Callum frowned, opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. The good thing about Callum was that he knew when to be quiet.
Bryce hung his head. ‘Our union is a sham to pacify my father’s urging me to marry.’
‘I knew it,’ cried Callum. ‘And now your lies have bitten you on your arse, have they?’
‘Aye,’ said Bryce, with a bitter smile. ‘You were right when you said I wed a woman I barely knew and that it was folly. And now Maren is gone, and I fear she has run away, and I may never see her again.’
‘Do you want to see her again?’
‘Aye, with all my heart.’
‘Well, I can help you there. I have just come from the wharf, and Maren was there. I did wonder at her being in such a place.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Talking to a ship’s captain.’ Callum frowned. ‘I would have greeted her, but she was deep in conversation, and I didn’t want to intrude. Bryce, if Maren is leaving you, perhaps she is sailing with the tide.’
Bryce ground his teeth in anger. Could the ship’s captain be that black-haired villain from the Jezebel? Had she duped him last night?’
‘I am for the wharf, Callum,’ shouted Bryce, kicking his horse hard in the flanks and speeding away.
‘Shall I come with you?’ shouted Callum
‘No,’ snarled Bryce. ‘I will deal with this myself.’ His words were all but lost on the wind.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the time Bryce clattered across the cobbles on Inverness wharf, the sun was high in the sky, sending warm rays onto catches of fish piled high and making the whole place reek. The wind was picking up, and soon the tide would turn and whisk a ship out into the Moray Firth and into the open ocean. From there, the sea could carry it to the four corners of the world, and Maren with it, and he might never see her again.
There were several sizeable vessels bumping against the wharf. One appeared to be unloading a cargo of sheep and barrelled goods. Another had its sails tied and was clearly at berth for some duration. None were named Jezebel, but perhaps the captain had found another vessel to ply his trade.
Bryce pulled his horse to a halt before a small vessel with sails readied for departure. Deck hands were shouting over the caw of seagulls and frantically loading cargo. Bryce was about to run up the gangplank when a voice called to him.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Maren, rushing down the gangplank and up to his horse. She cut a forlorn figure, clad in her most tatty clothes and clutching a tied-up cloth in her hand, which held a few meagre belongings, no doubt. Bryce had a brief, uncharitable thought that she might have the family silver in it, but he quickly banished it and dismounted.
‘Stealing away, like a thief in the night without so much as a word, Maren?’ His anger and contempt bled out.
‘Not at all. If I had woken you, then you would have stopped me and turned me from my purpose. I have been to see Mr Stuart and left a letter explaining everything in case I do not return.’
‘Return from where, woman?’
Maren cast an anxious glance at the ship and back to him. Her hair hung loose, and the wind took it and teased it about her face, making her seem wild and achingly beautiful. Bryce had a stab of longing so fierce it hurt.
‘I am going north to Durness,’ she said.
‘Why the devil are you going there? ‘Tis a godless, forsaken place.’
‘You may well speak of the devil, Bryce. I am going because my family is there.’ She frowned and looked out to sea with a big sigh. ‘What’s left of it, anyway, and ‘tis not much to be proud of.’
‘Family, you say. Are you leaving me?’
‘Not for good, I hope.’
‘Why would you not return, Maren? Why creep away like this?’
Maren’s soulful brown eyes met his with infinite sadness, but she said nothing.
‘Lass, Captain says we are sailing. Get aboard,’ shouted a man over the ship’s railing, and Bryce could have knifed him.
