She still looked unsure, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing. He wasn’t sure if she was being prudent—which wasn’t exactly her strong suit—or if it was because her teeth chattered when she spoke.
He glanced at her again. Even though she now wore breeches under her skirts, only her cloak was wool and her gloves were thin cotton, appropriate for the dress, but hardly warm in a Highland winter. He didn’t need her half-frozen by the time they reached Invergarry, or worse, to come down with a fever that would keep them from continuing on once the storm passed. He wanted this journey over so he could collaborate with his brothers on strategy. Already he’d been thinking of getting back the adjoining lands the Campbells had taken during their proscription. He was wasting valuable time wandering about the Highlands.
Last night had been among the most miserable he could remember. He could tolerate lying on cold, hard ground as he had the first night, but denial of yesterday’s anticipation of a warm, soft bed that he’d fantasized about sharing—eejitthat he was—had nearly done him in.
He’d dipped his head into the horse trough, hoping that the cold water to his head would send some sense to hisotherhead, but to no avail. It only left him with wet hair. The buxom barmaid—not the one who’d scurried away from him earlier—had hurried over to him with a dry towel when he went inside and invited him to her bed. For a moment, he’d considered the offer. It would be a soft, warm bed with a soft, warm woman… Then he’d realized, to his dismay, that his cock didn’t even twitch at the thought. And, with growing alarm, he didn’t think his lack of reaction had anything to do with cold water.
He’d spent the night sleeping in the stable with his horse. If his brothers ever got wind of it—which theywouldn’t—he’d never hear the end of it. He gave Juliana a covert glance.
His conscience niggled at him, too. Although Juliana didn’t realize it, declaring them to be handfasted was the same asbeingmarried in the Highlands. And, while they had the option of ending the union at the end of one year, it stillwasa union. All of the responsibilities of marriage came with that, including being faithful, even if he didn’t get to share the marriage bed. Not that he was about to explain any of that to Juliana. Her reaction wouldn’t be a simple tempest in a teapot. He envisioned a full-force storm.
He just hoped that when he got the vexing woman home, things could return to normal.
…
Rory’s version ofno time at allto reach Invergarry felt like an eternity. Juliana clenched the raised wooden fiddle along the edge of the bunk that kept her from rolling off it as the boat tipped dangerously to one side again. He’d called it “heeling” and said the motion was normal due to the strength of the wind filling the sail, but she didn’t really care what it was called. Every time the boat leaned over, panic rose in her stomach.
She just prayed she wouldn’t be sick. The cargo hold—where the berth was—wasn’t large and also held their horses. The scent rising from their damp coats permeated the close space, along with odors of various other livestock that had been passengers at some time. There was also the stench of tar from the pitch smeared into the hull planking, as well as the smoky smell of oil from the gimbaled lamp providing light belowdecks. The effect, along with the constant heaving motion of the boat, made her stomach roil.
There was an empty brass chamber pot next to the berth, and Juliana wondered if it had been put there for some other use than its original purpose, possibly for passengers who were going to cast up their accounts? She swallowed several times, willing herself not to let nausea take over. Rory already knew she wasn’t a competent horsewoman from how stiff and sore she was from riding. She wasn’t about to let him know she wasn’t given to sailing, either. It was already embarrassing that she’d chosen to come below where it was dry and somewhat warm, while two hale and hearty Scots women were staying on deck, facing the elements.
The hatch above her lifted, and Rory climbed down the ladder. She swallowed quickly and fought the bile that was rising in her throat.
He took the lamp off its swinging hook. “I’ve come down to check the horses.”
She nodded, afraid that if she tried to speak, something other than words would spew forth.
Thankfully, Rory didn’t appear to notice. He turned toward the stern of the boat, where four half stalls took up the width. The stalls were narrow, barely allowing enough room for a man to squeeze by a horse to tether it. The wooden panels between were well padded so that when the boat tipped—heeled—the animals bumped against something soft, and there was a good foot of straw beneath their hooves for traction. They were probably not minding the ride as much as she was.
“They’re doing fine,” he confirmed as he came forward and started to hang the lamp back on its gimbaled hook. As he did, the light hit her face, and he paused and peered at her.
“Ye are a bit green-looking, lass.”
She swallowed again, not daring to open her mouth. Rory frowned, hung the lamp, and reached down to take her arms and pull her to her feet.
“Ye need to go up on deck and get some fresh air.”
There was no point in arguing, not that she had the energy to do so. She turned toward the ladder and put a foot on the lower rung. Unfortunately, the boat lurched sideways at the same time, and she fell back on Rory. Then his strong arms encircled her, holding her steady as he half lifted, half carried her up the ladder. For an instant, her body molded against him, the feeling of his granite chest a source of comfort. And then she had the most unusual clenching in her lower belly as his fingers inadvertently swept across her abdomen as he moved his hands to her sides.
“Grab on to the stanchions—the railings—right beside the hatch and hang on to them.”
She suddenly realized she was practically lying prone in his arms. Good heavens! The last thing she wanted… Scrambling to a more dignified position, she saw a railing on either side of the opening. With an effort she righted herself, all too aware that Rory’s hands were cradling her bottom as he hoisted her up onto the deck and climbed up after her.
Wind-driven rain, as sharp as sleet, struck her face. She swept the wetness from her cheeks. Strangely enough, in spite of the bitter cold, it was invigorating, and her stomach began to settle. Then the boat heeled again. She lost her balance and began to slide across the slick deck. Arms of steel slipped around her waist, righting her once more.
“I told ye to hold on.”
“I did.” She trusted herself to speak now that the urge to spill the contents of her stomach had subsided. “You did not say for how long.”
He muttered something in Gaelic, and she thought it might be useful to learn a few words, although she suspected what he was saying wouldn’t be called respectable vocabulary. “You can let me go now. I am hanging on.”
His hands didn’t move. “Ye need to let go.”
She frowned at him. “You just told me to hold on. Now you tell me to let go. Do you not to know what to do with me?”
One brow rose. “Ye probably doona want to ken that answer.”
She lifted her chin. “Are you going to curse at me again?”
