I didn’t speak, letting him choose whether or not he wanted to share. After a moment, Alaric finally answered. “A harpoon. Years ago.”
Ouch.A harpoon did this? My fingers traced the scar and Alaric stiffened. “Does it still hurt?” I asked.
He hesitated, then answered. “Not in the way youmean.” That’s when he turned and looked at me. I wished he knew I was meeting his eyes, because, for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he thought I was avoiding him.
I nodded though, a deep and unspoken connection between us. The scars were so much more. “I know that kind of hurt,” I said, then absentmindedly touched the burn marks on my neck, wondering if he had noticed those and the burn marks on my arms and hands.
Alaric’s jaw tightened, as if he wanted to ask more, to know more. But, as I did before in giving him a choice, he let me choose to share or not too.
I said nothing. I couldn’t. If I told him how I got the burn marks, he’d know who I was. But there was something so simple and kind about his gesture of letting me choose that warmed my heart. It seemed everyone was always trying to pry into my life or make assumptions about it. Yet, here he was, not forcing me to do anything, not forcing me to speak, but just being present in the silence, a silence that spoke volumes.
I cleared my throat and quickly returned to tending his wound. But for the rest of the evening, every one of his gestures did not go unnoticed: he took his time eating, as if savoring every bite. He said please and thank you, and didn’t complain once about his wounds, the ill-fitting clothes, or even the settee that looked too small for a man his size. And, throughout all of it, he watched me too. But, unlike others who had watched me throughout my life, he seemed genuinely curious, and that terrified me.
Moonlight pouredthrough my bedroom window as I tossed and turned. Why couldn’t I sleep? I was exhausted. Tending to Alaric all day, plus taking care of my daily choresand tasks of cooking, baking, keeping house, and caring for my garden had worn me out. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about howniceit felt when I fell into Alaric’s arms.
Stop, Malia!I was being ridiculous. I wouldneverfall for a whaler, a huntsman who murdered innocent creatures and spent their days in riotous living at the ports. Alaric was no different, and I was probably fighting feelings of attraction.
It’s natural,I told myself, but couldn’t kick the feeling that there was something more. And then it hit me like bitterroot spoiling a warm tea.I’m starting to care for him.Memories resurfaced, of when I cared for others: a family member, two lost children…
And what happens when I start caring for people?I shuddered and drew my covers close to my chin.They turn on me.
Right. I couldn’t afford to do such a thing again. The last two times I nearly lost my life, and this time, well… I didn’t think Alaric would hurt me. But maybe there was even more at risk than my life.
A groan brought my thoughts to a swift end. I gasped and sat upright. Did Alaric accidentally turn and hurt his wound?
Please don’t have reopened that wound,I thought, rushing out of bed and into the living room. But he was fast asleep, his head turning back and forth as he groaned and moaned to himself.
I couldn’t make out any of his words at first, but then he said, “No…no!” What was he witnessing in his dream? It sounded awful. I knelt by the settee and gently shook him awake.
“Alaric, wake up.”
He sat up too soon and grasped his side in pain. Hisbreathing was hard, his body tense, and a light sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.
“Alaric?” I kept my voice soft, careful even.
He blinked, taking me in, then wiped his forehead, sat up, and let out a breath. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I woke you up.” He tried leaning forward to place his elbows on his legs, but it was too much for his wound, so he sat back and placed his arm on the backrest of the settee. It was almost as if he were inviting me to sit there next to him, but I didn’t move.
I still knelt there and waited, not knowing why I ached to help, why I ached to comfort him. “Was it the sea?” I finally asked.
The wind shuffled outside, and the waves in the distance filled the silence.
Alaric didn’t answer, but rubbed his face and exhaled.
“Will you tell me?” I asked, daring to sit next to him. With both of us on the settee, it now seemed rather small. And, much to my surprise and delight, he nodded, staring into the dead fireplace. “When I was a boy, I watched my father drown.”
My breath caught.Drown?
“There was nothing I could do–nothing anyone could do. He was swept away so quickly. I tried to dive in after him but my mother wouldn’t let me.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
Stab.That was too young. Too heartbreaking to watch such a scene unfold.
“I swore I’d never be that weak.” His voice was rough. “That I’d take instead of being taken from.”
I wanted to do something, like touch his hand or placemy hand on his arm, but it seemed too intimate. So I spoke instead. “You were just a boy.”
