Page 25

Now, she smiled. “Why I’d never have thought tae hear an apology from ye.”

“They are rare, indeed.” He grinned.

The level of rowdiness had increased, drowning out any possible response from Aileen. There was laughter, voices raised in anger, squeals from the wenches seated on men’s laps as hands raised skirts and lips ventured onto plump breasts.

Tam’s wife, Jennie, bustled out of the kitchen bearing a tray loaded with platters of food which she placed on their table.

“I’m sorry, all we have tonight is venison pie.”

Aileen laughed. “That sounds like something straight from heaven. All we’ve been eating fer these past weeks has been porridge, bannocks and nettle soup and, when we were lucky, a sliver of black pudding or haggis.”

That brought a smile to Jennie’s broad features.

“Well, to follow, I’ve a juicy blackberry crumble and some fresh cream. Never let it be said that at the Flying Fish ye dinnae eat like kings and queens.”

They all tucked into the food with great eagerness, making short work of the pie and the crumble and washing them down with another tankard of ale.

“Delicious.” Finn gave her stomach a satisfied rub as Jennie cleared their dishes from the table. “I’ll nae be hungry again fer another week.”

A comfortably replete Maxwell leaned back, looking around the tavern surveying the revelers. The crew members were certainly making the most of their freedom. Here and there he glimpsed one of his fellow oarsmen, entwined with one of the lasses draped across his knee, or straddling him, consuming him in a kiss.

Watching these blatant displays of lust, his blood was rising and his desire for Aileen was growing with every moment. He felt himself hardening under his kilt. He shifted, moving to hide his desire, even though, in this scene of revelry and seduction, there’d be few who would care if he displayed an unseemly bulge.

One of the sailors strolled to the end of the room and piped a tune on a tin whistle. Another took out an accordion and joined him. Their host, Tam, joined in with his fiddle. A cheer went up and within seconds the crowd was singing along with the familiar, well-loved tunes.

A crewman leaped to his feet, grabbed the hand of a serving lass and the two of them started dancing a merry jig. Soon they were joined by other dancing couples. One of the serving-lassies jumped on a chair and called out loudly. “C’mon ye lazy wretches. On yer feet and dance. Take yer partners fer a reel.”

Maxwell seized Aileen’s gloved hand and got to his feet, tugging her to join him. “Lass, I see yer feet tapping under yer chair. Dance wi’ me in and have some fun.”

She joined him and soon her skirt and hair were flying as Maxwell, holding her tight, twirled her in time with the rollicking music. Then they kept time again to the music, dancing a joyous, wild jig, and slowed their steps to a familiar strathspey tune. Finally, out of breath, laughing for the joy of it, they resumed their seats.

Another of the women rose – a trifle unsteadily – and began to sing in a sweet, high voice that captivated her audience’s attention.

For the next hours, Maxwell contented himself with the sight of Aileen’s enraptured face, glowing in the firelight. The crowd hushed as the air filled with lilting ballads of lost love, white roses climbing on gravestones, Thomas and his rhymes, and wicked songs of murder.

Those he enjoyed most were the lively, bawdy songs of lovers who, after overcoming every obstacle in their way, found their bliss in each other’s arms.

As the night wore on a combination of tiredness and an excess of ale took their toll on the those few crew members who had not retired with a lass or two on their arms. One or two slept snoring under tables, one slept propped up in a chair, while yet another was slumped face down on a table.

Finn and Séamus got to their feet. Finn yawned. “’Tis time we were abed, Captain. Will ye excuse our company now before I fall asleep?”

Séamus shrugged, but there was an amorous glint in his eyes. “Seems the lass needs her sleep this night.”

Aileen laughed. “Sleep or nay lad, she’ll be snug and warm in yer arms.”

After the pair had departed, there were few revelers still awake. Maxwell turned to Aileen. “Will ye welcome me tae yer bed this night?”

She cocked a questioning eyebrow. “Would ye prefer me bed tae the barracks wi’ the other oarsmen?”

He laughed. “’Tis a question that needs nay answer, Captain. I think me preference is clear. But what d’ye wish?” He wanted to hear her say it. He wished for her invitation. Without her acquiescence, he would not insist. Bedding an unwilling lass was something he’d never done and tonight would not be the first time.

The planes of her face seemed to sharpen and, when she spoke, her voice was soft but her tone was serious.

“I will be honest wi’ ye, MacNeil. I desire yer presence in me bed. ‘Tis the truth and I’ll nae deny it. Yet I fear that ye and I becoming lovers would be an error that will imperil both our lives.”

He rubbed his chin, his gazed locked unblinking on hers. “Ye wish tae bed me, but ye will nae be me lover. Have I grasped what ye’re saying?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “’Tis nae fer nae wanting ye, never fear. But should we allow our passion tae swamp us, we would pay a heavy price.”