Juliet started, then raced after him. “Captain! Captain O’Neill!”
He paused, turning slightly to face her, raising one slashing golden-brown brow.
“Please, take good care of Katherine, and see that she, too, rests unharmed,” Juliet pleaded.
His gaze held hers but for a moment. “I shall take goodcare of her,” he finally said, “I promise you that.” And then he was gone.
Juliet stared after him anxiously.
“Come with me, Juliet,” Richard said. “I wish to speak with you.”
She turned, unable to smile. Her uncle was of average height, but quite portly. His face was pleasant to look upon, but his brown eyes were stern and unforgiving. Her father had appointed him the guardian of his estates just before his death, after he had become ill. Juliet’s mother had died many years before that. She and Hixley were not related by blood; he had become her uncle when he had married her aunt. He had his own wealthy estate farther north from Thurlstone Manor, on the edge of the Atlantic. Juliet knew that the guardianship had forced him to divide his time between Thurlstone and his own home and his wife and children.
Juliet’s anxiety grew. She guessed what he wished to discuss—but it would not be a discussion. “Uncle, I have only just returned, and I am hungry and tired, as well as quite dirty. Perhaps we might speak later this evening?”
“We are having guests this evening,” Richard said flatly.
Juliet had no choice, and she followed him through the manor. Thurlstone was a medieval manor, but it was a rich one, thanks to the vast deposits of iron ore that had been discovered by her grandfather and had been mined so assiduously ever since. Brilliantly colored tapestries covered all of the walls. Coats-of-arms hung high above them, boasting the black Stratheclyde dragon upon a gold ribbon and a field of red. Medieval weapons, which had been in the family for generations, also graced the walls. Crossed swords, a mace and dagger, and several ceremonial spears. Stratheclyde pennants hung from the timbered ceiling.
They entered a long brick gallery which had been added onto the original manor before Juliet’s father died. Richard faced one of the glass windows, while Juliet sat down on a bench.
“You know, of course, why I summoned you home.”
Juliet nodded, feeling miserable even though she knew that she should be thrilled.
He faced her, but seemed to look right through her. “I know you are still a bit young for marriage, but I am growing old, Juliet, and it is difficult for me to administer two estates properly.”
Juliet resolved to be gracious, to say nothing. Instead she quavered, “But I will not be sixteen until June.”
He shrugged dismissively. “I have drawn up a list of candidates for your hand, men from good families, and I intend to arrange a betrothal by your next birthday.” He looked at her directly. “These suitors will wish to meet you.”
Juliet could not restrain her lower lip from trembling. These suitors wished to meet her. She was not completely naive. They wished to determine that she was no skinny hag, nor any fat cow. While she, she had no desire at all to meet them.
“You do not appear pleased, Juliet.”
She knew she should thank her uncle for all of his efforts. She said, in a low whisper, “I’m only fifteen. Other women do not wed until they are eighteen.”
“I must find someone to manage Thurlstone,” Richard said sharply.
She gazed into his eyes. “What…what if I do not like him?”
Richard stared at her, shocked.
She flushed and looked down at her lap.
“This is nonsense,” Richard admonished. “If you start crying, Juliet, I shall send you to your room as I would a small child.”
Juliet said nothing. She did not cry.
Richard continued. “In truth, the list of suitors is not a long one. I have decided upon three prospects after interviewing ten times that number.”
Three prospects. She would only be paraded before three men. She was not relieved. Juliet was finally beginning to realize how imminent this was. By June, she would be affianced. Oh, God. To a man she did not know, did not want—did not love.
Juliet realized that she was on her feet. Somehow she forced the words from her lips. “Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate all that you have done.”
And when she was finally alone, in her bedchamber, she lay down, holding her pillow, dreaming of love—and wondering why it was too much to ask for.
Juliet was gone now. Katherine hugged herself, standing at the porthole in Liam’s cabin, watching the sun sinking lower and lower, a fiery red ball, over what had been the tip of Cornwall. The ship continued to speed northeast toward the coast of Ireland.
