“I…” Grace began, and Dylan looked down at her, patiently waiting for her to speak. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what, exactly? The things you said about my character?” Dylan asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“For being responsible for some of the… uh… issues you had with your crew. I promise that, moving forward, I’ll meet you on equal ground when it comes to our negotiations,” Grace said, lifting her chin.
“Is that what we’re doing? Negotiating?” Dylan asked.
Grace nodded. “I’d say it’s a battle, but ’twas the first word that popped into my mind.”
“And that’s the apology?” Dylan asked.
Grace nodded once more, refusing to budge. A woman could only give so much, after all.
“Fine. Apology accepted. Now I owe you one,” Dylan said, and Grace almost laughed.
“Whatever for?”
“For kissing you,” Dylan said, his expression grave as he looked down at her.
“Oh, well. ’Tis no matter. You aren’t the first to have stolen a kiss from me.” Grace shrugged it away, feeling awkward about the direction of conversation. Dylan’s face turned mutinous at the mention of others who had kissed her, which Grace filed away for careful reflection later on.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not while we are in… negotiations, at least,” Dylan said, raking his hand through his hair. “It’s unethical. For that, I apologize.”
Interesting, Grace thought, as they turned to continue walking. The man had a code of ethics that he didn’t like to violate. Yet he’d still kissed her – which meant he broke the rules sometimes. The contrast appealed to the pirate queen in her, for there were times when breaking the rules was the only answer at hand. Not in this case, of course, as there was no reason for him to kiss her. But she’d been known to bend a few rules in her life and would likely do so again.
“Did you rent a boat or do you have one here?” Grace said, deciding to move past any discussion of kissing. She wasn’t ready to examine her feelings on that any further. For now, she was trying to keep her enemy close. With the village meeting coming up at the end of the week, their negotiations would be coming to a head, and soon enough Dylan would be gone. She’d deal with the aftermath of her emotions then.
“Don’t you know already?” Dylan asked, stopping so that he stood in front of her and blocked her view.
“How would I know?” Grace asked.
“My boat was delayed by some strange circumstances along the way, and arrived later than planned. Luckily everyone was safe,” Dylan said, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stared her down.
“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” Grace said, genuinely shocked. “I can’t say that, had I known you had a boat coming to harbor, I might not have put a word in the harbormaster’s ear about not letting you get a slip here, but I promise you I would never mess with someone’s ship or endanger the livelihood of a sailor. My father is a sailor. It’s a code I live by,” Grace said, holding her palm to her heart.
“That’s right – Flynn is your father, isn’t he? I’ve met him before,” Dylan said, switching the subject neatly. “Why don’t you use his last name?”
“Oh… um… my mother wanted to go matriarchal. She gave me O’Brien, and Dad had no issues with it. We are a fierce bunch of women in my bloodline,” Grace said, wondering if he would make the leap from Grace O’Brien to Gráinne O’Malley.
“Since you were honest with me regarding your involvement with the mechanical issues my crew experienced, I’ll take you at your word that you didn’t try to cause harm to my vessel,” Dylan said.
“I swear.” Grace put her hand on his arm, finding the muscle there as hard as rock. “I may cause trouble sometimes, but I’ll always take responsibility for it.”
“Fair enough,” Dylan said, and Grace could feel the anger slowly leaving his body. “There she is.”
He turned and pointed, but Dylan wasn’t looking at the boat. Instead his eyes were on Grace when she turned to look.
“The Pirate Queen,” Grace whispered, the punch of it slamming into her. She brought her hand to her lips, trembling a bit as she realized there was so much she didn’t yet understand about Dylan. If he’d named his boat that… was it possible? Did he remember their love?
“Aye, The Pirate Queen,” Dylan said, still watching her as he rocked back on his heels. “My first boat and the love of my life.”
“Why…” Grace’s mouth had gone dry and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Why did you pick that name?”
“I don’t really know,” Dylan admitted. “I’d say it came to me in a dream, but I suppose that’s too fanciful.”
“No.” Grace turned to him and almost bowled him over with the strength of her smile. “I’d say that’s just right.”
Chapter 27
The Pirate Queen was lovely, Grace mused, as she handily walked around the deck. As comfortable on boats and the water as she was in her cottage, she played first mate and helped Dylan with guiding the boat from the slip. It was a lovely little sloop, a perfect first boat, and she handled like a dream. It was no wonder Dylan had purchased her for his first. And the name – Grace sighed as she gripped the railing and looked out over harbor. He remembered. Deep down, something in him remembered her. Now if only he’d unlock it, Grace thought.
“I thought we’d have a sunset sail and then anchor up for dinner,” Dylan said as she moved back to stand near where he captained the ship. He’d angled the boat to catch a nice breeze and they cruised along at a light chop, the dusky light warming the scene.
“I’m fine with that,” Grace said, perching on a low bench that lined the rail, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the gentle motion of the boat, allowing it to soothe the jumble of emotions in her stomach. Confusion, lust, anxiety, anger… they all wrestled there like a pit of snakes.
“You must like being on the water. What with having Flynn for a father?” Dylan asked, and Grace opened her eyes to see him studying her. He looked so handsome at the wheel, the sleeves of his sweater pushed back to reveal muscled forearms, the wind tousling his hair.
“I love being on the water, in the water, near the water, hearing the waves at night… it all calls to me. It’s soothing, you see? To my soul,” Grace said, smiling a little at him. “My cousin, Fi, she’s yearned for the buzz of the city – any city – and has set off to explore the world for a year, or who even knows how long. She loves the hustle and bustle, the new restaurants, seeking out the latest trends, finding new bands – all of it. But me? A week without the sea and I’d start to go crazy.”
“I can identify with that,” Dylan said, nodding at her. “I’ve always had a yen for being on the water. I love seeing new horizons, wondering what they’ll hold for me. But I’m just as comfortable with staying in the same spot, so long as it is near the sea. The sea never grows old to me. She’s just as interesting and moody as any city I’ve come across.”
“She is, at that,” Grace said, delighted with the imagery, “I love watching how the light plays across her surface, highlighting each new color. She’s even more stunning in the middle of a squall. I’ll admit to pulling on my slicker and standing cliffside in the middle of a tempest just to see her churn. I do love it when the sea has a temper.”
“Perhaps not the smartest idea,” Dylan said, smiling at her.
“I didn’t say it was smart. But passion pulls me on a whim. I have a tendency to plunge forward with what I want to do and consider consequences later,” Grace admitted.
“Not a very safe way to live.”
“No, that it’s not. But it’s certainly exhilarating.”
“We’re going to lose the light soon. I’ll get us anchored up,” Dylan said, noting the light leaving the sky. “There’s a picnic hamper in the hull. Would you mind retrieving it for me?”
Grace did mind, as she loved helping when a boat changed course, but her curiosity won out. Alone, she’d
have a chance to snoop a bit.
The galley was kept tidy, as Grace would have expected. A quick peek into the rooms showed neatly made bunks, a tidy bathroom, and a storage area. Nothing overtly personal stood out to her and she wondered briefly if he rented this out to clients. Making her way back to the galley, she found the picnic hamper tucked on the narrow counter.
“Champagne is in the fridge if you’d like some,” Dylan called down, and Grace turned, noting a bucket ready for ice. She found the glasses in the cupboard, then busied herself with pouring ice from the chest into the bucket around the bottle. She realized she’d need to make two trips up, and as she turned to go, her eyes landed on the wall directly behind where she stood.
A canvas – it looked to be an oil painting – hung over the small table and chairs. Grace didn’t know how she had missed it, but tears immediately swam to her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment before she hastily swiped them away.
It was a beautifully rendered painting of their cottage. The little stone cottage they’d stolen away to and made love for hours in, where they had shared their passions, and where Dillon had lost his life. It had been painted in a time of storm; waves crashed the shoreline while a single bolt of radiant light shone like a benediction through the brooding clouds to light the cottage. Her fingers itched to touch the painting, to run her hands over every paint stroke, to feel what the painter had felt when painting this. Was the cottage still there? Had someone found it and painted it?
“Everything all right?” Dylan poked his head in from above.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I was just admiring this painting. It’s really lovely,” Grace said, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the happiest place she’d ever known.
“Thank you. I don’t paint much, but try to when the mood strikes,” Dylan said, and held a hand down. “Hand me up that hamper, please.”
Almost numb, Grace stepped to the counter and picked up the basket, handing it easily up to him while her thoughts raced. He had painted the cottage? How had he known? This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Somehow she’d imagined that if she ever did meet Dillon again, it would be like one of those Nicholas Sparks novels where the characters rush to each other and kiss in the rain, promising their undying love for each other or whatever. Instead, she had the uneasy choice of trying to decide whether she should tell this man that he was her lover from another time.
You did kiss in the rain, her subconscious reminded her.
Grace’s heart did a little flip once again when she climbed up top with the champagne bucket and found that Dylan had unrolled a checked blanket on the deck, and thrown a few cushions to sit on around it. He was busy laying out food and unpacking the hamper, so she had a moment to steady her emotions before he saw her.
“I hope you don’t mind sitting on the deck. It’s just easier all around,” Dylan said with a smile.
“Nope, I don’t mind. Less chance for things to go rolling off a table,” Grace said, and Dylan nodded in agreement.
“I just put together a tapas-style meal, since I wasn’t entirely sure what you ate. Just a bit of everything, really,” Dylan said, hands on his hips as he studied his spread. A very generous spread at that, Grace thought, surveying the array of food before her. A variety of cheeses mounded one platter, several fruit options on another. There were nuts galore, several bread options, some thinly sliced meats, biscuits, scones, and even a few little jars of jelly and jams.
“I think you’ve got it covered,” Grace laughed, and sat on a cushion, tucking her feet beneath her and setting the champagne bucket on the blanket. Dylan immediately took over the duties of opening the bottle with a loud pop and pouring her a glass of the delicately fizzing liquid. Finally comfortable with how everything was set up, he sat. Grace wondered if he was like that with his business projects as well – making sure everything was just so before he could finally relax.
“Sláinte,” Dylan said, clinking his glass on hers before taking a long sip of his drink.
“This is nice,” Grace said, always happy to give credit where credit was due.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you would show,” Dylan admitted.
“I wasn’t sure why you asked me. You seemed surprised at yourself,” Grace said, picking up a small plate and adding a selection of cheeses.
“I was. As I mentioned before, I don’t like to muddy the waters with business and personal.”
“So is this business or personal?” Grace asked, holding her breath for a moment as she waited on his answer.
The angles of his face hardened in the light from the lanterns he had lit, and she watched conflicting emotions roll across his face. Oh, the man was stubborn, she decided. No wonder he didn’t remember her – he probably refused to.
“I don’t know,” Dylan finally admitted, clearly unhappy with his answer.
“Fair enough,” Grace said, sliding a sliver of cheese in her mouth. Deciding that she wanted to learn a little more about this man – at least the man in the here and now – she changed the subject. “Tell me, what drew you to the water? Why shipping and sailing?”
“As I said before, I’ve always been drawn to the water,” Dylan said, crossing his arms over his legs as he leaned forward to sample some of the fruit. “But after learning just how difficult a life fishermen led, I decided there had to be another option for making a living on the water. It was happenstance, or perhaps just good luck, that I met my mentor when I did during university.”
Grace cringed a little as she thought about the nasty things she’d said about his mentor, but Dylan had the decency not to comment on it.
“So he taught you the business of boats,” Grace said, encouraging him to continue.
“That he did. He saw something in me, he said. He ran it all – fishing charters, tours, and the like. Met a woman later in life who whipped his business into shape. That’s one thing he’s always tried to tell me – that the right woman will only make my life and business better,” Dylan smiled a bit, thinking about his mentor.
“Seems to me you’ve tried out quite a few,” Grace said, and then bit her lip. She could never quite hold back her snarky comments.
“Just researching, so I know when I find the right one,” Dylan said, so easily that Grace was torn between laughing or smacking him. In the end, she smiled.
“You’re ridiculous,” she grumbled.
“What about you? I can’t imagine you don’t have a trail of broken hearts behind you. Yet you’re still alone. Why? Is it because you grew up here? What was that like?” Dylan asked, peppering her with questions and neatly changing the focus of the conversation from himself.
“I’ve done my best not to break any hearts,” Grace said, silently adding, because the loss of you broke mine so many centuries ago. “Growing up here was perfect. How could it not be? I had free rein to roam the hills; I had family everywhere that I could stay with, play with, learn from. My mother and great-grandmother taught me in the ways of healing. I learned how to create beautiful and meaningful products that actually help people. My father taught me how to run and brand a business. I’ve been able to travel when I want, but no matter what, I always come back here. This village, these hills, this water – it’s my heart.”
“Tell me more about your business,” Dylan said, shifting uncomfortably. She could read his unspoken thoughts from a mile away – now he was trying to take all this away from her.
“It’s a line of all-natural health care products, and some beauty products as well,” Grace said, deliberately skipping over the more hands-on healing she did around town. The man lived and breathed business, so she spoke to him about what he understood. “I’m set to launch in several stores in New York this summer. I’ve had a great response so far and am looking forward to growing the brand. I’ll need to hire on as I grow, but for now, I’m managing it.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations,” Dylan said, smiling at her.
“Thank you! It feels good, a
s I am sure you know, to build something of your own,” Grace said. “You’ve built quite a bit yourself.”
“I have, at that. I don’t think I ever quite set out to build as much as I have, but I do like a challenge. Though I’ve slowed a bit, to be honest.” Dylan shrugged.
“Getting old?” Grace teased, finishing her champagne and smiling her thanks when he filled her glass once more.
“Discontent, I suppose,” Dylan said, shrugging a shoulder.
“It must be lonely on top,” Grace observed.
“I’m fine, more or less. Good friends, love my family,” Dylan said, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light.
“Sounds like a great life,” Grace said, shifting a bit under his look.
“It is. I have nothing to complain about,” Dylan admitted.
“And yet…”
“And yet, here I am,” Dylan said, finishing his glass.
“Why did you come here, Dylan?” Grace said, allowing the frustration she felt bubbling inside her to rise to the surface. “Surely there are loads of other playgrounds for you to get your rocks off if you’re bored. Why here?”
“To build a legacy,” Dylan said, his face closing up once again.
“Why do you have to do it on my land?” Grace demanded, desperate for him to agree to leave her lands and home alone.
“Answer me this, Grace,” Dylan said, his voice cool. “Are you mad at me for seeing an opportunity and seizing it, or are you actually mad at yourself for not taking care of your land and your property? For not checking to make sure the lease was renewed?”
Grace’s mouth dropped open. Had this been another century, she would have had a knife to the throat of any man who challenged her so. Here, in this time and place, all she could do was sputter at him.
“How dare you? I’m the victim here. You big corporate types always think you can prey upon the little people,” Grace exclaimed.
Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 Page 12