Page 15 of Only By Grace
“He waits until I am away since my father is not strong enough to protect the family. My poor mother is beside herself.”
Grace felt for him. All this time she had known him, she had never known any of this about him, having only ever thought of him as the care-for-naught people described him as. Was it all an act? She did not know him very well at all, she realized. “Is your sister of an age to choose him for herself?”
“Almost, and Flynn knows it. Her birthday is just past Samhain and I must get there in time to convince her it would be a horrible mistake. I would rather give in to his demands than see my sister bound to him in misery for life.”
“What are his demands?”
“The rights to Kenmare Bay.”
“Show me where it is.” Grace rose from the table and walked over to the map on the wall. She tried not to watch as he rolled up his sleeves, and busied herself finding Ireland and studying it more closely than she ever had before. He leaned over her and pointed to a finger-like projection. This is the Kenmare Peninsula, which is my family’s land. This is Flynn’s land.” He pointed to another area of land that jutted out from the main island.
“So this bay in between is what he wants control of?” She barely managed to speak because his nearness was disconcerting her.
“Yes.” He stepped back and she was able to breathe.
Carew returned to the table and waited for her to come back before sitting. Grace glanced at the map once more, thinking she would study it better once he was gone. There were somany questions she wished to ask, but he seemed disinclined to explain further. She could, however, discern that whatever conflict lay between him and this Flynn fellow, it had deeply affected him.
Carew moved his knight, capturing her bishop with a deft slide of the piece across the board.
Grace bit her lip, staring at the board. She knew she was going to lose; it was becoming increasingly clear as she struggled to decide her next move. Even a distracted Carew revealed a much keener mind than she had anticipated. She supposed she didn’t mind losing to him, though.
As she pondered her predicament, her thoughts wandered. She marvelled at how she could feel so drawn to someone with such a rakish reputation—something that should have repulsed her entirely. Perhaps it had been his beauty that captivated her from afar, but proximity to him only heightened her awareness of her own inadequacies. Yet here, forced together on this voyage, her reticence was slipping away, and she was unsure whether that was a good or a dangerous thing. After all, he had evidenced none of the rakish behaviours she had so feared—at least, not aboard this ship.
Without fully thinking it through, she nudged a pawn forward. Carew’s eyebrow arched, and his lips curled into that wry smile she was beginning to recognize.
Was she mistaken, or was there a new warmth in his eyes? The realization made her heart pound uncomfortably. She forced her gaze back to the board.
“Checkmate,” he pronounced, sliding his queen into position, cutting off her king’s escape.
She laughed, despite herself. “Defeated.”
“Indeed,” he said, standing and grabbing the oilskin coat draped over the back of the door. “I should go and see howFergus does.” He sounded almost hurried, as though eager to escape, and left before she could respond.
Grace sighed and leaned back in her chair. She reached over to stroke Theo. The kitten had made himself at home on the edge of the table. “I must have been mistaken, Theo,” she murmured softly. But her heart still fluttered, betraying her uncertainty.
Ronan hadto get out of this cabin. This new Grace was unexpected and uncomfortable. No, in fact, he wasn’t uncomfortable, which was the problem. He was enjoying her company, which made him uncomfortable.
He’d never thought twice about this timid Whitford sister before, but he’d never taken the time to look. She was much of an age with his sister, but it was not that so much as he’d always been attracted to a confident, outspoken sort of woman. More like her elder sister, though that had never been a serious interest. The devil inside him had enjoyed toying with Westwood.
So what was wrong with him now? It was inexplicable. Beautiful women threw themselves at him all the time, and he was not even being arrogant about it. He wasn’t an eyesore and he held a title, even if it was an Irish one. What was special about Grace Whitford to make him feel this way? He must be coming down with something.
He’d found himself talking about his feud with Flynn, which he never spoke of to anyone save his family. Then he’d had to stop himself as they studied the map. Something about her had drawn him dangerously close, and he began envisioning things that were not entirely wholesome. He had caught himself just in time. Grace Whitford deserved better than him, but he wasbecoming more and more concerned that he was precisely who she was going to get—like it or not.
He was also becoming more and more certain that this feud with Flynn would be a fight to the death. The last time he had tried reasoning with Flynn, the man had laughed in his face.
It would be hard for Grace if she was to become too attached. She’d have his name, and then be free.
More concerning was what would become of Maeve, who was the innocent pawn in all of this nonsense. He’d love nothing better than to put an end to all of it for good. Except Flynn was determined to ruin his family’s honour one way or another, which left Ronan no choice.
As he climbed on deck, he welcomed the rain in his face. He relieved Fergus from the wheel and contemplated what was next. If this was to be his lot, then he would face it bow to the wind. Although, ironically, the bow was facing the non-existent wind at the moment and they were literally going nowhere. The rain was coming straight down, indicating that the storm was not going to be blowing away soon. The Channel weather was notoriously fickle, but rarely dead still. Ronan needed his luck to change and quickly. This could not be a foreshadowing of what was to come. He could not allow himself to think that way.
Ronan leaned forward over his hands, resting across the railing, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders and allowing a moment of self-pity. He knew he could not indulge for long and needed to use his energies to form a plan, but sometimes it was just too much.
He slammed his fist down on the helm impatiently. He needed to be doing something useful, and the cursed ship could not even be sailing to help. They could be stuck for days, but he did not think it likely. Calm and rational was what he needed to remain, but he’d heard stories of ships being caught in the doldrums for weeks. God knew what would become of his sisterand family if that happened. He prayed earnestly for wind to set them moving again, and that Westwood would come to fetch his sister-in-law before her fate was disastrously set with Ronan himself.
“Captain?”
Ronan stood straight and turned around. He had not heard Fergus approach.
