Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

please her, there are easier ways. Maybe a gift . . .”
    Conn waved the suggestion away. “I already told her she can have anything she asks for.”
    “Except her freedom,” Griff said.
    Their eyes met. Conn smiled bitterly. “Except that.”
    “Then it must be something she cannot ask for,” Griff said. “Something she wants.”
    Frustration snapped through him. “How do I know what she wants if she does not ask?”
    Griff shrugged. “You must pay attention. Listen. Women like that.”
    “Anything else?” Conn asked dryly.
    “You might try a cold dunk in the ocean.”
    “No.”
    “I did not mean the swim will persuade her.” Griff grinned. “But it might help you.”
    Conn stood and stalked to the empty fireplace. Never admit emotion. Never reveal weakness. With his back to Griff, he said, “I cannot.”
    “My lord.” Griff’s tone was understanding. Sympathetic. “You cannot deny your nature forever. A dip in the sea now and then will not turn you into your father.”
    Conn clasped his hands behind him. “She has my sealskin.”
    Silence crackled.
    “You gave her your pelt.” The warden’s voice was ripe with disbelief.
    Conn fought a spasm of irritation. “She could not take it.”
    “No,” Griff agreed instantly. “But . . . You need the swim even more, then. If not to cool your blood, then to clear your head. To give her your pelt . . . What were you thinking?”
    He had not been thinking at all.
    At least, he hadn’t been thinking about her.
    Only of himself, his people, his people’s needs.
    Somehow, against all reason and every instinct he had for self-preservation, he must find another way.
    “ Pay attention, ” Griff had urged. “ Listen. ”
    Unbidden, another voice whispered in his mind, soft and broken as the sea. “ All my life, I dreamed of being loved for myself, for who I am. ”
    Conn curled his hands into fists. He could try. What did he have to lose?
    Except everything.
    She had the moon and the dog for company and the wine for consolation.
    They were not enough.

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    Lucy paced from the window to the fire. Inside the robe’s padded sleeves, her hands were shaking. Her throat was raw. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
    If she were home, she would have gone for a run or escaped into her garden, grabbed a book or turned on the TV. Anything to dull the edge of her desire and drown out the busy chatter in her brain. Anything to numb the pain, to blunt the sharp memory of Conn’s words.
    “ My people are dying. You promise life. ”
    And the look in his eyes when he said it, that look . . . How could she bear it? He was killing her. He had kidnapped her and now he was tearing her apart, stripping away her defenses. When they were gone, what would be left?
    If you peeled a crab from its shell, it died.
    She pressed the heel of her palm to her chest, as if she could hold the pain inside or push it away.
    She wasn’t brave like Regina or confident like Margred. She was twenty-three and all alone, and she wanted to go home.
    She felt the thud of her heart against her hand and remembered Conn’s body pressed to her body, his desire rising to meet her desire, his heart driving hers. One breath. One beat. One pulse. One heart.
    He made her feel things, he made her go places she had not visited for a very long time. Places she’d avoided for most of her life. She was terrified of losing herself in him. Even more afraid she would discover things inside herself she could not bear to live with.
    If she did what he wanted, if she submitted to him, how would she ever find herself again?
    How would she find her way home?
    She shivered and walked to the window. Through the bubbled glass, she could see the wavering shadow of the boat rocking at anchor, a black splinter caught in the silver-webbed sea. The only boat in the harbor. Her only escape off the island.
    She didn’t kid herself that she could handle a forty-foot sailboat in a rough winter crossing. But as long as she had the boat, she had options. She had hope. They were near the coast of Scotland, Conn had said.
    If she drifted out to sea, there was a chance she would be spotted and rescued. All she needed was an opportunity.
    An opportunity and the courage to trust herself to the sea.
    “ You do not have the courage, ” Conn had said.
    The memory rose hot in her face, burned in her breast.
    She drew a shaky breath. She needed air.