Page 43 of Between Salt and Serenades
I rushed over to her. I wasn’t sure if it was safe or not, but I didn’t care. I grabbed the sides of her face and planted the biggest kiss on her cheek. When no pain followed, my kisses moved to her forehead, her nose, all the places I had been tempted to touch but couldn’t. A giggly sob poured out of her, but she silenced herself with my lips. She pulled me into her, her pelt sandwiched between us as we fell onto the pile of discarded blankets.
Admittedly, I’d forgotten about the man until the floorboard wined under his shifting weight. I pulled myself off Breena, but not before sneaking in one final kiss. I climbed to my feet and helped her up until we were standing side by side. The side of my arm pressed into the side of hers so not a mere centimeter kept us apart.
“Thank you, captain, for giving her pelt back so freely,” I said, noticing the way the candlelight lit up his features. I hadn’t thought about the fact that while Breena and I had been able to see him upon his entrance though the dark, the same couldn’t have been said for him. The man came home to creatures in the dark screaming at him to return the skin he’d stolen. I’d forgive his tears for now.
“When I marry, it won’t be because my husband or wife didn't have a choice in the matter. And from what I can see, your heart is already with another,” he said to Breena with a coy smile.
“Something like that,” she said, pressing herself harder into my side.
“What I don’t understand is how your skin wound up in my chest. Or your pelt in my trunk, I should say,” he said, his laugh awkward but real.
“That’s a long story,” I said. “And I have some questions of my own. Do you have cookies, perchance?”
“And tea,” he said with a bob of his head. “But I have my mother’s birthday celebration to get to. I only came back to the house because I’d forgotten her gift. Why don’t you both come back tomorrow for tea and cookies, and we can talk. There’s much to discuss.”
Breena and I shared a glance, and she nodded first.
“Splendid. It’s settled, then,” he said, brushing one of his large hands down his slacks. His chest deflated, and his shoulders fell for the first time since I jumped out from behind his bedchamber door. I knew the manhadto be drenched in his own sweat, if not other bodily fluids. “Oh, and next time, I ask that you use the front door.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BURNT COOKIES AND HIDDEN TRUTHS
With more pressing matters to attend to, Breena and I were admittedly late to Rory’s house for tea. Thanks to my grandfather’s spare room, we’d finally been able to stretch out in a bed again, yet somehow, I’d wound up just as curled up as I’d been on the settee. This time, though, it was because I was curled up in her arms. We hadn’t spent all that much time sleeping, or talking for that matter, and for that, I was left feeling both in the clouds… and exhausted.
With Breena’s pelt back, I was able to break our hypnotic link without having to worry about what kind of pull Rory would unknowingly have on her. So, when we’d showed up at his door approximately an hour late, the feelings that consumed me were not of fear and hatred, but anticipation and curiosity.
Did I trust the captain? Certainly not. But was I scared of him? Never again.
Rory welcomed us into his home that his mother didn’t reside in like I’d originally suspected. He sat us down in his sitting room and scuttled off to make a second batch of tea because, apparently, the first one had grown cold in our absence.
When he came back and handed us both a steaming cup of dark tea, we’d accepted and took it as our cue to start talkingabout our time thus far in Barthoah and how we’d come to get here.
After Breena and I took turns telling him all we thought he needed to know, I leaned back in the settee he’d assigned us and said, “We’ve told you our story, so I believe it’s time for you to start sharing yours, starting with an explanation of that massive net off the coast of Barthoah,” I said. “Where you captured us, might I add.”
I grumbled under my breath, but Rory barely spared me a glance, staring off into the kitchen and sniffing the fragrant air.
“Ah! I forgot the cookies.” Rory sprang from his seat and ran off into the kitchen, ignoring my question. Whether it was intentional or not, I didn’t care. The result was the same, and I was still no closer to finding the truth.
“Fisherman…” I called in a warning tone. “Don’t hold back.”
The man glanced over his shoulder at me as he pulled a stone tray from the oven. I wasn’t beyond hypnotizing this man and digging around in that little mind of his for the information I sought. The only reason I was attempting to play nice was for Breena’s sake.
A sigh echoed from the other room, but Rory no longer faced me as he pulled a maroon plate from one of his cabinets.
“My father commissioned the Indigo Tide before I was born and started his very own fishing company here in Barthoah. I’ve been in the business since I was a lad, out on the open seas with my father,” Rory started as he transferred the cookies to the small plate. He peered down at the pile of treats, as if he wasn’t sure he could wait till he was seated to eat one. “When he passed, he put the Indio Tide and his seaside cottage in my name. Back then, we took what we needed and no more. Yes, the war had already started, long before either you or I existed, but things as a child were just…”
“Different?” I asked, knowing all too well what he meant. As a child, we were both untouched by the war. It had its looming presence over me in the sea, and I’m sure over him while he was sailing with his father. But back then, my father was alive and our pod wasn’t starving, and I’m sure life for Rory was far simpler.
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Back then, I wasn’t forced to destroy the very place I love.”
“What do you mean by ‘forced’?” Breena asked. She made herself comfortable on the settee, burying her back into the overstuffed cotton pillow behind her.
“Do you think I want to drain the sea of its resources? For the past few years, we have been overfishing and then some. As a fisherman, I have always seen it as my job to fish just enough to feed the people of Barthoah, but never more than that. Never enough for fish to go to waste or to have a negative impact on the sea. I resent what my father’s business has become, whatIhave turned it into,” the fisherman said. He set the plate down on a table situated between us and the settee. When he finally sat, the tartan furniture groaned as he settled into it.
“You’re the captain. Aren’t you the one giving the orders?” I asked. Rory leaned back and ran his large, calloused hand over his stubbly chin.
“If only it was that simple,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle, moving his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “You know, I’m surprised you don’t know more about this, being a siren and all. You are a siren, right?”
