Much Ado About Marriage (20 page)

Thomas looked about for Simmons. The portly first mate was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Thomas was alone on the foredeck. He leaned farther over the railing.

Simmons, his stomach peeping from beneath his too-tight shirt, was now holding Fia’s hands. Under Robert’s close tutelage, Simmons pranced through the intricate steps of a French dance. His round face perspired freely, his chin to his chest as he stared at his feet. Robert stood to one side and shouted instructions as the couple passed near.

“Simmons!”
Thomas bellowed.

There was a satisfying and abrupt halt to the mewl of the flute. Simmons made a quick, awkward bow to Fia and scurried to the ladder.

Thomas was about to order the men back to their tasks when the flute began again. The merriment resumed as Fia began to whirl about on Robert’s arm, her skirts flying once
again. There was such joy, such happiness, in her expression that Thomas held his breath.
By the saints, she is lovely.

“Ye yelled fer me, Cap’n?” The first mate’s face was red from his exertion.

“Call the crew and turn eastward. We’ll draw more sail and speed.”

“East?”

“’Tis a shorter route and will let us reach London two, perhaps three days sooner.”

“But we’ll have to navigate the reef along—”

Thomas glared.

“Aye, aye! Ye know about the reef, o’ course.” Simmons squinted up at the rigging as he scratched the seat of his loose breeches. “I’ll turn her if ye wish it, though I doubt we’ll catch a swifter wind—”

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, aye, Cap’n!” The first mate bawled the orders, and the flute once again ceased. Thomas eyed his crew as they scrambled to obey. He would have all of them scrubbing and cleaning and so tired that not a one of them would remember having seen his wife’s ankles. Now, all he had to do was find something to busy Robert, too.

“Amazing, the effect marriage has on some men.”

Thomas turned on his heel to face Robert.

The Scotsman was leaning against the railing, his rich wine-colored doublet half-open, his white shirt unlaced at the throat from the physical exertion of dancing. “Well,
mon ami
? Why did you call the entire crew to stations? Are we under attack?”

“Need I remind you that we are upon a ship, sailing through the sea? The crew needs always to be at attention.”

“So we are, but you didn’t need to—” Robert looked up
at the sails. “We’re turning.” His brow lowered. “We’re to take the shore route?”

“Aye, ’tis faster.”

“And riskier.”

“I’ve done it many times. Besides, ’twill give the crew something to do other than leer at my wife’s ankles.” He pinned Robert with a stare.

“Oh-ho! Now we reach the crux. You’re jealous again.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, tension crackling through him. He was spoiling for a fight. He thought a good thumping might turn Robert’s thoughts away from Fia. If nothing else, Thomas could make sure the libertine was in no condition to dance for the rest of the voyage. “Say no more, Montley, else I’ll consider it wrongly. We’re turning now and will make London by midweek, one, perhaps two days sooner than if we continued on this route.”

“Sooner?” Robert’s brow lowered. “Surely we don’t need to hurry so—”

“But we do,” Thomas interrupted abruptly. There was only one reason Robert would wish more time at sea, and that was to flirt with Thomas’s wife. “I’ve an annulment to procure.”

“I’faith, you weren’t thinking of your annulment when you turned the ship, and you know it. You ordered the men back to work to keep them from looking upon the fair Fia.”

“That ‘fair Fia’ is
my
wife.”

“For now.”

Thomas’s blood boiled and he strode to Robert until they stood toe-to-toe. “I asked you to keep her busy, not to teach her to make a spectacle of herself.”

Robert’s jaw set. “Allow me to point out that the fair Fia is
only yours until you gain an audience with the queen. After that, she’s fair game to anyone who wishes to pursue her.”

“Do not speak such gibberish!”

Robert’s smile mocked. “Once you cast her aside, she won’t be alone for long. There will be others hard upon your heels.”

“Like you?”

“Perhaps.” Robert shrugged. “Perhaps not. Best you get used to the idea of another now.”

Red anger ripped through Thomas. Without thought, he seized Robert’s doublet and hauled him forward until but a hair’s breadth separated them. “Fia is
my
wife until the queen says otherwise, and you will keep your distance or face the consequences.”

Robert’s eyes blazed. “Unhand me!”

Thomas released Robert so quickly that the Scot stumbled, though only once. With a lithe twist, he was poised, hand on his short sword, his face a mask of icy fury.

The crew, who’d been watching the altercation, gaped openly.

Their shock returned reason to Thomas’s fury-addled brain.
God’s blood, what’s happened to me? This is what comes of passion.
He rubbed his jaw. “Montley, this is not the place for a fight. We should take this belowdecks.”

Robert glanced about and slowly, reluctantly, released his grip on his short sword. As captain of his own ship, he clearly recognized the importance of maintaining order. At sea, organization and discipline often meant the difference between life and death.

Still, ’twas obvious it took all of Robert’s control to tamely nod, though he managed it. “Belowdecks, then.” He turned on his heel and left, his back stiff with anger.

Thomas turned to the crew. “What’s this? None of you have work to do?”

The crew scattered instantly, obviously disappointed. Soon Thomas was alone on the top deck, wondering how he’d been brought so low.

The truth burned in his stomach. He
was
jealous. Jealous beyond reason for a wife he didn’t even want. Somehow, some way, he would fight his burgeoning passions and he would subdue them.

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the short length of the top deck. His feelings for Fia were purely proprietary. He’d never had a wife before, and because of his mother’s poor behavior, he was merely more sensitive to slights than the average man.

Aye, that was the problem. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Perhaps, instead of avoiding Fia completely, he should spend time with her, grow more used to her presence and thus less fascinated.

He stared out at the ocean with unseeing eyes. That made sense. Avoiding her had done nothing more than increase his fascination and stretch his emotions as taut as a drawn bow. Nothing would cool his lust better than discovering all of her faults and foibles. Surely she had some. Perhaps she cleared her throat all during dinner, or sang off key or . . . or . . . He couldn’t think of more annoying habits, but he was certain she had some and he’d be sure to find every one.

Thomas smiled grimly. By the time they arrived in London her spell over him would be broken.

“I said,” Robert repeated with exaggerated loudness, “’tis your turn. However, should you need more time to stare
out at yonder sea, I will continue to await your pleasure, for God knows I’ve naught to do but sit here and stare at my own cards and—”

“Pssht, Lord Montley, leave the mistress be,” said Mary, her red curls ruffled by the wind. “She’s thinkin’, she is. Ye wouldn’t have her play the wrong card, would ye?”

“The wrong card would be better than none at all,” grumbled Robert. “I age as we sit.”

Fia glanced back at the foredeck, where she could just catch a glimpse of Thomas’s dark black hair as he paced, his expression austere, his firm mouth framed by his trim beard. He looked so—

“Fia?” Mary eyed her mistress with a stern gaze. “’Tis your turn.”

Fia flushed, selected a card from her hand, and tucked the discard under the mug that weighted the loose cards and kept them from blowing across the deck.

The sea surged green and blue as white-capped waves rocked the ship. The wind licked at the cards on the barrel, trying to pull them free. Fia lifted her face to the sun. Perhaps she would write a play about a pirate. A pirate with black hair and honey-brown eyes. A pirate whose cool, calm gaze held a hint of sadness.

“’Tis my turn.” Mary plucked a card from her hand and started to lay it down. She hesitated, her hand hovering a scant inch above the barrel, her face puckered in thought. After a moment she returned the card to her hand, only to draw it forth again a second later and repeat her actions.

“Are you playing that godforsaken card, or aren’t you?” Robert demanded, his gaze never leaving Mary’s hand.

“I’m puttin’ it down now, ye cankerous maw worm.” Mary slapped the card onto the barrel.

“Praise Saint Peter,” Robert said fervently. He stared at his cards, absently chewing his lip.

“Go!” Mary ordered.

“I’m looking at my cards.”

“If ’tis against the rules fer me to take a second to look at me cards, then ’tis against the rules fer ye, so don’t just sit there like a lump. Play yer card.”

Fia swallowed a giggle. Since their conversation over a week ago Robert had been true to his word, working ceaselessly to teach her the ways of the court. He had shown her the proper way to curtsy and address the queen. Over the last few days he’d described in detail the many men and women who were court favorites, explaining their alliances and their positions within the court, and drawing up a list for her to study.

Though Mary fussed and fumed at Robert’s exaggerated ways, Fia thought the maid was slowly softening to him. Just this morning, Mary’d watched him stride across the deck in his puce short cape trimmed with silver thread and said doubtfully, “He’s a mite too French fer my taste, but he does know his way with fashion.”

From Mary, that was high praise indeed.

Now, from where he sat on a barrel across the small table from them, Robert slid a card under the mug. “I vow, this jack of hearts plagues me. Your turn, Fia, my sweet.”

She regarded her cards for a moment and then discarded an eight of diamonds.

Robert nodded his approval. “Excellent.”

“Thank you.” She stifled a yawn.

“Tired, my love? You—”

“Lord Montley,” Mary interrupted, her back stiff.
“Must
ye call Lady Fia yer love and yer ‘sweet’ and all of yer silly names?”

“Must
I?” Robert’s blue eyes gleamed with humor. “But yes. ’Tis quite the fashion at court to parlay the language of love whenever possible.”

Mary didn’t look convinced. “The English court sounds mighty ramshackle to me.”

“Oh, it is, but in a deliciously well-done way.” Smiling, he glanced at Fia and caught yet another yawn. “Perchance you need a nap?”

“That would be lovely. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I’m a wee bit sleepy today.”

“Oh? Was your berth lumpy?”

“No. I was just thinking.” Every thought had revolved around her triumphant appearance in court and the successful reception of her plays, and at the end of each dream had been Thomas.

Lately, her dreams were always about him, and often she’d awake panting, her entire body a-tingle as it had been after their last kiss. Of course, it had been far more than a kiss. She shivered to think of how real her dreams seemed.

Could the Hurst amulet have caused her dreams? Duncan had said that it—

“’Tis your turn again, my sweetest of the sweet.” Robert ignored Mary’s glare.

Fia absently plucked a jack of spades from her hand and placed it on the barrel.

“I win!” Robert threw his remaining cards onto the barrel.

“Ye did not!” protested Mary.

Fia leaned forward to stare at the cards on the barrel. “How could you win from that?”

He waved at the cards. “Look.”

Mary’s brow lowered. “Who played the knave?”

Fia bit her lip. “’Twas me.”

“Humph. Ye need to pay more attention.” Mary shot a hard glance at Robert and added, “Though if ye were to ask me, I’d have to say Lord Montley’s cheatin’.”

Robert blinked. “Me? Cheat such beauteous women? Never!”

Mary’s scowl softened. “Don’t play off yer airs on me, Robert MacQuarrie. A no-good lazy wastrel is what ye are.”

“Words fall from thy lips like rubies, sparkling in the sun with blinding truth.”

A reluctant smile tugged Mary’s mouth, her cheeks suddenly pink. She cocked a brow at Fia. “He’s a blithering idiot, but a charming one fer all that.” She placed her cards on the barrel and stood. “As much as I’d like to stay and waste away the mornin’, I need to work on yer gowns. Ye should have at least one good one fer when you reach London town.”

“Thank you, Mary, that would be lovely.”

“I’ve already a bodice pinned together. I’ll need yer help once I get ready to pin the skirt to it.”

“Just say the word and I shall assist,” Fia replied with a smile.

Mary patted her charge on the shoulder. “Ye’ll do me the best favor of all if ye’ll learn this wretched card game so I don’t have to play again.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly, “Watch yer spares.” With a warning look at Robert, Mary made her way back into their cabin.

Robert gathered the cards and shuffled them with an elegant twist of his wrists. “Come, there’s another game I would teach you. Perchance this one will hold your attention better.”

Fia looked at the cards Robert dealt, listening with half an ear as he explained the rules. ’Twas difficult concentrating on such a glorious day. The ocean rolled with a joyous motion while the sky was a clear cerulean blue. Best of all, just over the edge of the upper deck, she could see Thomas.

“Fia?”

Fia caught Robert’s amused gaze and resolutely turned her back to the top deck. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking. Every day, we get closer to land. I worry what will happen then.”

“Hmm. Seems a common ailment. Your husband suffers the same illness. In fact . . .” Robert’s gaze focused over her shoulder. “Here comes the mighty prince now.”

Fia turned, her heart thudding as she saw Thomas striding toward them. His white linen shirt hung in graceful folds over his powerful chest before it disappeared into snug breeches that were tucked into soft black leather boots.

Robert waited until Thomas was almost upon them before saying loudly, “While ’tis true, Lady Fia, that the married women of the court are not the most discreet of lovers, ’twould be an error to allow the queen to become aware of any dalliances.”