16
Logan’s eyes darted around. The ship had settled into the kind of silence that came after a fight. He heard a man laughing, but then the sound folded back into the wind.
The sails had been checked, and the blood had been scrubbed from the planks. The hostile ship was a smudge behind them now, smaller with every breath of wind.
He stood long enough to watch the last bucket of pink water go over the side, tasting salt and iron in the air.
Pete’s voice came from behind him. “If ye are done glowering at the sea, I have a gift.”
Logan turned and watched as Pete carried a small cask as if it weighed nothing, grinning like a man who had just found a coin in his boot.
“From our most generous friends,” Pete said. “They tried to kill us, we keep their ale. That seems fair.”
“Fair enough,” Logan acknowledged.
They went down to the small cabin he usually occupied. It was barely wider than the bunk and the table, with a single lantern swinging from the beam, its light pooling in a tight circle.
Pete set the cask on the table, dug out two cups, and filled them. The ale caught the lantern light in a dull gold line.
“At least now ye can never say I never bring ye anything,” he drawled.
Logan took the cup. He usually did not drink much when they were sailing because he liked to remain sharp. Today, however, his ribs ached from the earlier invasion, and his muscles hummed from the fight and the cleanup. He let himself take a slow sip. It burned his throat, then settled warm in his chest.
Pete sat opposite him, stretching his limbs with the careless ease of a man who knew where he belonged. They had bled in the same sand more than once. They had held the same oars in the same storm. They needed no pretty words for that.
“I still cannae believe ye left all of this for land,” Pete said, tipping his cup toward the ceiling as if that pointed to the whole sea. “And worse, for a laird’s stone cage.”
Logan let out a short laugh. It surprised him a little how easily it came. “It isnae all that bad.”
Pete’s eyebrows arched. “Of course it is. Ye are lying to both of us.”
Logan took another sip. “Thefoodis better.”
“Ye only say that because ye have people who are feeding ye now,” Pete scoffed. “Do ye remember the time we were marooned on that rock of an island? Two weeks with nay ship, nat hope. Only fish, sand, and me.”
Logan huffed. “A man’s worst nightmare.”
Pete grinned. “Ye were like a caged beast. Couldnae hold still. Ye nearly rebuilt the whole ship with yer bare hands. Had us dragging planks, hammering nails into nails. I thought ye would start rowing the sand itself if ye could find a way.”
“It worked,” Logan said. “We left that island on a ship thatfloated. That is more than most could say.”
“Aye, it worked,” Pete admitted. “But ye almost went mad being stuck. Ye couldnae stand the idea of staying in one place. The sea spits ye out like a stone, gives ye a new wave every time. Land holds.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, lantern light cutting lines into his face.
“So what happened to that Logan? The one who couldnae bear the stillness. The one who belonged to the water more than anything else.”
Logan set his cup down and looked at the grain of the wood for a moment. “He learned that there were worse things than a roof,” he said. “A clan with nay leader, for one.”
Pete waved that aside. “Spare me the noble speech. If ye wanted power, ye already had it here. Men jump when ye speak. The kind of fear and respect ye like. If it were family, ye could have put me in a dress, and we’d be done with it.”
Logan snorted into his drink.
Pete started to count on his fingers. “So, is it power? I daenae think so. Ye had that. Is it yer family? Ye left them once already. Is it the castle? Villagers in tunics who stare at ye like ye might bite them?”
Logan said nothing. Instead, he took another swig of his ale and focused on the burn in his throat.
Pete lifted his pinky, eyes glinting with mischief. “Is it the lady?”
