Streams of silvery moonlight skimmed across the sea as if mocking the shocked outrage that pierced Rónán. It was a moment before he could speak. “In my youth,” he growled, “I knew Feradach traveled often on unsavory business, and on occasion disreputable men would visit his home. Now, to learn…” He dragged in a steady breath as he adjusted the rudder. “God’s truth! To learn that not only is the bastard still drawing a breath but has been elevated to a master-at-arms is intolerable!”
“I assure you, with his violent reputation, many were as outraged by the Earl of Ardgar’s selection for master-at-arms. And many more wish Feradach’s body was rotting beneath the ground.” Lathir paused. “I doubt we will encounter Sir Feradach, much less have him pose a threat to our mission. Our time traveling afoot will be minimal, and he often resides in one of the earl’s strongholds on the southeast coast of Ireland.”
That he wouldn’t have to face Feradach was poor consolation after the brutality he’d suffered in his youth at the cur’s hands. Anger slamming through him, Rónán shoved to his feet. “Take the rudder.”
Eyes wide with concern met his. “Whereare you going?”
“To see if our makeshift repairs on the bow are holding.” He wanted to be alone, to think. His mind a turbulent mull, Rónán strode to the front of the cog, welcomed the cold bite of wind as the vessel raised up against the incoming swell, then plunged into the trough.
As he methodically checked the repairs, the solemn cadence of wood against sea slowly brought solace. How many times had he let the freedom of the sea fill him, the sense of the wholeness one experienced when surrounded by such immense greatness?
Though many men cursed the ocean, as a lad he’d found his time underway healing. A place where he could begin again.
The soft scrape of steps had him glancing over his shoulder.
Framed within the moonlight, Lathir walked toward him, halted at his side as the ship rose up with another swell. She had forgone the blanket and wrapped her arms around herself. The wind, he couldn’t help but notice, rippled the fabric of her cloak against her skin.
“This is my favorite place to go when I need to weigh my thoughts,” she said.
He turned toward the sea, watched the tips of the frothy water cut away from the bow. “I told you to man the rudder.”
“With the pathetic pace theAodhis moving, I doubt the vessel will go astray.”
The truth. Still, he was in a brooding mood, one he would prefer to keep from her. “Whyare you here?”
“To let you know I am here if youneed to talk.”
The last thing he wished was to appear weak in her eyes. He faced her. “I am not lookingfor sympathy.”
“And I seek naught but to offer friendship,” she said, a sudden bite in her voice. “An error I willna mistake again.” Shoulders stiff, she stepped back.
He cursed. “Lathir—”
Mouth tight, hair whipping in the wind with glints of gold caught within the moonbeams, she looked like an irritated fairy. If she was of the fey, no doubt she would haul him to the Otherworld and tosshim into a bog.
“Your offer is appreciated,” he said.
“But unwelcome.”
Far from it, which was the problem. Oddly, he found himself wanting to confide in her, to let down his guard. “I deal with war, not issues that dinna pertain to my mission, nor build friendships when in but weeks Iwill be gone.”
She frowned. “But you shared your past.”
Blast it, he was making a muddle of this. “I thought to take your mind from your grief.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Which you did. For that, I thank you.”
Wisps of moonlight caressing her skin lured him to meet her gaze, to see the sincerity on her face.
“There isna time for friendship?” Humor flickered in her eyes. “Or do you just avoid friendships with women?”
At the absurdity of her comment, against his intent, he chuckled, and the tension in his body eased. He liked her, more than was wise, but right now she didn’t deserve a rebuff. They had been through much together since the attack. Any feelings she inspired were his to contend with. His to eventually bury beneath the weight of his mission.
“I have several close friends who are women,” Rónán said, thinking of Stephan’s wife, Katherine, and the spouses of his other Templar brothers. All extraordinary lasses he’d liked from the start, much as he had Lathir. An unwanted thought, given her father ruled the realm of Tír Sèitheach, while he was naught but a knight with a sword.
“Then ’tis me?” she prodded, a playful lilt to her voice.
“Why does it matter?” he asked, not wantingto be charmed.
