Tempest Heart - Paula Quinn Page 0,2
the last month. “My father will not let me marry, Emma. Have you forgotten so soon?”
“No, but he let you travel, did he not? ’Tis evidence that he can be swayed.”
Rose didn’t dare hope, especially for a young, handsome husband. But she had her fancies. “I would like a man who is genuine and joyful, kindhearted and compassionate, perhaps a bit playful. Not vulgar and arrogant like some others I have met. I would prefer a man who is a bit more refined. As far as his appearance, dark hair and pretty eyes, not dull brown, like mine.”
Emma snorted, “My dearest, there is nothing dull about your eyes. They are expressive, yet too dark to give any part of yourself away.”
“Perhaps,” Rose said quietly, thoughtfully. She’d spent a lot of time with Emma since her cousin had arrived. Perhaps Emma was correct. But Rose wasn’t secretive or guarded. She simply didn’t know how to interact with people. Emma was the first person she’d gotten to know since she was fourteen. “But I would still prefer blue like yours.”
Emma gave her her best smile and batted her lashes. Both girls laughed.
“Ah, I’m pleased to see my niece already enjoying her time away from home.”
“Uncle Richard.” Rose graced her uncle with a soft smile. “You know how I enjoy Emma’s company.”
He nodded and let his smile shine full force on her. “It does my heart good to see you so vibrant and happy, Niece. I’m sure you will be happy in Hamilton.”
“I’m certain I will, Uncle,” she replied merrily.
“We are coming up on Crawford,” he told them. “We can rest and relieve.”
“Perfect,” Emma announced. “I’m growing weak from hunger!”
Emma didn’t bring up young men again since her father was close by, but the girls shared secret smiles and giggled all the way there.
As they rode into the market village of Crawford, a small group of men rode out. Two of them were ghostly white and looked as if they might fall from their saddles if the wind picked up.
A hard night of drinking, most likely, Rose thought with a concealed smirk and a shake of her head. She knew what her father’s men did when they weren’t fighting. Her father didn’t mind as long as they practiced and stayed alert.
She looked around, soaking in the view of everything around her. This was the fourth village or town they had stopped in. But she didn’t think she would ever get used to seeing so much in one place.
Crawford consisted of a tall, steepled church, two mills, and vendors everywhere working under their tents, forging steel or selling wares. Dirty children ran to and fro. The smell of burning tar and the sewage-polluted town ditch permeated the air.
Rose took it all in with wide eyes. She couldn’t remember seeing so many different faces! And the sounds! She delighted in the calls of travelers and the town criers and the ringing of the church bells.
They dismounted with the help of two young men, soldiers of her uncle’s, who curled their lips at her and Emma. Her cousin giggled and slapped one of the men’s hands away as it strayed to her buttocks.
Rose gave the soldier nearest her a warning glare. If he touched her so, she would not hesitate to slap his face. And she wouldn’t giggle while she did it.
Her father’s men wouldn’t have dared touch her in such a way. She looked over at them now. Harry, John, and Alex were seasoned swordsmen in her father’s service for eleven years. She smiled and shook her head, stopping them from coming closer.
Emma giggled again and blushed at something the guard whispered against her ear.
Spending the winter with Emma was going to be challenging, for she seemed immensely at ease with men. She was, what Rose would consider, obsessed with them.
Rose, on the other hand, was not. Were their differences too great to spend the whole winter together?
So what if they were? It was too late to do anything about it now.
They took care of first things first and then stayed close to Rose’s uncle and the men when they settled at an open tavern serving breads and stews, as well as ale.
Rose wasn’t afraid of all the unfamiliar sights and sounds, though they were overwhelming at times. She found the journey adventurous and was enjoying every moment of it.
They ate mutton stew and drank warm ale. Rose was used to more refined dishes at home, but she wasn’t home. She was traveling and she