The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [52]
She turned then and smiled at her husband, not really much of a smile, but an honest effort at one. “I should like another cup of tea. Would you?”
“Yes, Joan, I believe I would.” He fell into step beside her. “I like your brothers.”
She was silent a moment, then said with desperate cheerfulness, “Yes, I rather do, too.”
“I know you will miss them. We’ll see them soon, I promise you.”
“Yes, you promise.”
He gave her a quick look but said nothing.
CHAPTER
8
THE DOCK ON the Firth of Forth was a nasty place, smelling of fish in all stages of rot, unwashed bodies of yelling stevedores, and other odors she couldn’t, thankfully, identify. It was filled with so many carts and drays and boats of every size in the water that it was difficult to see why they hadn’t all crashed into each other. In that moment, two drays did collide, tipping an oak barrel off the end of one of the drays. It bounced hard on the cobblestones and then rolled, picking up more speed, until it slammed into an iron railing, cracking wide open. Rich dark ale spilled out, filling the air with its pungent smell. Sinjun smiled and sniffed. She supposed the London docks were much the same, but she’d never been to see them. Colin took her elbow, saying nothing, and directed her to a ferry that looked to be on its last legs, had it been a horse. It was a long, narrow barge with unpainted wooden railings, and its name was Forth Star, surely an ambitious title for such a scrawny boat. The horses were already on board, standing very close to the people, and not happy about it. The ferry was owned by an old man who had the foulest mouth Sinjun had ever heard. He cursed at the people, at the animals, at all the valises and trunks. He even yelled at the opposite bank of the Forth. Sinjun regretted that she could only understand just a bit of what he said. She did see Colin wince several times when the old man got bitten in the shoulder by a horse and yelled his displeasure to all within three miles.
When the ferry got under way, Sinjun watched with horrified eyes, knowing it had to run into other boats. One ship from Holland came within scraping distance. Another from Spain was so close the sailors were leaning over the sides with long poles to push any boat away that came too close. Nothing seemed to bother Colin—natural, she supposed, because he was, after all, a Scot, and none of this was new to him. Even the horses started blowing loudly in the salty clean air. Thank God it was a beautiful day, warm and balmy, the sun high in a cloud-strewn sky. As they neared the other side of the Forth, she saw that the Fife Peninsula seemed from here to look every bit as English as Sussex. The green was soft and pure and deep, and the hills were rolling and gentle. It was lovely, and Sinjun felt a stirring of enthusiasm. At that moment, the Forth Star hit another small barge. The two captains howled at each other, the horses whinnied, and the people shook their fists. Sinjun tried not to laugh as she yelled at the other captain herself.
The ferry crossed at the narrowest point, called the Queensferry Narrows, not a beautiful spot, for the water looked thick and dirty and swirled about the barge. Ah, but looking toward the east, to the North Sea, was beautiful.
Colin said unexpectedly, “At this point the Forth is a long tidal estuary. The river itself begins nearly all the way to the western sea. It’s a mighty river there, deep and so blue it makes you want to cry. Then it narrows and meanders over a flat peaty wilderness to Stirling.”
Sinjun breathed in deeply. She nodded at his offering,