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What horror was this? Cyrus stared at her back and the joy he’d felt a moment before fast dissipated. Instead, he grew angry. Had one of those men befriended her? Worse still, become aware of her powers? A seething jealousy bit into him. Stepping over to the captain, he reached out and took the lowered pistol from his hand. Striding to the railing, he trained it on the man who stood up in one rowboat, watching Margaret through a spyglass.
“Master Lafayette, you surprise me,” the navy captain stated in an amused drawl. “I take it you still seek recompense?”
“I would be much happier if you had rid the seas of all such vermin as soon as we had my ward safely aboard,” Cyrus muttered. “However, I will take the task upon myself.” He cocked the pistol.
Margaret was at his side instantly, attempting to halt him. “Cyrus, no!”
Cyrus did not look away from his target. “Surely you wish to be rid of them, my dear?”
The distress she showed in reaction to that was palpable, and made Cyrus grate his teeth.
“I am rid of them,” she responded, but her voice wavered wildly and he knew she was hiding something from him.
He rounded on her, searching her face for the truth. “And you are glad?”
She nodded.
“Prove it,” he said. “Take a man down yourself, the one who watches you so eagerly through his spyglass.”
Her eyes blazed. “I do not have it in me to kill a man, Cyrus. You know that.”
“Prove it to me, and it will make amends for all of this. You are a good shot. I trained you myself.”
After a long moment of silent consideration, she reached out, hand shaking, and took the gun from him.
“Rest assured, my dear, if you miss your target, I will take the pistol back and make sure the man never breathes again.”
Margaret swayed unsteadily and closed her eyes for a moment.
The captain laughed. “I had not realized you relished a good game, Master Lafayette. This is most entertaining.”
Margaret looked from one to the other of them, and Cyrus knew she was shocked. Her intelligent eyes were bright, her hair whipping up in the breeze, making her look every bit the wild witch he had plucked from the Lowlands to keep as his own.
“I will not miss,” she replied, and stepped toward the railing, both hands outstretched, holding the weapon. She whispered something beneath her breath. Cyrus had the suspicion she was making magic. However, without a further moment’s hesitation, the shot rang out.
Ah, yes, my precious witch is mine, all mine. Cyrus felt a sense of calm descend upon him. He watched as the man who had stood watching her from the rowboat crumpled to the floor, a dark stain spreading across his coat at the shoulder. Cyrus smiled.
Margaret’s arms lowered. She turned to face them, offering the captain back the gun as she did so. When she drew closer, she lifted her chin and looked deep into Cyrus’s eyes.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, and gave a tremulous smile. “I am mightily relieved to be reunited with you.” With that, she embraced him. She said something in Gaelic. He barely caught the words, but knew it was a term of affection, of love, of forgiveness.
Nothing mattered now. All he cared about was that she had come back to him, and he believed her. Eyelids lowering, Cyrus savored her warmth, and the fact that she was so willing to be in his arms.
* * *
At first Cyrus had bristled with tension, as he if sensed her making magic. Then he fell under her spell. Did he know what she’d done? She looked up at him.
A confused frown marked his forehead. Her magic had indeed worked on him, but he was fighting it all the while. She would have to work harder, but now that the anchors had been lifted and distance was growing between her and Roderick, she could apply her full attention to the task at hand.
Inside, she was reeling. Everything had happened so quickly that she could scarcely take it all in. She was shaking, nauseous and dizzy from what she’d had to do to protect Roderick. The discovery that he and his men had lost their ship to the navy had caused her so much distress that she couldn’t keep her thoughts and emotions straight long enough to create the magic to hold Cyrus in check. That had to be her priority—to rouse a whiff more magic to confuse his mind and emotions. That should keep him from taking further action against Roderick and his men. A show of affection toward Cyrus aided her task, although that was even harder to muster and sustain.
“Why did you run away?” he asked. “Was it something Beth said to you?”
Maisie shook her head, not willing to implicate Mama Beth.
Cyrus pursued the subject. “She was a sick woman and her ramblings were borne of jealousy, of fe
ar for her own destiny, that is all.”
