Chapter Eighteen
Watching Ian hover behind the helmsman checking the compass course when he wasn’t badgering the crew to trim the sails, Jamie thought it a wonderment Shane didn’t restrict him to below decks. The schooner was sailing close-hauled to the wind and skirting the shoreline as closely as she dared while the crew’s faces grew more mutinous by the moment. Only the fact that Shane remained on deck, except for brief naps over the past seventy-two hours when Ian nodded off, probably saved his brother from an icy swim to shore.
Jamie had actually risked an icy plunge himself when he reminded Ian that he might lead their clan, but on board ship, a captain’s word was law. And Shane, for all his scholarly pursuits, had a will of steel and an iron fist to back it up, if need be. Facts his crew obviously knew.
Not that Jamie blamed Ian for being near crazed. The only thing they knew was Jillian had been gravely ill when Shane left. No one gave voice to the thought that she might be dead by the time they got there.
Jamie balanced the wooden tray with its tin bowl of broth and oatcakes in one hand and knocked on Mari’s cabin door, not waiting for her response before entering. She was lying on the berth, her face still a sickly green. A canvas hammock attached to the bunk and secured to the wall kept her from sliding onto the floor as the ship pitched.
She waved a hand feebly. “Go away. I cannot eat anything.”
“’Tis a wee bit of broth to settle your stomach.”
“I do not want to cast up my accounts again.”
Jamie placed the tray on the small bolted table with high-fiddled edges to keep the bowl from slipping, unsnapped the hammock and sat beside her, holding out his hand. “Ye will feel better if ye sit up.”
Mari looked at him doubtfully, then put her hand in his while he eased her to an upright position and put an arm around her shoulders to brace her. She clung to his other arm and closed her eyes.
“The room is spinning.”
“Give it a minute. It will stop.” At least, he hoped it would. Mari had not eaten in two days, and she needed food.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, her hands still holding tight to him. Under any other circumstances, he would have been tempted to pull her closer to him and kiss those trembling lips that were mere inches from his. He felt a hard twinge in his groin and checked the thought.
“I hate boats,” she grumbled.
Jamie grinned. “Aye, lass. I am nae too fond of them myself.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “But you do not get sick.”
“I did when I was a bairn. Shane used to take great pleasure in seeing me hang over the rails, until I got old enough to put him on his arse once we got on dry land.”
She rubbed her stomach. “How did you overcome it?”
“With time ye get the feel of the ship, but the best remedy is being on deck, in the fresh air.” Jamie reached for the bowl and lifted a spoon to her mouth. “I will take ye up once ye have a bit of broth.”
“I do not think—” she said and then stopped as the warm liquid filled her mouth.
“’Tis nae bad, is it?” Jamie asked.
Mari swallowed and looked surprised. “It tastes rather good.”
“Aye. That would be the wee drop of brandy I put in.”
“Brandy? I have never had spirits.”
“Dinnae fash. ’Tis nae enough to harm ye. A wee drop helps settle the nerves.” Jamie lifted another spoonful to her mouth. “Try some more.”
This time she opened willingly, and he was reminded of the last time he had fed her. She had fought him at every step, and he’d had to pry her mouth open. Weeks had passed since then. Were they any closer to getting along?
His cock stirred again, reminding him thatgetting alongwasn’t exactly what his other head wanted. Jamie studied Mari as her luscious mouth opened and then closed on the spoon as he fed her more. To have that mouth closing on him…
He gave himself an inward shake. Mari was only being compliant because she was near to starved.
Once she had her strength back, she’d be planting another grey hair on his head.
Mari didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful to place her feet on solid ground as she was when the ship finally docked near Perth in the Firth of Tay. Even though they still had several uncomfortable days ahead of jostling in a carriage, she would never again complain about bumps in the road.
