Chapter 10 #2
Despite the heat that poured from his body to hers and the fires burning in the kitchen, Lucy trembled with cold. Did he intentionally try to scare her off the rest of his telling so he could protect Lucy? Or himself?
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek hard, alternately wanting to know everything and nothing about a story that’d inflicted such pain upon him. Arran, however, needed to share with Lucy and that mattered most.
Lucy wouldn’t pry his secrets from him, but she would gratefully take what he was willing to confer. “Only if you want to tell me, Arran.” She kept her tone solemn, her gaze somber.
Her words seemed to touch a lock within him, and it gave way. A guarded part of him yielded.
“I proposed a partnership between our lines and Captain Culross. Tremaine was reluctant.” He grimaced.
“More than reluctant, but eventually he conceded. On our first collective mission, we faced a battle at sea. A brutal one. We were three captains at cross-opinions of how to navigate the conflict. We took it to a vote. I voted in line with Culross.” A bitter laugh shook his broad shoulders.
“Just one of many mistakes I made where the gentleman is concerned.” Tremaine’s ship suffered a catastrophic hit, and it went into the sea that night.
He was mad with grief.” As he spoke, his voice grew more and more graveled, like shards of glass mixed with rocks.
“Tremaine insisted I leave him.” Arran closed his eyes, but not before she caught the glitter in his eyes.
“That night, when fire raged upon the waters, he begged me to let him go down with his ship.”
Lucy went absolutely still.
Her heart rattled in a sickly beat against her ribcage.
Oh, God. He’d left his close friend to d—
His interruption slashed away the rest of that horrifying, unfinished thought.
“I ignored his wishes. I jumped into those fiery waters. I wrestled him in the waters,” he said almost pleadingly.
“He was sobbing and cursing while bullets and cannons hit the water.” Arran dragged shaking hands through his hair and tugged on the ends.
Tortured by the horrors he’d faced, Lucy’s stomach knotted and churned. The memories ravaging Arran weren’t of the horrors he’d faced that day, but from another man’s suffering. “I managed to bring him from the sea that night,” he said starkly. “But in so doing, I robbed him of choice.”
Through the slow, unyielding twist of pain, Lucy blinked slowly. When she’d been a lass, Lucy once suffered the worst fluxion of her chest. She couldn’t breathe from her nose or breathe from her lungs. Her ears had been clogged so that all sounds and voices came muffled and faraway.
“…But in so doing, I robbed him of choice…” That is the sin he believed himself guilty of?
What?
Arran scraped another hand through his dark locks and continued to compound Lucy’s confoundment.
“I denied him the right to die, Lucy,” he said, exasperated.
With himself? With Lucy for failing to understand his wrongs?
“Tremaine was brutally injured. I fought him and dragged him from the waters. I escorted him home to his eldest brother. From that moment on, I made an enemy of Tremaine—a man closer to me than any one of my brothers or cousins. We went from partners at sea to enemies, battling over a shrinking space for privateers.”
It was as if he sought to convince Lucy of something she didn’t need convincing of.
How did Arran fail to see his actions as all that was just, right, and good?
“Upon our return,” he continued, “I made multiple attempts to contact him. When he’d recovered from his injuries and ventured into society, I made several attempts to forge a new partnership with Tremaine, including one that included Captain Culross.
” Regret flickered in his eyes. “Tremaine, however, declared himself an enemy of the McQuoids and all the people connected to us by marriage or blood. I knew the threat Tremaine posed against my family. I tried to keep them safe.”
The pieces slid into place. “You attempted to help Linnie make that match with Mr. Culross,” she whispered.
Arran nodded shakily. “Linnie and the Earl of Culross.” The right corner of his mouth curved in a cynical grin.
“My mother, the countess, and Campbell’s mother appreciated that detail.
The earl, however, goes by Captain Culross.
” Arran waved his hand. “That’s something I appreciated about the gentleman.
He holds one of the oldest earldoms in England, but insists on being addressed for the career he’s built on his own.
” With unsteady fingers, he grabbed his tankard and took a deep drink. The column of his throat worked wildly.
“And a match between them?” she quietly urged.
“Was doomed from the start.”
Arran rubbed at the back of his straining neck muscles.
“Tremaine tricked Linnie into believing he loved her. He married her to prevent a merger between the McQuoids and Culross.” His telling grew more and more rapid.
“I offered the shipyard resources to complete the repairs on his ship before Culross’s damaged one.
I wanted the bastard away from Linnie. And he did just that.
As soon as they wed, Tremaine left Linnie for a sea voyage.
I’ve never seen her weep like that,” he whispered achingly.
“Like he’d sucked her soul out and removed her very reason for existing. He broke her heart.”
Arran pressed a powerful, white-knuckled fist over his mouth.
“I knew only three things: Linnie wished to travel the seas. Captain Tremaine broke her heart. And Culross loved her, but it was never about love. It was about wealth, power—” Arran stopped abruptly and took a calming breath.
“I deceived Linnie. I did not mention Culross would be setting sail with us. Linnie’s too loyal.
Her husband hurt her, but she’d never sail off with his enemy—or any man.
Not willingly. I assumed when we were out at sea, she would feel differently.
That she’d want freedom from Tremaine. I was too blinded worrying about Linnie that I failed to note the ship coming upon us until it was too late.
I…” His features twisted. “Got Linnie caught in the bloodiest battle I’d ever seen.
The things she saw and did that day…” Arran’s voice broke.
“They’d change any man, but a young lady?
” His eyes slid shut. Arran downed the rest of his drink, grabbed the pitcher, poured another and finished the next in a single swallow.
The Fortifying Sip, her da called it. Lucy finally understood what her late sire meant—and why men sought numbness when the truth hurt too much to hold.
In desperate need of the same calm, Lucy lifted her own mug and took a long, long drink.
As soon as she’d downed more than half her cider, she made another discovery—spirits didn’t help very much, after all. In fact, they didn’t help at all. At least not when paired with the hollow ache settling in her chest.
The poor lass. How broken she must have been.
And how broken Lucy would be when Arran discovered she was not only no sweetheart or betrothed of Mr. Smith, but nothing at all to his family.
Tears threatened. A violent shaking started deep inside her and began to seep out. Needing to flee. Move. Hide. Lucy got up on unsteady legs. She hurried over to collect a wooden paddle and cloth.
The minute Arran gathered her intentions, he jumped up. “Here,” he said gruffly, intercepting Lucy’s attempts.
This man of noble lines and vast wealth would help a lower-born woman such as she with a servant’s tasks.
For Saints in heaven, why must this mon be so blasted good? “There’s no need for that, Arran,” she said thickly. “Ah can do it. Been doing it my whole life.” And he hadn’t.
They were different. They were not the same. Do not go forgetting that, lass.
“I don’t doubt you can do anything, Lucy LeBeau,” he murmured with a tenderness that ran all the way through her. “Just because you have doesn’t mean someone else shouldn’t be doing it for you.”
With the deft fingers of the most skilled pickpocket, he slipped the paddle from Lucy’s hand. She watched on as he learned his way about the instrument. He grasped it all too quick, and with an effortless glide, slid the pan from the oven.
Heart pounding harder, Lucy raced to the table and gestured for Arran to set them down.
They both sat at the same time, next to each other on the bench.
Lucy inhaled sharply; her chest squeezed tight with sorrow.
So many people had been hurt: Linnie. Tremaine.
Arran was too fixed on his own perception of guilt to see the one who’d suffered and lost the most was, in fact, Arran himself.
He’d been betrayed not by a stranger, but a friend. Two friends. For even as Arran did not realize it, the gentleman he spoke of? The Captain Tremaine, who’d punished Arran for saving his life, had committed the greatest of wrongs against Arran. He’d developed a healthy mistrust of all.
And after Lucy’s deceit, he’d never trust again.