lips seized his, her tongue plunging hungrily into his mouth. He crushed her against himself, bending her back, his tongue stroking hers. When he straightened, she started to fumble with his belt. “I want to touch ye,” she said, tugging t
he cord around his waist. Then, she released a frustrated breath. In a flash, she had the dirk from his boots in her hand. She cut through his belt. Then she smiled up at him. “That’s better.”
His heart pounded. “My God, you’re amazing!”
Hunger filled her eyes. She flashed a temptress’s smile at him before pushing his tunic up his chest, exposing his skin. Immediately, her full lips kissed the ridges of his stomach and traveled across his chest. She pushed his tunic up as high as she could reach. He seized the fabric and pulled it over his head. Then he freed himself from her embrace to kick off his boots and strip off his hose.
“Forget the bath,” Rose said, pulling him toward the bed.
“Forgotten,” he growled before he lifted her in his arms and laid her down on her back. Her eyes were limpid slits, heavy with desire as she opened her arms to him. He stretched over her. A frenzy of feelings and desire shot through him. His lips seized hers, his tongue delving into her mouth, pulling soft moans from her lips. His hands stroked down her trim waist and over the flare of her hips. Her legs spread beneath him, wrapping around his waist.
“I need ye,” she pleaded, her heart pounding. Her body ached, burning with a hunger she had never known. She craved his touch, his lips on her skin. Arching her back, she pressed her hips into the hard length of him. “Please, Tristan.”
She gripped his shoulders and buried her face in his neck as he slowly entered her. Clinging to him, she squeezed her eyes shut, the need rising within her, igniting like hot fire into a blaze that spread throughout her body. When he filled her completely, she pressed against him, savoring the thick feel of him before he eased out, and then thrust deep again.
She cried out. The ache within her grew, causing her to writhe beneath him. Her hips met his every thrust as consuming need surged through her until she thought she would burst. Higher and higher. Deeper and deeper. She threw her head back, arching into him, feeling his weight, surrounded by his scent, and then, at last, she cried out as rapture pulsed through her, leaving her breathless and spent in his arms.
Moments later, his own cry shattered the air around her. He held her tightly while his body quaked, and he poured himself into her.
When their hearts ceased to race, and their breathing calmed, he rolled off of her and gathered her in his arms. “I still cannot believe how you drifted into my life,” he whispered in her ear.
She smiled up at him. “I would weather any storm to lie in yer strong arms.” She pushed against his chest until he lay on his back. She sat up and stroked her hand down his cheek. “I love ye, Tristan. With my whole heart do I love ye.”
He sat up and seized her face between his hands and kissed her long and hard. When he pulled away, his gaze bore into hers. “I love ye, too, Rose.”
She threw her arms around his neck, then ran her hands down his back, which was slick with sweat.
She laughed and wiped at the beads of sweat on her own brow. “Mayhap, ‘tis time for that bath.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
“I’m terribly nervous, Rose,” Elizabeth said as she stood with Rose and Tristan on the forecastle of the Messenger. “What if your family doesn’t like me because I’m English.”
Rose wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I’ve told ye before, my family is going to love ye.”
Elizabeth nodded, but the frown did not leave her face. “I believe you, but I am still nervous.”
Rose considered how best to soothe away Elizabeth’s fears. “It might relieve ye to know that three of my four sisters-in-law are English; two are nobly born.”
Tristan raised his brows at her. “How is it that English ladies are married to Scottish commoners?”
Rose shifted on her feet. She had yet to inform her husband about her family’s colorful history. “Well…ye see, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation…” Her words trailed off. What was she going to tell him now? That her brothers were wanted men. That they hid out on a small island in the Hebrides because they would be drawn and quartered if ever they were caught.
Tristan canted his head as he studied her. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re hiding something from me?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. How did she even begin?
“Philip,” Tristan said, calling down to the main deck. Philip turned about, giving his captain his attention.
“You’re in command,” Tristan said. Then he gently gripped Rose and Elizabeth’s arms and led them down to the captain’s cabin. “Both of you, sit on the bed so I can fit in the room.”
Rose’s heart thundered in her chest as she sat down and scooted back to allow room for Elizabeth.
Tristan closed the door, then turned to her. “Rose,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What have you not told me?”
She cleared her throat. “I really should have told ye about my family before ye married me.” A burst of a hysterical laugh fled her lips. “But ‘tis too late now. Oh God,” she groaned. “I am so sorry, Tristan.”
His composure did not falter as he reached for her hand. “I love you, Rose. There is nothing you could say to change that. I vow, now and always, to protect you, and to stand by you and your family. Do ye ken?” he said with a smile.
She nodded and took a deep breath.
“So out with it,” he pressed her. “What is your secret?”
The words burst from her lips. “My brothers are secret rebels for the cause.”
“What is the cause?” Elizabeth asked, her avid gaze locking with Rose’s.
“The cause for Scottish independence,” Rose answered. “There are many supporters of the cause who are publicly known, but then, there is a secret band of rebels, led by Abbott Matthew. How many he commands, I do not know, but my brothers are all counted in that number.”
“Is that all?” Tristan asked.
She shook her head.
“Go on, then,” he said simply.
She took a deep breath. “In the beginning, they were thieves, robbing English nobles on the road north into Scotland.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in alarm. “Thieves!”
Rose held out a placating hand. “Not ordinary thieves, Elizabeth. They did not steal to fill their own coffers. They became highwaymen to fight against the tyranny of King Edward, giving their gains to the abbot and to those in need, orphans exiled after the massacre and the like. I swear to ye both, they are men of honor.”
Tristan scratched his jaw. “Did Abbot Matthew send Ian to London?”
Rose pressed her lips together before she nodded.
He looked at her pointedly. “So then, after the wedding, when Ian asked me for passage for himself and Ramsay and their cargo of ‘this and that’, were they carrying out some kind of mission for the cause?”
She cleared her throat. “Aye, that is correct.”
Elizabeth’s eyes nigh bulged from her head. “Ian was on a secret mission when we met.” Then she leaned closer to Rose. “Are your other brothers on missions right now, too?” she asked eagerly.
Rose shook her head. “I suppose ye might say they’re retired.”
Tristan arched his brow at her. “Meaning?”
Rose swallowed hard. “Meaning, they’re all wanted men.”
Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yer brothers are all outlaws?”
Rose nodded. “Aye, they are.” She scooted to the edge of the bed. “Now that ye know, why don’t Elizabeth and I change for—”
“Rose,” Tristan interrupted.
“Aye.”
“Besides robbing nobles on the road north into Scotland, what else have your brothers done?”
Rose took another deep breath. “They may have broken into the King’s Palace and stolen his treasure from the Chapter House of the abbey.”
Tristan smiled. “I heard about that. Edward was in an uproar. That was your brothers?”
She held her breath and nodded.
“I will be proud to shake their hand
s,” he said, surprising her.
She smiled up at him. “That’s it? Yer fine with all this? Ye still love me?”
He leaned down and cupped her cheek. “I didn’t know I could love you more, Rose, but somehow knowing your brothers are responsible for robbing King Edward, makes me love you all the more,” he teased before he kissed her.
“There is something I still do not understand,” Elizabeth said.
Pulling her gaze away from Tristan’s loving eyes, Rose turned to her sister.
“How did two of your brothers come to marry English noblewomen?”
Rose laughed, “I will let Catarina and Bella tell ye themselves.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Rose gripped the portside rails of the forecastle and watched the waves rise and crash against a distant strip of land. “Which island is that?” she shouted to Tristan over the howling wind.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Islay.”
“Then we are not far from Colonsay,” she said brightly, despite the gathering clouds.
“We are near, but the wind is against us. This storm slows our progress.”
No sooner did the words leave Tristan’s lips than a bolt of lightning sliced the sky. An instant later, the heavens opened, and sheets of rain poured down.
“Jacob, man the oar,” Tristan shouted. He started down the stairs but called back to her. “Go check on Elizabeth.”
Rose shook her head. “I just did. Her nerves were rattled, but she assured me that she was fine.”
Tristan marched back up the stairs, determination glinting in his eyes.
She backed against the railing. “Don’t ye dare,” she warned. “Ye’re not stuffing me down below again.”
He lunged for her, and as effortlessly as if she were a sack of grain, tossed her over his shoulder.
“Tristan Thatcher, ye put me down this instant,” she railed.
He ignored her demand as he barreled down the stairs to their cabin. Throwing open the door, he deposited her on the bed alongside Elizabeth.
Rose scrambled up on her knees, reaching to catch the door before it shut, but she was too late. The door slammed closed.
