The Perfect Stranger (35 page)

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I stupid gypsy girl who just believe what man say? When man is naked in bed? If you try force me, Tavish, I fight you. And then I will have to kill you—even if it break my heart.”

“I think you’re a foolish gypsy girl who is standing there freezing us both for no reason. I gave ye my word, Estrellita, and I’ll no’ break it.” He looked at her scantily clad body and sighed theatrically, “Even if it kills me.”

Cautiously she padded across the room and climbed into bed beside him. “I mean it, Tavish!”

“Just lie down and shut up, will ye?” He reached out and pulled her against him. She was stiff and awkward, like a wild animal that had been trapped, but gradually he felt her body relax.

“You nice and warm, Tavish.”

“Aye, I am,” he agreed glumly.

She snuggled down, wriggling against him until he groaned and clamped an arm over her. “Be still, will ye, little witch. A man can stand only so much.”

In answer she turned in the circle of his arms and faced him. “I think you good man, Tavish,” she said softly. She stroked his chest, pushing her fingers experimentally through the fur on his chest. “You like big warm bear, Tavish.” She darted him a look and explored further. “I like bears.”

“And I like little gypsy cats.” He groaned. “Estrellita, lass, you’re killing me.”

She snatched her hand away. “You no like?”

“I like, too much.”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “You want diddle with me much, I think, Tavish.”

“Aye, I want ye much, Estrellita.”

She swallowed, and her eyes slowly filled with tears. “Sorry, Tavish, I cannot. I only came because of terrible dreams.” She started to get out of bed, but he caught her and pulled her back.

“Hush now, lass, ye needn’t leave. We’ll stop all this…fondling for now, and sleep. That’s what ye came here for, sleep and comfort, no’ a big, hairy, lustful Scot.” He pulled her down beside him and tucked her into the curve of his body, pulling the bedclothes around them. “Now sleep, my little cat,” he said. “Nothing shall harm ye.”

She curled up against him and slept; just closed her eyes and slept. Women were amazing, he thought, his body aching and unfulfilled. She was amazing. She didn’t trust him enough to lie with him as a woman, but she could sleep in his arms as trustful as a kitten.

She stirred and rubbed her lush little bum against him. It was going to be a long, sleepless, uncomfortable night, Mac thought. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Chapter Fourteen

The greatest happiness is to transform one’s feelings into action.

M
ADAME DE
S
TAËL

T
HEY WALKED DOWN TO THE DOCKS, HAND IN HAND, IN THE
faint gray light that precedes dawn. Stevens followed, carrying Faith’s meager baggage and chatting quietly to Morton Black. Mac and Estrellita trailed behind, walking close together but not quite touching. Even the dog, Beowulf, had come to see Faith off. Probably to make sure she was gone, Faith thought dismally.

A gentle breeze blew, and the morning sky looked clear and calm. A perfect day for sailing.

Faith desperately didn’t want to go. She was ragged with the effort of not weeping. “Why can’t I stay in Bilbao? You can go and do whatever it is you have to do, and—”

Nick cupped her face between his palms and said gently, “Hush, my love. We’ve been through this a dozen times. It’s just not possible. Your presence here would be just as distracting for me. You must go to England, to your family. You will be happy to see them, won’t you? You said you missed your sisters—”

“Yes, of course, but that’s not the point. I could wait for you, and we could go home togeth—”

Abruptly Nicholas released her and walked the last few paces to the dock alone. He stood, his back to her, staring out to sea. The breeze was picking up, and canvas and rope flapped and slapped impatiently as sailors shouted and went about their business. They were the only passengers, and the captain had been waiting for them to arrive. He was impatient to leave.

Morton Black took their bags and walked up the gangplank.

Stevens came forward and touched her on the arm. “Don’t make it harder for him, missie. The more you ask to stay, the more it tears him apart.”

Her face crumpled, and she fought back the tears. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…I cannot bear to leave him, after…just…now that we know how much we love each other. He loves me, Stevens. He said so.”

The wise, battered face crinkled. “I know, my dear. I’ve known for a long time. But you cannot stay. If you love him, you’ll do what’s best for him and leave.”

Faith wiped the tears from her eyes. “I suppose this is truly what being a soldier’s wife is about.”

Mac spoke at her shoulder. “Aye, lass, it is. Now, make him proud o’ ye. Go, and bid him farewell with a brave and bonny smile and a sweet kiss.”

They were right, Faith knew. Nicholas had his duty to perform, and her duty was to smile as she saw him off and then wait for him to come home to her, as the women of Mingulay waited. Only she was the one going to sea…

She scrubbed at her face with the handkerchief to remove every trace of tears and took several deep breaths to calm herself. “Do I look all right?” she asked Nicholas’s friends.

“That’s my brave girl,” Stevens told her.

“Aye, lass, you look bonny.”

Her face crumpled briefly as she looked at them, these two men, who such a short time ago had been strangers to her. Stevens had taught her so much, he was a bit like the father she’d missed so much, growing up. And Mac, who had started out so horrid—astounding to think how fond of him she now was. She hugged them both and kissed them on the cheeks, then embraced Estrellita.

“Good-bye, my sister of the road,” the gypsy girl whispered in her ear. “I never forget you, Faith.”

Faith nodded and hugged her again. She couldn’t speak.

Bracing herself, mustering all the control she could, she closed the gap between herself and the tall, dark man standing still and alone on the wharf.

She touched his arm, and he stiffened and turned to her. He wore his officer’s face; still, remote, controlled. But he was breathing hard as if he’d been running, and she felt the intensity radiating from him.

Her beloved man.

This was just as hard on him as it was on her, she realized suddenly, and the knowledge fortified her resolution as no amount of argument could.

“Farewell, my dearest love. I will wait for you.” Tears blurred her vision again, but it didn’t matter because he was holding her in his arms, so tightly she couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her deeply, once, twice, and then released her, stared down at her with a still face and ravaged eyes, then grabbed her again for one last anguished kiss.

“You have been the best thing in my life,” he said in a voice that cracked. “I will love you till I die—and beyond. Remember that always.”

She nodded dumbly. “Keep safe, my love, keep safe. I will see you in England.”

He gave her one last, devouring kiss, then turned and strode away.

“Come along, my dear.” Morton Black was at her elbow. Faith allowed him to steer her up the gangplank and onto the boat; she was blind with tears.

She stood at the rail, dimly aware of the bustle of sailors scurrying around hoisting sails and heaving on ropes as the boat cast off.

She gripped the rail with white-knuckled hands as the narrow silver band of water widened. Slowly the boat swung around, and she walked around the edge of it like a sleepwalker, never taking her eyes off the still figure watching on the shore.

And then the sun spilled over the mountains and blinded her, and Nicholas was lost in a golden haze. She tried shading her hands and squinting, but try as she might, she could no longer see him, only the burning rays of the rising sun.

The tears came in earnest then, and she slumped down on the deck, weeping.

“I’ll go doon an’ fetch him then,” Mac told Stevens after a while. They’d packed up, ready to leave on the last stage of their journey, leaving Nick in privacy as he watched his wife sail away. The boat was a tiny shape in the distance, the size of a child’s toy.

“He’ll no mind a wee detour to Estrellita’s gran, will he, d’ye think?”

Stevens shrugged. “Depends where that is. The girl’s been mighty close-mouthed about where that is, exactly.”

Mac shook his head. “Aye, she still has it in her stubborn wee noggin that the cap’n means her gran ill. But I’ll talk sense into her.” A bit self-consciously he added, “She and I have a better understanding of each other now.”

Stevens raised his brows. “I should hope so, after she spent the night in your room!”

Mac flushed. “It isna what ye think. And anyway, I aim to marry the wench, so dinna be thinkin’ disrespectful thoughts of her!”

Stevens grinned. “Congratulations. She’ll make you a good little wife, I think.”

Mac looked glum. “As to that, she hasna said yes, yet. As I said, she’s a stubborn piece.”

Stevens nodded. “Off you go, then and fetch the capt’n. We should get on the road straightaway—it’s no good to let him brood.”

When the two returned, Nick mounted his horse in silence. He looked as weary and defeated as ever Stevens had seen him.

“Cap’n, you’ll no mind a short detour to Estrellita’s great-granny, will ye?”

Nick shrugged indifferently. “Of course not. Where is it?”

“I’ll ask her. She’ll have to tell us now. Estrellita?” Mac called, looking for the girl. “Where is the wench?” He walked back into the inn but could find no sign of her.

“Stevens, have ye seen Estrellita?’

“Not since she said good-bye to—” He glanced at Nick. “Since she was down at the wharf. She slipped back here then, before the boat left. I figured she had something to do.”

They looked everywhere, but it soon became clear; sometime in the last forty minutes, the gypsy girl had slipped away.

“Where the devil has she got to?” Mac growled. He was refusing to admit she’d gone, was certain she’d just popped out for a moment, the way women did, and would be back.

“What’s that around Beowulf’s neck?” Stevens asked.

Mac whistled, and the dog came shambling up. He still wore the red ribbons that Estrellita had plaited into his fur, but around his neck was something blue and frilly. Mac felt suddenly hollow inside.

He pulled it off the dog and said dully, “It’s a garter—blue satin ribbons and lace.” He stared at the scrap of bright fabric. “It’s Estrellita’s. She canna write, but this—” He crushed it in his hand with a fierce, angry gesture. “This is her farewell note.” He stuffed the garter in his pocket and strode toward his horse. “No point waiting. And no need for any detour—we might as well get straight on to Vittoria, then see where your Algy is buried.”

“I’m sorry, Mac,” Stevens murmured.

Mac shrugged. “Women! I should ha’ known better. They never take to me.”

“Estrellita was different.”

Mac was silent a long time. Then he said softly, “Aye, that she was.” And he pulled the garter from his pocket, stroked it with a big thumb, and tucked it into the bosom of his shirt.

After a time he added, “She was too full of life to be goin’ on a journey such as this, anyway, goin’ from battlefield to battlefield, visiting the dead—and waiting for him to”—he nodded toward the silent figure of Nick, riding up ahead—“you know.”

“He’s a fine man, Lady Blacklock,” Morton Black said once Faith’s tears had dried. He handed her a flask. “Drink this; you’ll feel better.”

Faith took a sip. Sherry. It didn’t burn the way that first sip of Nicholas’s brandy had that first night. It seemed like a lifetime ago he’d given her his flask and told her to drink to settle her nerves. She handed back the flask and thanked Morton Black. Then it registered, what he’d called her. “Lady Blacklock? Isn’t that Nicholas’s mother?”

“Yes, and you, too. Your husband is Sir Nicholas Blacklock, didn’t you know?”

She shook her head. “No, he never mentioned it. Are you sure?”

“Ah, well maybe he preferred not to draw attention to himself while traveling, but there’s no doubt about it. The Blacklocks are an old, established family.”

Faith thought about the story Nicholas had told her during the night. He was still very angry with his father…Might that be why he’d rejected the title?

They stared back at the land, and though the sun was no longer dazzling her, Bilbao was now just a huddle of buildings, and she could see no tall, dark figure standing on the wharf. She felt empty inside. It was foolish, she told herself firmly; she was only experiencing what every soldier’s wife experienced, and though she didn’t know what Nicholas’s mission was, she ought to have more faith in him. He’d been a soldier since he was sixteen; he had to be good at it to have survived as many battles as he had.

“You’ll marry again, I suppose.”

Faith looked at him in surprise. “Marry again? Why? Do we need to? I thought a marriage in France would be legal in England. And we were married in a church, as well as at the town hall—though it was a Catholic church. I don’t suppose Great Uncle Oswald would be too pleased about that.”

“No, no, you misunderstood me. This marriage is legal, all right.” He patted her on the arm, awkwardly. “I don’t suppose you want to think about such things yet, anyway. But in case you’re wondering, he’ll leave you well provided for. His cousin will inherit the title, of course, unless you are, er—” He touched his stomach lightly and arched his brows in a delicate inquiry.

She gave him a blank stare as she considered the matter. It had been some time since she’d had her monthly courses. On the other hand, she was often irregular…“I have no idea.” She thrust the thought aside and focused on the present. The tone of his conversation niggled at her belatedly. Something wasn’t right. “Why are you talking about who will inherit the title? You just said it was Nicholas’s. It’s a little early, surely, to be speaking of who will be stepping into his shoes.”