The Whaler's Treasure

Chapter Seven, Scene 3

Dawn came slowly deep in a glen, high on the eastern slopes. Beth hunkered by her fire long after the sun lit up the western hills, longer than she should. She promised Gran she'd be home by noon that day, and she had little else to do for Scanlan.


She had swept the floors and chased the birds from the rafters the day before. She could do nothing for the rotting timbers around the window frames or the cracks between wood and stone that let in the mice. The old building deserved better. Five generations of seminarians risked life and freedom to study here, as far from the bloody British as they could get thanks to the second Duke of Gordon. Signs of ruin showed, but she'd done her best. The chapel at least looked fit if Father McPhee decided to come up for more than a look around.


With nothing left to do, thoughts of a certain sea captain haunted her night. Snatches of sound from Dougal's fiddle, brought on the wind, did little to help. She needed to go back down, shake off her disappointments, and take up life in the Braes.


Water from the burn came easily to hand to douse the fire. She bundled the few supplies she brought with her in her plaid, scooped it up, and walked around the stone building to start downhill.


Below her a solitary figure plodded slowly upward following the smugglers path through sheep meadows and across one burn and another.
 Gran must have sent someone up to bring me home.


As he came closer she could see the man stood taller than her cousins and possessed a head of black hair. When he gracefully leapt over a stone fence instead of climbing the stile as any intelligent local—aware the sheep leave 'gifts' for the unsuspecting in the fields—would have done, she knew him to be a stranger. Her heart began to pound.


Moments later the stranger paused to look up the hill, at Scanlan first and then at her. He hastened his pace, and her heart rose to her throat. No stranger this. When he broke into a run, Beth stumbled to the stone bench in front of the ruin, no longer steady on her feet, and sat, her bundle forgotten on the ground.


Rob Thorpe came over the rise only moments later but to Beth the wait felt like an eternity.


And how did he know—? Gran, of course. But why is he here?


She opened her mouth to greet him, but the words stuck in her throat. He appeared to be similarly stricken and stood a few yards away, his breath heaving. The sight of him lifted the cloud of despair that had chased her to Gran's. Nothing had changed, but the mere sight of the man drove her common sense to the wind. If he took liberties she would gladly give them this day. If he did not, she might be forced to take them herself.


"Miss Gordon—Beth," he said at last over deep breaths. "I came to apologize."


She blinked at him.  Apologize? He rode up from Speyness and climbed the mountain to apologize?


He took a few steps closer, wary and watchful. "Would you mind if I sit?" He gestured behind him. "The walk..."


Beth jumped and wiggled to the side. "Of course, you must be exhausted. Lowlanders aren't used to the climb."


When she moved as far to the edge as she could, he sat far on the other end. To avoid her or out of consideration? She wasn't sure, but he looked much too far away to suit Beth.


"Rob, I—"


"Let me talk first. As I said, I came to apologize. I took liberties with you that day in Speyness."


She shook her head to deny it, and he put up a hand to stop her.


"I did. Worse, I'm afraid I gave you the wrong impression."


Of course. He didn't really want me. He just meant to steal a kiss.


Rob ignored her frown. "I intended to reassure you that I knew your stepmother's stories for the lie they were, and that her implication you should—"


He colored deeply. Somehow his embarrassment lessened hers. His next words came in a rush. "Well, that you ought to offer yourself to me in any dishonorable way was deeply wrong. You said you would never, and I knew it for truth. You are kind, generous, and, and—well, innocent."


Beth's eyebrows rose.


"I meant only to reassure you. To tell you that you had my respect. Instead I did the opposite."


He doesn't believe those vile things about me! Joy flooded her.


He ran a hand over the back of his neck, staring at his knees, a gesture Beth found adorable. She scooted a little closer.


"It's just that you looked so..." His eyes widened when he looked up and saw how close she sat. His voice dropped to a whisper. "...so lovely. Those sea blue eyes. Your hair—" he lifted a trembling hand and touched a lock of her hair that had come loose, blowing in the wind. "So lovely," he repeated in a throaty murmur. Neither looked away for a very long time. When he swayed forward and Beth held her breath, anticipating his kiss, he suddenly pulled away and stood up.


"Your grandmother says this is a church of some sort," he said gesturing to the building.


Shock at the sudden change forced her to swallow. Her words came out hoarse. "A seminary, really, but yes, there's a chapel inside."


"Papist—I mean Catholic?"


"Aye. The Braes have always kept to the old faith, in spite of it all. Priests come here when they can to celebrate Mass, and give the sacraments."


"Like Father McPhee?"


"Aye. He's here?"


Rob nodded. "I met him. He found my stories of the whales amusing." He grinned at her and then turned serious.
"

'Sacraments you say. Does that include marriage?"


"Aye, that as well," she gulped. His intense gaze made her grateful she still sat.


He cleared his throat. "I'm not a poor man, Beth. There's enough in the Mary Jane this time that, added to my savings, will enable me to buy my own ship and stay in port, growing fat on my investments."


She furrowed her brow trying to sort out his conversation, which seemed to dart from one thing to another.


"Not that I can promise I will, mind," he added with a grin. "I love the sea and can't give it up entirely. But I can afford a house in Nantucket. Or New Bedford if you prefer. I hear there is a your sort of church there." His expression took on a note of pleading.


If I prefer? What is he saying? Hope burst into flame.


"Nantucket and New England have rugged beauty as does the sea, but it isn't the same as—" He made an expansive gesture that encompassed the hills and the valley below. "I need the sea, but we can holiday in Vermont if you—"


"What are you saying? I don't understand."


His head dropped back and he stared at the sky before looking ruefully at her. "I'm bungling this." He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet so that she stood a foot from him, her hands safe in the warmth of his.


"I'm saying I can't leave Speyness without you. I'm saying I want to yank you from your Gran and this place."


When she hesitated without responding, he tipped his forehead to hers. "I'm saying I love you Beth Gordon, more than life itself. Will you marry me?"


She slipped her hand from his and cupped his face. "Yes," she breathed, "Oh yes. I thought you would never—"


His mouth on hers cut off her last words. The realization that he might silence her that way often in the future was her last coherent thought before she gave herself up to his kisses. She looked forward to it. Indeed she did.