by Leah Ross
Laria got to the door and turned abruptly. “Doctor, do you know how far along I am?”
“Aye, miss. Eleven weeks.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As she slowly made her way back upstairs, she desperately tried not to hyperventilate as her heart banged against her ribs. She counted the weeks again and again, wishing she would come up with a different date, but the truth stared right at her, unwavering in its cruelty. Eleven weeks. Gods, no. What am I going to do?
~*~
Stepping quickly into the chart room, Laria quickly checked that she and Declan were alone before locking the door. She spun around and looked at him, her eyes wide and anxious. “Where’s Guinn?”
“I dinna ken, lass. ‘Tis his ship; he can go where’er he pleases. Are ye lookin’ for him?”
“No!” She bit her lip. “Are you expecting him anytime soon?”
He frowned. “No’ as far as I ken. But again, ‘tis his ship… What’s wrong, Laria?”
She breathed rapid, shallow breaths, and started feeling light-headed again. “I don’t know what to do. I had to tell you first. You have to tell me what to do!”
He rushed to her and grasped her arms. “Laria, breathe!” He sat her in a chair. “Breathe, lass!” She sucked in several deep breaths. “Good. Now, what’s happened?”
“Oh, Declan! I’m… pregnant.”
His eyes widened in shock. Then he blinked and shook his head. “What’s wrong wi’ that? That’s wonderful news!”
“No!” she wailed. “It’s not!”
“Why?”
“I’m eleven weeks pregnant, Declan. Eleven weeks! Ten weeks, twelve weeks, anything but eleven!”
He did the math quickly in his head, then gazed up at her with horror in his eyes. “Bloody hell!”
An agonized sob escaped her as she clutched at his hands. “Declan, you have to tell me what to do!”
“Calm down, lass. ‘Tis no’ the end o’ the world.” He cupped her face in his hands. “First, ye need to tell Guinn.”
“About us?” she squeaked.
He smiled. “Think, Laria, stay wi’ me. Ye need to tell him ‘bout the bairn. In all likelihood, he is the father, an’ we have no problem.”
“And if he’s not?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “We willna ken that until the bairn is born.”
“Declan, the baby could be yours. If he or she is born with red hair and green eyes, there will be no doubt who the father is. What will we do then?”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there, lass. ‘Tis no’ healthy for ye or the bairn to worry ‘bout it so now.” He lifted her chin so he could gaze deep into her eyes. “But ken this, my girl. I willna allow any harm to come to ye or the bairn, no matter if I’m the father or no’.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and dropped her head. “I can’t do this alone.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Ye’re no’ alone, Laria.”
“How can I deceive Guinn so completely…” She choked back a sob. “…when the possibility exists that this child may not be his?”
“As I said, we willna ken for certain until the birth. Share this miracle wi’ him an’ let him enjoy it as he should. Allow him the joy an’ fulfillment a father deserves.” Declan’s voice broke with emotion, and he cleared his throat to cover it.
Laria took his face in her hands, her heart breaking with the pain she saw in his eyes. “What about you? How is it at all fair to you? What about the joy and fulfillment you deserve?”
He shook his head. “‘Tis no’ mine to have.”
“Even if the baby is yours?”
“Especially if the bairn is mine. I willna put the two o’ ye in danger for the sake o’ my pride. Guinn can have the glory; I jus’ want ye safe.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek, then hugged him tightly. “I hope the baby is yours,” she whispered in his ear. “I want him or her to be just as good a person as you are.”
“Congratulations, Laria,” he forced out around the lump in his throat. “Go tell yer husband.”
With a final squeeze, she stood and left the room. Declan braced his arms against the table, staring at the wood hopelessly. Lifting his eyes skyward, he glared at the ceiling furiously. Why do ye continue to torment me? What did I e’er do to ye? Jus’ rip my soul from me now, for I canna bear anymore o’ this torture! The laughter he was getting so used to hearing sounded in his head. You’ll find no help up there. They don’t give a shit about you. A wave of mad fury swelled in his chest, building faster than his long-practiced control techniques could assuage. A snarl curled his lips, and as a savage roar tore from him, he hurled a chair against the wall, smashing it to pieces. Sweeping everything off the table, he heard the satisfying shatter of glass on the floor. Then he ripped the table from its anchors and toppled it, kicking at it violently and sending it crashing into the wall shelves. His destructive tantrum coming to an end, he stood amidst the carnage, fists clenched at his sides, breathing heavily and trying to regain control.
Sinclair, the helmsman, peeked in the door, bewilderment in his eyes. “Everything all right, sir?”
“Get the fuck out,” Declan growled, his emerald eyes sparking with malice. Sinclair retreated quickly. Declan slammed the door and locked it, pounding his fists against the solid wood. Then he turned with a sigh and began to clean the mess.
~*~
Laria found Guinn in the carpenter’s workshop, discussing some minor repairs. She waited for a break in the conversation and then cleared her throat. “Guinn, I need to speak with you, please.”
He looked up at her, a slight frown of annoyance crossing his brow. “Can’t it wait? This is important.”
“No, Guinn, it can’t!” She stomped her foot. “This is important!”
Looking at her like she was merely being a petulant child, he excused himself and pulled her out of the room. “What are you doing?” he hissed at her. “I am the captain of this ship, and it’s inappropriate for you to be insubordinate in front of the crew!”
She wrenched her arm from his grip. “I am your wife, Guinn, not a member of your crew, and I’m tired of always coming in second place with you!”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What is it, Laria?”
Crossing her arms, she glared at him. “First, apologize for being a complete and utter ass.”
Guinn opened his mouth to defend himself, then thought better of it and hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Second, I will not have this conversation with you here.” She turned on her heel and stormed off toward their quarters.
He heaved another sigh and followed after her. It seemed all she ever did was snap at him lately. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. Perhaps they could finally clear the air between them and things could get back to normal. Closing the cabin door behind him, he sat next to her on the bed and put his arm around her. She didn’t move away or push him off, so he counted it as a good start.
“Laria,” he began gently, “what’s wrong? What did I do? Tell me how to fix it.”
“Not everything can be fixed, Guinn.”
“Why are you so angry with me?”
She sighed. “I’m not angry with you. I’m frustrated. I try to respect you and your time and the fact that you’re always so busy. But I’d like to get a little of that respect back as well.”
He turned her face toward him. “Laria, I love you.”
“That’s not the same. I need you to respect me as well, and not treat me like one of your underlings. Especially since…” She took a deep breath. “Guinn, I’m pregnant.”
The air left his lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. That was definitely not what he’d expected her to say, but it did explain her recent moodiness. Suddenly, several oddly-shaped pieces fell into place. Dropping his head into his hands, he stared at the floor, breathing hard and trying to wrap his brain around the implications of this monumental event.
Laria bit her lip and worried. Guinn hadn’t said anything, and she couldn’t tell how he was taking the news from his reaction. She knew him well, but there were still times when she couldn’t quite read her husband. Even extending her extra-sensory abilities didn’t help.
“Guinn,” she ventured into the leaden silence, “say something.”
“I’m going to be a father,” he murmured. He looked up. “Bloody hell! I’m going to be a father!” He laughed and squeezed her tight against him. Then he dropped to his knees on the floor, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed a tender kiss to her belly.
Tears sprang to her eyes at that small, sweet gesture. “I’m so glad you’re happy about it.”
“Hell yes, I’m happy about it!” he exclaimed with a broad grin. “How far along are you?”
“Eleven weeks.”
He laughed. “Didn’t take long, did it?
She smiled, unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm. Running her fingers through his dark hair, she marveled at the brightness in his eyes and the childlike joy on his face. She bent and kissed him, knowing she’d done the right thing. “I love you, Guinn.”
He cupped her face. “I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry that I don’t tell you more often. You’ll be such a wonderful mother. I know it. And I’ll make you proud of me. I’m going to be the best father to this baby, I promise.” She sniffed loudly, and he felt tears running down his wrists. He brushed them away with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, still sniffling. “You’re being so sweet, and these damn hormones won’t let me stop crying!” She sobbed and laughed at the same time, burying her face in Guinn’s shoulder.
He smiled as he pulled her down into his lap and stroked her hair. “My beautiful Laria. Thank you for giving me a family.”
~*~
Guinn assembled the crew on deck after dinner that evening. “Gents, I’ve received some wonderful news!” he bellowed. “My beautiful wife has told me that in about eight months’ time, I will be a father!”
The men roared their congratulations. The captain ordered up barrels of wine from the hold for free consumption, and the celebration was rowdy.
Morgan sat apart from the revelry, leaning against the creaking foremast and watching the festivities with an air of detachment. Heavy thoughts kept his mind too busy to enjoy himself. Turning down drinks and conversation, he stayed where he was, contemplating what the captain’s announcement might mean for them all. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, while the party continued, he decided to head for bed. As he shifted his weight to stand, he noticed another lone figure huddled in the dark below him, tucked in the corner between a longboat and the gunwale. Not wishing to disturb another’s solitude, he flattened to his stomach and began to crawl in the opposite direction. He froze as a soft, melodic voice whispered in the dark.
“What are you doing here in the dark by yourself?”
Morgan’s heart pounded and his brain whirled with excuses. He was about to stammer out a response when another low voice answered from the dark corner below. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, but dared not move lest he be discovered and punished for eavesdropping.
“I didna feel much like celebratin’, lass. ‘Tis late. Ye should be in bed.”
“I’m fine. Guinn said you told him you weren’t feeling well.”
“Aye. ‘Tis true.”
Laria knelt down. “You seemed fine when I left you earlier. What happened?”
Declan shook his head. “Jus’ feelin’ a wee bit sorry for meself. ‘Tis hard to pretend happiness when I dinna feel it.”
“You’re not happy?”
“Happy ‘bout the bairn, o’ course. But happy in general? Nae, lass, I’m no’.”
She feathered her fingers through his hair, and he leaned into her hand. “I hate to see you so miserable,” she said.
“I thought I could rise ‘bove the jealousy an’ want, an’ jus’ be yer friend an’ be happy wi’ that.” He pounded his fist against the deck. “But I canna do it. I canna be happy wi’out ye. I love ye, Laria. I ken I always will.”
She looked around anxiously, fearful of being overheard. “We have to stay strong, Declan. If Guinn found out, I don’t know what he’d do. At least we can still see each other.”
“Aye, but subjected to this constant torment, I fear what I may do.”
“You’re a good man, Declan.”
“Ye have no idea o’ the darkness in my soul, lass. I feel my hold o’er it slippin’ more every day.”
The fear in his eyes was something she’d never seen before, and it gripped her heart with icy claws. For the first time since she’d known him, something deep within him frightened her. She could feel it and sense it trying to break free of the weakening chains with which he had it bound. A tiny gasp flew from her mouth as she took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
He dropped his head to his hands. “I didna mean to frighten ye, Laria.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I should go.”
He nodded.
She turned away for a second, then dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. “I love you, Declan,” she whispered in his ear. “I promise I’ll find a way to free you.”
Gripping her face in his hands, he pulled her far enough away from him to search her eyes for meaning. “What?!”
She pushed away from him and ran across the deck.
“Laria, stop!” He jumped up to follow. Damnation, the lass has no idea what she’s gettin’ herself into!
The entity snarled. Bitch. I swear I’ll kill her if she tries!
Morgan wasn’t sure what was going on, but he felt the sudden urge to intervene. He slithered down to the deck. Thinking fast, he darted among the crew, looking for a sufficiently drunk large group of men. It didn’t take long. Barreling directly into one of the men, he jumped out of the way as the chain reaction was set in motion. Within moments, a brawl had broken out. Needing the distraction, but not the captain’s involvement, Morgan sprinted up to Declan.
“Sir!” he gasped and pointed. “Fight!”
Declan glared. “No’ on my bloody ship!” He stormed over to the group and dove into the fray, tossing men aside and barking orders. As quickly as it had begun, Declan finished it and ordered the alcohol cut off. Then he demanded everyone to clear the deck and go to their bunks.
As he passed Morgan on the way to his own cabin, Declan patted the boy’s shoulder. “Thank ye, lad. ‘Twould have been fair ugly for the captain to have discovered that.”
Morgan nodded. “You’re welcome, sir.”
“Off to bed.”
Morgan looked back over his shoulder as Declan walked off. The man looked defeated. Morgan had no idea how, but he wanted to help. He decided he would have to speak with Miss Laria to see what they could do for him.
Chapter Fifteen
Three months later
The sun beat down with an unrelenting intensity and he wiped the beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Leaning on his shovel, he glanced out over the scattered bits of land dotting the water, then over at his crewmate. The hole should be deep enough now, and the tide was beginning to come in. They didn’t have much time left.
Graham was finishing his notations of the coordinates to give to the captain. “That hole ‘bout done there, Colton? I’m more than ready to get outta here.”
“Aye,” Colton responded. He lifted the small chest and set it down in the hole. “C’mon and help me cover it.”
Graham tucked the slip of paper into his pocket with the pencil and grabbed his shovel. In a few minutes, the hole was filled and they were packing it down tightly. They tossed their things into the longboat, pushed it off the sand and jumped aboard. They rowed back to the ship just as the tiny bit of land they’d just left slipped beneath the rising tide. Colton glanced up at the familiar figurehead of the god of the seas grasping a bolt of lightning in his mighty hands, and breathed a sigh of relief. This
hadn’t seemed like the kind of task warranting a bonus, but he’d be glad to collect it anyway.
“That’s strange,” Graham muttered.
Colton glanced at the other man warily. “What?”
“Mr. Tate is meeting us out on the water.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Dunno. Better go find out what’s the matter.”
“Ahoy, lads!” Tate called to them. “Is the job done?”
“Aye, sir,” answered Graham.
Tate pulled his boat alongside theirs. “Excellent. Thank you. The coordinates, if you please.”
While Colton readied the boat for hoisting back to the deck of the ship, Graham handed over his paper. Suddenly, Colton felt the boat jostle violently, and he looked up in alarm. Graham was gone, a growing spread of ripples in the water the only evidence of his fate. Dread settling in the pit of his stomach like an icy stone, Colton whipped around to Tate.
The quartermaster viciously slashed his throat before Colton even knew what was happening. The man clawed at the warmth seeping down his chest and gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. “I’m sorry,” Tate offered with genuine sympathy. Then Colton followed his mate into the water, sinking into the crushing black depths of oblivion.
~*~
Declan awoke with a start, bolting up from his bed covered in sweat. He rubbed at his temples, trying to make sense of the details of his dream. Some things were familiar—he recognized the ship’s figurehead as the one belonging to the Annali vessel Tyrian’s Lightning, and he knew Roderick Tate, her quartermaster, as a fellow classmate from the academy, though Tate had graduated the year before Declan. The rest had him puzzled.
Good morning, useless, the insult slithered through his mind.
Declan ignored it, reaching for a glass of water and a tablet to fend off the ache growing in his head.
A sharp pain lanced through his brain as his parasite banged around to get his attention. I won’t let you ignore me. We need to have a conversation.