by Diana Cosby
“Come about,” Bran yelled, “and sail for open water.”
“Aye, Captain,” the man at the rudder called.
More cheers sounded as the crew patted one another on the back, then returned to their posts.
As if in celebration, streams of sunlight broke through the clouds and shimmered upon the storm-tossed seas.
With the number of fathoms below them increasing, the tension pounding Lathir’s body eased. Thank God they’d escaped.
Bran scanned the horizon, then walked over to his friend. “It looks as though the wind is beginning to calm.”
“Aye, the storm is moving out.” Tighearnán rolled his shoulders, glanced toward the stern. “Órlaith!”
The girl scrambled from her hiding place. Brown hair dancing in the wind, she ran to her father.
“There is a lass!” Her squeal of laughter filled the air as Tighearnán caught her and whirled her around, then propped her upon his hip.
Cheeks rosy, she lifted her gaze to his. “Did you stop the bad Englishmen, Da?”
“Aye, lass,” her father replied with a soft, lighthearted growl. “They be scrambling for shore now.”
Lathir glanced back. Large, wind-whipped swells rocked the small boat as crew frantically piled in. As the final man struggled to climb in, with a violent twist, the craft broke away. The sailor lost his balance, tumbled into the water, and disappeared.
The next swell rolled the remnants of the damaged hull. Planks flew, and the fragments of the once majestic cog disappeared beneath the blackened depths.
Amid the rush of wind, with a grunt of satisfaction, Rónán stepped beside her. “Their ship willna present a threat to anyone again.”
She met his gaze. “Indeed, but those who escaped will sail again. Neither is the danger over. If not build another ship, they will commandeer one.”
“Mayhap,” Rónán said, “but for now we are safe.”
“We are.” For that, she would be thankful. With the immediate threat past, exhaustion wove through her. Lathir rubbed the low ache in her shoulder. “I havena manned an oar in many a year.”
Rónán grimaced. “Dinna be surprised if you are sore on the morrow.”
“An unimportant fact given our goal.” Restless, Lathir stood, leaned on the rail, and angled her face, the salt-laden breeze cool on her skin. Within the clearing skies, shades of deep, rich, gold slowly smothered the wash of blue. “’Twill be dark soon.”
The rumble of water slid against the hull as Rónán rested on the smooth wood beside her. “’Twill. I look forward to the warmer days of spring and the long hours of daylight.”
“As I.”
“With the seas abating, as long as we dinna encounter any further threat, by this time tomorrow we could reach Wynshire Castle.”
Elation filled her, dissolved as quickly. Without her father. Heart heavy, she watched the large swells roll shoreward. On a sigh, she closed her eyes, sent up a prayer for his safety.
“You are thinking of your father.”
At the compassion in his voice, she opened her eyes. Emotion tightened in her throat. “How can I not? He should be here with me, not in enemy hands, with me unsure if he is alive or dead.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Regardless of the turmoil inside, of the dread filling her every breath, his touch brought much-needed comfort. Tempted by his nearness, by the calm he’d brought to her life, Lathir yearned to move closer, to rest her head on his chest, to allow his strength to fill her. Not that she was weak, but because the confidence Rónán exuded allowed her to lower her guard.
The cry of gulls sounded overhead as, beneath thick lashes, she studied the hard cut of his jaw, the way he stood beside her in stoic silence. Though he didn’t comment further, understanding rolled from him in waves.
With the hardships they’d shared, she’d learned he was not only her protector, but a friend, a solid force who would treat her as an equal and encourage her when she held doubts.
The passion of their previous kiss made it clear he’d wanted her. But he’d kept himself at a distance ever since. She lowered her gaze to where his hand lay upon hers—a gesture given in comfort and support, no more. If she moved into his arms, would he embrace her or push her away?
Rónán had made it clear that his future was one of war, of fighting for King Robert. But with each passing day, at thoughts of his departure, an emptiness built inside her.
What if he remained?
As if she could convince him to stay in Ireland.
Or could she?
Intense, grayish-green eyes studied her. “What is it?”
She hesitated. Should she admit the truth? With him determined to return to Scotland and her destiny within her realm, she had little left to lose. Beyond her fear of his leaving was that once he did, he would never return. But what was it that Tighearnán had told his daughter, not to be afraid to pursue one’s dreams?
Pulse racing, Lathir moved ’til she was a hand’s width away, the rush of the sea, the tang of salty air a potent backdrop. “Once you have delivered the arms to your king, I ask that you return to Wynshire Castle.”
Desire sifted through his eyes. As quickly, his expression grew unreadable, and he withdrew his hand. “If King Robert bids me to return, I shall.”
She moved and lay her palm against his chest. “Not for duty, but for me.”
Wind ruffled his brown hair as he studied her for a long moment. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. On a hard swallow, his hand lifted to the side of her face, then he curled his hands into fists at his sides. “Regardless of what I may wish, I am but a knight. ’Tis best that I remain away.”
Anger ignited that he would deny what they both wanted. “As if I give a damn about your status?” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “Few ever find someone who matters deeply to them. I dinna want to lose that.”
The thud of steps sounded upon the weathered deck as three sailors moved by carrying buckets.
Once the crew had strode out of earshot, he shook his head. “Regardless of your wish, or mine, you have the responsibility of a realm that one day will be yours to rule. You dinna have the freedom to seek a man who turns your head, but a man of nobility to stand by your side.”
“Nobility,” she stated, “that can be easily given. Once we rescue my father, he can—”
“Lathir,” Rónán rasped, cutting her off. The visions her words drew forth were too tempting, a mirage yet enticing all the same. With her by his side, the bleak years ahead of wielding a sword for his king vanished, replaced with time when they could be together.
And a family?
Children’s laughter trickled though his mind, and a haze of warmth, of fulfillment, swept him. With ease he could envision a little girl running toward him with Lathir’s golden hair and gray eyes.
Lathir was so beautiful, even with eyes weary from the countless exhausting days they’d been struggling through together. She truly was a future queen. ’Twould be so easy to agree, to take her into his arms, to allow himself to believe ’twas possible.
The dream of her in his life shattered in his mind. For the best. They each had other destinies.
Aching inside, he stowed the bitter fragments deep in his mind, focused on now and damned the words he must say. “However much I feel for you, I am not a man who will be bound to a woman, now or ever.”
She tilted up her chin. “And why not?”
“You deserve better than a knight. My future lies with restoring the Bruce to the throne.”
The hurt on her face sliced his heart.
His heart?
Rónán stared at her in disbelief. He’d thought when the mission was over and he left her it would hurt and he’d miss her. But now he realized ’twould be as if tearing away a piece of his soul.
Nor, however muc
h the words tangled on his tongue, could he ever reveal his true feelings. She deserved a man whose past wasn’t tainted by brutal memories of a shattered youth, one confident in his ability to raise a family. He wasn’t made for the softer side of life.
He understood war.
Rónán clung to his logic as his every breath ached with what he wanted to tell her, to give her.
“Damn you,” she whispered through clenched teeth, “I know you care for me.”
Care? A paltry word for the emotions storming through him. “How could I not?” he rasped. “You are beautiful, a woman to admire, one my king has bid me to protect.”
Gray eyes narrowed, but he saw her confusion and despised himself over and again for hurting her, but ’twas for the best. After a time, she would forget him and find a man who could satisfy her and wholly love her as she deserved.
The ache in his chest grew at thoughts of Lathir in the arms of another man. Blast it! Needing to put distance between them, he turned on his heel and strode away. The whip of the cool sea breeze battered his face as he reached the bow.
The quick tap of steps sounded a moment before her hand caught his arm. “Rónán.”
He didn’t turn. “’Tis best that I go.”
“Best for who?”
The fury in her voice had him turning.
Tears backed by passion and determination glittered in her eyes. “I love you, damn you, and I willna let a chance for us pass.”
Chapter Ten
Of all the words Rónán had expected Lathir to say, never had he imagined her to admit that she loved him. His thoughts floundered, as did his incredulous heart. “Lathir, you dinna understand—”
“Nay?” She jabbed her finger against his chest. “What have I missed, that never before has a man made me want him, that regardless of how you avoid the topic, there is something between us, a passion when we kiss that canna be denied?”
A dangerous desire skewed his thoughts. He resisted the urge to gaze at her mouth. “’Tisna so simple.”
Wind feathered through her golden hair as she stared at him in defiance. “Aye, ’tis. Tell me, do you want me?”
He clenched his jaw painfully tight.
She angled her jaw. “Do you?”
“God’s truth!” he hissed
Satisfaction darkened her gaze. “I will take that for an aye. And do you care for me beyond any other woman you have ever met?”
To admit that would be to give her too much power beyond what she already had over him. “I am unsure if I am irritated or flattered by your perseverance.”
She laughed, and the tension on her face eased. When he thought she might choose aggression to pursue her quest, it turned to quiet fact, yet was no less powerful.
“Rónán, I love you, ’tis that simple.”
Had she railed at him, that he could have defied, but with laughter in her eyes, and his feelings for her tumbling upon the other forces railing him, his defenses faded. “Lathir, this, us, isna what I had planned.”
Her eyes softened with tenderness. “The best things are not, are they?”
Caught within the turmoil in his heart, he cupped her face. “Never did I set out to find you, much less fall in love with you.”
The humor on her face faded first to shock, then elation. “You love me?”
“Aye,” he rasped, still in shock from her admission, but unable to deny it to her any longer, “with my every breath. I am a fool to admit it.”
“Nay, you are the man I love. Kiss me, Rónán.”
With his last inkling of resistance, he glanced around, frowned. “’Tis unwise before the crew.”
A smile curving her mouth, she lifted on her tiptoes. “Take the risk if you dare.”
With happiness in her eyes and need pounding through him, he was lost. He claimed her mouth, and desire surged through him, stoking every dream he hadn’t dared believe could be real.
For years he’d focused on duty, never considering a home or a family. Yet Lathir made him think, believe anything was possible.
Rónán angled her head, took the kiss deeper, allowing the depth of his passion to infuse the kiss, needing her to understand that for her, he’d risk everything.
At shouts of approval, Rónán lifted his head, pleased by the flush on Lathir’s face as he scanned the grinning faces of the crew, having paused in their duties. He skimmed his thumb across her lower lip, still slick from their kiss. “’Twould seem that for what I wish to do with you, discretion is necessary.”
The redness on her face deepened. “Privacy we will find upon our arrival in Wynshire Castle.”
As the cog cut through a swell, with deliberation, he set her a step away. “However much I want you, I willna take you to my bed until we are married.”
She swallowed a visible gasp, watching him with her fierce yet gentle eyes.
Ignoring the members of the crew still watching them, Rónán knelt before her, took her hand. He cleared his throat. “’Tisna the way I would plan such, but marry me, Lathir. Stand beside me for the rest of my life, share my dreams, build a home and a family with me.”
Tears of joy spilled down her cheeks. “Aye, I will.”
The crew roared.
Amid the cheers, Rónán stood and kissed her thoroughly, never wanting to let her go, wishing they were alone, their vows behind them so he could take her to his bed and show her how she made him feel.
On an unsteady breath, he drew her to him, savored the feel of her body against his. Time for intimacy would come.
“However much I would enjoy spending the day alone with you—” Rónán gave her one last kiss—“our time would be best served preparing for our arrival.”
With a twinkle in her eyes, she stepped back. “Aye. And I need to retrieve the map I drew of the river for the captain.”
He nodded. “I will meet you where Bran is working at the stern.”
She hurried toward the bow, where he’d seen her sketching on the parchment earlier in the day.
That, he mused as he watched her comely figure depart with a fight-worthy step, is my future wife.
Lighthearted despite the lingering niggles at the back of his mind, Rónán strode toward the stern as the cog carved its way westward. He savored the mist of the salty spray upon his face, understanding the demanding life aboard a ship. The sea held its own code, one that didn’t allow for emotions, but hard work, a quick wit, and at times a little luck.
White water curled from the bow as Rónán halted beside the captain.
A smile curved Bran’s mouth. “’Twould seem congratulations are in order.”
“I thank you,” Rónán said, unsure if he was more stunned by his proposal or that Lathir had accepted it.
“Lady Lathir is a fine lass.”
“She is. Time and again, our journey together to this point has proven her character. As I hope she has learned mine.” Nerves bunched inside. “Now to find and rescue Lord Sionn, and to convince him to allow me to wed his daughter.”
Even without having voiced the words, he knew how difficult that was going to be. Despite how Lathir and he had saved each other time and again, and regardless of the way their feelings had grown, it was a mismatch from the start.
Neither could he forget that once he’d brought the arms to King Robert, his sovereign would send him on his next assignment and they would again be apart. Still, after all of Scotland was beneath the Bruce’s rule, he would return to Lathir.
The thought comforting him, Rónán turned to scan the shoreline, recognizing the twists and turns after having sailed here several years before.
“I have never navigated the river,” Bran said, “but Lady Lathir assured me that, along with a detailed map she is crafting for when I depart, if there are any questions en route, she can guide me as we sail.”
“With h
er experience at sea, that I have nay doubt.”
The captain motioned for a man near the stern to help another sailor, then turned back to Rónán. “The lass has sailed often, then?”
“Aye, with her father since her youth.”
“Which explains why she has held her own.” The captain gave his chin a thoughtful rub. “I have seen many a young man green at the gills with the rough seas we have navigated. Your lass never flinched.”
The hull cut through the oncoming swell as they sailed, the rush of water rumbling past in a frothy churn, the calmer seas welcome after the hours of punishing waves a short time before.
A pad of footsteps had Rónán turning.
With a smile, Lathir halted beside him, held out a rolled parchment to the captain. “The drawing of the coast and river we will navigate on the morrow, as promised.”
“I thank you, my lady.” Bran accepted the map. “I offer my congratulations to you as well. Sir Rónán is a fine man.”
Her smile widened. “I feel the same.”
Mayhap, but Rónán caught the hint of strain in her expression, suspecting she thought of her father. Worries he shared, but he settled for giving her hand a squeeze ’til they could speak in private.
Parchment scraped as the captain unrolled the paper. A bushy brow lifted. “I am familiar with the tree line marked with an X, but I had always believed there were sandbars about at the mouth of the river and stayed away.”
The cool, salty breeze played with Lathir’s blond locks as she nodded. “Given the thick line of trees, most who pass are ignorant of the waterway’s presence, fewer who realize the river is deep enough to sail up, or that it winds past Wynshire Castle into a loch.” She quirked her lips. “That you noticed the inlet at all is impressive.”
A wry smile settled on his mouth. “When your life hangs on venues of escape, ’tis best to be aware of any site you might need in the future.”
Lathir laughed. “An excellent point.”
The pirate’s expression grew serious. “When we sail up the inlet, my lady, though your map is detailed, I ask that you are at my side.”
“Of course.”
Bran nodded. “I have a few things to tend to before it grows too dark.”