Rogue Scot (Brethren of Stone 4)

Loosening his arms, he brought his fingers to her waist and moved her away from his body. Her hands, however, stayed on his shoulders. “I only asked you about marriage because I realized that, while you’ve learned the intimate details of my situation, I know nothing about you other than you run a fleet of boats.”

He dropped his hands from her waist and reached for her fingers, removing them from his shoulders. Which meant they were now holding hands. “I’m not married and I’ve no intention of ever doing so.”

She raised her brows. “Married to the sea?”

Likely, he should just say yes. As he looked down at her warm brown eyes, words started falling from his lips that he hadn’t intended to say. “I have, or rather I had, four brothers. Three of whom are happily married and making parcels of babies to carry on the Sinclair line.” He squeezed her hands. “The fourth died saving my sister. Since then, I prefer to be alone.”

“Oh,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Were you close?”

“We were twins,” he found himself murmuring. “The loss came just a few years after the death of my parents.” He shuddered at the memory. “I love my siblings but every person you open yourself to is a risk. A potential loss. I don’t need a wife and children to worry after.”

She gave a small nod. “I see your point. My parents’ marriage likely should have frightened me away from the institution forever.”

“But it hasn’t?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. He let go of one of her hands and clasped her waist again.

“I don’t have many other choices, really. The only alternative is as a servant.” She shrugged. “So I’ve decided to be exceedingly careful in what type of husband I pick. My father has taught me what qualities not to look for in a man.” She gave a tiny shudder. “In moments like this, I have to be honest, it’s far better to be male.”

Matt stared down at her. She had a point. She was almost completely dependent on a stranger to see her safely to England. No wonder his brothers were always helping people like Bridget. If they didn’t, the alternative was awful. “I’ll see you to London with your dowry.” His body still ached for her, but his mind had cleared. He leaned down and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. “There are times when we all need a little help.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered.

“Call me Matt,” he said and then let her go.

As he spun about to take over the wheel, he noticed several of the crew staring at him. No one said a word, but he could see the questions in their gazes. He’d leave them unanswered. If the men thought that Bridget belonged to the captain, she was far safer on the boat. He looked back at her, his body tightening again. Did she belong to him? Did he want her to?

Chapter Eight

Over the next day, a lightness filled Bridget that she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever. She was free from her father.

And thanks to Matt, she was safe despite being on the open sea.

As afternoon sun filled the January sky, Bridget and Mary walked about the deck. Mary was kind enough to stay between Bridget and the rail. They’d arrive in Aberdeen at any moment and excitement filled her to think of being back on dry land. She’d learned that two of Matt’s brothers were Highland lairds and each had farmland where they produced grains. Matt ran the ships that delivered their goods. In addition, his oldest brother was an earl, and a powerful one at that.

No wonder Matt walked with such confidence and purpose. He was a man who understood both power and responsibility. She found she rather liked his walk instead of being annoyed by it as she had first been. It wasn’t an idle swagger but the stride of a man willing to take action.

She glanced up at him as he steered the ship with his legs set wide apart and his broad shoulders flexing with the effort. Being pressed against him yesterday had been a sweet torture. Just remembering the feel of him made her shudder.

Turning her face up to the sun, she let the warmth of it heat her skin and hide her blush. She had to put these thoughts away. He’d been explicit in his statements about marriage and his reasons behind them. Besides, he wasn’t the sort of man she wanted at all. He’d bend her to his will, not the other way around. She’d enough of that in her life already.

And once she arrived in London, she’d have to say goodbye and begin the search for a husband without thoughts of a swarthy sailor clouding her judgement.

The ropes snapped above her and the sail swung, as the boat began to tack toward the shore. The boat shifted and she clutched Mary’s arm.

“You’re all right. We’re almost to the town,” Mary soothed.

A long pier jutted out from the beach. Set back on the land was a large structure, like a barn. “It’s not a town,” Bridget murmured to Mary. “At least I don’t think so. It just looks like a farm on the ocean with a pier.”

“We’re in the Highlands now,” Mary said back, grinning. “I quite like it.”

Bridget gazed at the land beyond the beach. It was sparser than the south but beautiful in its own rugged way. Only the occasional tree broke up the flat land punctuated by jutting piles of rock. It reminded her of Matt. Strong and rough it silently stood above the rest of Scotland.

She wanted to be pressed against him again. To feel that strength flowing through her body.

Fortunately, people began moving on shore, coming to the end of the pier to greet them. The moment the ship was tied, a bustle of activity began.

Goods of all kinds were unloaded from the ship. Once done, bags of barley were loaded back on.

Two men approached the ship and Bridget straightened as they came closer. Their walk, their shoulders, their hair all reminded her of Matt. She watched as he jumped down to the pier and embraced each in turn. These must be his brothers.