Page 27 of Rose
“Perfect,” she exclaimed. “Then our meeting and marriage are settled. What is left to decide?”
He smiled. “My sister will ask after decorations, and what we served for our wedding feast.”
She wrinkled her brow. “How interesting can we make it? Wouldn’t we be limited to what supplies ye had on board?”
“For such an occasion, I would have sent men to the mainland to fetch whatever provisions we required on our journey south to Skye.”
“In that case…” Rose’s words trailed off as she started to move about the market for ideas. She picked up a bunch of dried lavender. “Let us say that we hung bunches of lavender off the stair rails leading to the forecastle where the ceremony took place.” Then she crossed to another table where she touched fine silk. “What is yer sister’s favorite color?”
“Last I knew it was blue, but you know how changeable the young mind is.”
“Indeed, I do,” Rose said while she considered the different fabric shades. “We hung dark blue silk-bunting across the starboard rails, and sky-blue portside.”
“The color of your eyes,” he said, his lips lifting once more in that sideways smile. She quickly turned away from his handsomeness and appeared to consider the contents of the next table; however, it took her mind a moment to catch up with her hand. Realizing she was holding a small fish, she turned and smiled. “We…er…served fried kippers.”
“Excellent,” he said, laughing “What else?”
She put down the fish. Her gaze danced over the stalls on the other side of the green, which were piled high with fruits, vegetables, and grains. She darted over to one with lovely red apples. Her mother and her sister used to sell apples at market. She picked one up and inhaled its sweet scent. “I love stewed apples.”
“I do too,” he said. “How does stewed apples with cream sound?”
“Heavenly, and fresh bread with lots of butter,” she added.
“And stuffed quail,” he said. “To my father, an occasion is not acceptable without some kind of stuffed game bird.”
She smiled. “I must say, it sounds as though we had a lovely wedding.”
“Indeed,” he said, before patting his stomach. “So lovely in fact that I’m afraid our imaginings have churned up a true hunger in me. Would you be interested in picnicking on the green?”
At that moment, her own stomach growled. “Ye’ve had yer answer, Captain,” she said, laughing. “I’m famished.”
He gently took her hand. “You know, Rose, if our story is to be believed, do you not think it best to call me, Tristan?”
Her stomach fluttered, but this time not from hunger. Using his Christian name felt so intimate and made their charade seem that much more real, which was, of course, exactly what they were hoping to achieve. “All right, then. I will.”
He smiled. “Well, aren’t you going to try it out, or are you now going to avoid saying my name altogether.”
She straightened her shoulders and gave him a stern look. “I will say yer name when the moment demands it, Captain, and not a moment—”
“Tristan,” he said, interrupting her.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know yer name, Captain.”
He drew closer, his deep-set eyes holding her own gaze captive. “Say it.”
She bristled. “Ye act as if I cannot say yer name, but I am very capable of speaking. I’m not a simpleton.”
“Then say it,” he insisted.
Her gaze dropped to the ground. “Tristan,” she said quietly.
“Look at me and say it,” he bade her softly.
She swallowed hard and looked up. They locked eyes. Her heart started to race. She licked her lips. “Tristan.”
A slow smile curved his lips wide. “I like how you say it…Tristan,” he said, imitating her accent.
Rose blushed again. Her hands flew to her cheeks. “’Tis not respectable for a woman my age to go about blushing.”
