Page 55 of Rose
Chapter Twenty One
Rose felt unsteady on her feet as she walked along the bustling wharf. She glanced back at the Messenger. Dockhands worked alongside the ship’s crew to unload crates of wine, oil, and stores of ale and water. Rose would have preferred to be among their number and not on her way to a veritable castle. Still, her feet moved forward, one in front of the other. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay on course. Eventually, the tides would turn, justice would be done, and she would find herself back aboard the Messenger on her way home to Scotland.
Weaving around wagons, laden beasts, racing sailors, and teeming warehouses, Tristan led her to the outskirts of the wharf to the largest stable she had ever seen. Immediately, a slim lad with a mop of black hair hastened toward them. “Good morrow, Captain Thatcher. Welcome home.”
Tristan smiled. “Good morrow, Tom.” Then he motioned to Rose. “Tom, this is Rose.”
Tom smiled. “Nice to meet you, Rose.” After he bowed, he darted away, calling, “I will saddle your horse straight away.”
Tristan followed the stable boy, holding tightly to Rose’s hand. She was grateful for the security of his touch. Inhaling the scent of horses and fresh hay, she admired the beasts that kicked at the ground as they walked past. Tom turned left down a wide corridor. Above the closed gate at the end of the hall, she read the name Thatcher.
She drew a sharp breath as they stepped into a large room lined with four stalls on both sides. “These are all yer family’s horses?” she asked.
He simply nodded.
She swallowed hard. Tristan had more wealth than she could have imagined. Life had taught her that wealth and power went hand in hand. She trusted Tristan with her life, but what sort of people were his parents?
Tom led a white stallion from one of the stalls. The horse knickered and tossed its head, fanning out its creamy white mane. Tristan released her hand and reached for the horse who nudged his owner playfully
“Hello Tom,” Tristan crooned, pressing his forehead to the horse’s muzzle.
The lad holding the horse’s reins looked up at Rose. “Captain Thatcher named this beauty after me, he did.” The boy smiled proudly, revealing a mouth of crooked teeth.
“Tom is one of the finest stable hands in all of London,” Tristan explained. Then he reached into his purse and withdrew several coins, which he placed in the boy’s hand. “He does the work of ten hands with his two.”
Rose smiled at young Tom whose cheeks burned crimson. He bowed his head in thanks to Tristan before he got to work readying their mount for the journey to Tristan’s home.
Tristan reached for her and held her gently in his arms. “Are you ready, Rose Thatcher?”
Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she drew a deep breath. Standing on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am ready as I will ever be.”
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. She sighed into his kiss, savoring his taste and the richly masculine scent of his body. When he drew away, he lifted her in his arms and set her high on the saddle. Then he swung up behind her.
A smile curved his lips as he picked up the reins. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought home to meet my parents.”
Her hands flew in front of her face. “Saints above!”
He chuckled. “Trust me, they are going to love you.”
“Aye,” she scoffed. “Once they reconcile themselves to the fact that I’m the daughter of a fishmonger and not a baron.”
“You are the daughter of a hardworking man, which is the only measure of worth in my mind.”
As they set out from the stables, the narrow maze of dirt roads blurred into ribbons of motion and color. She was too distracted to take in the new world unfolding around her.
“Have courage, my Highland lass,” he whispered in her ear.
His words imbued her spine, her shoulders, her heart, and her mind with strength. Once more, she straightened, sitting tall. This was her moment. Her contribution to the cause. Thanks in no small part to her, one English nobleman now knew the bitter taste of disappointment. Baron Roxwell’s coffers would remain empty. The wickedness he might have carried out with access to the Thatcher fortune would never come to pass, all because she had decided one lonely night to make her own destiny.
One person could, indeed, change the fortune of many.
She opened her eyes to the world. The streets and buildings came into sharp focus. Up ahead, Birch Heights dominated the skyline. She gripped Tristan’s arm, which encircled her waist as they thundered through the tall gates and into a small courtyard, paved in white stone just as Philip had described.
Straightaway, a young serving lad burst from the stable to take their horse. Tristan swung down, then reached for Rose. She slid into his strong arms. “Thank you, Darby,” Tristan said to the lad as he handed over the reins. “Rose, this is Darby. He’s been with us since he was a babe.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Darby,” Rose said.
The boy flashed Rose a lopsided grin.
