Page 26 of Rose
Chapter Ten
Cardiff Green was teeming with tents draped in banners of every color.
“You see,” Tristan said, pointing to the endless rows of stalls. “All the guilds are represented: bakers, butchers, grocers, millers, smiths, weavers and more. They all stand together to ensure fair treatment from the aristocracy.” Within each tent stood a vendor calling out to passersby, boasting of the quality of their wares.
Rose scanned Cardiff’s bustling market. The lively scene could never compare to the Berwick market of her youth, but the colors and smells brought a rush of memories to her heart. She closed her eyes and saw Berwick’s maze of cobbled streets and towering five-story homes. She saw the foreign merchants with carpets, tapestries, and spices for sale. And of course, she remembered her favorite market stalls—the fishermen where her father and brothers had often worked.
“What are you thinking?” Tristan asked, his gentle voice pulling her back to the present.
Her eyes flew open. “Forgive me,” she said. “I was in another place, another time.” She stepped forward and allowed herself to enjoy the new and glorious sights. “Where should we begin?” she asked.
“Let us stroll the market at our leisure,” Tristan suggested. “And while we do, we can decide upon the particulars of our meeting, courtship, and, of course, our wedding so that our stories align.”
She smiled. “Well, I suppose we should start at the beginning.” She dipped in a deep curtsy. “My Christian name is Rose Coira MacVie Sinclair. What ‘tis yers, Captain?”
“Tristan Emanuel Thatcher,” he answered, bowing at the waist.
She pressed her hand to her chest. “That would make me Mistress Tristan Emanuel Thatcher.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, I suppose you are. I honestly never thought I would hear a woman say those words.”
She laughed. “Well, ye do not appear to be overly distressed.”
He offered her his arm as they continued to stroll through the market. “Not in the least. Now, let us decide on how we met, keeping in mind our first meeting must have happened sooner than it actually did for us to have wed before I made port on Skye and received my father’s message.”
They passed by a stall selling fabrics in every color: scarlet, yellow, greens, and black. “We certainly do not need anything here,” Rose said, quickening her pace.
He laughed. “I promise, no more tunics.”
They moved onto the next stall. She stared absently at the wooden toys and ragdolls while she considered the question of how they met. “I suppose we should hold to the truth as much as we can…One evening on the Messenger, ye spotted something adrift on the open water.”
Tristan joined in. “And much to my surprise, it was a beautiful shipwrecked woman.”
Rose felt her cheeks warm. “I thought we decided to keep to the facts.”
He stopped and took her hands, his face serious. “Rose, believe me when I tell you that you are infinitely beautiful.”
She dipped her head, her gaze dropping to the ground. No man since her husband had called her beautiful or looked at her the way the captain did. “So are ye,” she said softly, meeting his gaze once more. For a moment, she could not breathe as she lost herself within the depths of his dark eyes.
Tristan cleared his throat and led her past several stalls. “Let’s see then, so you were sailing your new skiff when a storm swept your boat out to sea.”
She also cleared her throat. “Indeed, and then ye rescued me and nursed me back to health.”
“And then we fell in love.”
Rose’s stomach fluttered at the mention of love from Tristan’s lips.
Don’t be daft, Rose.
This was a mission.
It was not about love.
It was about saving his family and bringing greater wealth to hers.
Her eyes brightened, thinking of the Messenger. “Were we wed at sea?”
Tristan nodded. “That is a fine idea. It would save us from the blasphemy of lying about a chapel wedding. Let us agree then that Philip performed the ceremony, and I as captain authorized the union. It will be as though we handfasted.”
