Rogue of the High Seas (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Shauna had prayed yesterday would be a one-day visit from Colette, but when she arrived at the office the next morning, the French girl was waiting for her on the steps.

“
Bon jour,
” Colette said as if they were great friends.

Shauna stifled a sigh as she unlocked the door and managed to reply in what she hoped was at least a cordial tone. She hadn't slept well since Albert had started running a fever again and the physician had to be called. Last night's dinner had consisted of something burned that might have been a chicken and boiled potatoes that hadn't been quite done. This morning she'd had an apple since the footmen had finished off the rest of the fresh bread before she'd gotten downstairs, along with the cheese.

“What a beautiful day,” Colette said as she began arranging her ink and pens on the table. “The light is perfect.”

The cheerful chirping wasn't improving Shauna's mood. “Ye are planning on more sketches today?” she asked just as Robert came in and raised his eyebrows. She could have bitten her tongue for sounding so shrewish.

Colette gave her a cursory glance. “Of course. I have just begun.” She moved to the table, rummaged through the sketches she'd done yesterday and held one up. “This is the only one that does Captain Henderson justice, do you not agree?”

Shauna looked at it, feeling a twinge of envy. Colette obviously had talent, for she'd captured Robert's features perfectly—the slant of his cheekbones, the straight nose and square jaw—and she'd even managed to show a hint of his Viking heritage in keeping his eyes light and his tousled hair blond while using black ink. “Aye. 'Tis verra good.”

Colette smiled and turned to Robert, who looked embarrassed. “Today I will concentrate on your shoulders, I think.”

Shauna managed not to groan, but just barely. She'd tried—mostly unsuccessfully—to keep from staring at those broad shoulders herself. Then she remembered how Colette had angled Robert's face with her fingers a number of times yesterday. Shauna didn't think she could take Colette spreading her hands all over Robert's shoulders and chest as well. And—Good Lord—what if Colette asked him to take his shirt off? Then she'd be running her hands on his bare skin.

The thought must have occurred to Robert too, since he shook his head. “Shane is counting on the office being run smoothly. I do not have time to be posing today.”

Colette's cheeks dimpled. “Do not worry about that. I prefer watching you move so I can observe how your muscles work.”

Shauna would wager the girl preferred watching Robert, period.

“Perhaps I could observe you work outside on one of the ships?” Colette asked.

“I had planned to ask Robert to help me with the ledgers this morning,” Shauna said, knowing she sounded snappish but not able to stop herself. “'Tis nae a lot of activity with that.”

Robert hesitated. “I do need to do some work outside.”

Shauna felt her face sting as though someone had slapped her. So Robert wanted Colette following him around, watching his muscles—and other body parts—move? She felt even more mortified when she noticed Colette's triumphant smile.

“Fine,” Shauna said.

Robert gave her a sideward glance as he walked over to the counter and picked up a bill of lading. “I didn't get to confirm the inventory yesterday on the ship that's leaving this morning.”

“Oh.” Shauna wouldn't mind if the floor suddenly splintered, allowing her to sink into a hole. How could she have been so stupid as to forget the
Loch Lassie
was departing at noon? Since Shane had been imprisoned briefly in London on false smuggling charges a year ago, he never let one of his ships leave without verifying the contents to be delivered. She'd allowed herself to be so annoyed with Colette that she'd forgotten one of the most important aspects to working in the dock office. She was about to apologize when her stomach emitted a loud growl.

Colette arched a brow and gave a delicate sniff.

Robert frowned. “Have you not eaten?”

“Aye,” Shauna said, embarrassment washing over her. “I had an apple.”

“An apple,” Robert repeated. “Janet let you leave the house with just an apple?”

“'Tis nae her fault,” Shauna replied, “Albert's fever returned last night. She's nae left his side.” Shauna didn't add that Janet hadn't left Albert's side for four days now.

“Let me guess. Kyla doesn't cook?”

“She tries. Abby has offered to—”

“The daughter of an English earl would cook?” Colette interrupted, looking clearly surprised.

“Aye. So would I,” Shauna replied, “but my sister Bridget dinnae want anyone in her kitchen.”

“So you haven't had a decent meal since when?” Robert asked.

“'Tis been a few days.”

“Well, there are dining establishments,” Colette said. “Why do you not go to some of them?”

“Because we have a household to feed,” Shauna answered, wondering why it wouldn't occur to Colette that all those people needed food too. “I will have Johnny take me to market this afternoon.”

“Then the problem is solved,
non
?” Colette said and smiled at Robert. “I am ready to get started on my sketching.”

Robert nodded. “You can sit on the helmsman's locker and observe from there.”

“
Fantastique
,” Colette exclaimed and clutched her sketch pad. “Let us go.”

Shauna picked up a clipboard and smiled when Colette drew her brows together.

“I have to check things off on the ship,” she told the French girl.

Robert began to say something but then closed his mouth abruptly and opened the door. “After you, ladies,” he said.

Robert looked around the kitchen at the MacLeod townhouse. How he'd gotten himself into this situation, he didn't precisely know, but it seemed he'd taken leave of his common sense…again.

He began unpacking the food he'd brought. After hearing Shauna tell of the cooking problem this morning—and listening to her stomach growl—he thought to bring some things that didn't require much skill to put together and leave them for her. But then, while he was leaving the market, a small girl in tattered clothes had approached him, asking if he'd care to buy fish fresh from her father's boat. The child could not have been more than five years, but her hazel eyes looked like a soul much older, and he figured her family probably could use the coin.

So now he was about to prepare Louisiana fish gumbo in Scotland. Shauna had not come home yet, but he had plenty of company. Kyla leaned against the table and watched him with round eyes as the three footmen hovered in the doorway. Seeing the men eye the contents spread out, Robert moved the fresh barley loaf to a counter behind him. Shauna would be having fresh bread tonight.

He spooned lard from a crock into a cast iron skillet atop the stove to melt and reached up on a shelf for the flour sack.

“Can I help?” Kyla asked as he measured out a cup.

Robert contemplated asking her to stir the flour into the hot fat but quickly rejected the idea. Roux was the basic stock for gumbo and it needed constant, careful stirring so not to burn, yet enough heat to bring out the dark, rich flavor of the sauce. “Can you clean a fish?”

Her eyes widened and he knew the answer. After what Shauna had told him about the half-done potatoes, he suspected tasking Kyla with making rice would result in a clumpy, sticky mess. “Nothing else right now.”

“I can clean a fish,” Johnny answered and came into the kitchen. As he unwrapped the newspaper around the seafood, he inhaled sharply.

Robert looked up. “What is it?”

“These are salmon.”

“So?”

Johnny knit his brows. “Salmon are not common in the Firth.”

George and Jacob moved inside too to peer down at the bundle. “Where did you get these?” George asked.

“At a fishmonger's stand.”

Jacob bent down to sniff. “It's fresh.”

Robert thought about throwing the whole pack of them out. “Of course it is.”

Kyla left her perch to join the men. “They
are
salmon.”

“What is so special about salmon? I know they are a tasty fish, but—”

“'Tis a wise fish,” Kyla said.

Robert might have argued the point that the fish had gotten
caught,
but he was saved the trouble.

“Aye, 'tis,” George agreed. “My uncle Patrick used to tell me stories of the Salmon of Fec.”

Robert knew he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. “The Salmon of Fec?”

“Long ago, when the Irish were in search of a new leader, it was said that whoever caught the wise salmon that swam in a deep pool off the River Boyne and ate its flesh would have all the wisdom in the world.”

“Kind of like Eve's apple in the Garden of Eden?” Robert asked with a smile.

George frowned. “Nae. No woman was involved. 'Tis Finn McCool I speak of.”

“An Irish version of King Arthur,” Jacob said.

“Ah, yes. Myths are always interesting,” Robert replied.

George's jaw set. “Finn is nae a myth, any more than leprechauns are.”

He almost told George that he'd just lost his own argument when Robert remembered when they'd brought Fiona back from Ireland, she'd insisted leprechauns had given her gold coins to help her escape the asylum. At the time, he'd thought she was somewhat delusional from her ordeal. Perhaps George was suffering from some kind of shock as well. After all, he knew little about the footmen.

Robert pointed to the dead fish. “I don't think we'll have a problem acquiring wisdom from those.”

“Well, we will nae ken until we eat them,” Kyla said and poked Johnny. “Doona be lingering doing the job. I, for one, am hungry.”

The prospect of a decent meal must have been motivating, since each footman suddenly took a fish and started cleaning it. Kyla leaned on the counter, crossing her arms and supervising.

Robert put a kettle of water on to boil for the rice, keeping an eye on the footmen's progress. The fish obviously possessed no magic wisdom, but he did wonder about Johnny's claim that salmon weren't common in the Firth. If that were true, then how had the child's father come by them?

By the time Shauna arrived at her front door that evening, she was looking forward to having Shane and Albert back. Mr. Frazier had come into the office shortly after lunch to ask about which customs forms Shane used and Colette had taken the opportunity to show her father her sketches. He had beamed at his daughter and managed to linger for most of the afternoon. After posing—once again—by the window so Mr. Frazier could admire Colette's work in progress, Robert had made an excuse to leave. Not that Shauna blamed him. She would have escaped too if she could.

Then, to make matters worse, Johnny was late coming to pick her up and the market had already closed for the day, which meant trying to eat—and recognize first—whatever Kyla had attempted to make. Shauna couldn't fault Kyla for her lack of cooking skills though, since she and Abby lacked the expertise as well.

Shauna stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she got into the foyer. The spicy aroma of cinnamon and cloves wafted toward her, along with a scent of something else she couldn't identify. “What is that delicious smell?”

Johnny grinned at her. “Captain Henderson calls it gumbo.”

“Captain Henderson? Why would—”

“At your service,” Robert said, appearing in the shadows of the hallway near the kitchen. He had a towel tossed over his shoulder. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Dinner?” Shauna repeated, feeling somewhat lightheaded and confused. Was Robert really standing only a few feet from her, the collar of his linen shirt open and the sleeves rolled up, exposing tanned, muscular forearms? Maybe she was just imagining him. She was hungry and tired—or maybe she had bumped her head in the carriage.

“Yes, dinner. I thought I would relieve Kyla for one night.”

“Aye, and glad I am he is,” Kyla said from behind him as she carried a steaming bowl of rice past him into the informal dining room. “We will feast tonight.”

“It's not really a feast. Just gumbo. A Louisiana favorite,” Robert clarified for Shauna's sake. He stepped forward and gestured toward the doorway. “Please, have a seat.”

She walked into the dining area. Johnny had wasted no time taking his place beside Jacob and George. Kyla put rice into everyone's bowls before taking a seat. Slipping into a chair beside Abigail, Shauna looked at the table. A tureen of whatever that heavenly smell was sat in the middle of the table, fresh barley bread and soft butter on a platter beside it. This was heaven compared to past fare.

“Pass your bowls this way,” Robert said as he dipped a ladle into the tureen and poured rich brown sauce and chunks of fish over Abigail's rice and set it down in front of her. “Then tell me what you think.”

Shauna managed to mind her manners and wait until everyone had been served, but it wasn't easy. She spooned some of the soup-like concoction into her mouth and then sighed with pleasure. It was even more delicious than it smelled.

Robert took a seat beside her. “Like it?”

“'Tis wonderful. Ye have this often in New Orleans?”

Robert nodded. “At least once a week. Most of the Creole cooks like to add okra and sometimes tomatoes, but this is the basic recipe.”

“What is okra?” Kyla asked.

“It's a green vegetable pod, several inches long, that feels fuzzy on the outside.”

Kyla drew her brows together. “Fuzzy? Fuzzy vegetables are usually rotten.”

“Kyla,” Abigail admonished, “What a thing to say.”

“Well—”

“It's all right, Mrs. MacLeod,” Robert said and turned to Kyla. “I assure you, okra doesn't taste fuzzy once it's sliced and cooked. It provides a good contrast to the seafood and cuts the richness of the roux.”