Page 25 of To Treasure an Heiress
A cairn wouldn’t be her choice if she were burying something new.But then, she wasn’t a pirate. Mucknell didn’t strike her as the sort of man to get squeamish over the idea of a few skeletons, given his propensity for making more of them whenever someone crossed him.
A gust of wind blew fog into her face and then whipped past her. She let her feet drift to a halt and closed her eyes.
Oliver felt closest to God in a garden, he said, where tending the flowers reminded him of how God tended His children.
Beth felt closest to Him out here. Where the wind could tear across the hillocks without anything man-made in its way, where there was nothing but heather and seagrass and sand and water before her. Where she was keenly aware of how big He was. How untamed. How humanity was just a scratch in the earth, their marks so quickly covered over by His nature.
And yet He loved them with a ferocity as wild as that wind. As deep as that sea.
She’d had a lot of time with no one but the Lord for company in the last little while, and before she found that note Ollie left her, telling her Mamm-wynn could well be dying, she’d fancied herself closer to Him than she’d ever been.
It hadn’t taken her long to slip right back into old habits, though, had it? Bickering with Oliver, throwing books to the floor in anger. Snapping at Sheridan.
He deserved it. But pointing it out constantly probably wasn’t the best example of the grace of Christ.
“I’ll do better, Lord,” she whispered into the wind. “Though you’ll have to help me. Because that man...”
A shearwater cried from somewhere overhead, and it sounded like heavenly laughter to her ears. “Yes, I know. I falter even as I ask for help. It’s a good thing you’re more patient than I am, Father.”
She opened her eyes again, adding a silent plea that He show her where she ought to look. And frowned at a shape playing hide-and-seek with the fog to the north. A mast? That was certainly what it looked like, but she didn’t know who else would be fool enough to be out in this.
Curiosity pulled her that direction, though another cloudbank drifted in a minute later, thicker than any she’d sailed them through that morning. Had there been a trail, she’d likely have lost it, given that she couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her. She certainly had no hope of seeing if the boat out there had an owner nearby. She could run right into someone and not know it until—
“Oh!” She hadn’t expected toactuallyrun into someone the moment she thought of it, but she very nearly stumbled directly into an immobile figure blocking her way. “Excuse me. I couldn’t see you.”
And how ridiculous was it to run headlong into someone when she wasn’t even on a path, and when there were acres of emptiness all about her?
It was a man, she realized, when vague impressions clarified into a well-made cardigan and trousers and a head topped by the flat cap favored by any fellow who spent more than a day fighting the wind for his fedora.
Ayoungman, she saw when he pivoted, hands lifting, ready to steady her.
Not that she’d fallen, nor had any intention to. She took a step back, tilting her head a bit to allow a view of his face.
It was quite a face. Well-chiseled cheekbones, snapping green eyes, a patrician nose. Handsome. The sort of handsome that she’d always imagined for the prince in Mother’s story. She could almost imagine him in buccaneer’s garb, his hair long and tied at the nape, a sword and a blunderbuss both strapped to his side.
His eyes met hers, and her stomach went tight. It was the story, or the fog, or the arrangement of his features. She knew that.
Still, the question she’d asked Sheridan last night flitted through her mind.Do you believe in love at first sight?
The stranger flashed her a smile that sparked and smoldered. “Well now. What is so fair a lady doing out on so foul a morning?”
His accent branded him an incomer—a man of education. A gentleman. A tourist. And a charming one, at that.
She couldn’t help her smile. “Looking for a pirate prince.”
His grin said he could be persuaded to take on the role. “What a coincidence. I was looking for a princess.” He took a step to the side, proffered an arm. “Shall we search together? It may keep us from stumbling into each other.”
“How gallant.” She tucked her hand against his arm, almost wishing she wore her lacy gloves and one of her lovely day dresses. Or that she’d done her hair up properly.
But no, this better suited the fairy tale. Visiting gentleman, common island girl. He most likely was no prince, but she’d forgive it. “Are you staying here or just visiting for the day?” Her eyes moved again to the mast she’d spotted on the water.
The fog had cleared a bit in that direction, fickle as it was. Revealing that it was no little sloop like theNaiadanchored there. It was a small yacht, its every sleek line screaming wealth.
“Just a day trip. I never pass up the chance for a bit of exploration. Sailed over last night.”
He must have been anchored there all night, then. A visitor wouldn’t have dared to sail such a craft through the shallows in this fog. “And how are you liking our island chain?”
“Well.” He angled a charming smile down at her. “I confess I’d been thinking it a bit dull. But I may have to revise my opinion. I didn’t realize it boasted such lovely locals. Do you live on St. Agnes?”
