Laird of Longing by Tammy Andresen

Chapter Two

After nearly twodays without eating, the food was delicious. Sophie didn’t know what it was, but she wasn’t sure she cared.

The rotund cook stared at her with a half-dreamy smile as he loaded more onto her wooden plate. “Ye like it, lass?”

“Very much,” she answered with a smile. She’d noted the Scottish accent yesterday. Were they headed for Scotland? That suited her perfectly. Another country would do just fine.

Murmurs filled the doorway as several men attempted to peek into the tiny space. She ignored them. Her instincts told her she needed a single ally. One person who would provide for her basic needs and keep her safe. The cook seemed like a good choice. Not only would he keep her well fed, but he operated in one of the only private spaces aboard the ship.

Not that she’d meant to be discovered. Hunger had finally driven her out of her hiding spot. She’d waited until the middle of the night, but she’d still managed to be caught when the cook had returned to the galley for a late-night snack.

“I’m glad.” He smiled back, stepping a bit closer. “Do ye need more?”

He’d already filled her plate three times. “No, sir. I believe this has been more than sufficient. It was just delicious.”

His grin widened. “Thank ye, kindly.”

Yes. The cook would do nicely.

“Back to work,” a voice, loud and deep, bellowed from behind her. “Now!”

A trill of fear skittered down Sophie’s spine as she sat up straighter. Who was that? Belatedly she realized the flaw in her plan with the cook. Cooks were not the boss. Drat. She hadn’t thought of that.

She heard the scurry of feet as men rushed to do as the man with the booming voice bid, and she wondered what sort of person he was to inspire such quick obedience. By the sound of him, he was large…and possibly mean…and…

Her stomach turned, and she set down the plate she’d been enjoying just moments before. Then she rose from the stool she’d been seated on and slowly turned to face the bearer of the voice…

With her height, she looked into the faces of most men. Some, she even glanced down upon. But as she came about, her gaze collided with an Adam’s apple. Strong and prominent, it rested in a thickly muscled neck that widened out to obscenely large shoulders.

She swallowed down a lump as she automatically dipped into a curtsy.

A low rumble erupted from his throat and her chin tilted up to look into the beast’s face. At least he sounded like a beast. And his sheer size…

Her light blue eyes collided with a pair so dark, they looked almost black. His brows were drawn down into two straight lines of irritation. A strong nose and stronger cheekbones were set off by a ridiculously square jaw. This man was the furthest thing from an English lord she’d ever encountered. His hair was overlong, brushing his shoulders.

He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, quite the contrary. But he looked irritated, and big, and intimidatingly dangerous… She swallowed a nervous lump as her hands pressed into the folds of her skirt.

He crossed his arms as he grimaced down at her. “Do ye ken what we do to stowaways?”

The cook gasped behind her but said not a word.

She winced. Apparently, the man who’d just fed her three plates wasn’t going to jump to her defense now. Clearly, throwing her lot in with the cook had been a mistake. “I’ve not a clue,” she answered, attempting to keep her voice from shaking.

“Me lord,” the cook behind her implored, his voice holding a note of pleading.

Lord? Was it just a term of respect? Something they called the captain? Not that it mattered. But perhaps if he were nobility, she might be able to—

“We throw them overboard.” The man growled low and deep.

She trembled, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms about her waist. Would he really toss her over the side of the ship? He looked like he might be carved from stone. A marble statue who probably wouldn’t budge from his stance. Drawing in a shaking breath, she held up her hands. She didn’t look at them, her eyes still shut but she could feel them shaking. “Please.”

“Begging will not help ye.”

She took the tiniest step closer, finally opening her eyes, trying to calm her racing thoughts. “I could work off my debt.”

He sneered at her, his lip curling. “And how do ye plan to do that?”

She shook her head, her mind trying to land on something that would be of use. “I could aid the cook. Mend sails—”

“Neither is necessary.”

Her trembling grew worse. Think, Sophie. “I’m sure there must be something I could do.”

He harrumphed. “There isn’t.”

“Oh, but there must be,” she gasped.

“Perhaps ye should have thought of the consequences before ye boarded my ship without permission,” he fired back.

Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips even as she inched closer to him again. She had to win this man over. “Consequences?” She nibbled at her lip. “You’re going to toss me into the ocean?”

He didn’t answer as he stared down at her with hard eyes. Was he bluffing? Was he serious? There was only one way to find out.

“Can I make a request?” She dropped her hands then, smoothing her rumpled silk skirts as she attempted to gather her wits. She’d call him out with a bit of humor and hoped he shared her affection for witty bravery.

“Request?”

“I can’t swim,” she said, attempting to make her eyes as wide as possible. “Would you kill me some other way before you toss me into the water? I don’t wish to drown.”

* * *

The woman was completely daft.That was the only thing that Ewan could think as he stared down at her large blue eyes.

Pretty didn’t even begin to describe her.

Angelic.

Divine.

Stunningly beautiful.

He gave up. Words just weren’t good enough. A thick mass of dark blonde hair ringed her head, several strands falling about her creamy shoulders, exposed thanks to the blue silk gown that hugged her curves.

And showed her cleavage. Not ample but quite nice.

Her features were flawless, a light flush staining her ivory cheeks, which matched the delicate pink of her lips beautifully. All features he could admire thanks to her height.

“Kill ye first?” he asked, not quite able to keep the incredulous note out of his voice. Dear God, he was losing this exchange. She’d completely called his bluff. She was a lone woman on a ship full of rough men, she ought to be terrified. Instead, she stood there looking as though she were in the middle of a social event. Her smile was relaxed as her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the galley.

She nodded. “Hanging sounds dreadful, but still better than drowning.” She tapped her chin, her large blue eyes, fringed with dark lashes, crinkling at the corners even as her lush lips pressed into a thin line. “I should like to be shot if you can spare the lead.”

It was official. The woman was mad.

“Shot?”

She nodded. “I can only assume a man as clearly adept as you appear to be would know how to kill a person quickly and cleanly with a pistol?”

He noted the compliment inserted into the middle of the request. Adept? She wasn’t crazy after all, unless crazy smart counted. She was manipulating him.

He shook his head. What was worse, she was correct. He could no more hurt her than he could harm a puppy or a baby bird.

Ewan was not a man prone toward violence. Odd, considering his late father’s affection fer it. “Aye. I ken how to kill well enough.”

He saw it then, the way her irises darkened and her skin paled. She was frightened. And that only softened him further. He should have worn the blindfold as Cutter had suggested. This was the sort of woman a man wanted to tuck under his arm and protect. Which was ridiculous. She’d invaded his ship. But as he stared down at her worried face, he let out a sigh of half frustration, half resignation.

“Cookie,” he said to the cook behind her. “Bring two buckets of hot water to my room, along with the tub.”

“Aye me lord,” the man replied. “I’ll ‘ave Stew and—”

“Ye’ll do the work yerself. And then we’ll discuss yer punishment fer feeding her without permission.”

Her eyes dilated. “Oh no. Please,” she said again, stepping closer.

He liked that she’d stood up for Cookie now. It demonstrated character. As did the fact that she hadn’t wept, or begged, or used the usual female tactics for getting out of trouble. “He kens the rules, Miss, and he broke them.”

Then he reached for her arm, to take her to his cabin. The moment his fingers wrapped around her smooth flesh, she gave a violent shiver and made to jerk away.

His touch had been gentle enough and the strength of her words had made him certain she was no wilting flower. But his light touch had frightened her considerably.

“What’s yer name?” he asked, not letting go but not moving either, stilling to put her at ease.

“S-Sophie.” Her lip trembled.

“Sophie,” he repeated far more quietly and more gently. “I’d like ye to explain exactly why ye boarded one of my ships, but it feels like a conversation that requires some privacy.”

She relaxed a bit, and this time when he tugged, she moved, walking down the hall with him.

When they reached the ladder, he saw her look up and then back down at her dress. He could see the problem. With its length and fit, there was no way she could gracefully maneuver up the ladder on her own.

“How’d ye get down it?” he asked.

She frowned as she stared up the hatch. “I hiked up my skirts.”

His eyebrows rose as he noted the problem. She couldn’t very well lift them in his company.

Well, if she were a different sort of woman, she might. Ewan was already aware of several facts. This was a lady of society. Her dress, her manner of speaking, and her innocence all spoke of breeding.

And she was an innocent.

A married woman would have been far more aware of the duties a ship full of men would want a woman to perform. And it wasn’t sewing their sails.

Without another word, he wrapped an arm about her waist and lifted her against his body to carry her up the ladder.

She screamed, clutching him even as she gave another violent jolt.

He grimaced. Another fact was obvious. While she’d sparred verbally with an ease that was admirable, the moment he touched her she was frightened half to death. Some man had abused her, there was little doubt. He clenched a fist in the fabric of her skirts.

She’d have to explain, but he could already guess as to the why she’d snuck onto his ship.

“Lass,” he said as though speaking to a frightened animal, dropping his voice to a soothing low rumble. “If I’m not going to toss ye over the side, I may as well keep ye from breaking yer neck on the ladder.”

His words helped her relax and her body pressed closer to his as she held his shoulders. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Ye’er welcome.” He quickly climbed the ladder, and stepping on deck, he considered whether or not to set her down. The boat swayed with the swells, and while sailors were accustomed to the motion, she was surely not. And in that dress…

He continued to carry her, making his way to his cabin.

“You can put me down,” she squeaked, tightening her grip.

“I’ll carry ye so that ye don’t fall.” He opened the door and paused in the doorway. While spring was turning into summer, out here on the open ocean, it was still cold. Her exposed skin raised with goose pimples. “Listen, Sophie,” he said slowly as he studied her face. Not because he really liked looking at it and not because her body fit to his with a snugness that felt…right. Simply because he wished to gauge her reaction. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Yes?” she asked, her eyes now big as saucers.

“First ye’re going to take a bath. I’ll wait just outside the door. Then ye’ll dress in clean clothes. A sailor’s shirt and pants will likely be best.” It was all he had, and the baggy garments would do a far better job of hiding her curves than that dress. Even now, if he notched his chin down, he had a fantastic view of her delightful cleavage. “And then ye’re going to tell me what he did to ye to make ye run.”

“What who did?” she asked, but he saw the truth flash across her face. The fear, the pain, the worry that made the color drain and the light leave her eyes.

“I don’t ken,” he answered. “That’s what ye’re going to tell me.”