Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The winds were favorable, so it would only take one night and day to reach Dun Haakon.
The sun was setting across the open sea to the west, and Cyrus had just left Kenan and Rory, who were discussing where Asher could have gone when he left Skye.
But Cyrus couldn’t focus on anything except finding Laria.
The blank look on her face when she’d come into the Great Hall after his mother had rubbed her name in the mud had numbed him.
He’d have preferred her anger to apathy.
But there’d been no chance to speak with her alone, almost as if she’d been avoiding him.
But it was impossible to avoid him on a ship.
He found her where he guessed she’d be, high up in the rigging, staring out at the orange glow of the sun over the surface of the sea.
Her fingers grasped the edge of the circular structure keeping her from pitching over the edge as the wind-filled sails tugged.
Without alerting her, Cyrus climbed the ratlines of the main mast, avoiding the heavy canvas sails and lines. Wind whipped through his hair and rushed across his ears, blocking the occasional bark of orders below. “Friend, not foe,” he said as his head broke through the small hole.
She didn’t respond, continuing instead to look out toward the west. Cyrus climbed higher until his chest rose through the opening.
“This space is not made for two,” she said, her voice terse.
“Ye want to be alone?”
She glanced down at him, the same grimness about her lips. “I thought that was implied.”
His mind moved through the last two days. Had Laria taken his mother’s words to heart? “I don’t believe what my mother said.”
“No? I do have an otter to whom I’m quite attached. I currently do not have a home, except for a cave where I sleep in the mud. I did drag my grandmother out to the woods to live, although you did hear her confess that she was trying to get me away from Iain.”
“I don’t care about—”
“I would not want a rebellion to start at Dun Haakon over your…choice of lass.”
His stomach dropped several inches inside him, but before he could dissect her words to defend himself, she continued.
“I’m certain you’ve chosen many lasses, from what I’ve heard about the rogue of Skye, and no one rebelled over them before.
Why would they rebel over just another lass?
” She drew out the S sound on the last word.
“I called ye a lass,” he said. “I should have said ‘lady.’”
She looked outward. “You’re right. I was merely a willing widow who wanted a reprieve through carnal pleasure while working to save my grandmother, my people, and myself.”
“Laria—”
“Your mother is right, Cyrus.” She looked at him, the sun shining off her eyes, which looked like miniature pools.
“I have no dowry, no armies to help defend Skye, no further promises of peace or signatures of alliance. I offer nothing, and therefore I am just another lass. After we save Grace and vanquish Iain, I will remain at Tuath Tower to help Erskine lead my clan.”
Cyrus looked up through the hole in the mast top.
“Ye are more than just a lass, Laria. Ye have intelligence, a moral sense of what is right, and the courage to do something about what ye see as wrong.” He reached for her calf, wrapping his hand around the limb, half expecting her to kick him.
But she didn’t. He felt the slender muscles there and remembered the warm skin under her hose.
“’Tis really well and good, Cyrus,” she said, her voice bolstered with resolve. “We shared pleasure, and you’ve been helping me save my grandmother and brother and our small group. I thank you for that.”
“Shared pleasure? I think it was more than that.” He pushed his way through the hole to stand in the mast top with her, smashing himself up against her back. His bulk meant that she had to lean slightly forward over the thin edge, and he wrapped a protective arm around her middle.
She shifted, trying to turn to see him, but gave up. “I’ve been accused of disrupting my clan with accusations and mad plans to rescue my grandmother and friends. I will not be accused of disrupting your clan, too.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, breathing in her fresh scent. He’d missed it last night as he’d tossed and turned in his single bed.
She twisted until she could meet his gaze over her shoulder. “That means we will no longer dally in shared pleasures. I will not give your mother and your people any reason to worry over your heart falling for someone who is inappropriate, if not mad.”
“Laria.” He shook his head.
“I will continue to share a room with my grandmother at Dun Haakon. You’ll have too much going on to worry about me anyway.
When you return to Staffin, Bonnie will continue to escort my grandmother around on her progress, and I will return to Erskine to support him.
I know that you will find Iain to be a scoundrel, and I need to be there when he’s deposed. ”
She turned back to the setting sun, the shadows bringing on a chill. “I will remain unmarried.”
Her words were heavy stones in his gut, making him feel like he was sinking in the dark sea below the ship, the water briny and choking. “Laria, I cannot—”
“This is not easy for me.” There was a hitch in her voice. “I will not be considered a mad, needy lass who’s tricked you into wedding.” Her quick intake of breath sounded like a silent sob.
“I don’t think that of ye,” he said, his voice soft. When she didn’t turn around, he descended slowly and alone.