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‘It is mostly my cloak. I had no idea sailing could be so marvellous. When I return to England I would like to do so by sea if I may?’
‘If you wish.’
She struggled on to her knees and, as the ship gave a gentle roll on a swell, she pitched against his shoulder, her hand steadying herself by grasping his arm as she sank back down.
‘I’m so sorry. My leg buckled; it is all tingling.’
‘You sat too long in one position. Stretch it out,’ he advised, tightening his arms around Jamie.
She did as she was told, stretching out her legs, the damp hems of her skirts catching at her calves. She did not even notice as a sailor walking by slipped and skimmed into the railing at the sight, barely catching himself before hurrying on. Benneit looked away as well. Whatever those horrid grey gowns advertised, they were clearly not a good representation of at least part of this woman’s anatomy. Her ankles and calves were as fine and shapely as a Roman sculpture—slim, delicate lines that promised a mixture of fragility and strength. It was impossible not to wonder if the rest of her continued that promise.
‘Try to walk a little. That might help.’ It might help him at least.
She stood, thankfully leaning on the railing rather than on him. She gave a childlike little grunt, but proceeded towards the gangway to the cabins. He did not turn to watch her go, but from his line of sight he could see the sailors who had been working aft were watching her all too readily. He glared at them and they went back to their tasks.
Chapter Eight
‘Survived it fairly this time, didn’t we, lad?’
Benneit turned from the window overlooking the bay. It was a corner of comfort in the monstrosity that was Lochmore Castle—that view over the inlet and the steel and indigo sea beyond it, the fall of the cliffs towards the wide sandy shore that stretched until the rock fall crowned by the Devil’s Seat. In the afternoon there was a moment of stillness to the sight, between the winds of the morning and the excitement that always struck the water before nightfall. At this moment the elements rested, even the waves looked languid and half-hearted and he could see beyond them to the distance, to the point where his domain ended and the world began.
‘We did, Angus. I told you it would become easier as he grew older.’
‘’Tweren’t only that and you know it.’ Angus grunted as he threw back the cover of the trunk and began taking out linen.
Benneit ignored his comment and focused on Angus’s methodical actions. For such a large man his movements were graceful, but then a man who had dealt in gunpowder for many years during the war would have to be dexterous. Angus never spoke of it, but Benneit knew from another soldier from Lochmore land that the explosion that had marked Angus’s body was not his fault. Somehow, unlike so many others who returned from the war, Angus had kept his calm centre, but his very contentedness to remain at Lochmore and not stretch his horizons as he had when he joined the army was telling. Benneit never pried or pushed, but sometimes he wondered if he should.
Angus and he had always been fast friends despite the difference in their age and stations. There had been few boys his age near Lochmore and, until he was sent away to school in England, Angus had been his closest friend. And despite his parents’ concerns, every time they returned to Lochmore they picked up the threads of their friendship, disregarding time passed and social barriers.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that, Angus. That is Ewan’s duty.’
‘Clears my mind. Simple things.’
Benneit nodded and looked back out the window. Downstairs a stack of not-so-simple matters was awaiting in the estate room, alongside his long-suffering steward, McCreary.
‘You should go to The House in the morning before McDreary snares you in his net. Clear your mind,’ Angus continued behind him.
‘I might.’
‘She’ll keep an eye on Jamie.’
‘No doubt.’
‘You’ll be eating up here or downstairs?’
Benneit hesitated and Angus shut the trunk.
‘There won’t be nought to bother ye downstairs, Mrs Merry said, as Jamie asked Mrs Langdale to share his tea in the nursery. And Lady Morag won’t venture out until you’re settled and she accepts there’s a new face in the castle. If then. She’s getting on and her bitterness is firming her in the tower like a barnacle on its rock.’
