McClairen's Isle: The Ravishing One by Connie Brockway

Author:Connie Brockway
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9780307768353
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2000-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Fia awakened to find Thomas studying her. She struggled upright and he immediately shifted her onto the hard bench beside him. One of the sailors said something and Thomas replied by swinging his legs over the side of the boat and dropping down into chest-deep water.

“¿Es mucho frío, sí?” one of the Spanish sailors asked.

“Not nearly cold enough,” Thomas replied in Spanish. The crewman laughed, casting her surreptitious glances.

“What did you say?” Fia demanded.

“I said the water was very cold.”

He was lying. She could tell by the aggressive way he met her gaze. However, there was nothing she could do to force him to tell her the truth, and from the way the men were smiling at her, she did not know if she wanted to hear it. She was well used to the vulgar banter that followed her, and while she accepted that in London such banter was only what she could expect, given her provocative behavior, here she’d done nothing to deserve it.

Another sailor joined Thomas in the water. Together they grabbed hold of long ropes attached to either side of the boat and began swimming toward shore. When they were halfway to the beach they stood up, planted their feet, and hauled the boat toward the shore as those men remaining in the boat strained at the oars, rowing against the surf. Once past the breakline, the rest of the men jumped out and pulled the heavy boat up on the beach.

“Hail to ye!” a booming Scottish voice called out as a giant of a man strode from between a pair of boulders. He led a shaggy horse drawing an ancient cart. An outlawed tartan was belted about his thick waist and draped over a loose, rough-looking shirt of dubious color.

Fia looked about. They were on a thin crescent of sand at the base of sheer cliffs. The giant boulders strewn at the water’s edge had kept the beach from being visible from the sea. A perfect smuggler’s landing, and the man leading the horse fit the role perfectly. He also looked vaguely familiar.

“Jamie!” Thomas shouted, pleasure in his voice and the wide grin that carved deep dimples beneath his cheekbones.

The giant approached and dropped to one knee before Thomas. A scraggly tail of reddish hair flecked with gray fell across his sunburned neck. He grabbed hold of one of Thomas’s hands and brought it to his forehead. Even from a distance of some ten paces she could smell him. Her nose wrinkled.

“M’lord,” he murmured, “ye’ve been gone too long. Welcome home to ye.”

Thomas laughed, the sound rich and infectious. “Ach! If my absence teaches a heathen brute like you humility, I’ll be chartin’ a course round the Cape to finish yer domestication.”

Fia watched Thomas in surprise. The burr was strong and musical and easy on his tongue. She’d known Thomas was part Scot but had never heard him speak with the Highland accent. It sounded natural, as natural as the smile still gracing his face.

“Yer

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