Page 28 of Only By Grace
“I was here,” he interrupted, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “I shall not let anyone near you again.”
His reassurance should have soothed her completely, but it only made her wonder what might happen next. What if the men turned on him for protecting her? What if the storm worsened? What if?—?
“Stop tormenting yourself,” he said, as though he could read her thoughts. “It is over.”
Confused by her feelings, she dared to look up into his face, to see if he might be feeling what she did not understand. His eyes were dark and intense, but he said nothing. Their breaths intertwined, and before she knew what was happening his soft lips were upon hers as though the butterfly had chosen its place. It was over with quickly—almost chaste but for the feelings it stirred inside her.
Not wanting the moment to end, she lowered her head against his chest. They stood like that for some time, as though he was also receiving some solace from her. He gently kissed thetop of her head and whispered in Gaelic to her things she did not understand, but warmed her nonetheless.
For the first time that night, Grace allowed herself to relish the comfort of his presence. Grace felt, perhaps foolishly, that as long as he stood with her, everything would be well.
The storm,which had raged with fury, at last gave way to a blessed steady wind. The skies cleared, revealing a vast expanse of azure above, and the sea, though restless, rolled with a gentler rhythm.TheSelkiesurged forward, her sails filled with the brisk wind, as though eager to make up for time lost in the tempest. The mood aboard lightened with the weather, and Ronan knew if he brought Kilroy on deck for punishment, it could shatter the thin layer of peace they had settled into.
It was best to deal with him later, though normally he knew it was preferable to deal with discipline immediately. Punishment was the worst part of captaining a ship, he thought grimly, and would very likely shatter his own thin mask of being a gentleman. Thankfully, he did not have to captain a ship full-time. He did not know if his constitution could bear it.
Ronan had scarcely slept, the image of Grace’s pale face etched in his mind, her wide eyes betraying a fear she had been too brave to voice. That wretched Kilroy—his arrogance, his cruelty—it was a miracle Ronan had restrained himself from killing him. The impulse to strike the cur down, to make him pay for so much as looking at Grace with disdain, had burned hot in his chest. It was a fury unlike anything he had known, so raw and primal that it startled him. For a gentleman to lose control was unthinkable, and yet, in that moment, the thought of protectingGrace outweighed all else. And therein lay the rub. What was he to do with these feelings?
The question of what to do about Grace was far from simple. It was not merely a sense of duty or honour—no, that he could have accounted for, managed with reason and restraint. But this…this was something more, a protectiveness so fierce it bordered on possessive. The idea of her being hurt, frightened, or even spoken to without care was intolerable. It was similar to the rage he felt towards Flynn on Maeve’s behalf, was it not?
He’d almost lost control and fully kissed her last night. The feel of her trembling in his arms had been almost too much to withstand.
’Twould be for the best to protect her from a distance, with the polite indifference of an acquaintance. He could keep her safe from his crew and pray the weather held and the journey was swift. Four more days, if the sea goddess was kind. He scoffed mockingly.
All this, and he needed to turn his attentions to dealing with Flynn.
Ronan paced the length of his mate’s cabin, his thoughts as restless as his pacing. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, betraying an agitation he would never display before his crew. Flynn. The very name curdled his blood. That base, double-dealing scoundrel, whose every word dripped with false charm, now loomed like a storm cloud over all that Ronan held dear.
It was Maeve he thought of most—Maeve, his sister, whose bright spirit and generous heart had been both her greatest virtues and her gravest vulnerabilities. From the moment Flynn had manoeuvred an introduction to Maeve, Ronan should have perceived his intent. Flynn was no suitor besotted by Maeve’s wit or grace. He was a predator, circling his prey with cunningeyes, intent upon capturing her to exact revenge. And now, with Ronan away in England, the trap was sprung.
Ronan’s jaw tightened, his stride growing more forceful as he rehashed in his mind all he knew of the situation. Flynn had woven his web with care, insinuating himself into Maeve’s innocence, whispering falsehoods, until she had begun to trust him. Trust! The very notion was a bitter irony, for there was no man alive less worthy of it.
He paused at his berth and bowed his head. Could he have acted sooner? Should he have seen more clearly, intervened more decisively? The answers mattered little now; the time for regret was past. Action—swift and resolute—was all that remained.
Flynn had manipulated Maeve like a carefully crafted chess game, with Ronan the king he really longed to capture. He felt his stomach twist at the thought of Maeve bound to such a man—a lifetime’s torment for the price of a single moment’s carelessness and naïveté. No, he could not, would not, allow it.
And yet, Flynn was not a foe to be lightly dismissed. He was undeniably clever, and possessed of a ruthless nature. He would play this game with skill, anticipating each move, countering each defence. Carew could see the man’s smirk even now, as vividly as if he stood before him. Flynn would be waiting, confident that Ronan would arrive too late or act too rashly, leaving Maeve unprotected.
But Flynn had miscalculated. For whatever else the world might say of Lord Carew—none could accuse him of abandoning his duty—and Maeve was his duty. More than that, she was his family, his blood, the bright spot in a life too often shadowed by obligation and restraint. To fail her now would be to fail himself utterly.
Ronan straightened, his resolve hardening like steel tempered by fire. The same determination that drove his shipthrough the storm and tempest now propelled him forward. Flynn might think himself the master of this game, but he had not reckoned on Ronan’s will. Not with his sister at stake.
Flynn thrived on deception and manipulation; his success built on the ignorance of his adversaries. Ronan would deny him that advantage and dismantle Flynn’s schemes. There was no doubt in his mind that Flynn would be dishonourable. He knew Ronan would never agree to a holy union with Maeve, nor concede power.
And then there was Maeve herself. Ronan’s heart ached as he thought of her, alone and perhaps frightened, caught in a snare she had not even seen until it was too late. He had always strived to protect her, but had he done so at the cost of her independence? Had his watchfulness left her ill-prepared to recognize a villain like Flynn? These were questions he could not yet answer, but he vowed to make amends. Maeve’s spirit was too strong to be broken, too bright to be dimmed by a man like Flynn. Ronan would see to it that she regained her confidence and her freedom.
Turning from the berth, Ronan moved to the small window and gazed out at the restless sea. The horizon lay shrouded in mist, a veil of uncertainty over the days to come, but beyond it lay Ireland and with it the chance to set things right. He would see his sister safe, no matter the cost. Flynn might be clever, but Ronan’s determination was boundless, and when it came to Maeve, there was no force on earth that could stand in his way.
His thoughts turned back to the present, to Grace. He could not ignore her for the remaining days because he was a coward. He was unsure how he felt after he’d held her the night before. In the light of day, it could all have been some otherworldly experience between the storm, Kilroy, Barry, and the kiss.
It was becoming more difficult not to see Grace in the light of a desirable female. Who was he kidding? She certainly was that,but was he thinking differently because she would, most likely, be his wife? He still thought it best for her to find a more worthy man if she still had the choice.
Yet he could not seem to stop himself from thinking about her. It was difficult not to make excuses to visit the cabin. To want to dine with her—to check how Barry went on because he knew she’d be there.
It was, in fact, close to the midday meal—he could tell by the smell of roast pork coming up from the kitchen. As he walked in that direction, he decided it would be doing Paddy a favour since he had extra duties, so he went to fetch their trays, like the apparently besotted fool that he was.
It was no small feat to knock on the door holding two trays, but he decided to use his boot. Grace had been instructed to keep the door locked at all times, and he knew she would not need reminders as to why.
“It is I, lass.”
