Rogue of the Isles (23 page)

Mari glanced at her again. Strange, though—Abigail did not
look
scared. Instead, she looked…
fascinated
. Her eyes were still wide, but she seemed to be studying Shane as though he were some strange specimen. Which, in a way, he probably was. Mari just hoped Abigail was not visualizing him as part of Greek art.

“Please have a seat,” Mari said. “Was either Ian or Jamie expecting you? They left no word this morning.”

“Nae,” he said and stayed standing, “but do ye ken when they will return?”

“Very soon, I would think.” Mari smiled. “It is almost tea time, and both of them are quite fond of the cook’s special pastries.”

Shane didn’t return the smile. In fact, he looked quite grim. Mari tried to remember what Jillian had told her about this cousin. Something about owning a shipping line. Maybe having to control unruly sailors—or fight pirates–was what made him look so serious.

“You are welcome to wait,” she said. “If you prefer, Givens can take you to the library.”

“Which of ye is Jillian’s sister?”

“I am. Why?”

His stormy gaze settled on her, and for a moment Mari thought she saw something softer flicker in his eyes and then it was gone. “Ye had best pack a bag, lass. Yer sister had a bad fall—”

Mari jumped up, her hand flying to her mouth. “Is the baby all right?”

“I dinnae ken. The bairn had nae come when I left, but Jillian cut herself on something rusted and lies abed with fever and infection. I have come to fetch ye and Ian.”

“Oh, dear God! Dear God! I—”

“It will be all right,” Maddie soothed as she came to put her arm around Mari. “Come on, I will help you pack.” She turned to Abigail. “Could you show Mr. MacLeod to the library, please?”

“Of course,” Abigail replied, but they were already gone.

Libraries were always a sanctuary for Shane, and the one in the Barclay townhouse was no different. The mahogany-paneled walls smelled faintly of lemon polish, the gold and deep red of the wood highlighted by the glow of a banked fire in the hearth. Leather-bound books filled one bookcase, the pleasant scent drifting toward him. Two comfortable-looking wingback chairs were placed near the fire for light to read by and warmth as well. Just the kind of place a man could relax with a dram of good Scots whisky. Only today, that dram would have to wait until he saw Ian.

Shane wanted nothing more than to pace the small space, but the lass with the big, brown eyes and spectacles was still standing in the middle of the room staring at him. For a moment, he wondered if his cloth codpiece was properly buttoned.

“Thank ye for showing me here,” he said. “I will just choose a book and read until Ian returns.”

She didn’t move, but her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Do you like to read?”

Her voice was surprisingly low and melodious. From her severely pulled-back hair and the drab dress she wore with its high neck and long sleeves, he would have thought her voice to be sharp as an old biddy’s. “Aye,” Shane said when she showed no signs of leaving. “I had tutors in Latin and French since my family had hopes I would join the church.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly higher. “The church?”

“Aye,” he said again. “My mother had hopes I would not want to take up arms.” Shane wondered why the lass didn’t laugh or at least smile. Given his size, most people found it amusing to find he had an education. But the lass only moved past him toward the shelves of books. She ran a slender hand across the titles and then pulled one down.

“You might enjoy this then,” she said and handed it to him.

He glanced at it.
The Canterbury Tales
. Thirty pilgrims making the journey from Southwark to Canterbury, each with a story to tell. Whatever would a London Society lass know of such? “Are ye familiar with Chaucer?”

She blushed. “I like to read.”

“I—” he started to say when he heard heavy boots coming down the hall. Ian and Jamie had returned. He laid the book down as the door burst open.

“We just saw Mari in the hall—” Jamie said, but Ian interrupted.

“How soon can we leave?”

“The tide goes out at dusk. We should be on it.”

“We will be,” Ian answered in a voice that brooked no argument.

With the ensuing turmoil, it was not until later that Shane wondered when Abigail had slipped quietly away.

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 that
getting along
wasn’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.

From Effie’s pale, pinched face, she was probably mirroring Mari’s thoughts. For once, the maid seemed to have nothing to say. She just climbed into what was really more of a small wagon than a carriage without a complaint.

After giving orders to the driver, Jamie climbed in with them while Shane and Ian mounted horses and rode on ahead. Mari was as anxious as Ian to see Jillian, but she knew having them all ride would just slow him down—not to mention Effie’s fear of the animals. Mari almost smiled. She was actually beginning to like the big beasts.

“Wrap the plaids around ye,” Jamie said, handing one to Effie and taking another to lay across Mari’s lap as well as his and then tucking a part of it under her chin.

Effie frowned at the intimacy of having one blanket covering the both of them, but Mari ignored the look. The wool felt blissfully thick, cutting the sharp cold that seeped in through the wooden slats, and Jamie’s body heat enveloped her like a warm cocoon. She had no objection when he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. She felt cozy and sheltered.

Effie’s frown grew deeper.

“I have nae wish for the lass to catch a chill,” Jamie said affably. “’Twill nae help Jillian to see her sister ill.” He gave the maid his dimpled grin while he put his free hand on top of the plaid. “Will it please ye if ye can see where my hand is?”

The maid’s cheeks coloured, and Mari felt her own face warm. Little did Effie know the hand Jamie had around her shoulders was leisurely stroking her arm, causing an entirely different kind of heat to radiate.

Effie nodded. “I have a duty to see to Mari, you understand.” Then she smiled. “I know you are a gentleman and would not take advantage.”

Mari stared at her maid, not quite sure whether to be amazed because Effie was smiling or at what she’d said. Jamie, a gentleman? And, as for not taking advantage…his wayward hand, beneath the protection of the plaid, was inching its way much too close to her breast. She glanced at him, suspicious of his motives, but he was smiling blandly at Effie, practically mesmerizing the woman.

A gentleman indeed.

And how long were they going to be on the road?

Mari shifted her weight on the hard plank seats of the wagon two days later and rethought her vow never to complain about bumps in the road again—although what they traveled on could hardly be called a road, at least by English standards. It seemed to be more of a washed-out gully with huge ruts and jutting rocks. They’d had to change from the original wagon—which Mari now regarded as luxurious as any London landau or barouche—for this squat, lumbering box that rattled and shook precariously as the four sturdy, shaggy Highland ponies plodded painstakingly along. Mari knew a lighter-weight carriage with spindly wheels would never have handled this terrain, but her bottom was in desperate need of more cushions.

“’Tis nae long before we will be at Oban and be rid of the wagon,” Jamie said as she jostled against his thigh and almost landed in his lap from the latest jolt. He grinned as he righted her. “Although I dinnae mind if ye wish for me to hold ye.”

“I am quite capable of sitting—ooph!” she said as she crashed against him again in a half sprawl.

“Are ye?” This time he tucked her alongside him, his arm around her waist. “I think it best I deliver ye to yer sister in one piece.”

“Humph,” Effie said from the opposite bench, but this time she frowned at Mari.

What? Did her maid think she was doing all this slipping and sliding
on purpose
? Her poor body sported bruises each night when she put on her night rail since slamming into Jamie MacLeod was akin to running into a rock wall.

“How far is Oban from your home?” she asked to change the subject.

“Nae too far. A half-day by water.”

“Another half-day?” Mari groaned and then stopped abruptly. “Wait. Did you say by
water
? We have to get on another boat?”

Jamie gave her a sympathetic look. “I fear so, lass. With the storm that chased Shane, the pass at Glen Coe will be completely snowed in.”

“There is not a way to go around it?”

“Nae. ’Twould take too long, and we wouldna ken if any pass were open.” He gave her hand a squeeze as the wagon lurched to a shuddery stop. “’Twill nae be as bad as the North Sea. Loch Linnhe be somewhat sheltered.”

Mari exchanged a dubious glance with Effie as they both stood on the dock an hour later waiting to board a vessel about half the size of Shane’s schooner. The boat bobbed in the short chop, straining its lines. A fine mist sprayed over her as the waves sloshed against the pilings, and Mari drew her travelling cloak closer, but the damp cut through anyhow. Effie sneezed and tugged her scarf tighter.