Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(23)

When the bandaging was done, the physician picked up a bowl. “This is the sleeping draught.” He held it up like a vicar would hold a cup of wine at communion.

“Aye, let’s have it, then,” said her father. “I’ve got an awful pain, that I do.”

Lottie lifted his head and the physician helped him drink from the bowl.

“All right, then, lads,” her father said with a sigh when he’d finished. “You heard Morven—I’m to sleep now. Do as Lottie says, aye? But go now, let your old father rest. I’ll be good as new when we reach Aalborg.”

“I donna like to be here,” the giant said to no one in particular. “I want to go home to Lismore.”

“We’ll be there soon enough, lad,” the physician said, but Aulay saw the man exchange a look with Lottie. He doubted his own words.

Lottie kissed first the giant, then the younger one. “Mind you do as Duff or Mr. MacLean tells you,” she said to them. “If they donna need you, find a place to sleep. We’ve a long voyage ahead of us and I’ll have you rested, aye?”

“But what of you, Lot?” the youngest one asked.

“I’ll stay here, with Fader.”

The young man glanced at Aulay and frowned. “What of him?”

All heads turned toward him. “We’ve no other place to put him,” Lottie said with a shrug.

“I donna like to be here,” the giant said again.

“Aye, I know,” she said soothingly, and rubbed his arm. “None of us do.”

“I do,” the younger one said as he bumped into a chair on his way out. “This is a bigger ship than Gilroy’s, and it’s much faster. I should like to be captain of this ship one day.”

“That post has been taken,” Aulay reminded the lad as he reached the door.

The young man shot him a wide-eyed look and disappeared out the door.

“Keep an eye on your brother!” Lottie called after them as the giant followed.

“I always keep an eye,” Aulay heard the younger one say in a tone that suggested he believed he was very much put upon.

“He ought to sleep like the bloody dead for a few hours,” the physician said as he went out. He paused to look at Lottie. “You look like death, lass.”

“Thank you,” she said, and pushed wet hair from her face.

“Is there no place you might sleep, then?”

“I’ll sleep here,” she said.

The physician looked at Aulay.

“He’ll no’ disturb me,” she said before the physician could remark. “He can do no harm, bound up as he is.”

“Well,” the physician said, then shrugged and went out. “God nat,” he said, wishing her a good night, and went out.

“God nat,” she answered, and closed the door behind him.

Her expression instantly crumbled into exhaustion. She sighed wearily and turned her back to the door. She unbuttoned his greatcoat, shook it off, and returned it to its peg. She stood in her stays and chemise and a petticoat that was soiled at the hem and soaking wet.

She looked even smaller than before, her shoulders stooped, as if the events of the day had worn her down. The lass reached for her gown, laying her hand on it in several places, but apparently found it too damp. She walked to the bed and picked up a blanket that lay at the foot, and threw it around her shoulders. She paused to lean over her father and stroke his brow. “Aye, he’s sleeping well now,” she said wearily. “I would that the same could be true for me.” Aulay had the impression she was speaking to herself. She moved away from the bunk and wandered to the far wall, studying the two seascapes that hung there. She touched one with her forefinger, tracing over the ridges in the paint. “The sea is so blue in this one,” she said wistfully. “I should like to see water so blue one day.”

That was unlikely, given the fate that awaited her.

“Where is it?” she asked.

Aulay looked at the painting. His talents did not adequately capture how blue the water was at Cadiz. “Spain,” he said. “The Mediterranean Sea.”

“Mediterranean,” she murmured, as if testing the word. She dropped her hand. “I must take advantage of your hospitality again, Captain.”

“Hospitality? You confuse captivity with hospitality. What now?”

She opened the cupboard below the sideboard and dipped down.

“If it’s more brandy you want, you’ll no’ find it,” he said with an edge of irritation.

But it wasn’t brandy she was after. She removed one of his shirts. And then a pair of trews. “I’m sorry for it,” she said ruefully. “But I’m chilled to the bone and I desperately need dry clothes.”

She took the blanket from her shoulders and draped it over her chair, then kicked off her wet boots. One slid along the cabin floor and reached the door. She put her pistol on the table, then put one foot in a leg of the trews and then the other; she struggled to pull them up beneath her petticoat without revealing any part of herself to him. When she had them secure, she removed the petticoat.

Aulay couldn’t help but ogle her. The trews were too big for her smaller frame, and yet he could still see her figure, could still visually trace the shape of her legs into a heart-shaped bottom. He could still feel the rumblings of physical desire for this wee thief.