[Highland Heartbeats 05.0] A Captain's Heart

by Aileen Adams

  “The longer we wait, the worse it is,” Derek surmised. “And there’s no telling what she’s facing all alone. A single woman holding down a farm. Frankly,” he added, lowering his voice, “if the farm is still in her hands, I’ll be deeply surprised. But Margery has assured me time and again that for all her stubbornness, her sister is ten times more stubborn and sharp as a newly forged dirk.”

  “More stubborn than Margery?” Broc asked, rubbing his chin with a rueful smirk.

  “I’ll remind you, sir, that you’re speaking of my wife.” The gleam in Derek’s eye gave away his mirth.

  Broc knew he could get away with making such comments because of the unspoken understanding between them. He’d lay down his life for Margery, in spite of the rather rocky start they’d gotten off to. Any dislike he’d ever held for her had stemmed from his own frustration at wanting to move on from Kirkcaldy. Derek had lingered for days in the village, thanks to her, and Broc had resented the inaction.

  But he’d never truly resented the lass, who—when she wasn’t behaving in an utterly irrational manner—was a good, true, loyal woman. A fitting match for Derek, who was one of the finest men Broc had ever known.

  “What do you think of my idea?” Hugh asked. “Coming along with you two?”

  “I think we could use all the help we can get, once we’re out on the open sea.” There was no missing the edge of excitement in Derek’s voice when he described it. He would miss the freedom of it, Broc knew, though the trade-off was worthwhile in his eyes.

  It left Broc wondering how many men left behind that which made them feel free and alive in favor of domestic life. And how many of those men ever lived to regret it. Had he been a praying man, he would’ve prayed that this not be the fate of his friend.

  “Even though I’m hardly as skilled as either of the two of you?” Hugh grinned.

  “We’ll leave you below, to care for the horses,” Broc suggested with a wink in Derek’s direction.

  Hugh’s jaw clenched. “Any little thing I can do,” he muttered.

  The three of them burst into laughter, and Broc thought it would be a most enjoyable trip, indeed.

  If only they were going anywhere else in the world but Thrushwood.

  Chapter 2

  The first rays of golden, late spring light were stretching and unfurling themselves over the horizon when Broc, Derek, and Hugh exited the Duncan manor house the following morning.

  It was a beautiful morning which promised to extend into a beautiful day, and Broc was glad for it as he surveyed the landscape. In all directions as far as the eye could see there stretched the color green, dotted in some places by the blue of running water reflecting the sky or the riotous splashes of color indicating fields of heather or wildflowers.

  So long as the weather held out over the following days, during which they’d make their way to the coast to meet up with the ship which awaited them, Broc didn’t care if it rained all throughout the sailing. He loved sailing in the rain.

  He did not, however, enjoy sleeping in the rain. Or riding astride a gelding which couldn’t travel at more than a slow crawl thanks to thick, sucking mud which Scotland seemed to entirely turn into after a dose of wet weather.

  The others said goodbye to their loved ones. Hugh and Dalla, still aglow after the better part of a year of marriage, stared longingly into each other’s eyes. For a couple whose beginning was as rough as theirs, with Hugh purchasing Dalla from the man who’d kidnapped her and a group of other women, they made a good match.

  Hugh then clasped the hand of his closest friend, Maccay, whose wife stood by his side to bid the men goodbye. Sarah had suggested Alis might be carrying twins, she was so heavily pregnant at only halfway through.

  Broc knew nothing of such things, but even he had to wonder how she would be able to walk once a few more months passed. Her pressed her hands to her back, her mouth twisted in a thin line of discomfort for a fleeting moment before she extended best wishes to the travelers.

  Sarah held her daughter in one arm as she kissed Hugh’s cheek, then Derek’s. She went to Broc last, smiling widely as she handed over the satchel full of fresh healing tonics, poultices, and tinctures which she’d created especially for their journey.

  “Keep these two in line, would you? Sometimes I think you’re the only one of them with any sense,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. The babe, a wee lass named after Derek and Hugh’s mother, smiled and cooed as though she understood her mother’s joking.

  He cleared his throat, pleased beyond measure and uncertain why. Sarah was the sort of lass who commanded respect and attention. She was no-nonsense, hardly the giggly, wide-eyed, simpering type. He had no patience with lasses of that ilk. But Sarah was something else, entirely.

  And it warmed him throughout to know that she held him in high esteem. He didn’t know until then that he craved her respect almost as much as that of her husband, laird of the Duncan clan.

  But then, they all were solid, honest lasses, all of the women who’d come under the protection of the Duncans. Heather, Sarah’s younger sister, waved goodbye from the doorway while the infant against one shoulder bawled his protests. She assisted her sister in keeping the villagers healthy and had been the one to first suggest Margery live in the manor house while Derek went for Beatrice.

  That had been another minor war, but Margery had quickly assessed how vastly outnumbered she was after her husband, Sarah, and Heather had surrounded the bed on which she’d rested. Broc had observed from the doorway, keeping his thoughts to himself, he wouldn’t have admitted it for anything, but he didn’t wish to attract Margery’s wicked sharp tongue, which had only worsened once her illness had come on.

  “I’ll not have you living on your own in the village,” Derek had insisted.

  “I would feel much better, knowing you were here with us,” Sarah had agreed.

  “Either you come here, or one of us stays with you at all times,” Heather had warned.

  That had decided Margery, who valued the privacy and peace of the little house she’d shared with Derek since their marriage. Most likely, because she’d never had anything that was truly her own, Broc supposed. He understood that feeling all too well.

  And so, with the blessing of the laird, Margery’s belongings had been moved to the rooms prepared for her. She had continued to protest, but weakly, until there was clearly no point in arguing any further.

  The horses stomped and whinnied, anxious to be on their way. Broc understood the sentiment and shared it, but took the time to accept the best wishes of the Duncan brothers before mounting the gelding which would be his to use throughout the journey.

  Jake and Phillip Duncan both looked as though they envied the men about to depart. They were both pleased with their lives, their choices, but they were cut from the same cloth as the rest. They longed for action from time to time.

  On the other hand, there were nights when Broc was alone in his vast, comfortable bed—one of many signs of the laird’s generosity—envying the warm bodies they had the luxury of sleeping beside.

  It was a matter of compromise. A man could live the entirety of his life alone, free, making his own decisions and answering to no one but himself…but he’d have to accustom himself to being alone during the times when a man didn’t want to be alone. The dead of night, in the darkness, with nothing to do but stare up at the canopy above his bed and think.

  And remember.

  The three of them rode away on horseback, all of the many supplies they’d need packed and hanging from their saddles or tucked into the bedrolls which sat across the back of the saddles. There would be more loaded onto the ship in the day or two it would take to get things ready for sailing.

  Tucked into a special pocket sewn into the inside of Derek’s tunic for just this purpose was the letter Margery had written her sister. The only way any of them could prove the truth of who they’d claim to be.

  Broc cast a look over his shoulder as they made their
way from the manor house, his eyes seeking out one particular window. There she was, her hair like a flag which waved behind her in the breeze coming out of the east. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and saw her nod in reply, but it wasn’t him she was hoping to catch the attention of and he knew it.

  Derek knew it, too, but he didn’t look back.

  Broc had overheard the two of them talking before dawn and while Margery had wept and expressed once again how much it pained her to stay behind, Derek had stayed firm. Firmer than he’d been up to that point. He’d all but commanded her to take care of herself and obey Sarah’s orders in his absence.

  It was too painful for Derek to look back and remember what he was leaving behind. Only Sarah’s great skill was enough to ease his mind and make the trip possible. Otherwise, Broc was certain, Derek would never leave.

  Broc kept his focus on the trail carved into the ground, worn smooth and free of grass after years of hooves and feet having traveled along its length. It was only wide enough for them to ride single file. Hugh took the lead, having the most experience with the terrain, with Derek in the middle. Broc was glad to bring up the rear, even if it meant having to smell what walked in front of him.

  It didn’t matter. He was outside, in the fresh air, even if there were several days of riding horseback ahead of him. He knew what that meant, though he’d spent hours riding in preparation for the journey with the discomfort of the past in mind. He’d still walk bowlegged by the time they stopped to set up camp for the night.

  “I envy you at times like this,” Hugh called back, glancing over his shoulder at Broc.

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t have anyone to leave behind.”

  He was glad neither of them could see him wince. He knew Hugh meant no harm, but it was a clumsy thing to say nonetheless. He didn’t know Broc well enough to throw jabs like that one, didn’t know how Broc felt about having no woman of his own.

  What if he’d suffered disappointment in the past? What if he’d experienced loss, as Hugh had, prior to meeting Dalla? He’d heard the story from Derek of Hugh’s first love, how she’d been gored by a boar and died a horrible death. Just because Broc had never told such a story of his own past didn’t mean there was no pain there.

  Derek spoke up. “Broc has never lacked for the company of a woman when he’s been in the mood for it.”

  The twins chuckled knowingly.

  “Not much to choose from in the last months,” he admitted, more than a little rueful. It had been worse over the winter, with no one but himself to keep him warm during the long, frigid nights.

  “There are a number of likely lasses in the village. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice the looks Millicent gave you every time the two of you crossed paths.”

  Hugh laughed. “And don’t pretend you didn’t notice the way she made it a point to cross paths with you every chance she got.”

  Broc chuckled. He’d noticed, all right. The housekeeper’s daughter had done little to conceal her interest. It was an interest which he didn’t share, however—not that she wasn’t a comely girl, with a sweet nature. He simply wasn’t interested, even in the ways a man could be interested in a woman he otherwise wanted little to do with. She simply didn’t inspire his ardor.

  “I’m beginning to worry about you, my friend,” Derek joked.

  If it hadn’t been for his anxiousness over the health of his wife and child, Broc would’ve reminded him that not everyone was as insatiable as he. The evidence was back at the manor house, bedridden for the time being.

  Broc was a man of few words and always had been. He shrugged with a good-natured grin, and Derek knew enough to let the matter drop. He turned his attention to Hugh and the two of them launched into memories of their boyhood exploits through the Highlands.

  The relative solitude was welcome. Broc surveyed the trees, thick with leaves and full of the sounds of birds and scampering squirrels. They were welcome, too, a distraction from the disturbing memories which insisted on playing in the back of his mind.

  “The horses are secured,” Hugh reported, climbing the ladder which led up from below deck. The last of the supplies had been loaded by a handful of lads Derek had favored with a few pence for their service. The tide was high and the wind was calm. The sky, which had looked as though it threatened rain throughout the previous night, had since cleared up to reveal a brilliant sun.

  After four days of riding and another of waiting for the ship’s preparation, Broc was fairly jumping out of his skin with anticipation. This was the part of the trip he’d most looked forward to. There was nothing like being out to sea, riding the waves and standing tall in the face of the wind and salty spray. It was when he felt the most alive.

  Even as a boy on his father’s fishing boat, he’d always dreaded the announcement that it was time return home. To him, home was that boat, on the water, not in a cottage so far from shore.

  His father had understood, at least, and had encouraged him.

  When the time had come for him to strike out on his own, there had been little time spent in deciding what to do with the rest of his life. It wasn’t even a question, as far as Broc was concerned, and he’d already spent far too much time away from the ship’s deck.

  “What say you, Captain?” Broc asked, looking Derek’s way in anticipation of the order to depart.

  His friend merely smiled. “I don’t know who you’re referring to, seeing as how you’re captain now. Remember?”

  Broc warmed at Derek’s words, his blood flowing faster than ever. Yes, he was the captain of the ship, just as he was of the other two ships which Derek had left in his care. It was his business, free for him to run as he saw fit once Beatrice was safe in Duncan hands. That had been the final caveat he’d agreed to on his acceptance of Derek’s offer.

  He’d agreed gladly, too, as he’d still been wrestling with the guilt over being unable to keep Margery out of enemy hands during their journey from Kirkcaldy. She might have been killed, and all because some villains had snuck up on him and knocked him out cold. The least he could do, he reasoned at the time, was agree to bring her sister to safety.

  Funny how he hadn’t considered that until the moment Derek had reminded him. It was his ship, his command.

  He raised his chin, looking out over the ship’s bow. “Let’s take her to sea, then.”

  Chapter 3

  When the rooster crowed its shrill song, Beatrice wondered as she did every morning why she hadn’t yet strangled the wretched beast.

  “Be quiet,” she moaned, pulling the feather pillow over her head in a pointless attempt to block out the piercing call. “Please. Just be quiet.”

  Nothing could hold back the dawn, of course. Nothing could hold back the endless amounts of work which constituted her lonely days.

  It was something to do, anyway. Anything to drive out the constant, aching loneliness which pressed in harder and harder as each day progressed.

  Why did she have to start so early, though? It felt as though she’d only just closed her eyes moments ago. Perhaps the beast was confused. Hope sparked in her chest as she lifted the pillow just enough to peer in the direction of her bedroom window.

  No. The sun was already on the rise.

  She tucked the soft, thick pillow more firmly around her head and resolved to ignore the burgeoning day. She would go back to sleep and pretend she hadn’t heard the rooster’s penetrating cry, that she had slept through sunrise in complete innocence of the facts. For once, she would rise from her bed feeling well-rested and ready to face another day.

  But then… Poor Bess would bellow mournfully in her stall, udders full of milk. Her bawling would upset the chickens, who would run around and fret and generally cause noisy commotion as a result. Old Cecil would become agitated over this, and a horse of his advanced age didn’t need the aggravation.

  Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, willing all of this perfectly rational imagery out of her mind so she could go back to sl
eep. She deserved sleep! Of all the little pleasures of life she’d been denied, sleep was the one whose absence she felt most acutely.

  It was no use. The animals depended on her, even if no one else did. She couldn’t let them down.

  And so she tossed the pillow to the floor in an attempt to rouse herself. If there was no pillow to block out the light which slowly crept in through the window, there was less chance of her falling asleep again. The same with the thin blanket she used at that time of year, she kicked it off before the sleepy, lazy part of her mind convinced her to pull it over her head.

  When her feet hit the floor, she was already well awake and determined to face another day.

  Would there ever come a time when something would happen to her? For her? Something to break up the monotony of life?

  To break through the ever-present grief which she wore about her like an invisible cloak?

  Another day without Margery. She’d stopped counting a few days hence. It didn’t seem worthwhile to continue the count, what with each day only increasing her loneliness and the certainty that her sister hadn’t lived through the journey to London.

  She splashed her face with cool water from the basin near the window and dried it on the linen strip folded on the surface of her dressing table. What would Margery think if she knew how her sister worried? She’d probably laugh herself sick before teasing Beatrice, calling her a silly old woman for allowing fear to get the better of her.

  But it had been so long. So long, with no word from her.

  Anything could’ve happened. Beatrice surveyed the fields beyond her window as she unwound the long, dark braid with hints of red and gold over one shoulder and combed it out with her fingers. It was a big, unknown world out there. Margery might not even have made it to Silloth.