The Wedding Ring Quest. Carla Kelly
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pleasant.
Nathan was elbowing him as discreetly as a young boy did anything, which made her smile deepen, as she gazed from one to the other.
‘Mr Barraclough, I had no idea you had a bairn.’
God bless the wee bairn. Nathan sketched a bow and declared, ‘I am Nathan and I don’t know what’s the matter with my da.’
That’s all it took; Ross remembered himself. He tucked his hat more firmly under his arm, which made Mary Rennie smile, for some reason. She leaned forwards, her eyes lively.
‘There’s no strong wind in the corridor,’ she said, then indicated they were to enter the sitting room. ‘Let’s sort this out inside.’
He did as she said, putting his hat where she directed and taking off his cloak. In another minute he was seated at the table and she was pouring tea for him and tea with a lot of cream for Nathan. He didn’t see any other teacups, so he knew this was for Mr Barraclough, whoever he was.
‘I am Captain Ross Rennie and my son has already introduced himself,’ he began. ‘Quite possibly you have confused me with someone else.’
‘Rennie?’ Her expression went from puzzled to understanding. ‘Oh! I suppose the innkeep thinks we are related.’
‘I rather think he believes we are man and wife,’ Ross said, then could have bitten his tongue, because she blushed furiously. He kept going doggedly, because all he knew to do was press forwards, full and bye, no matter the venture. ‘He said Nathan didn’t really resemble either of us.’
Mary Rennie laughed, a full-hearted sound that smacked the tension right across its snout and chased it out of the room. ‘Captain, if you are from Scotland...’
‘Dumfries...’
‘Then he is probably correct. I am from Edinburgh in recent years, but Montrose before that. My father was rector there.’ She stood up and went to the door. ‘I’ll ask the keep for more cups.’ She turned a friendly eye on Nathan. ‘And toffee pudding for you?’
Ross couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips. Nathan giggled.
‘For my da, rather,’ his son said. ‘He’s been long at sea and gets silly about food, I think.’
‘For your da, too,’ she amended, ‘and enough for all of us, because I like toffee pudding.’
She left the parlour. Ross looked at his son. ‘Am I embarrassing you, laddie?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ Nathan replied, obviously a man to hedge his bets. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’
Oh, Lord God Almighty, he’s already a son of the guns, Ross thought, impressed. He wondered for a brief moment what Mrs Pritchert would think.
The toffee pudding appeared with Mary, who carried it on a tray, along with plates, forks and tea cups.
‘You went right to the kitchen?’ he asked. Maybe Mary Rennie knew something of full and bye.
‘Certainly. And what is Mr MacDonald doing but preparing a monster dinner of sausage, neeps and taties, whig bread and Cumberland butter. Captain, I told him to serve it in here, because you’re starting to interest me.’
Chapter Four
Mary Rennie, he’ll think you’re the most outrageous flirt in the history of Scotland, she scolded herself, amazed, as she set the pudding on the table. ‘I mean...’ she started, then stopped, honest to her heart’s core, because that was how she was raised. ‘No, I mean just that. I’ve met a rascally army officer or two, but never a sea captain. And could we be cousins?’
The sea captain laughed out loud, which surprised her, considering stories she had heard of the solemn and stoic men of that profession.
‘A rascally army officer or two? That is all?’ he teased in turn. ‘There are many more, Miss Rennie. Just ask any inmate of the Royal Navy. As for cousins, dessert first. Genealogy can wait.’
He accepted the bowl of pudding after she poured a little clotted cream on top. He must have known they were both watching him, but he dug into the dessert with a single-minded zeal that told her worlds about him. The first bite must have been a little bit of heaven, because he rolled his eyes. She couldn’t help observing his face, with its sharp features and weather wrinkles. He looked forty-five at least, but it was entirely possible that he was younger.
‘Twelve years, madam,’ he said, gesturing with the spoon, but so careful not to drop a scrap. ‘I have wanted this for twelve years.’
Mary looked at his son, already seeing a co-conspirator there. ‘What do you think? Should we let him eat the whole lot?’
Nathan shook his head. ‘I want some, too, and besides, Mrs Pritchert would scold him for eating dessert first.’
She glanced at the captain, already knowing he would supply the details, even though the pudding beckoned.
‘Mrs Pritchert is an estimable female and the widow of my best sailing master. She is rearing Nathan, because his mother died in an earthquake in Oporto. We think he was a week old.’
He spoke with a matter-of-fact tone that she found beguiling, considering that she was weary of her aunt’s circumlocutions and the tragedy that was Cousin Dina’s life. She liked the look of him, too. Most of the men she knew were men of business and finance like her uncle, with white, indoor skin and soft hands. None of them had an interesting scar like the one that ran from Captain Rennie’s left eye to his hairline. And absolutely no one had a peg-leg.
‘How on earth did you get Nathan home?’ she asked, intrigued by two lives that were far more interesting than hers.
‘By the grace of God, a goat and a frigate with willing nursemaids,’ he said, and there was no overlooking the fun in his eyes. She could only imagine at the desperate sadness, but that had probably been about ten years ago, if Nathan was as young as he looked. She knew how time could smooth away jagged edges; oh, my, she did.
It was good toffee pudding. She ate a smallish portion and left the rest to the captain. Nathan did the same thing, which touched her heart. Captain Rennie worked his way steadily through the dessert and appeared none the worse for wear when he finished. She could have laughed out loud as he eyed the residue around the rim of the bowl. Probably aboard his ship and dining alone, he would have run his finger around that rim; maybe even licked the bowl.
Mary hoped he would feel inclined to tell her more, before he and his son found their own private parlour. Her own day of travel had been boring in the extreme, without a single person of interest on the mail coach to talk to—not that she would have addressed a man she did not know, at least not one younger than sixty.
‘There now,’ he said, putting his empty bowl back on the tray. ‘After that restorative, let me think about my Rennie family tree. Feel free to jump in, Miss Rennie, if someone sounds familiar. My great-grandfather, Thomas Rennie, from Castle Douglas, had five sons. There was Angus, Max, Andrew, Douglas and Gerard. Ring any bells with you?’
‘Andrew,’ she replied promptly. ‘Named after the saint, but wasn’t, or so my father said. Papa was a rector, though, so few measured high on his scale. Papa’s grandfather was Gerard.’
He smiled at that. ‘Douglas was mine. I met Great-Uncle Andrew once.’ He leaned closer and there was no mistaking the twinkle in his eyes. ‘I also remember that Da counted the silverware when he left.’
Mary gasped and laughed out loud. ‘My father tells me similar stories. I think we are cousins of some stripe or other, Captain.’
She had not been raised to pry, but Mary knew she did not want either of them to leave her orbit so soon. Nearly a week on the road, tracking down Christmas cake, had shown her the dismal side of travel: there was no one to talk to. It was easy enough to bury her nose in a book on the mail coach during the day, or exchange pleasantries with