Page 27 of Go, Rogue

Chapter

11

McGann watches Catherine step down off the chair. Her feet are still bare. He’ll fix that later.

“Did you bring me breakfast?” she asks.

“You said you were hungry. But tomorrow you eat when everyone else does or you do not eat at all.”

“Thank you.” She pauses. “And thank you for the bath too. I should have said so earlier.”

He gives her a half nod of acknowledgment. “You may as well pick it up, lass. I know you won’t think of anything else until you do.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. She leans down and picks up the small key that had fallen from the hollowed-out book.

“I didn’t know if you’d seen that. What is it?”

“‘Tis a key.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I know that, Captain. What does it unlock?”

“Menace,” he sets the tray down on the table. “Seems fairly obvious to me that if I wanted to talk about it, I’d not hide it in a book. On top of my bookshelf. Away from prying eyes.”

“I’ll put it back,” she says.

“Aye, you will. But come and eat first. We’ve something to discuss.”

Catherine tucks the key into the pocket of her trousers and sits down with him at the small table. She pours them both tea, and McGann takes a sip, trying to figure out how exactly to broach the subject of pretending to be married. She saves him the trouble.

“You locked me in,” she says.

“Aye.”

“You told me never to let any man lock me in.”

“It’s for your safety. I don’t know these men.”

She puts her teacup down. “Your crew seem gentlemanly enough.”

He only harrumphs at that. “Seeming and being are not the same. And I won’t even broach the hypocrisy of most gentlemen. The fact is, Menace, that I won’t have you in danger. Not aboard my ship. Not anywhere.”

“You ought to have told me at least,” she says. “Before you did it. Given me a choice in the matter. Trusted me.”

“It’s not you I distrust. As I told you, the crew is new, and I don’t know them as well as I might. But,” he pauses, “you’re not wrong. ‘Tis not your fault, and I don’t mean to punish you for it. So, I have a solution. We could…”

It’s harder to get the words out than he thought it would be. He closes his eyes and feels the tell-tale heat of a blush flush his cheeks. Damn it.

“Menace,” he begins again, and casts a glance at her.

She’s waiting, jaw stubbornly set against whatever he is going to say next.

“You have to pretend to be my wife.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “I said that you’ll have to pretend to be my wife.”

“No.”