Butcher hit him full on, dragging him under. The sea floor fell away quickly from the shore. He was in deep water, being pulled out to sea, with Butcher clinging to him like a limpet. Cullenaimed a punch at Butcher’s neck and managed to wriggle out of his grip. A surge of water rolled him downwards. He groped for purchase on the sea floor as the water tossed him forward and back, rolling him over. His hand brushed something smooth and heavy. A large stone, smoothed by years of water and sand scouring it. Cullen grabbed on, but it came away from the seabed in his hand. He kicked upwards with all his strength, lungs screaming for air, and surfaced. Fingers clawed at him, trying to find his throat.
Cullen aimed his hand upwards towards Butcher’s face. It hit bone and flesh, and the fingers stopped grasping. He lashed out again and again, and the water around them turned red as Butcher’s skull cracked open like a walnut.
‘Cullen!’
He glanced back to shore. Lowri was wading in. Her skirts would be heavy, dragging her down.
‘Stay there,’ he cried, and then he swam for his life. Time seemed to stand still until he felt solid ground under his feet. They came together in the surf, shivering in each other’s arms.
‘I thought you were dead,’ he gasped, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.
‘Ow,’ she cried, and his hands came away bloody.
‘You are hurt.’
‘Aye, but so are you.’ She touched her head and winced. ‘I’ve had worse. Oh, Cullen. I thought I had lost you.’
‘Never, my love. Never.’
She thumped him hard in the chest. ‘How could you risk your life like that?’
‘This had to end. It was always going to come to this. Someone puts their boot to your throat, taking from you again and again. You take so much insult and pain and humiliation, then you say, ‘no more.’ He nodded at Briony’s corpse. ‘This slaughter had to be answered, and you had to be safe from him.’
A faint cry out to sea had them both turning. Lowri gasped. Butcher was still alive, flailing in the waves, hands slapping the water. He sank lower, until only his face was visible. Cullen dragged Lowri to shore, and then watched until his enemy disappeared beneath the waves - a mad dog heading straight for hell, if the fish didn’t get him first.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cullen lay on his back, forearm to forehead, eyes closed against the glare of the sun. It was one of those rare moments when he was at peace, and to Lowri, staring down at him, his face was the most beautiful in the world. She longed to kiss his wide mouth and slide her hand under his shirt into the smooth hair on his chest. She could let her fingers travel the contours of Cullen’s hard belly down to all manner of carnal delights.
But it would be cruel to wake him. Since Briony’s murder, he had been on edge, waking from screaming nightmares or lost in his thoughts as he busied himself, dawn to dusk, around the cottage. Cullen had wanted to bury the lass on a cliff looking out to sea, but Briony had feared the sea, so instead, they had found a pretty, peaceful spot in the woods to lay her to rest. It was a better end than the pauper’s grave she would have got as a servant to the real Briony Falstaff, whose final resting place was the seabed.
Lowri feared that Heap would seek vengeance for Butcher’s death, but he had been driven off by the townsfolk of Larne. The villain had terrorised, cheated and injured many people, and they had every reason to hate him. With Butcher gone and no protection, the lumbering beast had barely escaped a mob hanging.
So she finally had some peace, though Cullen was plagued with guilt over Briony’s death. Could she wake him? She dearly wanted to. But then, Lowri liked to study her husband andpuzzle out how this hard, lost, snarling man had come to mean the world to her.
Lowri tore her eyes away and stared out at the distant hills – dark cones against a startlingly blue sky. They had found a sunny spot along a riverbank to spread a blanket and enjoy a rare, cloudless day in Ireland. Cullen had fallen asleep almost immediately, which was a shame, for he was missing the sweet fragrance of bridal-white meadowsweet, heavy with pollen, the steady hum of bees and sweet, high birdcalls from the trees. A riot of purple vetch and vivid pink knapweed jewelled the opposite bank. Everything in Lowri’s world was ripe, warm and soft, and she was at peace, as if the world was wrapping its arms around her.
All her life, she had felt bitter, angry, loveless and lonely, and she had always believed it was in her character to feel so. Now, she was a different person. Now she was in love – madly, irrevocably, forever. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, she had left behind the dark, ugly and unlovable parts of her character and embraced the fact that she could be found beautiful and wanted.
At first, Lowri wondered why she should feel sickness and dread at being in love, weak at the knees whenever Cullen touched her. But lately, she had come to realise it was not just love, it was something, or someone, else.
Lowri put a hand to her stomach and rubbed it.
‘Are you unwell?’ said Cullen, stirring.
‘No, I’m braw. My stomach rumbled, that’s all.’
‘Come here then,’ he said, with that look in his eye, laying her down beside him.
‘I thought you were asleep,’ she giggled.
‘No, but you seemed to enjoy studying me, so I pretended.’ He kissed her and smiled. ‘What were you looking for? Trying to find a fault in me?’
‘Oh, I don’t have to search for them. I stumble over a new one every day.’
‘How dare you insult me, you witch. That won’t do. You must be punished.’ He leaned in and nibbled her neck, and she squealed.
‘Get off. I know what your vanity wants. But I’ll not flatter you by saying you are handsome and fine. And I can find no fault in you, at least not in your looks.’
