Her words—taken as little more than a taunt before—seemed to carry a much greater significance. Perhaps they had been a warning.
I have thought much of taking a wife of my own, of late. Waited too long to properly go about it, I reckon.
Muir was wealthy in his own right, thanks to his keen sailing abilities and experience, and his trustworthiness to his employers. There would be little shame in an impoverished noblewoman marrying a respected man who could afford to keep a wife anywhere in the world, in a comfort and fashion not far beneath that of nobility—certainly in a better fashion that Glenna Douglas had found herself in the last several years at Roscraig. And a better fashion than what she would encounter should King James formally deny her title.
A better fashion than the terms under which Tavish was keeping her.
What man would not wish to boast of a wife of such beauty? Glenna’s passions—whether in anger or desire—were mighty to behold; and Tavish knew himself of their magnetic power. She was no simpering maid, no fortune-seeking shrew the likes of whom had crowded the Tower’s hall of late, but a woman full-grown who still retained her innocence and a measure of dignity through her trials.
Some of those trials for which Tavish was to blame.
Tavish left the window and strode through the hall, his boots skipping lightly down the stairs as he swept through the entry hall and beneath the raised portcullis. He told himself he was being ridiculous, paranoid; but something prickled at the back of his neck—pride, perhaps, or fear—that he should not show that he was seeking them out in their meeting. And so he strode behind the row of dwellings on the left—the kitchen, the stables, the lean-to where the smithy’s shop was being rebuilt. And there, behind that last building, he stopped.
The southerly spring wind blew warm and fragrant over the firth, carrying John Muir’s words to his ears.
“…depart at dawn with the cargo. One needs no permission in that port to marry. Although…” There was a pause, and Tavish knew John Muir was considering his thoughts carefully before he spoke, as was his way. “The king may side with you, milady. I doona dare boast to know his mind.”
“He may,” Glenna conceded, but her tone was thin and hesitant. “But even if he would affirm that Roscraig belonged to my father, I do not think Laird Douglas to live long. And then I know not what I would do. You saw the state of the Tower when you arrived; to say that I am impoverished is kind.”
Another pause. “You have another option, come the morrow. Would that you consider my offer.”
A heavy weight settled upon Tavish’s chest, like a slab of granite placed ever so carefully.
“Aye, consider it I will. Your suggestion has given me hope, Captain. Hope that I could promise myself to a man who would honor me and value me, and with whom I can perhaps put the nightmare of this life in my past. Should I leave Roscraig, it matters little to me where I call home. Any country, any port that you choose. Perhaps even Edinburgh—none know of me there.”
“Nae Edinburgh. I am ashamed to say that I have spoken to some of your beauty. And—God, forgive me—your obligation to Roscraig,” John advised gravely. “You would find no peace there.”
Tavish’s heart began to smolder, twist, with black anger. So this was the reason behind the captain’s sudden chastisement for not announcing a betrothal: He wanted Glenna for his own. John Muir had always possessed a keen eye for fine goods to be had at a bargain, and there before him now was a lady abandoned, deserted, desperate—and dressed in the garb of a princess. John Muir had no need of any dowry with a prize such as that.
Tavish might as well have tied a ribbon about her and placed her aboard theStygianhimself.
“Perhaps, though, it is best that I take you far from Roscraig. Tavish will be furious with us all when he discovers what we have done,” Muir said. “In truth, I didna imagine you to consider my suggestion with any gravity.”
“Captain,” Glenna said gently and reached out to place her hand on John Muir’s forearm and look up into his face. Tavish could see her earnest and tearful expression even from this distance, her skin luminous in the morning light as the wind blew stray ringlets across her forehead and cheeks. “I am honored that you thought to help me.Honored,” she repeated and Tavish saw her fingers flex around the man’s arm. Her voice broke when next she spoke. “I would owe you a debt for the rest of my life.”
“Doona cry—we’ve nae gone yet.” The captain covered her hand with his own, and Tavish could not stop the tide of fire-lit memories from flooding his mind of Glenna’s naked body, her passionate surrender to him, her easy slumber at his side.
It should have been Tavish who had rescued her. He should have been her champion—Glenna had given him every opportunity, and he had squandered it, playing the gentrified cock.
Tavish thought his teeth might crack. He trembled with the desire to leap from his coward’s hiding spot and run at Muir, sending him to the rocks below. And Glenna…
His heart seized in a queer manner so that he winced.
The captain dropped his hand. “I’ll not take you without your da’s blessing, lass,” he said, abandoning the proper address he’d always used. “’Tis not right, for a man to go behind a father’s back in such a way with his only child—and a wee daughter, at that. I’ll do my best to take him with us, of course, should he wish it.”
The betrayal was doubled now, hearing Muir’s damnation and feeling the shame it implied. The scene before Tavish vibrated in his vision, his rage building up inside him like the molten scorn of a volcano.
He hated them both in that moment.
Glenna stared into the captain’s face, and Tavish could see that she was fighting to contain her emotion. “I’ll speak to him this morning,” Glenna promised. “I’ll make him understand, somehow.”
“Well, doona stand there looking all cow-eyed at me then, lass,” Muir ordered gruffly and offered his elbow. “I’ve duties to attend to in readying theStygianto depart—the wool and hides willna load themselves.”
“Tell me about the ports. Belgium, perhaps.” Glenna slipped her hand around his arm and interlaced her fingers, and they began walking back up the point of the courtyard. Their voices were muffled as they passed in front of the smithy’s building, and when they emerged they were both laughing.
Had Tavish ever made Glenna Douglas laugh?
Had he ever heard her laugh before that moment?
