A commotion at the harbourside caused the woman to pause, frowning, and assuredly a hulking white horse was causing the well-wishers on the quay to scatter like seeds.
Aideen’s heart skittered for a moment, her fists clenching on the rail as she leaned over.
Could it be…
Shouting, a man flew off the enormous animal and began jabbering at the harbour gang… A small man with chestnut hair, and Aideen drew back, feeling stupid at her hopeless thoughts.
One of the gang threw a line out to the boat whilst the captain grumbled his annoyance. A lad caught the heavy rope and hastily lashed it around the rail as passengers and crew alike babbled with either interest or frustration.
The captain cleared the way and strode to the rail, hands on hips. “Who in the hell has stopped my boat from leaving?” he bellowed for both hell and the heavens to hear, causing mothers to close hands about their children’s ears.
Another commotion and the poor well-wishers were once again forced to flee as an immense sweating black horse galloped onto the harbour quay.
A gentleman sat atop, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, features taciturn and stubbled, raven-black cloak shrouding him.
Mrs O’Driscoll crossed herself. “Mother Mary, protect us. The devil himself has come to toss us all into the abyss, I never should have flirted with that soldier.”
But Aideen couldn’t answer or agree or even nod at the apt summation.
The devil on horseback glared at the captain, the spirited animal spraying the crowd with lather. “The Duke of Rakecombe has. And you won’t have a boat unless you drop anchor this instant. You have something which belongs to me,” he snarled.
Wisely, the captain muttered his acquiescence.
“What do ya suppose it is?” the woman asked, nudging. “A crate of spirits or… Ya’ve gone awfully pale, darlin’.”
Excitement, fear, anxiety and a hundred other emotions fluttered within Aideen. He was here. Why was he here? Saints in their cowls, he looked handsome and dishevelled and…angry.
He threw a leg over the horse, ably dismounting to the quay. Mrs O’Driscoll goggled as he flung his cloak back over his shoulders to reveal…more black, except for a dusty white mangled cravat. An ebony cane was dis-attached from his horse’s saddle and clenching it firmly, he strode towards the packet boat.
“Duchess!” he bellowed from the quay, even though only twelve feet separated man from vessel. Aideen tucked herself against the large lady. Not that she was faint-of-heart but…
“Have you the Duchess of Rakecombe aboard that boat?” he yelled again, ramming his cane on the stone.
“Aye,” the captain agreed. “Black-haired young lady in red. A fair fetching little pi–”
A dead-eyed stare halted his words.
“Oh,” Mrs O’Driscoll gasped, staring down. “That sounds like you, darlin’. Coo-ee, Mr Ya Grace Duke? She’s here.”
Being tossed into the limpid abyss presented more appeal than her husband’s wrath, but a Quinlanneverhid, so she straightened her shoulders and tipped her head up.
She would not step off this boat, however, unless some very pertinent questions were answered to her satisfaction.
“Your Grace,” she said. “How may I help you?”
The passengers, crew and well-wishers fell silent, breaths held, and for a moment, he simply stared.
“You will remove yourself from that vessel and return home with me,” he stated.
Mrs O’Driscoll clucked her tongue and Aideen could only agree.
Overbearing buckeen.
“Why?” she asked, and her fellow Irishwoman nodded, pursing her lips.
A fluffy cloud shifted, allowing a beam of sunlight to tinge his black hair with red, the wind blowing it awry, and even Mrs O’Driscoll sighed at the handsome sight, but his face tightened, and he placed fists on his hips, looking for all the world like the autocratic haughty duke he in fact was.
“You are my wife and belong at my side. ’Tis your duty.”
