Then there was the matter of his son, Mr. Alexander MacDougall. The younger Scot was not an unhandsome man. And he studied Tristan’s wife far too avidly, even being so bold as to follow his father in kissing her hand upon departure.
Tristan had wanted to rip her fingers out of both men’s grasp.
Isolde had scoffed when he said as much upon reaching their bedchamber.
“Now, ye are being absurd, Husband. Ye sound jealous.”
“I am jealous!” He pulled her into his arms. She came, but rather reluctantly. Which merely underscored his worry.
“Tristan.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “Ye cannot growl and snap at every man I interact with.”
Tristan nuzzled her palm. “We might have to agree to disagree on this point, Wife.”
“As I’ve said before, ye need tae trust me, just as I must trust yourself.” She pulled her hand away. “Besides, if time permits, we are tae dine with the MacDougalls tomorrow, an evening I would find enjoyable.”
She stepped out of his arms, and he resisted the urge to pull her back. To kiss her until she relaxed against him.
Instead, she folded her arms, studying him.
“I missed ye,” she said. “Ye were gone so long aboard the ship, I had begun tae worry.”
Ah. Was this the source of her withdrawal then?
“I am sorry if I caused you any undue alarm. There was much to sort with the captain.”
“Aye, but I had tae learn the whole of what happened tae theSS Statesmanfrom Sir John and not yourself.”
Tristan hated that she had a valid point. He should have at least sent word to her as he had promised. Summoned her aboard the ship. Something.
Instead, he had become too involved with Captain Woodbury and neglected everything else.
“Again, I apologize,” he said.
His wife nodded at his words, but the tension in her stiff shoulders did not ease. Clearly, words of apology were no longer enough.
He hated this, knowing something was off between himself and Isolde, but feeling unsure of how to correct it.
“I understand word has already been sent to London of our demise.” Isolde wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Yes. Heaven knows what uproar our supposed deaths have caused.” Tristan shuddered to ponder it. “I have charged Captain Woodbury with sending word at first light to your family in London and Allie in Aberdeen of our safe recovery. In speaking with the captain and examining the damage and repairs, theSS Statesmanshould be shipshape and fully seaworthy the day after tomorrow.”
“That is excellent. We can dine with Sir John tomorrow and then leave for London the following morning. My family will likely be there still, what with Papa’s impeachment being confirmed and the trial looming.”
Tristan disliked the thread of reproach in her tone, as if she had not truly forgiven him for the slights against her family.
Damn and blast.
Time.
He needed more time with her.
More time alone. More time to talk and wander and simply . . . be. To nurture this fragilethingthat was blossoming between them. Not necessarily to sway her loyalty to him, but to ensure that she saw himself as family, too.
“Why would we cut our honeymoon short?” He meant the question to be sincere, but it came out steel-edged and contentious.
Her shoulders tensed. “My family—and Allie for that matter—must be devastated about our supposed drowning.”
“Yes, but returning to London makes little sense, particularly as Allie is in Aberdeen. Word will be sent to them tomorrow morning and willarrive days before us, given the speed of the telegraph network once our message reaches Glasgow. If you have further concerns, we can both pen letters, telling the tale of our shipwreck and rescue in full detail. But none of these facts should prevent us from proceeding on our honeymoon trip.”
