Page 16 of Rose
Chapter Seven
Rose did not know how long she slept, but when she arose, she felt strong, almost like herself again. The captain’s cabin was shrouded in darkness. She lay there for some time feeling the subtle rocking of the ship. She had never been at sea in a larger vessel before. As much as she missed her family, her brothers and their dear wives, anticipation coursed through her, warming her insides. After all, she had no choice but to accept her current situation. She did not expect the good captain to turn his ship around and travel back north to the Hebrides. He had already done so much for her. She owed him and his crew her life. Not only had they dragged her nearly drowned body on board, but they had nursed her back to health. If that wasn’t enough, Captain Thatcher had quitted his cabin to afford her greater comfort and privacy.
Her mind lingered for a moment on the good captain. A smile lifted one side of her lips. She had dubbed him the ‘Good Captain’ after he carried her back to his quarters and gently laid her on his bed. Before he left, he had looked down at her with what she could only have called admiration in his gaze—as if he had assessed her character and found her worthy of reward. According to his new understanding of how people were meant to be measured, she, who had felt useless and insignificant, now had merit and purpose. It made her feel like anything was possible.
Just then her stomach growled. She lay for a while longer, debating whether to go in search of food, but then muffled notes of music reached her ears. She recognized the rhythm. Excitement churned within her. She fumbled with the covers, which had twisted around her legs while she slept. Then she stood and eased the door open. She followed the lilting sound, the pipes and whistles up the stairs. Torch fire illuminated the deck. Men were scattered about, reclining on the floor or on benches in leisurely poses, enjoying a break from the grueling work of the seafarer.
She scanned the faces and spotted the captain sitting at a table in the corner with Philip. She locked eyes with the quarter master and watched as he leaned in to say something to Tristan who turned, a smile spreading across his face as he stood and walked toward her. His movement drew the gazes of the other men. In the next instant, the music stopped, and everyone was silent. She felt their eyes on her. She stood tall, remembering she was a MacVie, despite how the stares made her want to fidget.
“Good evening, Rose,” Tristan said with a bow. “We were just giving you a little more time to rest before coming to fetch you for dinner.”
Rose could not help but smile. “Good evening, Captain Thatcher. That is good to hear because I’m famished.” On the captain’s arm, she crossed the deck toward his table. Philip stood at their approach and bade her take his chair.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I’m quite happy to find my own seat.”
Philip insisted “There is much for you and the captain to discuss. In fact, he has a problem that I believe you might be able to help solve.”
Rose raised her brows in surprise, but then she nodded eagerly. “I am happy to help.”
Tristan lifted his brow at Philip. Rose could tell he was not pleased by Philip’s admission, and when he spoke next, she was assured of his displeasure.
“Philip,” he said sternly.
“Yes, Captain,” Philip replied, a mischievous expression on his face.
“Your presence is no longer required. Report to your room for the remainder of the night.”
Philip dipped his head to Tristan and then to Rose. “I agree. My work here is already done.” Then he turned on his heel. His long, slim legs carried him across the deck to the hatch. Then he disappeared down below.
“What was Philip talking about? If ye do, indeed, have a problem that I could somehow help with, I would be honored.”
Tristan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “There is simply some messy business with my father that I’m trying to work through.”
“Would ye like to talk about it?” she asked.
He flashed her a bright smile. “At the moment, not in the least.” He raised his hands to his men and called loudly. “At present, I wish to fill my belly and make merry—for it is the feast of St. John the Baptist.”
The next instant, the men cheered and took up their pipes and whistles.
Above the din of music, Rose leaned close to the captain and said, “I’ve lost track of the days, it would seem.”
“One of the many hazards of being lost at sea, I suppose,” he said as he filled her mug from a steaming pitcher. “How are you feeling?”
“Amazing,” she answered. “I’m really quite well.”
He raised his cup to her. “Glad I am to hear, but let us remain cautious. Do not overtask yourself.”
“Agreed,” she said, smiling as she brought the mug to her lips. The warm brew was tinged with cinnamon. She had never tasted its equal. “This is delicious,” she said, before taking a long draught.
“Wait until you taste the dried venison. My supplier is unmatched in quality.”
At that moment, the young cabin boy appeared with a tray piled high with cuts of meat and slabs of bread smothered in butter. The boy first visited the captain’s table.
“Thank ye, Simon,” she said after he set three large strips of meat and two pieces of bread on the table in front of her.
The lad blushed. “You remembered my name.”
“’Tis easy to remember as I am wearing yer hose.”
