Chapter Three #2
She should have returned to her bed then. Instead, her feet carried her down the narrow passage toward the other chamber.
She paused outside the door, her hand hovering above the latch. This was foolish.
Utterly foolish.
But the memory of how pale he had looked by the fire crept into her thoughts. The healer had wrapped his hand and forced him to drink something bitter before leaving, yet Gabriel had brushed away every concern with that infuriating calm.
Cecily slowly pushed the door open. The room smelled faintly of smoke and salt. Moonlight slipped through the small window, spilling across the bed where Gabriel lay stretched beneath the blankets. One arm rested above the covers, the bandaged hand stark against the dark wool.
He looked… still.
Her breath caught.
Cecily moved closer, her steps silent against the floor. His dark hair was damp where it curled at his temple, and faint shadows lay beneath his eyes. Even in sleep there was tension in the line of his brow, as though whatever battles filled his waking hours followed him into his dreams.
Without thinking, she reached out. Her fingers brushed his forehead, it felt warm, but not feverish. She’d barely touched him when his hand shot upward. Strong fingers closed firmly around her wrist.
Cecily gasped and she tried to tug her hand free, but he held fast.
Gabriel’s eyes opened at once, sharp and alert despite the darkness. Recognition dawned and they softened. However his grip remained strong.
“Cecily,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
The way he spoke her name sent a familiar tremor through her. His gaze searched her face, the gray of his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Why are ye here?” he asked quietly.
“I saw to Father,” Cecily said softly. “And now ye—to make certain neither of ye had taken a fever.” Though she tried to keep her voice steady, it betrayed her with a faint tremble.
Gabriel’s hand still encircled her wrist, warm and firm despite the chill lingering in her skin. The nearness of him, of his warmth, his scent that brought an unwelcome rush of memories through her.
She pulled her hand free at once. “I see ye are well enough.” The words came sharper than she intended.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the door. If she stayed another moment, the fragile control she clung to would surely shatter.
“I do care for ye, Cecily.” His voice stopped her before she reached the threshold. It was quieter now. Rougher. Uncertain.
“I do nae expect ye to forgive me. But know that I did what was best.”
Her hand tightened on the doorframe. For a moment, the room seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
They had been betrothed. They’d kissed, had made love, had been dedicated to one another.
The memory rose unbidden, the promise that had once filled her with such quiet joy.
The way he had looked at her then, with nothing but pure adoration.
And then the day he had ended it. So abruptly.
He had met her by the cliffs just before leaving on his last voyage.
The wind had been sharp that day, tugging at her hair while he spoke the words that unraveled everything.
He claimed he would be gone too often. That a life with him meant long absences and lonely nights. That she deserved better.
He had spoken as though the matter were already decided. As though her heart had no say in it. He had not asked what she wanted. He had simply taken the choice from her hands and walked away, certain she would understand. Certain she would move on.
The hurt she had buried so carefully surged to the surface like a storm breaking through calm water. Cecily turned sharply to face him. “Best for whom?” she demanded.
The words were low but fierce. “For ye.”
Her hands trembled at her sides as the bitterness she had carried for so long finally found voice. “Ye never asked how I felt…” She stopped herself, swallowing hard before continuing in a strained whisper.
“I do nae wish to hear what ye think. Or what ye decided. Or what ye believed was best.” Her gaze locked onto his, blazing with the pain she had tried so long to hide. “It is only yerself ye ever considered.”
The words hung heavy in the room.
Gabriel’s expression shifted at once. His eyes widened slightly, the shock in them unmistakable. He recoiled as though she had struck him, the movement small but telling. For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the blanket at his side.
The fire in the next chamber crackled faintly through the wall, and the wind brushed against the shutters like a restless hand. Cecily suddenly became acutely aware of how close she stood to him, of the dim moonlight falling across his face.
Gabriel’s gaze remained lowered, his shoulders slightly hunched as though bracing for another blow. For a man who commanded ships and storms with quiet authority, the sight unsettled her.
Slowly, he drew a breath. “I thought…” His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat as though they had not been spoken aloud in a very long time.
He rubbed a hand across his brow before looking up at her again. The steel in his gray eyes had softened into something far more dangerous. “I thought letting ye go would spare ye,” he said quietly. “A life waiting for a man who may never return from the sea… that is nae life at all.”
Cecily felt the familiar ache twist in her chest. “Ye should have let me decide that,” she whispered.
“Aye.” His mouth curved faintly, but there was no humor in it. Only regret. “I should have.”
For a moment, he said nothing more. Then his gaze held hers, steady and unguarded in a way she had never seen before. “I ended our betrothal,” he said softly, “but I never stopped loving ye.”
The words landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. Cecily’s breath caught.
She had prepared herself for many things from Gabriel Thorne, his stubborn pride, his sharp tongue, even his silence. But not this. Not the raw honesty in his voice. Not the way his eyes held hers as though she were the only thing in the world he feared losing.
Her heart betrayed her then, lurching painfully in her chest. For one reckless moment she almost stepped toward him. Almost.
Instead, she forced herself to turn away. The floor creaked softly beneath her feet as she moved toward the door.
“Ye should rest,” she said, though her voice had grown quieter now. Softer. “The healer said ye must.”
Her hand paused on the latch. She could still feel his gaze on her back. Still feel the weight of the words he had spoken. But Cecily did not trust herself to look at him again. Because if she did, she feared the walls she had spent months building around her heart might crumble far too easily.
And Gabriel Thorne had already broken it once.