Devil's Own

Page 45

“It was a foolish argument,” Fraser assured him. “Nothing to fash yourself over. These young girls can be unpredictable when it comes to men.”
“Not my Elspeth. She’s a quiet one, as you’ve seen for yourself. Men have never bothered with her.”
Fraser shot him a look. “You can’t tell me I’m the first to engage her attentions.” She was a meek sort of creature, but not without her appeal. He wondered what the family might be hiding. “Surely she’s expressed an inter-est in marriage before this?”
Unless it’d been money, not a husband, the father had been waiting for. Fraser scowled, thinking the old man had cast a line, and he’d bitten.
Her father shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to pay men much mind.”
Nor men her, Fraser reckoned. And this was the girl who’d decided she didn’t need an alliance with him? Little did she know he was doing her a great honor.
“She just has an eye for her books and her studies,” the old man added.
Fraser grunted his agreement, but his thoughts were elsewhere. She’d fooled her father. He’d wager the girl had her eyes on something—or someone—other than books and studies. He’d give her this: the little doxy was sharp. He’d enjoy bringing her to heel.
He endeavored to keep the studied joviality in his tone. “Either way, these girls can be as silly as peahens, thinking a quarrel and a tease will kindle a man’s ardor. I’m sure her protests were no more than that.”
“Silly… aye.” Farquharson’s head bobbed in a relieved nod. Eyes snapping wide, he quickly added, “But she’s clever too.”
So the old man saw financial relief on the horizon and wasn’t about to let it go. He wanted to sell his daughter to the highest bidder, even though she probably was no longer even a virgin.
Fraser thought of her eerily pale, all-seeing eyes and that lovely mouth, like the bud of a tea rose yet to bloom, and he still accounted her worth the price. Still, although the lass may have struck his fancy, nobody made a fool of him. He would have Elspeth, and fast, before some other man’s seed quickened in her belly.
He altered course. “Actually”—he slapped a hand to his brow—“Elspeth did say something. About visiting a friend. That’s it … foolish me … I recall it now.”
The Farquharsons would learn not to cross him at the bargaining table. So too would they realize just how deeply their need for his assistance ran.
“A friend?”
“Yes,” Fraser said. “She was off to visit a friend after she left here. You’re certain you didn’t see her at home? Might you have missed her?”
“Perhaps,” her father said uncertainly.
“She’s likely home already, safe abed for the night.” Putting an amiable arm about the man’s shoulders, Fraser opened the door and steered him out. “And you, all the way here in Aberdeen. Why, while you’re on my side of town, I insist you pay a visit to my favorite tavern.”
“Do you think so?”
Fraser tugged him down the alley. “I know so. I’m sure your Elspeth is sound asleep, and under the circumstances, I think a dram or two would be perfectly fine. Advisable, even. Seeing as I’m to be your son-in-law, eh? Come now, I’ll walk you there myself.”
Hours later, Fraser sneaked from the pub, leaving the old man swinging a tankard of ale and singing a lusty tune. He was headed for a farm he knew he’d find empty, a purloined bottle of whiskey in one pocket and a tinderbox in the other.
Chapter 31
Elspeth woke as she had through the night, savoring the feel of Aidan’s strong arm wrapped around her, his hand cupping her breast. They lay on their sides, and she nestled her rump more firmly into his lap, even though they were already as close as two people could be.
The boat rocked gently, and she waited to be lulled back to sleep by Aidan’s heavy, rhythmic breathing. He seemed at peace, and she could only hope that the last embers of rage she’d seen in his eyes were banked for good.
She’d woken throughout the night to touch him, to inhale deeply the scent of him. Of them.
She brushed light fingers over his arm, the tickle of wiry hairs a revelation, a delight. He was warm and sure at her back, his strong arm holding her, and she felt safe and loved.
It was like a dream, and she still couldn’t fathom how it was that she was the woman who lay by his side. She, no longer merely a dreamer, but one who realized dreams.
She waited to slide back into sleep, but this time it didn’t come. Her body was awake, sensing sunrise was imminent, and thoughts clearing from their slumber, she was of a mind to see dawn warm the sky. And besides, her body had begun to register needs apart from Aidan that wanted tending.
She shifted away from him and shivered from the wash of cold air where his body had been. She stilled, grieving over their parting, and though she knew it had to come, she knew too that it would be brief. One day very soon she’d be his bride, and then she’d get to wake every day in Aidan’s arms.
She gently shifted his arm to her hip, holding her breath, hoping not to wake him. Before he saw her, she wanted to comb fingers through her hair, wash the sleep from her face, and generally gather herself. Gradually, she edged from beneath the weight of his arm. His breathing changed, became shallower, and she waited until it grew regular again.
She slipped her feet from beneath the covers and began to sit up. An arm grabbed her tight around her belly. “No you don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Where are you going?”
Pressing his hand over her belly, she looked over her shoulder at him. It was dark in the cabin, but ambient moonlight shone through the porthole, and she could make out his bare shoulders above the covers. His hair was a dark tangle sprouting over his head, and tenderness swept her at the boyish look of it. “I want to see the sun rise over the sea.”
With a nod, he sat up.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “You needn’t get up too. It’s early yet.”
“But I want to watch you watch the sun rise,” he said, giving her bottom a tweak.
Their banter was easy and affectionate, and she knew a sharp twinge in her chest. It was acute, this feeling, of being seen and being loved. “I’d like that,” she told him quietly.
He stood, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his naked form. Blades of silver moonlight shimmered over a body carved from stone. But then he turned, and she bit back a gasp as she saw that same light and shadow play along the marks on his back. Though she’d felt the whip scars with her fingers, seeing them was a shock. Would always be a shock.
Turning, he caught her scrutiny, and she braced to watch shame or anger shutter his features. But instead, he walked to her, and with a gentle kiss on her forehead, said, “It’s all right, Beth. It was years ago. I’ve got you, and it’s all all right now.”
He extracted their clothes from the tangle of blankets, continuing as though nothing was amiss and the subject was closed. “It’s just as well to be awake so early. I’d have you arrive home before the sun gets too high in the sky.”
She followed his lead and began to sort out her clothes. “I’ll be surprised if my father has even noticed my absence.”
He shot her a look that, even in the dim cabin, she could see was doubtful. “I don’t want you compromised. There’s no better time than first light to dock in Aberdeen harbor. The sailors are still drunk, and it’ll be just fishermen roaming about, and they’re not the ones who have me worried.” Pulling his shirt over his head, he added, “I don’t trust Fraser, and I don’t think he’ll be taking this change in your wedding plans as well as you believe.”
“Do you think he’ll have men at the docks?”
“I’m certain of it,” he said, stepping into his trews. “I’d like us to avoid the lot of them. He’ll suspect something is at the root of your decision, and he’ll have men sniffing around for some clue about what caused your change of heart. Which means you especially must stay away from him—no more visits to the erstwhile fiancé.” He helped her shrug into her vest. “Have I your word?”
“You’ve my word.” She smiled.
Turning her to face him, he finished tying the laces of her bodice. “Now,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “I imagine you have needs to attend to.”
She darted her eyes down. How mortifying to be discussing one’s bodily needs with one’s… pirate rogue.
Aidan chucked her chin. “I’ve spent the last hours studying … nay, Beth, tasting every last inch of you. No need to be shy on account of this.”
He led her up the stairs, pointing her to the side of the ship. “Just beyond the sail, luvvie, and over the gunnel you go.”
She was to relieve herself over the side of the ship? Dawn had begun to turn the sky gray, and she eyed the monochrome silhouettes of railings and hatches. “Surely you don’t mean that I should just … hang there?”
“I do, and you shall.” With a pat on her rump, he sent her on her way. “You’ll need to hold on, mind.”
“Obviously.” She headed toward the gunwale, considering. He’d set the sails, heaving to for the night, and the water was calm beneath them, the boat bobbing gently. She looked over her shoulder to ask, “And it’s safe?”
“’Tis,” he said, but his back was already to her, busying himself on deck, and, she imagined, about to take care of his own needs.
She needed to go, and there was nothing for it. Hoisting her skirts, she set about her business, and couldn’t help a quick giggle at the exhilarating freedom of it. “What can you do with a drunken sailor,” she belted out in her best singing voice, “what can you do with a drunken sailor, errr-lie in the morning?”
“You’re a wee daftie,” he called out, laughing.
Ducking back from behind the sail, she returned to him, smoothing her skirts in an exaggeratedly ladylike fashion. “I am no daftie. I’m a pirate wench.”