We.Such strength and reassurance in that word. But miles more in the wintry dark?
The clock chimed midnight. Bone weary, she felt she couldn’t take another step, yet she mustn’t let the past jeopardize the future.
“Then let us be away,” she said with a last look at Loveday before starting toward the door.
30
In short I will part with anything for you but you.
Mary Wortley Montagu
In his stern cabin aboard theGlasgow Lass, outfitted with all the luxuries his steward could provide—a bowl of citrus, nuts and sweetmeats, smoked fish, spirits, and a stack of moreScots MagazineandGlasgow Mercurythan he could read before he made landfall—Leith examined the Philadelphia-made stove he’d had built for the supposed honeymoon suite.
Ships were uncommonly frigid in winter—all but the galley, where the cook held sway. Mounted on stone slabs and sanded to protect the deck, this stove was decoratively lined with blue and white delft tiles, its chimney snaking through the weather deck. The effect was a pleasing heat that extended to the room’s corners, the astonishment and envy of the entire vessel.
He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the fire. Not quite the coal-red hearths of home, but it would suffice for a few weeks’ passage. He’d meant it for the comfort of his bride, but all he’d left land with was a lung ailment and the assurance of war.
The darkness had also followed him, encroaching heavier and blacker than before. It hung about him like a sodden cloak. He hadn’t the strength to push it back, and so it came on like an advancing army, withering his strength. His soul. Cold. So cold. The stove’s warmth failed to reach him.
Mayhap he was dying after all.
“Mr. Buchanan.” A sharp rap at the cabin door preceded the steward’s entry. “There’s been a commotion on deck. I don’t rightly know how to describe it. Someone is requesting permission to come aboard. My apologies, sir.”
At well past midnight?
Leith glanced beyond the six stern windows, where other ships lay at anchor in York Town’s harbor, their flickering lights like stars in the blackness. Stifling a cough, he followed the steward up to the quarterdeck slowly, fighting for each step. The exertion of being on his feet taxed him abominably, but at last he was on deck, the wintry night biting his exposed skin.
The captain stood at the rail, looking down. He pivoted, a bemused expression on his lined face. Without a word, he handed Leith a letter.
Moving toward the glow of a stern lantern, Leith opened the paper to find it blank—save Juliet’s miniature. It lay in his callused palm, bringing back their scorching confrontation.
“The lady is asking permission to board, sir,” the captain said, gesturing to the water.
The lady?
Stunned, Leith went to the rail and looked down. There, in a lighter bobbing gently upon dark water, sat Juliet, her face turned up to him, much as it had been in the snowstorm when she’d been caroling. Tonight she was entreating, almost beseeching. Behind her sat her sister in a scarlet cape, and several trunks.
Was the returned miniature some sort of truce?
Leith coughed, his chest so sore he felt his ribs were cracked. For a long moment he did nothing but stare back at her. Dubious, even dreamlike. It wasn’t a matter of pride. He had none left. He felt turned to stone as the unbelievable present tried to reconcile with the complicated past. Never in the furthest reaches of his thoughts had he considered this might happen. Was she willing to leave the land of her birth to go with him to his own, into the unknown?
Or did she simply seek passage on his vessel?
The yowl of a caged animal interrupted his musings. A cat? He slipped the miniature into his pocket and leaned farther toward her, hands on the rail. “Will you wed me, then, Miss Catesby?”
“I shall, Mr. Buchanan. This very night if you wish.”
Leith turned to a near jack. “Bring her aboard—and all with her.”
Once firmly on deck, Juliet looked to Loveday to see how she was faring. But her sister was only concerned with Hobbes, whose yowling had, for the moment, turned into a more manageable mewling. It was then that Leith Buchanan took her gloved hand. He bent over with a little bow and kissed the soft leather.
With the finesse of a man born to handling business, he led them below deck while issuing half a dozen different orders at once. He summoned the ship’s chaplain. Ordered their luggage to stern quarters. Roused the cook to prepare a late wedding supper and asked that warm beverages be brought. Listening, Juliet stood on the threshold of the heated suite that banished the chill of York Town’s harbor from her bones.
“Our humble quarters, Miss Catesby,” he said, standing to one side while she entered, Loveday behind her. “Your sisterwill be in one of the adjoining quarter galleries, though she’s welcome here in the great cabin, benefiting from the heat of the stove. There’s also a stern gallery where you can walk about in private if you like.”
“Thank you,” Juliet said with a demure smile, relieved their ordeal was at an end.
Or was it only beginning?
