Page 33 of Only By Grace
Carew shifted again, his hand brushing hers as he steadied himself. “We’re almost there,” he said, his tone unwavering. “They’ll not sink us with rifles.”
The confidence in his voice was a lifeline, and Grace clung to it, drawing strength from his certainty. The ship’s crew worked with desperate efficiency, steering the vessel towards the safety of the Donnellan dock. The cliffs loomed larger now, the enemy fire becoming less frequent as the ship moved beyond their reach.
When the ship finally turned a corner and docked, the gunfire ceased, leaving only the rush of the sea and the shouts of the crew to fill the air. Carew rose slowly, his hand extending to help Grace to her feet. She grasped it, her legs unsteady but her resolve firm. She could not falter now.
Ronan hadto leave his well-trained crew to see to the mooring of the ship once they reached the protected alcove whereThe Selkierested. His primary concern was escorting Grace safely off the ship and into the castle.
Flynn’s hand was in this—of that, he had no doubt. The shots fired upon their arrival were not an attempt to sink them but a warning, a reckless message meant for him, whether Flynn had fired himself or left his minions with orders to terrorize. What was Flynn’s purpose? And why now? Ronan did not think theman so foolish as to resort to outright murder, at least not yet. But Grace…
His gaze flicked towards the cliffs, their rugged heights climbing into the sky, and then towards the sheltered stairway carved into the rock—a steep, winding path that would lead him home to the castle. It was a long climb, but the stairs through the cliffs were protected.
Home. The word carried a weight he could not quite name. He had always thought of Donnellan and its austere beauty as a refuge, a place of stability. Yet, today, as he prepared to ascend those familiar steps, unease settled heavily in his chest. Flynn had never attacked them directly, nor during the day, nor so close to home.
His jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to Grace. She stood a few paces away, her head tilted upwards slightly as she took in the sight of the cliffs and the castle rising above them. Her wide eyes held a mixture of wonder and apprehension, a response that stirred something unexpected within him. He had grown accustomed to the stark beauty of the place, its commanding presence on the coast. But seeing it through her eyes made him pause. Did she see more than stone and mortar? Did she see perhaps even something unspoken in its proud edifice?
As he led her quickly across the gangway to safety, his heart hardened as his mind turned back to the man who threatened to destroy all Ronan held dear. The long-standing feud between their families had deep roots, its origins obscured by years of bitterness and mistrust. Yet Flynn seemed determined not merely to perpetuate the feud but to escalate it, to strike at the very heart of his family. To what purpose? Was there more beneath the surface that Ronan could not see?
It was hard to fathom such malice, though he had seen glimpses of its effects—his mother’s frayed nerves, Maeve’s growing restlessness. Flynn’s influence was spreading like ashadow, and now it had reached even these cliffs, the last place Ronan had thought it could touch. Flynn’s boldness had grown, and Ronan feared if he didn’t stop it now, it would pervade like a spreading disease. Something that infests before you know how bad it is.
The climb up the stairs was arduous but familiar. The carved stone steps wound through the cliffs, sheltered by a narrow tunnel lit by lanterns. Grace followed behind him, her steps careful but determined, and he could not help but glance back occasionally to ensure her safety. At last, the final step brought them to the top, where Donnellan Castle stood waiting.
Its weathered stone walls loomed large, the iron gates creaking open as a servant rushed to greet them.
It was home, and yet something felt amiss. He saw it in the hurried steps of the servants, the unease in their glances as they passed. He wished he knew what he was walking into. Had his father taken a turn—or worse?
His mother was waiting in the great hall. Lady Donnellan, always a figure of composure, now appeared anything but. Her gown was slightly askew, her hair escaping its pins, and her face bore the strain of sleepless nights. She turned to Ronan the moment he entered, her expression one of desperation and relief all at once.
“Ronan,” she began, her voice trembling. “Thank God you are here.”
“What has happened?” he asked, his tone sharp with concern. “Why is the household in such disarray?”
“It’s Maeve,” Lady Eleanor said, clutching his arm. “She is gone.”
“Gone?” The word felt foreign, its implications too vast to grasp. “What do you mean, gone?”
His mother’s grip tightened. “That rogue has cast his spell on her, Ronan. I tried to stop it, but she…she believes herself in love with him. She has eloped with him. I found a note this morning.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly, the weight of her words crashing over him like a wave. Maeve. His sister, spirited and trusting, had fallen prey to Flynn’s manipulations. Fury surged within him, hot and unrelenting, though he kept his expression carefully composed.
“Does Father know?” The knowledge would be the final nail in his coffin.
His mother shook her head with a look that indicated worry over her decision not to tell him. She had aged since he’d left only two months ago. “I was afraid of what it would do to him.”
“Do we know where they have gone?” he asked, his voice low but dangerous.
His mother shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “No. They could be anywhere by now. I have sent men after them, but there has been no word.”
Ronan’s fists clenched at his sides, his mind racing. Flynn’s audacity knew no bounds. To lure Maeve away, to use her as a pawn in his twisted game—this was beyond enmity. It was war.
“I will find her,” he said, his voice hard. “I will bring her back.”
His mother placed a trembling hand on his cheek. “Ronan, you must be careful. Flynn…he is not like other men. I fear what he might do if cornered.”
“I know what he is, Mother,” Ronan replied, his tone steely. “And I know what must be done. I will not let Flynn destroy Maeve—or this family.”
He glanced at Grace then, her presence a quiet reminder of the other dangers he had faced to reach this point. She stood near the doorway, her expression unreadable but her eyes steady on his. She had just seen Flynn’s darkness, too, had felt its reachif only on the surface. Ronan knew he could not afford to falter now—not for Maeve, not for his family, and not for the future he was only beginning to imagine.
Amidst all of this, Ronan turned towards Grace, his feelings softening slightly despite the storm of emotions raging within him. “Mother,” he said, his voice steadier now, “may I introduce Miss Grace Whitford? She has been my companion on this journey, though I regret to say under circumstances neither of us anticipated.” His gaze flicked briefly to Grace, as if willing her to understand his haste. “I am afraid I must leave her to recount the details of how she comes to be here. She has endured much, and I trust you will see to her comfort in my absence.” His words were formal, but the glance he gave his mother carried an unspoken plea for care, a rare moment of vulnerability that his mother did not miss.
