Her heart followed her stomach to the floor. Samuel had fooled her again.
All she could see of the man’s face was a pair of wary green eyes. They reminded her of dark ocean depths and fierce forest creatures. ‘I am Mrs MacDonald,’ she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
He bowed, hand to heart. ‘Andrew Gilvry, at your service.’
She’d been right. Samuel had brought her here for nothing. ‘And where, might I ask, is my husband?’
He recoiled slightly at her haughtily delivered question. ‘I am sorry...’
She drew herself up to her full height, the way she did with her students. It was the reason they called her the dragon, out of her hearing. Not the younger ones. Or the girls. They didn’t need such demonstrations of strength. The two older boys were a different matter. They, she’d learned quickly, would take advantage of any sign she did not have the upper hand.
‘So he is not on the ship after all.’ The anger she’d been so carefully keeping under control began to bubble hot in her breast.
The man hesitated. ‘I gather you didna’ get my letter, then?’
What, did he have some excuse to offer for Samuel’s absence? ‘The only letter I received was from my husband, requesting me to meet him at this ship. And he is not on board after all.’
‘He was on board, in a manner of speaking,’ the man said gently, the way people did when delivering bad news. He gestured to the sailor with the barrel. ‘He charged me with seeing his remains home to his family.’
The air rushed from her lungs. Her heart seemed to stop for a second as if all the blood had drained from her body. The ground beneath her feet felt as if it was spinning. ‘His remains?’ she whispered.
‘Aye.’ He reached out and took her by the elbow, clearly fearing she would faint. His coat streamed out behind him, flapping wildly. He wasn’t wearing any gloves, she noticed, and the warmth of his hand sent tingles running up beneath her flesh, all the way to her shoulder. Across her breasts. Female awareness. How could that be? Was the pirate now springing forth to plague her days?
She forced her thoughts into proper order. ‘Are you saying he is dead?’
He nodded tersely. ‘My condolences, ma’am. He was killed by Indians in the mountains of North Carolina. I was with him when he died.’
She stared at the barrel. ‘He’s in...?’ She couldn’t finish her question, but received another terse nod.
Staring at the barrel, she took a deep breath. And another. And then a third. ‘But why? Why bring him here?’
While she couldn’t see his face, she had the feeling he wished he was anywhere else but here. And that he disapproved of her question.
‘He wanted to be buried in Scotland.’ He released her elbow and stepped back. ‘I gave him my word to see him home.’ He gestured to the cart. ‘And so I have. Or at least I will have, when I have handed him over to an agent of the Duke of Mere.’
‘The Duke of Mere? Why on earth would you want to do that?’
The fair brows, just visible beneath his hat brim, lowered in a frown. ‘He is executor to your husband’s will.’
* * *
In the face of her distress, guilt squirmed in Drew’s gut like a live thing. But for him, Samuel MacDonald might have been standing on this quay greeting his wife, instead of him. Mrs MacDonald looked ready to faint, but touching her again was out of the question. She was nothing like the antidote he’d been led to expect. A veritable harridan of a female.
He could see why the doughy Samuel MacDonald might have found her physically daunting. She was imposingly tall for a woman, though the top of her head barely reached Drew’s eye level, and as lean as a racehorse to the point of boniness.
She was not a pretty woman. The features in her face were too strong and aesthetic for prettiness. Her jaw a little too square for womanly softness, the nose a little too Roman. Her best feature was her dove-grey eyes, clear and bright, and far too intelligent for a man to be comfortable. And yet for some odd reason he found her attractive. Perhaps even alluring.
He fought the stirring of attraction. The effect of too many weeks of male-only company on board ship when he’d been used to— Damn. Why think of that now? A shudder of disgust ran through him. Not only had the woman just discovered she was a widow, but there wasn’t a woman alive who would welcome his attentions. Not unless he was paying. Not when they took a look at his face.
The old anger rose in his chest. The desire to wreak vengeance for what had been done to him was always with him, deep inside and like a carefully banked fire. Once brought back to mind, it blazed like a beacon that would never be doused. Not until he had exacted justice from his brother.
Getting a grip on his anger, he glanced up at the sky. It was three in the afternoon, the sun was already looking to set and no sign of the lawyer who should take charge of the matter at hand. Damnation upon the head of all lawyers.
He glanced along the quay with a frown. ‘Where is your carriage, Mrs MacDonald?’
‘Carriage?’ she asked, looking nonplussed.
No carriage, then. A hackney? Or had she walked the mile from the town to the quay carrying the large bag sitting at her feet? The worn cloak, the practical shoes, the modest undecorated bonnet, things in the old days he would have taken in with one glance, now came into focus. Aye, she would have walked. For a man who bragged of his high connections and incipient wealth, MacDonald had not taken such good care of his wife.
So Drew would have to fill the breach. At least for a day or so.
He gestured for her to walk in the direction of the road at the end of the jetty. ‘Do you have a room booked for the night in town?’
She eyed him with a frown. ‘Of course not, Mr Gilvry. I must return to my place of employment. I spent last night here, but must leave today.’
Her strength of will in the face of adversity surprised him. A woman who would not submit easily to anyone’s command. A burst of heat low in his belly shocked him. He could not be attracted to this domineering woman, as her husband had described her in the most unflattering terms. But there was no denying the surge of lust in his blood. Had his last years among the Indians made him less of a man? His throat dried at the thought. But he knew it wasn’t possible.
Unnatural bastard. He’d heard the accusation more than once from the women he’d brought to his bed. But this would not be one of them.
The sooner he delivered her to her husband’s family and got on with the business of settling his score with Ian, the better. ‘I promised to see you safe in the hands of your husband’s family. No doubt the lawyer will be here in the morning. Or I will send him another message. Let us find a carriage to transport us and...’ He glanced back at the sailor with the cart, who was shifting from foot to foot with impatience.
She followed his gaze and a small shiver passed through her body. Clearly she was not as unaffected as she made out.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will hear what this lawyer of yours has to say, if he arrives tomorrow. The stage let me down at
