“Where’s Fia?”
Anger rippled over Jeannie’s pale features. Her outstretched hand balled into a fist.
“If you want her, then come with me.” Her voice was lower and darker than he remembered. She walked away and paused at the top of the path that led down to the beach. How many times had he seen her waiting there for him, her eyes alight with joy and mischief, ready to swim or climb the cliff to look for tern’s eggs?
She’d stood there in that same spot the day she left for the last time, her eyes shining with tears, her smile faltering. He’d been the one who led the way that day, taking her hand, scrambling down the cliff to the waiting ship . . .
But this time, Dair followed her, his heart pounding, his body numb, his feet moving automatically, his eyes fixed on the fluttering, beckoning white muslin of her gown.
His mind was as thick as porridge, his body slow and shaking. She reached the beach before him and stood waiting, glaring up at him, her eyes never leaving his. He stepped onto the pebbles, felt them shift under his feet, throwing him off balance.
Jeannie had made him stop the day she left, held on to his shoulder as she shook a pebble from her shoe.
He watched her raise her arm, the lace of her sleeve frothing like sea foam. She pointed out at the ships, bobbing and twisting on the growing storm tide.
“There,” she said, her voice caught by the wind, swirling around him, coming at him from every direction and none at all. He felt fear rise in his throat. He hadn’t been aboard a ship since Berwick, couldn’t . . .
Jeannie hadn’t stepped eagerly into the launch that day, the way she’d done a thousand times before. She’d stood beside it, gazing about her wistfully as the morning sun turned her hair to gold. Laughing, he’d set his hands on her waist and swung her over the gunwales.“We’ll lose the tide,” he’d said, and jumped in himself. She’d shaded her eyes as they rowed out to the ship, scanning the cliff, the tower, memorizing her last sight of home with a sad smile playing over her lips. There were tears in her eyes . . .
“No.” The word was torn from Dair, pulled from grief, sorrow, guilt, and pain. “Don’t go,” Dair murmured now. He should have said it then.
Jeannie charged across the dark beach with a curse on her lips. Her fist caught him on the jaw, knocked him off his feet. Dair didn’t resist, couldn’t. Her arm came around his throat—an arm that was stronger than he remembered. Jeannie had been as delicate and fragile as—Fia. He held his breath at the cold press of steel against his windpipe. The sharp blade bit just deep enough to draw blood, to keep him focused. The scent of Jeannie’s perfume was overlaid with the darker odors of sweat and salt and seaweed as she dragged him back to his feet.
“It’s you who’s going this time, cousin, never to return,” she hissed in his ear. The blade pricked again, and he felt more blood, hot, then turning to ice. Her grip tightened, throttling him. She was trembling, fighting the urge to plunge the blade deep enough to kill him. For an instant, he silently willed her to do it, to end his torment. Oblivion beckoned, blurred the edges of his vision. He shut his eyes, ready to surrender. But in the dark hell of his own mind, it wasn’t Jeannie who waited for him—it was Fia, her gaze a lifeline, her soft voice calling him back to whatever shred of sanity he had left. He opened his eyes, gripped the hand that held the knife, forced it back far enough that he could breathe.
“Where is she?” Dair demanded, struggling, but Jeannie’s shade was remarkably strong. With a growl, she propelled him with surprising speed into the water and shoved him roughly into the boat. He landed on his injured leg, winced, and righted himself, his sailor’s instincts instantly alert. “Row,” Jeannie commanded as she climbed in, and he saw the glint of the dirk in her hand, still wet with his blood.
Dair picked up the oars, felt the familiar weight against his palms, and pulled.
“It’s better this way,” she’d said to him the day she left, giving him a brave smile. He hadn’t missed the tears in her eyes as she held his gaze. There was something else there too . . . He’d turned away to issue an order, and when he looked back, it was gone. She climbed onto the prow, played the pirate queen. He’d laughed, rocked the boat, made her jump to find her footing, knowing she would. She’d swatted him for that, taken her seat beside him, leaned her head on his shoulder, pushed her hand into his . . .
He stared at Jeannie now. There were dark stains on her white gown—blood? Was it his blood or hers?
The English bastards struck her, over and over again,toreher clothes, made her scream . . .
The wind keened through the masts of the ships at anchor, a high, sweet sound, a song as familiar as a lullaby. “Where’s Fia?” Dair demanded again.
“Do you care so much? It can’t be love. You’re not capable of that,” his companion said. “You let them kill her, saved yourself. What did you give them to let you live? Was her body, her torment, her death, just part of the price?”
They’d made her watch as they murdered his crew, men she’d known from childhood. They’d beaten her, raped her, and broken her bones, but they had not broken her spirit. She’d spit at the hangman as he put the noose over her head, cursed him in Gaelic. Her eyes had found his where they held him up at the barred window. What had he seen? The pain in his chest wouldn’t let him remember.
The wind turned the tears on his face to ice. He stared into the glittering depths of Jeannie’s eyes now, silently begging forgiveness. But there was no solace, no comfort there. Only more madness. Then he knew.
His cousin was as mad as he was.
“No,” he managed to say, the agony of that cutting to his soul. The looming shadow of the ship cast them into deeper darkness. TheMaiden. He knew the vessel well, knew all of his ships like lovers, by sight, by scent, by touch, in sunlight and in darkness. Like Fia. He squinted up at the hull. Was she aboard?
The thought of boarding a ship again made him sick, blurred his vision, frayed his mind. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. “Cold?” Jeannie asked. “It’s cold in the grave. Dark, too. Lonely. Jeannie doesn’t belong in the grave, but you do, andshedoes—the witch.”
“Fia?” he asked.
“The witch,” Jeannie corrected him, spitting the word. Dair rowed harder, let the work and the pain keep him conscious, present.
“Did you even know that Jeannie was in love with you, wanted to marry you? Everyone knew but you. Padraig told her she couldn’t have you, wasn’t good enough. He wanted a rich wife for you, a princess, even a queen if he could buy one for you, a match made for power, for money—Padraig could never have enough money. He told Jeannie no when she asked for you, pleaded, and it broke her heart. He said he’d marry her to someone far, far away from Carraig Brigh, never let her see you again. And you—you never even knew how much she loved you. What choice did she have but to leave on her terms, become a nun? Loving you ruined her for any other but God, and even then, you let her die. Did you care then?”
Shock went through him like lightning. Jeannie loved him as a man? No, he hadn’t known, hadn’t thought—another sin upon his soul. She’d been his friend, his playmate, his cousin.
She lunged at him, cursing him, pressing the dirk between his ribs. “I wish I could kill you here and now, but I’ve another fate in mind, a fitting one for a pirate and a madman.”
