Her Wild Highlander by Emma Prince

Author:Emma Prince [Prince, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-09T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

“I trust ye can forget all of this.”

Vivienne’s head whipped around at the sound of Kieran’s voice. He spoke quietly to Captain Larsson a few feet away on the ship’s deck, giving the man a piercing scowl.

“A Highlander and a Frenchwoman traveling from Calais to Scone,” Kieran went on. “No’ something worth commenting on to anyone else, ye understand?”

The captain gave Kieran a blank stare. “I have no idea what you are talking about, friend,” he said. “I am a simple trader and a man of the sea. Why would I know anything about any Scot or Frenchwoman?” He broke the façade then, flashing Kieran a grin.

“And I trust yer crew will follow yer lead,” Kieran said, glancing at the men securing the sail and preparing the anchor to be lowered.

“Rest assured, friend, Ganger Larsson is not a man to be crossed,” the captain replied. “My men know that—and anyone who thinks otherwise is in for a lesson.”

Kieran nodded. “My thanks. I’m in yer debt.”

“Nei, Highlander,” Captain Larsson said, his blue eyes dancing. “You paid more than twice what you should have for passage, even including the use of my cabin and your…what do you Scotsmen call it? Your ‘wee dram’ of whisky?”

Kieran snorted and slapped the man on the shoulder. Despite the captain’s strong, sinewy form, he was forced to take a staggering step forward or be knocked to the deck.

“Still, I appreciate ye being kind enough to take my coin and keep yer lips sealed.”

“What happens at sea is best kept between oneself and the water,” Captain Larsson said, glancing between Kieran and Vivienne with a look that was too knowing for her sense of modesty.

Feeling her face flush, she snapped her head back around and focused on what lay ahead.

After five long days at sea, Scotland had finally emerged against the misty horizon, blazing with the colors of autumn. Though the season’s cool touch had only just begun creeping over France when they’d left, it seemed that fall’s cold, damp grip had already latched onto Scotland. The air was heavy with the threat of rain, and the grass-covered hills were turning from green to amber beneath the steely sky.

In the last two days, Vivienne had finally begun to find her sea legs, though even now she still had to grip the railing to avoid stumbling with the incessant roll of the ship beneath her. At least she’d been able to hold down food and water and didn’t feel quite as weak as she had at first.

Despite Captain Larsson’s ribbing praise that perhaps she could be turned into a sailor yet, Vivienne had said more than a few prayers of thanks when one of the men had spotted land that morning.

But more than simply feeling solid ground beneath her feet once more, she was grateful to be headed to Scone, if only for a little while, as Kieran had warned her.

Ever since leaving the French court, Vivienne had felt off-balance. After seven long years of living entirely

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