"If there isn't anything else, I should bid you farewell and safe journey."
Andrew tore his gaze away from the water. "Thank you, Tauton."
The time had come. Without a backward glance, Andrew climbed the ship's boarding plank. His fellow passengers had immediately made their way to their quarters. Andrew made his way to the ship's stern. He wanted a lingering look at the island as the ship drew anchor and set sail.
He was leaving a good deal of himself behind, for his heart remained in the cove, ripped out by the shark as surely as if the creature had ripped into his flesh. Nonetheless, he was leaving with more than he'd brought. He left with a wealth of sensibilities and a peace with himself. That was the wealth he'd discovered under the sea.
He reached around under his coat for the knife sheath buckled sideways at the small of his back. He drew out the Spanish dagger. The gems set in the gold handled glittered in the sunlight. It looked too elegant for violence, too dainty for use, yet it had ripped the guts out of that shark and thereby given Loreanne and Margareen the extra time they'd needed to escape. He hoped Margareen survived, for he did not want to think of Loreanne alone.
Gentle, loyal Loreanne.
He gripped the handle of the knife so tightly one of the gems embedded in the handle cut into his palm. He slowly uncurled his fingers, the dagger resting in the curve of his hand. His eye sight blurred and he swallowed around a large lump in his throat. His brow furrowed. He willed his strangled breathing to calm.
Suddenly he heard the staccato chatter of a dolphin. He looked out into the bay. A dolphin jumped out of the water, tossing his head excitedly as it chattered and reared backward.
Behind him there was a loud commotion on deck, and a resounding thwack!
"Out of my way, you insolent fool! Out of my way!"
Andrew turned his head in amazement at the sound of that strident cackle.
"Lady Muirfolk, allow me to escort you. . . ." A harried ship's officer reached out to take the arm of a large elderly woman draped in black bombazine. With one hand she leaned heavily on a silver headed ebony cane. The other hand hung limply at her side.
"I don't need your help. I'm not dead yet!"
"Margareen?" Andrew murmured. He walked toward the steps that led down to the main deck.
"Assuredly, my lady, I meant no offense," placated the officer. "But with your disablement. . . ."
Margareen glared at him.
The young man licked his lips. "It is only that there are many ropes about, and men are so busy with casting off and getting us under sail they are not always mindful of others."
"Humph!" snorted Margareen. She turned her back on the officer and looked up at the stern deck where Andrew stood. "Well?" she bellowed, reminding Andrew of when she sent the little fish tumbling. Behind her grown men cringed.
Lord Andrew Montrose, Viscount Carrelton's smile broadened into a grin. "Yes, Lady Muirfolk," he returned, dragging out her name. He came slowly down the steps, aware his senses were tingling and his heart pounding.
Margareen waited until he stood before her. "Loreanne went into a decline, moaning and moping about. And I lay that at your feet, Carrelton!" She paused and sniffed disgustedly. "Not to be wondered, I suppose, all the young mermen off elsewhere while she stays with a fretting, selfish old mermaid," she murmured.
"Where is she?" he whispered, for that was all the sound he could manage.
"Here."
Andrew whirled about. Loreanne stood by the rail, half-hidden behind ship gear. He strode to her side in four steps. Only fear she would be as insubstantial as his dreams stopped his arms from reaching for her. He searched her face, then stared into her eyes. What he saw released the bands around his heart. He drew a shuddering breath as he held out his arms for her, closing his eyes as she stepped forward and settled against his tall frame.
"Loreanne!"
Behind him came Margareen's cackle. She tapped his shoulder with
Andrew tore his gaze away from the water. "Thank you, Tauton."
The time had come. Without a backward glance, Andrew climbed the ship's boarding plank. His fellow passengers had immediately made their way to their quarters. Andrew made his way to the ship's stern. He wanted a lingering look at the island as the ship drew anchor and set sail.
He was leaving a good deal of himself behind, for his heart remained in the cove, ripped out by the shark as surely as if the creature had ripped into his flesh. Nonetheless, he was leaving with more than he'd brought. He left with a wealth of sensibilities and a peace with himself. That was the wealth he'd discovered under the sea.
He reached around under his coat for the knife sheath buckled sideways at the small of his back. He drew out the Spanish dagger. The gems set in the gold handled glittered in the sunlight. It looked too elegant for violence, too dainty for use, yet it had ripped the guts out of that shark and thereby given Loreanne and Margareen the extra time they'd needed to escape. He hoped Margareen survived, for he did not want to think of Loreanne alone.
Gentle, loyal Loreanne.
He gripped the handle of the knife so tightly one of the gems embedded in the handle cut into his palm. He slowly uncurled his fingers, the dagger resting in the curve of his hand. His eye sight blurred and he swallowed around a large lump in his throat. His brow furrowed. He willed his strangled breathing to calm.
Suddenly he heard the staccato chatter of a dolphin. He looked out into the bay. A dolphin jumped out of the water, tossing his head excitedly as it chattered and reared backward.
Behind him there was a loud commotion on deck, and a resounding thwack!
"Out of my way, you insolent fool! Out of my way!"
Andrew turned his head in amazement at the sound of that strident cackle.
"Lady Muirfolk, allow me to escort you. . . ." A harried ship's officer reached out to take the arm of a large elderly woman draped in black bombazine. With one hand she leaned heavily on a silver headed ebony cane. The other hand hung limply at her side.
"I don't need your help. I'm not dead yet!"
"Margareen?" Andrew murmured. He walked toward the steps that led down to the main deck.
"Assuredly, my lady, I meant no offense," placated the officer. "But with your disablement. . . ."
Margareen glared at him.
The young man licked his lips. "It is only that there are many ropes about, and men are so busy with casting off and getting us under sail they are not always mindful of others."
"Humph!" snorted Margareen. She turned her back on the officer and looked up at the stern deck where Andrew stood. "Well?" she bellowed, reminding Andrew of when she sent the little fish tumbling. Behind her grown men cringed.
Lord Andrew Montrose, Viscount Carrelton's smile broadened into a grin. "Yes, Lady Muirfolk," he returned, dragging out her name. He came slowly down the steps, aware his senses were tingling and his heart pounding.
Margareen waited until he stood before her. "Loreanne went into a decline, moaning and moping about. And I lay that at your feet, Carrelton!" She paused and sniffed disgustedly. "Not to be wondered, I suppose, all the young mermen off elsewhere while she stays with a fretting, selfish old mermaid," she murmured.
"Where is she?" he whispered, for that was all the sound he could manage.
"Here."
Andrew whirled about. Loreanne stood by the rail, half-hidden behind ship gear. He strode to her side in four steps. Only fear she would be as insubstantial as his dreams stopped his arms from reaching for her. He searched her face, then stared into her eyes. What he saw released the bands around his heart. He drew a shuddering breath as he held out his arms for her, closing his eyes as she stepped forward and settled against his tall frame.
"Loreanne!"
Behind him came Margareen's cackle. She tapped his shoulder with
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