At one point the Nephilim captain had offered her a rope so that she could tie herself to the rail while she vomited over the side as the ship heaved and rolled beneath her. She’d lashed herself to the rail and leaned over, staring at the churning gray water, wishing that Tor would hold her hand again. But he never had.
Keely sat up in the pile of blankets and wrapped her arms around her legs. Thank the Bard that the hideous nausea had finally eased. Getting off the ship had made a world of difference. And Nim’s basket of ginger cookies and insistence on regular snacks and rests had helped too. For the first time in weeks, she had a little more energy. A little more interest in the world.
If only she could get a grip on the ridiculous tears that seemed to leak out of her eyes at every opportunity. Nim had told her it was entirely normal, and that she had once treated a woman in her village who was pregnant in spring and couldn’t stop crying because of baby animals. Baby bloody animals. Somehow that was meant to reassure her. Instead, it had made her think of baby animals and her eyes had welled up. Damn it.
Keely sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She was strong. She had been strong her entire life, and now she had a tiny person who needed her strength even more. She straightened, lifting her chin. She would be whatever the pea needed.
Yes, she’d started calling it the pea. Which wasn’t the best name in the world. But still. What else was she going to call it? Torlett? Dun-Tor? She snorted. And then her eyes leaked a little more.
How could she possibly still be missing him so much? Everything in her wanted to turn around and go back. To stand in front of him and force him to see that they had a chance to build something rare. Something precious.
But didn’t you walk away first?a quiet little internal voice prodded.Aren’t you walking—running—away now?She truly hated that voice.
Had she run away? Maybe. But wasn’t it sensible? Wasn’t it better to give him the space he so clearly wanted? And, most importantly, wasn’t it better for the pea? The child would be better off with a stable home and a parent who was dedicated to her. That had to be her priority.
Or was it really that she’d made herself so vulnerable to Tor that now she needed as much distance from him as humanly possible so she could repair her broken walls?
Did he even realize how vulnerable she’d felt? Would it have made any difference to tell him that she was afraid? That even contemplating being with someone was an enormous step for her. That asking him to come with her had taken her so far past her usual boundaries that she might as well have been on the moon. For him, it had been no big deal. But for her… it had been everything.
Keely closed her eyes for a moment. Damn. Of course it would have made a difference. Tor always listened, and thought, carefully. He would have tried to understand. Maybe he would have done things differently.
He hadn’t come to see her. But hadn’t a part of her suspected that he wouldn’t? Wasn’t that why she had written the letter—because she knew he would hate to say goodbye.
She’d waited and waited. And then, somehow, she’d known. She’d looked up and seen him on the battlements. He had watched her, unable to truly stay away. He wanted her, but he was afraid... and if there was anyone who could understand that fear, it was her.
Maybe she should have stormed up those stairs and forced him to listen. Told him the truth, all of it. Opened her heart and let go of her pride.
But she hadn’t.
She’d been a coward where Tor was concerned. For the first time in a decade, she had wanted to be with someone, had allowed herself to imagine a life with them. Had begun to build tiny dreams of the future. And then, when he hadn’t immediately leaped to making promises, she’d folded and run.
Keely sighed. She should have stayed, that night in the woods. Given him a chance. She knew he struggled to express emotions. And she also knew how wounded he’d been by what happened after Ravenstone. And yet her own vulnerabilities, her own terror of losing someone she cared for, had overridden everything. Including her good sense and any courage she might have had.
And now she’d left again. Damn.
“You are stronger than this.” She whispered the words into the darkness, and then, slowly, wrapped her hands over her flat belly. “Weare stronger than this.”
She rubbed her eyes, grabbed her satchel off the floor, and pulled out one of the ginger cookies that Nim had given her. Nim must have spoken to Alanna about taking their trip slowly because they seemed to take an inordinate number of breaks and rests. And Alanna’s attentive kindness, even Val’s gruff concern, had given her some comfort.
Yes, she was going to have a baby. And yes, Tor had chosen to let her go. The thought of doing it all on her own was daunting. But she had been on her own all this time. She could do this.
Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed in the darkness. And then another joined in. Bloody chickens. Anyone who thought roosters only woke up at dawn had never kept the stupid fowl.
These birds must have been left behind by the farm owners when they abandoned their home—too close to the fighting and the growing numbers of reivers roaming through the war-struck north—and they had made themselves a home in the decaying rafters of the outbuildings. Now they were celebrating whatever had taken their fancy while the rest of the world tried to sleep.
Well, Alanna and Val were trying to sleep, anyway. Given the noises she’d heard through the thin walls, it wasn’t that surprising that they were both still passed out. Finally, her best friend had the love she deserved; that she had denied herself for so long.
Keely looked down at her belly. “We deserve it too, little pea,” she murmured. “But don’t worry, your old mama is going to give you so much love. So, so much love. Whatever happens, we’ll have each other.”
Damn. Now she’d made herself cry again. She’d cried more since falling pregnant than in all the years before. Even when Niall died, she had kept her tears to herself.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the shirt she’d worn to sleep in. It was one of Tor’s—the shirt Alanna had borrowed when she was first rescued—Alanna had given it to Keely instead of giving it back to Tor, and now Keely slept in it every night.
“Look at this, little pea,” she murmured toward her belly. “See the ridiculous things your mama has started to do.”
She wiped her face and looked longingly at the blankets. It would have been nice to get some more rest, but she knew she’d never get back to sleep.
She lit the small lantern she’d left on the floor beside her bedroll and then pulled Tor’s shirt over her head and tucked it safely back into her satchel before dressing in a dark green blouse, topped by a jerkin, with her leathers. She tied her hair back in a tight braid, and then pulled on her boots, gloves, and a heavy woolen cloak.
