Rogue of the Borders by Cynthia Breeding Page A

other. And when she pointed the bow closer toward the wind, filling the sails and causing the hull to slice smoothly through the waves, she had been ecstatic. She absolutely loved sailing. Loved it. Even Shane had a look of admiration when she’d instinctively let the bow fall back so the sails wouldn’t start flapping.
    As soon as the lines were secured, Shane gestured for her to come forward. The crew seemed a lot friendlier than when they’d started out, but maybe that was because they were home.
    Shane held out his hand to assist her down the gangplank and Abigail wondered if he felt the tingle too when they touched. She would have loved to tuck her hand inside his elbow as English ladies did, but somehow it seemed inappropriate here. At any rate, he dropped his hand and moved toward a two-story wooden building at the end of the quay.
    “Is this your office?” she asked, glad her legs were long enough to keep up with Shane and not make him slow down.
    “Aye. I need to check in with Albert.”
    “Who is Albert?”
    “My man of business,” Shane said. “He keeps all the accounts and handles the bills of lading. Donald will give him the receipts for the tin shipment, but I need to check on how long until the kelp is ready.”
    “Do you harvest it yourself?”
    “Nae. There’s an abundance of fisherman who are eager for the work.”
    “How long does it take to harvest? To dry?”
    Shane laughed. “Do ye always ask so many questions?”
    Abigail bit her lip. Shane was easy to talk to, but that didn’t mean he wanted a woman constantly badgering him with questions. “I am just curious. I will try not—”
    “Nae, lass. Ye doona have to stop.” He gave her a curious look as they walked up the steps and he opened the door to the office. “I doona mind explaining.”
    She smiled in relief and turned her attention to the two men behind the counter. One was older with spectacles and a slightly receding, grey hairline. When Shane asked him about the kelp, she surmised he was Albert. The other man was younger, probably no older than she. He had short brown hair worn in the style of Beau Brummell and London’s dandies, and glacier-blue eyes that seemed to sharpen when he looked up.
    “’Tis a bunch of late spring storms we’ve been having,” Albert said, “so the harvest be a bit late.”
    “No matter,” Shane said. “I need to make a trip to Glenfinnan.” He turned and introduced Abigail. “My wife needs to meet my relatives.”
    For a moment, Albert looked stunned, but he quickly recovered and smiled broadly at Abigail before looking back at Shane. “’Tis glad I am ye have taken a wife, Captain. A mon needs a warm hearth to come home to.”
    Shane gave a curt nod and switched his attention to the young man. “And who might ye be?”
    “Richard Reneau, sir,” he answered with a French accent. “I am—how do you say?—taking the place of the helper.”
    Shane frowned and looked at Albert. “What happened to David?”
    “A most unfortunate accident a week ago,” Albert said. “Thieves waylaid him one evening when he was returning home. He survived, but both arms are broken.”
    “Did he get a description?”
    Albert shook his head. “It was too dark and their heads were covered. He only knows it was three men.” He gestured to Richard. “This young man had stopped by two days before looking for work and gave us the name of the hotel where he was staying. Since David will not be able to return for a while, I thought we could use Richard. He has turned out to be a quick learner.”
    Shane studied him and then slowly nodded. “Welcome aboard then.”
    “Thank you, sir. I will do my best,” Richard replied, “and might I add congratulations on your recent marriage?”
    Shane nodded again. “Donald has the Bills of Lading,” he said to Albert. “I will be in touch before I leave.”
    Abigail repressed a sigh as they turned and walked out the door. Shane seemed distant suddenly, just when