Page 39 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
“Sorcha!” Arick’s voice pulled her back from the temptation to follow her family into the depths.
With a last look at the tossing waves, she hurried to join him. Lightning flashed, showing him in stark relief against the dark town beyond. He stood with his head tossed back, one hand reaching for her.
But his eyes were watching the water, not her.
No. He wouldn’t sacrifice himself for her. She was nothing, and he would protect his own.
Theshockofpainthat ripped through him when Arick realized Sorcha wasn’t at the harbormaster’s wasn’t caused by their separation.
It was fear.
The storm was getting worse, and she still couldn’t walk that well. What if she were injured somewhere? He raced along the harbor front, searching for her.
A shout in an unfamiliar tongue drew him to the far pier. A forlorn figure huddled at the very end. Visions of her falling in tore her name from him.
“Sorcha!”
He froze as she stood lest he startle her more.
Her gaze lingered on the water. What was she looking for?
Lightning blinded him, and then she was there, a welcome shape among the spots that danced in his vision.
“We need to go,” he said, taking her hand. “The storm’s getting worse.”
She nodded and followed him away from the water’s edge. He drew her arm through his, telling himself it was to help her walk.
Definitely not his own need to know she was safe.
He led her back to the inn. The harbormaster had assured him all the ships were secured and the crews safely ashore. If any inbound ships were outside the harbor, then there was little they could do to help. Extra lookouts had been sent to the lighthouse, but no rescues would be mounted until the storm faded in the morning.
They ducked their heads and ran through the pouring rain. The short reprieve seemed only designed to allow the storm to gather strength. Arick held tight to Sorcha lest she be blown away by the gusts of wind. Their boots slid on the slick boards, sending them sprawling into the muck at the edge of the pier. He pulled them up, ignoring the mud splattered over them.
At least the wind was behind them, and they didn’t have to fight it. They tumbled through the kitchen door in a whirl of wind and rain. Arick hauled the door shut and leaned against it, panting. Sorcha looked up at him from where she’d collapsed on the floor. Mud smeared across her cheek, and she looked like a half-drowned waif. She blinked at him, her lips trembling.
“Please don’t cr—” His blurted words were cut off by a giggle.
Clamping a hand over her mouth, Sorcha stared at him, her eyes round. A glob of mud slid from his hair and plopped onto the floor. He stared back before his own laughter broke out. She giggled again, letting it ring forth.
She leaned against the bench, holding her sides. Her laugh was like dolphins dancing through the surf, and he found himself unable to resist laughing in response. He sank onto the bench beside her, his legs weak.
Tears were streaming down both their cheeks by the time they caught their breath.
“Don’t you be bringing mud into my kitchen now,” Elsbeth, unfazed, scolded from where she was standing by the hearth. She pointed at the boot rack, and Arick dutifully hauled Sorcha up to sit on the bench to remove her footwear. A puddle on the floor marked where she’d been sitting. He hung up their drenched coats. The heavy fabric would need to hang by the fire to properly dry out, but best to let as much water as possible drip out of them in the entry and not in Elsbeth’s spotless kitchen.
She’d been busy while they took off their wet things, and when he helped Sorcha limp over to the fire, Elsbeth handed them both a steaming cup of fragrant tea.
“Tapadh leat,” Sorcha said.
“You’re very welcome, my dear,” Elsbeth told her as she settled into the second rocking chair.
“Wait, you can understand her?” His heart leapt at the thought that maybe they could finally learn more about where Sorcha was from.
Elsbeth snorted, her eyes on her knitting. “Context helps a lot, lad.”
Of course. He tapped down his disappointment, wondering at it. When had understanding Sorcha gone from being helpful to something he desperately wanted?
The image of her reaching toward the waves was seared into his mind. For a moment, he had thought she was about to jump into the raging sea.
