Page 64 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Simon,” she said firmly. “You and Tom were only supposed to get me to Rory and his men and accompany us to Scotland. He is the one who is supposed to keep me safe and get me to Sinclair and he is doing that. I am not leaving this ship, and you should not want me to,” she added grimly. “Not with de Buci’s men somewhere in Ayr, waiting to kill me. We are safe on the Mary Margaret and we are staying on the Mary Margaret.”

“But Tom—” Simon began almost desperately, only to snap his mouth shut when Rory appeared at Elysande’s side and eyed him suspiciously.

“Are we leaving soon?” Elysande asked to draw his attention away from the English soldier.

“We already left,” Rory said quietly. “The captain set sail the minute we finished moving the horses down here to the hold. We are under way.”

“Oh,” Elysande breathed, relaxing into him. She hadn’t even realized they were moving, but then the harbor was calm, and they probably were not moving quickly.

“So that’s the way of it,” Simon said suddenly, his voice cold.

Elysande glanced to him with confusion, and then followed his gaze to where Rory had automatically slid his arm around her waist and drawn her into his chest. After only one night as lovers, she’d already gotten so used to his touch and easy affection that she hadn’t even noticed.

“The way of what?” Rory asked, his voice carrying a warning that Simon completely ignored.

“Why ye kept her locked in that bedchamber with you at the inn for three days and nights,” Simon said sharply.

Rory narrowed his eyes, but his tone was mild when he said, “If there’s something ye’d like to say, Simon, say it.”

Simon glared at him briefly, but instead asked Elysande, “Are you still a maiden?”

Elysande gasped at the impertinent question, but it was Rory who answered, “That is none o’ yer business. And unless ye’re wanting me to throw ye off this ship, I’ll thank ye no’ to speak to me wife that way.”

“Wife?” Simon barked with shock.

“Aye. I introduced her to the innkeeper as me wife, Lady Elysande Buchanan, if ye’ll recall, and she answered to the name and title. In Scotland, that is consent and makes us married,” he growled. “Now leave us, I would talk to me wife.”

If Simon was shocked by this announcement, Elysande was no less so. Quite dazed, she stumbled over her own feet when Rory urged her away from Simon and toward the back of the cargo hold. Pausing then, he glanced back to be sure they had privacy, before looking her over with concern and asking, “Are ye all right, love?”

“Aye. Nay. I do not know,” she finished finally, and then asked, “Are we really married by Scottish law?”

“Aye,” he assured her. “Or as good as, but I’ll no’ hold ye to it do ye no’ wish it. Though the truth is I’d like to,” he admitted. “I’d like nothing better in this world than to take ye to Buchanan and marry ye good and proper in front o’ a priest and with me sister and brothers and all their mates there as I claim ye as me own in front o’ God and all.”

“You would?” she asked, a smile of wonder claiming her lips.

“Aye. I love ye, lass. I should ha’e told ye that when ye told me o’ yer feelings, but I had other things on me mind,” he admitted with a grimace. “I’m telling ye now though. I love ye so much that I’d even move to that godforsaken country ye’re from and help ye run Kynardersley. Though I’d really rather no’,” he confessed.

While she was still blinking at that, Rory added, “And so ye ken, I’m no’ just some seventh son without prospects. Me parents left me good fertile land here in Scotland, and I’ve earned enough coin with me healing to build a fine castle on it. But as I said, I love ye enough I’ll move to England do ye wish it and—” Pausing abruptly, he glanced around with suddenly wild eyes, and then rushed to the corner where a bucket rested next to the wall. He had barely dropped to his knees before it when he began heaving up whatever he had in his stomach.

“Well, was no’ that the most charming proposal ye’ve ever heard?” Alick asked cheerfully as he stopped beside her.

Elysande peered at him with disbelief.

“Well, except for the spewing,” he added, and then told her, “That has nothing to do with you, lass. Or even with the idea o’ living in England. Rory gets sick on the sea, is all.”

“He does?” She eyed Rory with concern.

“Aye. Makes him terrible sick,” Alick said with a shrug and complete lack of concern. “He’ll be spewing all the way to Thurso.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elysande breathed with disbelief, and then asked, “Where is his bag of weeds?”

“On his mount still. Why?” Alick asked with surprise.

“Because I need it,” she said dryly, and hurried to the horses with Alick on her heels.

“What’re ye going to do?” Alick asked, lifting off the small leather bag for her before she could reach it.

“Make him a tincture to soothe his stomach,” she muttered, opening the bag.

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