Page 36 of The Lyon’s Lass

He tapped her chin until she looked up at him. Her golden eyes were swimming in unshed tears.

“Please don’t cry,” he begged.

“I’m not.” She sniffed as if willing the tears to stay where they could do no harm. It didn’t really help him. He was gutted to be causing her any amount of pain.

“Good lass,” he whispered, his own voice hoarse with emotion. “I shall write to you,” he said without considering.

“You don’t write.”

“True. But Hodge does. I’ll have him write it for me.”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry. There doesn’t seem to be anything right to say that will make this easier.”

“No, there isn’t. But it still needs to be done.”

He nodded and then before he could settle in again, he tossed back the bedclothes and sat up, dislodging her where she was lying on him.

He went to the table for some water to wash his face. He’d not shaved yesterday and he’d not do so today either. He’d allow his beard to grow again. There was no reason not to.

When he turned back to the bed, it was empty as was the space in his chest where his heart used to reside.

Chapter Sixteen

Jack was signing, but Maisy couldn’t see through her tears to know what he was saying. Her brother had gone to Aberdeen to see off The Rue. When he’d returned, she’d held out some silly hope that Iain had not gone. But one look at her brother’s sad eyes and she knew the truth.

Her husband was gone. He’d left her.

She hated that this surprised her at all. For it was what had been the plan since the very start. Their marriage was not real. It was a transaction so he could get the castle settled, and then leave. He’d not done anything he hadn’t said he’d do, but still she felt anger mixing in with the sadness. That anger seemed to feel a little better than the pain, so she encouraged it until she was all but stomping around the castle cursing his name.

He’d left her.

She felt the pull to the balcony outside her room. Where she might catch a glimpse of The Rue sailing by. But she didn’t dare go out there, for fear she would never want to come back in. She couldn’t sit out there hoping to see his ship return. He’d made no promise beyond writing to her.

She could not even write back to him for he was always in a different port. Where would she even send a missive?

She needed to move on. She had a life here. She and Jack were safe, and that was all they needed.

“I’ll be going into town. Did you want to send Lady Kesson a letter. I’ll stay to write it for you,” Hodge offered. It had been the first time in the last six months they’d been back in London and the crew was eager to get off the ship. Iain however had not been eager for much in the last months.

“No,” Iain answered.

“You didn’t send a letter when we docked in Tortuga, or Aveiro.”

“I’m aware, Hodge. Please add London to your list of ports where I’ve not written to my wife,” he snapped at his friend. The two letters they’d sent had been torture. He’d not been able to say all he’d wanted because Hodge was the one writing it. The excitement he’d felt while telling her of his journey quickly faded when he realized how one-sided and empty it felt afterward.

“I’ll not call you out for yelling, since I know it isn’t me you’re angry with.”

“And who am I angry with?”

“Yourself.”

Iain snorted and shook his head. Hodge didn’t know what he spoke of. Iain wasn’t angry at himself. He was angry at Maisy. For she had somehow worked her way into his soul and refused to give him the smallest bit of peace.

After all these months he was certain he would have forgotten the smell of her hair, or the way her lips tasted. He had spent more time away from her than he had with her, so why was it so easy to recall the exact color of her eyes, and why in blazes did he think he heard her laugh on deck late at night?

She haunted him. And that thought made him think of the first night she’d come to him wearing only her shift. That first night he’d taken her as a true wife. It was the memories of them in bed that were the hardest. Or made him the hardest, rather.