Page 36 of Rose
Tristan turned and watched Rose cross the deck. She looked magnificent in her simple, deep green tunic. Red curls skimmed her waist. She smiled as she walked past the crew who, in turn, dutifully bowed and greeted her, but then Tristan noticed the appreciative gazes that continued to follow her as she approached the forecastle.
“Your men admire your choice of bride,” Philip said behind him.
“Of course, they do,” Tristan said softly as he continued to watch her. “There is much about Rose to admire.” He turned then and looked at Philip. “Have you sent the message to my father?”
Philip nodded. “A rider left Cardiff yesterday bound for London with your marriage announcement and your apologies to both your father and the Roxwell family.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Philip.”
“What is excellent?” Rose asked as she lifted the hem of her kirtle to climb the stairs.
Tristan reached down to assist her. “Philip has just informed me that he sent out a message to my father yesterday, announcing our marriage.”
Rose’s eyes flashed wide, but then her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. “And so it begins.”
Philip raised his cup of ale. “To new beginnings,” he said before downing the remainder of his drink. Then he set his cup down. “I will leave you both now to break your fast while I check our water stores.” He bowed to Rose before hastening down the stairs.
Now that they were alone, the feelings she had stirred within him during the night came rushing back.
He had held her, buried his face in her hair, and it had felt wonderful.
He looked down at her. She stood stiffly at his side. The silence between them dragged on too long. He cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”
Rose smiled brightly. “Fine, like a babe, never better…and ye, how did ye sleep, Captain—I mean, Tristan?”
“Very well, indeed,” he said quickly. But then he felt a pang of guilt for having lied to her. “Rose,” he began and placed his hand on hers. “I must tell you that I—”
“Captain and Mrs. Thatcher.”
At the sound of William’s voice, Rose snatched her hand away as if she had been caught with her fingers in someone else’s coffer.
“Good morrow, William.” Tristan said. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” the older man replied. “And what about you two? How did you both sleep?”
“Fine,” Rose blurted.
“Just fine,” Tristan added.
William beamed up at them as he finished climbing the stairs to the forecastle. “Glad I am to hear. I am ready to set sail when you are,” he said to Tristan, but then he turned his gaze to Rose. “But not before I meet your wife. It is an honor, Mistress Thatcher.”
A beautiful smile curved her lips. “Please call me Rose.”
William’s face lit up in response. “Then you must call me William.”
“Agreed,” Rose said.
“Captain!”
Everyone turned and looked down to the main deck where Philip stood.
“The men are ready to set sail and await your orders.”
Tristan nodded and took her hand, gently leading her to the far side of the forecastle. “Are you ready?” he said in a low voice.
Rose drew a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “I may be a bit nervous, but I’ve not wavered from my decision for a moment. Do not fash yerself about me, Tristan. I’m a MacVie. MacVies were born for adventure.”
