Returning to the hall, he easily scaled the ladder and started a turnabout the deck. It was cool, the night air crisp upon his skin. He drew in a deep breath.
Sailors called to one another from the rigging as the first mate stood at the helm. He’d half expected to see Colin at the wheel but his curiosity was quickly satisfied. On the other side of the deck, Colin walked with Fiona on his arm, the latter bathed in pale moonlight. If she were beautiful in the sun, she was stunning under the moon, her red hair dancing with bits of silver. He’d bet up close, her eyes were like emeralds in the night. He had a sudden vision of that hair spread across his pillow, the moon dancing on her pale skin.
His spine straightened. What would the future countess do if he touched her?
“Tom,” Colin called. “Out for a walk too? It’s a beautiful night.”
Tom drew in a steadying breath. “It is.”
“Join us.” Colin waved. “Fiona is growing bored with my company.”
Didn’t they all? “Of course,” he answered, crossing the deck. “What shall we talk about that will keep the lady entertained?” His lip curled just a bit. “Wedding plans?”
He expected Fiona to launch into a voracious description of lace and floral as many women of her station and beauty wanted to do. “I’d rather continue discussing this lovely evening. Perhaps, Colin, ye could teach us something about the stars.”
Colin reached out and touched her elbow with his free hand. “I’d be happy to.”
Tom barely listened as Colin began pointing out various constellations. A woman who didn’t wish to discuss her wedding?
He looked at Fiona’s gown. He’d noticed earlier that she had a beautiful figure but what he’d failed to note was how well the fabric accentuated her natural lines. The maker knew precisely how to highlight her best features.
Not a detail he usually missed, being in the business himself. And generally, women who took such care with their appearance wanted to discuss weddings at length.
“I’m curious,” he cut in, crossing his arms. “When is your wedding? It must be very soon if you are making the journey down south?”
Her mouth pressed together. “I’m not certain.”
Tom drew his brows together. But as he took a breath to ask another question, Colin stepped a bit closer, creating a physical block in his sight line of Fiona.
“We’d best discuss something else,” his friend rumbled, his chest puffing out.
Tom opened his mouth to ask another question, his curiosity warring with sensibility to be polite.
“Oh,” Fiona suddenly cried. “Oh dear.” She tugged on Colin’s arm, her finger pointing down at the water. “Look!”
He stepped closer to the rail. What had happened?
Chapter Three
Fiona knew she drove her family crazy with her tendency to help injured things, but she couldn’t stop herself. Animals pulled at her heart. Perhaps it was that they were so defenseless in so many ways and deep down, as a woman, she understood that entirely. In fact, her current situation highlighted how little control she had over her life and future. Fiona was completely at Exmouth’s mercy.
And the seagull, which floated on the water, his wing hanging listlessly to one side, had triggered every need she had to help those that couldn’t help themselves. In a world where she could control so little, she could this. Fiona could help that bird. “Find me a net.”
Colin let out a loud groan. “Fiona. No. Please.”
Mayweather gave them both a long look. “I don’t understand. What are we doing?”
Colin cleared his throat even as Fiona began scanning the deck to see if she could locate an appropriate tool. Colin would help her despite his protests. He always did.
“Fiona tends to rescue things. Kittens stranded in trees, horses lost in fields of heather, birds wounded in gardens. The list goes on.”
“And you object because?” Mayweather asked and leaned closer. “You don’t like helping animals?”
“Exactly,” Fiona called, giving him her best smile as she located a net.
He smiled in return and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She inwardly cursed but then focused her gaze on the rail. “We’ll use this net to collect him and then I can help him recover.”
Colin stepped back. “Tom can assist ye since he clearly sees merit in yer plan.”
“I certainly can.” Mayweather joined her. “I don’t know why you’re being so cold.”
“Yer about to find out,” Colin muttered.
Fiona shot her cousin a glare as she sniffed. “Colin is just sore because he’s been scratched a few times.”
“Scratched?” Colin fired back. “I’ve been bitten, pecked, shredded, and nearly hung in yer rescues attempts.”
“Hung?” Tom chuckled next to her. “Surely he jests.”
Fiona reached down, her net well above the bird she needed to scoop out. “Do ye have an oar that I could tie to the net?”
“No,” Colin answered. “And I don’t jest. When I rescued the horse on her behalf I was nearly strung up as a horse thief. It’s a hanging offense, ye ken.”
Mayweather paused, taking a step back. “Perhaps I’ll join Colin in the spectating—”
She reached for his arm then, intent on stopping his retreat. But something strange happened. Energy zipped through her body, making her fuzzy in her brain, and her stomach began to flutter wildly. “It will only take a moment,” she croaked.
He looked down at her hand and then up into her eyes. His gaze was no longer warm but burning hot and heat exploded within her. Without another word, he grabbed the net from her hand and then before she’d uttered another thing, he jumped over the side of the boat.
She let out a little yelp, until she realized he still held the rail with one hand. He dangled down the side of the boat like an acrobat or a monkey. How did he manage it? The water slashed and suddenly the net reappeared, the gull inside. “Miss MacFarland, take the net. Colin, help me back over.”
With trembling fingers, she plucked the handle from his hand, the gull giving a long cry. “There, there,” she soothed. “We won’t hurt ye.” She looked up to see Colin pulling Tom back over the side.
The moment his feet hit the deck, he slapped Colin on the shoulder. “Forgive me friend but I have to crow a bit. It turns out you just haven’t been doing a good enough job with those rescues. When you do them right—ouch!”
The gull had stuck his beak through the net and clasped onto Mayweather’s finger. “Oh dear,” she cried, pulling the net and the gull away. “Are ye all right?”
It was Colin’s turn to slap Mayweather on the back. “That’s what ye get.”
Colin wrapped his other hand about his finger. “I think I understand.”
* * *
Tom stared at Fiona as she shoved the net into Colin’s hands and then raced to his side, reaching out delicate fingers to take his. Her skin was achingly soft and her hand so pale and tiny next to his. Gently, she pulled his away to assess the damage done by the bird, her light touches a balm in and of themselves. “Ye poor thing. Are ye all right?”
He tried, and couldn’t remember, a time anyone had touched him with such gentleness. Not since his mother, surely, and she’d died ten years prior. “I’m fine.” Why did his voice sound so rough?
She ran the pad of her forefinger from the base finger to the top and then back down the other side. Tingling radiated from her touch. “I don’t see any broken skin or feel broken bones.”
“It’ll just bruise.” He shifted closer, catching an aroma of heather on the ocean breeze. Did she scent her clothes with the flower? He drew in another deep breath, his hip brushing hers. His cock responded, growing harder.
“I’m so glad.” She looked at him then and he realized he’d been correct earlier. Her eyes did in fact sparkle like emeralds. “Thank ye fer rescuing the creature.”
Colin loudly cleared his throat. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t ye take the b
ird. Can the two of ye not hear the damn thing?”
Tom looked up to realize the gull was squawking terribly, trying to escape the net. How had he missed that?
Fiona dropped his hand and reached, not for the handle but for the net, wrapping her hands around the gull’s body and maneuvering his head over the top of the net to calm the bird’s fears. “Colin, would ye go get a crust of bread and a lobster trap if ye have one?”
“I do,” Colin answered. “I’ll be right back.”
Tom watched as Fiona gently tucked the bird against her body, softly cooing to the animal. He was jealous. He’d just been the recipient of that touch and it was amazing. But also, he’d thought he and Fiona had been sharing a moment. It turned out, he’d gotten a much smaller portion of her affection than the gull. Still, he knew he’d be remembering her touch well into the night. The experience had been like bread for a starving man.
Which was odd, women touched him often. But not like that. They touched with passion, with excitement, but not with care. Not like he was precious in any way.
“What will you do with the animal?”
She looked up from the bird. “I’ll fashion a cage and feed him daily while his wing heals and then I will let him go again.”
“Not keep him as a pet?” he asked, wanting to step closer but not wanting to be bitten again.
“No,” she answered. “He’s a wild animal and meant to be free.”
Tom nodded, his hand reaching out for her elbow despite his best intention not to touch her. “Just like some men I know.”
She looked up at him, her face pulling into taut lines. “I know some like that too.”
He narrowed his gaze studying her face. He sensed a theme and though he shouldn’t care he couldn’t help but ask. “What will you become the countess of?”
There it was again. That tightness in her cheeks, her eyes, even as her mouth pulled down into a frown. “I am engaged to the Earl of Exmouth.”
“Exmouth?” His own breath sucked in on the single word. He knew the man. A big burly Scot with a penchant for gambling. Bloody hell.
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“And which type of man is he? Wild or domesticated?” He drew closer, the bird having nestled down into Fiona’s arms and unlikely to bite again.
“I couldn’t say for certain. We’ve never met.”
His chin snapped back. “Never met? But he’s your—”
“That’s right,” Fiona said. “It’s been three years now. My guess is he is as happy to be engaged to me as I am to him. Which is to say…not very.”
Something akin to hope thrummed in his veins. This was an interesting complication indeed. “You’re not very excited about becoming a countess?”
She shrugged, looking down at the bird in her arms. “Not particularly. Especially because the title comes with a man who wishes to live in a completely different country than his wife. Besides…” Fiona drew in a deep breath. “I don’t need to be titled to be happy. I just want—”
“I’ve found the bread and the trap,” Colin called, slapping a large wooden-framed netted box on the deck. The bird squawked at the sudden noise and Fiona began shushing the fowl again.
He had the urge to curl up in her arms and let her care for him just that way. He clenched his fist. He was a bachelor, a man of fun and whimsy. A man focused on his very successful career. Why then did his words sound hollow?
Chapter Four
Fiona spent the next half hour carefully luring the bird into the trap and then closing the door. She’d given the little creature food and water and then Colin dutifully had taken the wounded animal below deck to tuck it in a dark, quiet corner of the hull where the bird could rest and heal.
Mayweather lounged against the rail, watching her. Without the care of the bird to occupy her, she found herself attempting not to return his stare. She twisted her hands together, looking up at the stars again. “Ye likely think I’m mad for rescuing that bird.”
“I don’t,” he answered, pushing off the rail and stepping closer. “I think you’re extremely kind and caring.”
“Women are made to be mothers and it’s natural fer us to—”
“That isn’t necessarily true.” He stepped closer. So near that she could feel his heat radiating from his body. “I’ve known loads of women who do not nurture at all.”
She cocked her head and assessed his tightened jaw and thin mouth. Someone had clearly hurt him as well. “It’s amazing all the ways one person can hurt another,” she said, lifting her hand to touch his arm before she dropped it again.
“It is,” he said.
His voice dropped low, making their conversation even more intimate. Her breath caught. This man was handsome as sin and so close she could smell the mixture of sandalwood and fine cigar on his coat. She swayed on her feet, leaning in.
“Back when I was young and naive,” Tom continued. “I fancied myself to be the marrying kind.”
She swallowed down the lump that rose in her throat. Certainly, that meant he no longer did consider himself to be the sort that would take a wife. Why did that sting a bit? “I see. So, if ye were to categorize yerself, ye are the wild variety of man and not the sort to be domesticated?”
“I suppose that I am,” he answered, straightening.
Fiona dipped her eyes to his chest. His very broad chest. Funny, he was close now, so close a woman might think he was interested in her. And he’d complimented her caring nature, but she had to assume that he wanted exactly what she’d given that bird. A loving hand to help heal his wounds before he fluttered off again.
And that was something she just couldn’t do. She already had one man who didn’t wish to be tamed. The last thing she needed was another. Fiona took a step back. “I appreciate yer honesty.” She took another. As she moved away, her thoughts cleared a bit. “I hope ye have a lovely end to yer evening.”
“Wait.” His brow crinkled even as his hand shot out to hold her elbow. “Why are you leaving? I’ve said something wrong, haven’t I?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing wrong at all.” Which was the truth. He’d been honest and she appreciated that. When she’d touched his hand earlier, her heart had tugged. She needed the reminder that this was not the sort of man with whom she should trifle.
“Because I’m enjoying our conversation.” He gently pulled her back toward him. “You’re different from so many women I meet and I didn’t expect that.”
“Thank ye.” She dug in her heels so that she didn’t move any closer. “I’m also enjoying our conversation but the fact remains I have a fiancé that I need to sort out and ye only complicate—” But then she stopped. Because in that one sentence she was revealing her interest in him.
And he knew it. He gave her a lopsided smile that made her stomach flip about in the funniest way.
“I’m glad to know that I’ve complicated your thoughts.”
“I don’t see why.” She shook her head. “I’m engaged and ye are a confirmed bachelor.”
He drew her closer again and this time, she couldn’t resist. “Because a man likes to know that a beautiful woman finds him attractive.”
Her breath caught. “Ye think I’m beautiful?”
“Very.” He closed the distance between them. “I can’t remember when I met a woman who was lovelier than yourself.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks as her chest rose and fell as though she’d attempted to run. “That’s very kind…”
“I’m not being kind,” his breath whispered over her heated skin making it shiver despite how warm she’d grown. He slid his hand from her elbow up her arm. “You, Fiona, are stunning and kind and the sort of woman a man longs to—”
He stopped and air caught in her throat. What would he say? Surely not settle down with. They’d already established that. What was left?
The heat in her cheeks turned to ice in a moment. He was going to say something about passion or desire. Which was exactly what she didn’t
need.
Jerking away, she fisted her hands in her skirt. “Don’t finish that thought.” Then she spun and fled before he could say anything at all. Whatever he’d been about to murmur, Fiona was certain she didn’t want to hear it.
* * *
Damn. Tom swore softly under his breath as he watched her flee. Raking his fingers through his hair, he tried to calm his racing pulse. Fiona set him on fire.
She was right, of course. The two of them should not be engaging in such behavior. And what had started as a sweet, caring conversation had quickly sizzled with passion, thanks to him.
Not that she didn’t feel the same. Tom had enough experience to know when a woman wanted him and Fiona most certainly did. She’d hardly been able to catch her breath and her bosom had been heaving to take in air. He loved that.
Her skin had warmed, her breath had quickened, even her pupils had grown larger with his touch.
His muscles tightened, and he wanted to chase after her. Honestly, he was a wild animal and she triggered his need to hunt. He’d like to stalk his prey, catch her unaware, trap her against himself and then… He laughed, realizing his next thought was far more like a kitten’s then a lion’s. He wanted to make love to her, yes, and then he wished to feel her gentle fingers touching him everywhere. Bloody hell. When was the last time he’d had such a domestic thought?
Colin reappeared on the deck and swiveled his head around. “Where’s Fiona?”
He pointed to her cabin. “She retired for the evening.”
“Without saying goodbye?” Colin’s hands rested on his hips. “That isn’t like her.”
“She’s unfailingly kind, I presume?” Tom crossed to his friend. “Does that frighten you? I know her fiancé, or at least, I know of him. He isn’t known for being the snuggliest of men.”
A Lass to Love: Brides of Scotland Page 2
