This time the same two Scotsmen who had demanded a fast team the day before had returned. The older man had a face like a gloomy sky lined with striated, black storm clouds. The younger man had a face like… His face was one she knew well.
His was a deeply tanned face, weathered from years of shipboard service. The lines around his mouth looked as if smiles came more easily than frowns. A long, patrician nose missed handsome by an inch with obvious signs of being broken at least once. His tall frame and broad shoulders bespoke a strenuous life.
Her father had had shoulders like that. During bloody battles at sea, this man would hoist broken sailors over his shoulders and take them down to the surgery, where the floors were covered with sand to keep the surgeons and their mates from slipping in the blood.
Her thoughts caught her by surprise. In the short time she’d served with Dr. MacCloud, she’d resented, yes, maybe even hated, his presumption to replace her father as theArethusa’ssurgeon and physician. She had no idea she’d been cataloging to memory the many quirks and planes of his face.
Cullen would always remember the moment when Willa gave up. The moment the light faded in those glorious gray eyes. The dark brows normally raised in skepticism at something he’d said or done? Now they’d fallen, and he wished to God he knew how to get back that light and her arrogant, questioning looks.
They’d stood in the shade of the stable, arguing for nearly an hour while Fergus stood by, stoic and uncharacteristically quiet.
“Do ye not see my point, woman?” Cullen gave an angry swipe at the sweat gathering on his forehead.
“You don’t have a point. This is my life. I have to follow my heart.” Willa’s voice remained calm, but she tapped a tell-tale, nervous tattoo with the toe of one of her dust-covered boots.
Cullen hesitated, watching the innkeeper’s wife out of the corner of his eye. She walked into the courtyard from a nearby orchard he knew well. She held up two corners of her white, starched apron with the center below her waist weighed down and bulging with fat red apples. He followed her progress with side looks until she threw him a sly glance and disappeared through the back entrance to the inn. Nearby church bells chimed the hour. He was running out of time.
Cullen finally dealt the death blow of reason, ticking off on the fingers of one hand all the arguments in favor of Willa’s consent to marry him.
“One - you have no family. My clan would be your family and protect you for as long as you live, no matter what happens to me. We owe your family a huge debt for your father coming to help us through a terrible time of illness ten years ago. That scourge took your mother’s life when you were still a babe.
“Two - yes, you will be secure once your father’s estate is settled, but anyone else you might marry would seek to take control of your fortune. The MacCloud clan is happy to set aside whatever you bring to the marriage for you alone, and your children.”
When Willa visibly flinched at the mention of children, Cullen chose to ignore her revulsion. “And three,” he continued, undeterred, “you are one of the most gifted physician’s assistants I’ve ever worked beside. You can neither continue with that work as Willa Morton nor can you legally obtain training as a physician.”
“What say you?” he finally finished. “Will you, Willa Morton, marry me, Cullen MacCloud, and forsake all others as long as we both live?”
She hesitated a telling moment. “Yes,” she finally said, drawing the word out like it came from a painful place deep inside. And that was when Willa’s light faded.
Cullen pulled a document from inside his coat. “I procured a special license from Doctor’s Commons in London after my aunt, Miss Elspeth MacKenzie, spoke with your father’s solicitor. He signed his permission as your guardian.”
“Are you telling me all of this was a foregone conclusion? No one doubted my compliance?”
Cullen’s temper flared. “Do ye thinkIfancy leg-shackling myself to a woman I barely know?” The stench of horse manure being mucked out of the barn onto straw-lined carts brought him back to reality.
By now, a circle of grooms and stable boys stood around them, gawking and hanging on every word.
Fergus took a firm grip on both of the combatants’ arms and pulled them toward their carriage being held by two boys from the stable. “Before ye come to blows, why do we not find a quiet inn where we can all have a wee dram and get to know each other better?”
Once inside the carriage, Cullen’s soon-to-be bride shook off his helping hand and shoved onto the seat across from him. As they rolled from the inn’s courtyard out onto the streets of Portsmouth, she turned and stared out the carriage window, ignoring him.
Cullen did not usually drink himself into insensibility, but he was ready to make an exception. The “wee dram” he and Fergus had ordered burned its way down his throat entirely too quickly.
Willa had refused the offer of spirits. They’d sat in the private dining room in The Dolphin Inn Fergus had procured for them and chewed through a supper of cold ham and potatoes washed down with a passable Madeira.
Cullen did not want to dwell on the vision of his aunt’s grizzled bodyguard banging on the door of a dressmaker’s shop which was where Fergus had gone to find a dress for Willa. He’d also procured a chamber at the inn where Wills could transform into Willa with privacy. He’d coaxed and bribed the innkeeper’s wife into helping her. After that, they would have to find a clergyman and ply him with enough coin to perform sudden, unexpected nuptials in the dark of the night.
After the wedding, Cullen had no idea what he’d do next. He was making up his battle plans on the run. With the resentment emanating from his intended, he assumed a blissful, conjugal night at the inn was out of the question.
He wished there were some way he could make the situation more bearable for poor Willa. And then he remembered. He had friends in Portsmouth. Friends who would come straight away if they knew how desperate his situation was.
He motioned toward the innkeeper. Once supplied with pen and paper, he scrawled a long, frantic message, which one of the stable boys was sent to deliver to the cottage on Arundel Street.
Willa had never worn such a fine gown, even when she was younger, before she joined her father aboard theArethusa. She circled slowly at the direction of the innkeeper’s wife and the seamstress who had joined them with the gown at Fergus’s insistence.
After soaking in a tub of hot, soapy water, she’d exchanged the dust-encrusted boots from her work at the stable for satin slippers and fine silk stockings. The dress was a simple, high-waisted, light lavender silk with a deep hem embroidered thickly with violets. The puffed sleeves were obviously for a plumper woman, and her two helpers worked quickly to tuck in the excess fabric.
The breath hitched in her throat as she worried about what Dr. MacCloud expected from her.
