Page 57 of Return of the Scot
Being with him brought out all sorts of memories and feelings from before the war, before Shanna had made up the lies about him. Made her remember that she…loved him.
Jaime stilled, a lump in her throat. Her breath was completely gone. Loved him. Aye. That was the rub, wasn’t it? The tragic truth. Knowing her own heart, and even after experiencing what they just had, Jaime still didn’t see how to make this work between them.
Which meant traveling to Ireland together was probably—nay, most definitely—a bad idea. Since they’d been unable to keep their hands off each other every time they’d met the last few days, there was no telling what tempting mischief they’d get up to on a ship in the middle of the ocean.
As she got into her bedchamber, a crack of thunder shuddered the window. And then just as suddenly, rain pelted down, pinging wildly against the glass. Jaime refused to take it as a bad omen, however. For if it were bad, then they would have been rained on in the yard, right?
13
An emergency with one of her ships delayed Jaime from deciding about traveling to Ireland the following day.
She was there working alongside her men to transfer cargo from one ship to another after a mast had been struck by lightning in the storm the night before. The needed repairs threatened to delay the shipping, and that could not happen.
With most of the Andrewson ships commissioned for work, it took some finagling, but Jaime was able’ to configure a different route and schedule with Emilia’s help. Barring any further calamities, it would enable them to be about their business in a timely fashion, with none of her clients dissatisfied.
Jaime’s lady’s maid, Alison, had roused her before dawn to tell her the news of the mast. In a flash, she’d been out of bed, ready to take on the misfortune within a quarter-hour. Her hair was tied up in an untidy knot, and she was wearing the least fashionable of her working gowns and her sturdy boots. Physical labor nixed the need for fashion.
It was a good thing Aunt Beatrice had left that morning, for she might have truly lost consciousness if she saw Jaime working so well alongside the men, slickened with sweat and muck.
Dawn had barely broken when Jaime’s work was interrupted by a slow rise in the chatter, and her men pointing toward the docks. She followed their gazes. Standing there in breeches and linen shirts with their sleeves rolled up was the Duke of Sutherland, his cousin Malcolm, and his friends Alec and Euan, the latter two whom she briefly recalled from the ball.
“Oh God, what’s happened?” she murmured, straightening. She could only think a major disaster had happened to bring the men here to her ship.
“Pardon?” Emilia said.
“Nothing. I’ll be right back.” Jaime hurried down the gangplank, her boots thundering against the wood, to the four waiting aristocrats. All larger than life and dressed considerably down for their stations. Below the elbows of Lorne’s shirtsleeves, his skin was exposed. Well-muscled forearms they were, but his left arm bore the brunt of a massive scar. She didn’t want to stare and quickly averted her gaze. “Good morning, sirs, how can I help ye? Has something happened?”
“We heard about the ship,” Lorne said, nodding. “We came to help.”
Jaime wrinkled her nose at him. She could not have been more surprised if the mast had reassembled itself. “What?”
He glanced behind her and pointed. “Is that no’ your ship?”
Jaime didn’t look. “Aye.”
“With the broken mast?” He slowly spoke as if trying to color a picture for her.
“Aye.”
He waited perhaps for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he continued, “Thought ye could use a few extra hands. We were all meeting today for a bit of exercise, and well, this will do nicely—as well as help ye out.”
She stood in stunned silence for a moment, trying to comprehend. But her tired brain couldn’t put two and two together. “Why would ye want to help me?”
The three men with Lorne raised eyebrows in his direction and then excused themselves toward the ship to get to work.
“Nay, do no’ go up there,” Jaime said.
The men pivoted around, puzzled expressions on their faces. However, on the ship deck, Emilia saw the men coming and called them to her, embracing the extra help as Jaime should have. The men looked to her for confirmation, and Jaime gave a resigned nod.
She turned back to Lorne. It was hard to meet his gaze after last night. She’d let herself fall under his spell once more, succumbed to pleasure, and now he was here, attempting to help her. The last thing he should be doing. They should be far from each other. And most certainly, not helping each other. “What’s this all about?”
Lorne let out a short, exasperated sigh. “Exactly as I said. We came to help.”
“I do no’ need ye.”
“I know. Ye’re a verra capable woman. If these men were no’ in your employ, I believe ye’d try to take on the whole bloody task yourself.” He sounded irritated, and she couldn’t blame him.
He was not wrong. She did like being in control. And she was at present acting like more than her usual stubborn self. “How did ye find out about it?”
