Page 22 of Rose
Chapter Nine
“Why is the ship so quiet?” Rose asked as she sat across from Tristan in the dinghy Philip was preparing to lower.
“I have reassigned the crew to another ship. Before we set sail for France, we will take on a new crew, to which you shall be introduced as my wife, Mistress Rose Thatcher.”
She pressed her hands to her warm cheeks. “I do not think I’ve blushed for ten years.”
He smiled at her. “Not surprisingly, the rosy hue suits you.”
She scanned the empty deck. “I had not considered the crew, but ye’re right. For this to work, we must take every precaution. Our secret must remain between us.”
Tristan nodded. “Only Philip will continue on to France with us.”
“Ready when you are, Captain,” Philip said.
She glanced at the quarter master who flashed her a bright smile. “Have a wonderful time, Mistress Thatcher.”
Again, her cheeks burned. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Before you know it, we will feel like an old married couple,” Tristan promised. “We’ll start finishing each other’s sentences.”
She laughed. “And I’ll complain about how ye snore, and ye will grumble about my cooking.”
“I would very much like to sample your cooking,” he said.
She bit her cheek to keep from smiling as a jolt of excitement shot through her. She wondered if her brothers experienced the same thrill when they carried out secret missions for the cause. Jack and Quinn had both pretended to be monks to gain access to English fortresses, and Alec had lived within the king’s palace for months posing as an English merchant. Now, she had her own secret mission as wife to Tristan Thatcher, English merchant. Their cause was not as grand as Scottish independence, but saving an honest man and his family from ruination was no less noble.
Sitting straight and tall, Rose took a deep breath and scanned the side of the hull of the Messenger as they descended. She still could not believe that in a matter of weeks the great ship would be hers. The MacVies could each fish ten life times and not earn enough coin for a merchant cog.
“Do you see how the outboards overlap one another?” Tristan asked, pointing to the hull.
She nodded. “She’s clinker-built. The overlapping makes her stronger.”
“You do know your ships,” he said.
His praise made her smile. “’Tis in my blood.”
“What else is in your blood?” he asked. “I mean, if we are meant to be married, we should know more about each other. Why did you go to Jura after the massacre?”
She hated to continue to lie to him, but Colonsay was more than just a home. It was her family’s haven. Her brothers, all but Ian, were wanted men. No doubt their likenesses hung in every tavern from Cape Wrath to Dover. “Our father’s family hailed from Jura,” she lied. “When we were exiled from Berwick, we knew we would find welcome there.”
“Are your parents there as well?”
A pang of anguish struck her heart. “Nay, my parents and my wee sister were killed in the attack.”
As were my three daughters and my husband, her heart whispered, but she kept her silence. Tristan was a kind and trustworthy man, and they had an accord. Still, he did not need to know everything about her. She wanted to protect her heart like she wanted to protect her brothers.
“I am so very sorry for your loss, Rose,” he said, his brows drawn.
She took a deep breath, willing away her grief. “Tell me of yer family.”
He took up the oars and began to row toward shore. “My mother passed away when I was young, and my father remarried. Together, they have a daughter, my sister, who is quite a few years younger than I.”
Rose smiled. “How old is she?”
“She is five and ten.”
She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “Sheisyoung.”
