Burning Up

spoke up. “Boat was full of water at the bottom of the bay. It didn’t empty itself and drag itself ashore.”
    Colin nodded, as if the boat being dragged ashore by a mermaid was somehow more plausible.
    The baker scratched his jaw. “One way or another, things are better with the lady around.”
    “She’s our luck,” Jeb said simply.
    “The luck of the village,” the shopkeeper said.
    They all looked at Jack then. As if he could do something to bring her back.
    Too late.
    He’d lost his chance when he’d thrown her confession back in her face. He had accused her of a lack of trust, when the true problem was his own lack of faith.
    These men believed in her, he realized.
    Could he do less?
    She still cared enough to try to protect him. She had raised the boat and left it on the beach as a warning.
    The question now was, what could he possibly give her in return?

    T he sun went down in a blare of color as bright as a trumpet blast. The sea shimmered silver and gold.
    Jack marched the length of the jetty in the green coat and red collar and cuffs of an officer of the Ninety-Fifth Rifles, as well turned out as if he reported for parade, as grimly determined as if he rode Neptune into battle. His polished boots slipped and crunched on the weed-fringed rocks.
    The villagers hung back at a respectful distance along the seawall, witnesses to his public show of faith.
    Or spectators at his public humiliation.
    His jaw set.
    He stopped where the stone ended, where the land met the sea and the waves running along the rocks gleamed and foamed like Morwenna’s hair. The march, the show, were for the watchers onshore and for atonement.
    But his words, spoken quietly to the sea, were for her alone.
    “You told me once there was nothing I could give you that you do not already have. Nothing you need.” He swallowed against the ache in his throat. “But you took something of mine when you returned to the sea. You took my heart.”
    The wind sighed. The salt air touched his lips like a cool kiss, like the taste of tears.
    He took a deep breath. “Everything I have, everything I am, is yours. My lands, my life, my love. My trust. Morwenna . . . Will you marry me?”
    Long moments passed. The clouds moved swift and full as sails before the wind. A bell rang in the harbor, tolling a warning to lingering ships.
    No answer.
    Jack waited, his heart full and his gut churning, while the sea murmured and the sun slipped further in the sky.
    Onshore, a few sensible folks stopped watching and went home to their chores or their suppers.
    Still no answer.
    Or perhaps her answer was No.
    At long, long last he bowed his head, blinking moisture from his eyes. “You will always have my love,” he told the tide. “And my pledge. Take this, and remember me.”
    Drawing back his arm, he hurled the ring over the ocean. The last rays of the sun fired the gold as it plunged in a glittering arc to the sea.
    Jack fell to his knees on the rock, a strong man undone by love and grief.
    Later, when they told the story, the watchers left onshore argued about what happened next. They all agreed that a woman appeared out of the sea. Some said she was naked, and some saw a silver dress that sparkled like fish scales in the sun, and a few claimed she wore an actual mermaid’s tail as she came out of the water. But all agreed she was the most beautiful sight they had ever seen, their lady, the luck of Farness.
    Her long pale hair streamed over her shoulders as if carried by the tide. On her left hand she wore a gold ring with a blue stone that flashed in the sun.
    She walked to their major and touched him on the shoulder, and he rose and took her into his arms.
     
    S he was here.
    She was real and warm and back in his arms, her wet, sleek body pressed to his uniform coat, her wild, pale hair tickling his throat.
    A wave of love and relief washed over Jack so great he trembled and felt her trembling in return.
    She kissed him and drew back, gazing into his eyes.
    “You do have something I want,” she told him gravely. “Something I need and never had before.”
    He caught her hand, pressing his lips to her palm and then to his mother’s ring gleaming around her finger.
    “Your love.” A smile wavered on her lips as he helped her to her feet. “Although now that you have asked me properly, you can never take back the ring. Or your proposal.”
    “I don’t want to take it back,” he told her hoarsely. “I meant every word. I love