Blackheart (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

The Aching Heart

The ship dipped toward Legend Island under the sluggish lapse of time. Siren endured no more pains afflicting her stomach and finally confessed to herself, if to no one else, other than her husband, that Lochlanaire sired their child.

Brooding, Lochlanaire kept distant.

Captaining the ship until too fatigued to think, Lochlanaire only returned to his quarters once convinced that Siren was enfolded in deep slumber. Sometimes he did not return at all. He took solace upon the highest mast’s canopy, craving to smother his insatiable passion for his seductress wife. He was agonized, certain his lust for her could wound Siren or the child. Beastly possessed, he, as well, took comfort in the fray of sword-fighting, engaging crusades against his brother or anyone who would brandish a sword on him. He prayed for extreme exhaustion to assuage his wantonness.

He failed…miserably.

***

This night, Siren roved across the main deck unknowing where her husband retreated to in his selfish torment. She observed glinting stars scattered across the beautiful heavens. The sky’s darkness reminded her of Lochlanaire, for she summoned to mind his unique, silver and black gaze. She coveted to permit Lochlanaire his ridiculous evasion; however, Siren simply couldn’t tolerate his treachery. She trudged over the bridge stairs, and advanced on Grayson, who presently captained the ship. “Where is he?” she demanded.

Grayson engrained his attention on the ship’s stem. “Lochlanaire’s taken refuge among the sacred stars.”

Siren groaned. “He avoids me without cause for his malice.”

Grayson nodded. “Lochlanaire is wounded by fear. Those terrors force him to tumble inside himself.”

“What terrors other than those regarding me?” Siren broached.

“His violated past, admittin’ to you that he was condemned for murder, his jailin’ for the treason plotted against him, and those tortures which were executed against him while in the asylum. These haunt.”

“Out of belief that I cannot understand?”

“No, he’s convinced you’ll damn him for his iniquities. How does a woman comprehend an assassin’s wretchedness? It is an unfathomable sin. Is it not, Siren?”

“I must say, Grayson, it did distress me to hear that he was imprisoned for the crime of murder. However, I never damned Lochlanaire for his past,” insisted Siren.

“Not even for shootin’ your mother? Can you defeat that travesty? It’s an unforgivable crime, is it not?”

Siren felt heartsick. “I have accepted the truth. Lochlanaire was under a king’s rule and his oath required for him to surrender.”

“Aye, Lochlanaire couldn’t do otherwise. Alas, my question stands unanswered, Siren. Can you defeat the truth that he shot your mother to death?”

She grappled with unspoken feelings and pitched her eyes toward the sea, then twirled them to Grayson again. “I’ve no choice but to pardon Lochlanaire. I must see her death as contrived by others who were guilty of the cruel act.”

“It is apparent that you’ve not seen beyond Lochlanaire’s mutiny that he inflicted against you and your mother. Do you damn him guilty as well for your sister’s plight? At his brutality, Shevaun lies in the arms of Zore, for if Lochlanaire had not hunted you, she’d not be kidnapped. Can you disagree?”

“Grayson, I’ve not faulted Lochlanaire for anything that’s occurred against Shevaun. I blame only Zore for his ruin. As for my mother, I shall contend with my feelings and I do not condemn Lochlanaire. I blame those who cradled in their heartless possession bloodlust, which ordained her death because she fell in love with a king. Lochlanaire is innocent.”

“Ah, but it was
his
pistol shot which silenced her heart. Do you absolve the truth so easily?”

Siren was not certain she could, and this question brooded in her mind for a lengthy time. Now, she wondered if it would ever be possible for her to forgive Lochlanaire for shooting her mother and whether or not she could forgive herself for loving him. “I…”

Astounded by stark realization, his eyes broadened. “My lord, you
love
Lochlanaire.”

How Grayson saw through to her feelings, Siren couldn’t say. “I, yes, I do.” Crestfallen, having spoken of her love, Siren drifted to the port side of the ship. She floundered with raw emotions, clenching the vessel’s rail.

Grayson permitted another man to assume the tiller and he approached Siren. He leaned against the ship’s flank. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“You’ll not reveal my feelings to Lochlanaire?”

“Such is a confession you ought to utter, Siren. Why hide the truth from him?”

“Oh, Grayson, as you’ve said, there’s much between us that we must absolve. My mother’s death is an enormous phantom encumbering us and his past…Lochlanaire cannot remember the executions forged by his own hand. What he does remember is far more hideous than can ever be imagined. It is difficult to defy what eclipses us.”

“And the child?”

Her hand rose to where Lochlanaire’s babe grew. Siren was unaware that Grayson knew about the child. “The child complicates.”

“Aye. You carry the babe of your mother’s killer, and you’re in love with him. What wounds must rip at your heart.”

Siren nodded. “I am anguished, yet elated that I’ve married Lochlanaire and bear his child. Nevertheless, the fact that King William still awaits my execution plagues.”

“Blood insists on enslavement. You knew this. It is why you craved to seduce and why you were determined to conceive Lochlanaire’s child,” reminded Grayson indelicately.

“Yes. Blood instills Lochlanaire’s
loyalty
, but what of love? I cannot suffer it if he rejects me because he refuses to love me.” Desolate, Siren hung her head.

Grayson poised a finger beneath Siren’s chin and forced her to explore his eyes. “You’ll never learn if he loves you if you do not declare your love for him.”

“It’s too soon. Lochlanaire’s so troubled by the blackness of his past that my declaration would only command fright to ensnare his heart.”

“Perhaps. Or it could be everythin’ required for him to see that he cannot surrender you to a king or anyone else, and he can courageously stand against whatever depraved soul menaces your life
and
his. It might draw Lochlanaire to see that he loves you, and you and your love are the one treasure, which will heal all the wounds defamin’ his past. It could give Lochlanaire a future by which to fight for.”

“Do you seclude something I know nothing about?” Siren prayed for a shred of hope.

“No, it is conjecture.”

“Conjecture will not soothe my aching heart, Grayson.”

“It is all I have to offer, my lady.” Grayson regained the ship’s helm.

Siren’s eyes faltered to the mainmast where Lochlanaire presently took refuge. Stalking to the stairs, she approached the mast and searched its highest canopy for her husband, noting his dangling leg swaying back and forth above. Siren grasped the nearby rigging and began a cautious climb into the night-blackened heavens. No longer would she permit Lochlanaire to reject her.

Confronted by his reproachful wife, Lochlanaire stood and offered his hand, for Siren stilled at the canopy. “No one said you should climb up here, especially in your delicate condition.”

She took a stride to the canopy and chastised, “My condition does not impair me in ability or judgment, Lochlanaire. You cannot sequester yourself forever. You must face your fears.”

“Fears are not what I run from, Siren.” Lochlanaire’s glance slid down her body, gliding from her ebony hair that she’d tethered in a cut leather ribbon to the midnight blue silk shirt she’d left untied at her throat. His gaze wafted over her silhouetted breasts to the linen breeches Siren wore, stilling on the boots cuffing just below her knees. “Lord, have mercy on my plundered soul,” he whispered.

“You insist that every man aboard your ship avail of a sword for which to batter you to the cusp of death so to crush your lust for me. Is
this
what you intend with your fights, Lochlanaire?” Siren reprimanded.

“And in the doing, I spare your life
and
the child’s.”

“Our lives are not threatened by you or your passion for me, Lochlanaire. My nearly losing the babe was because of the murderer and the distress he bridled me under. You have little to fear by touching me.”

“Nevertheless…” Lochlanaire mischievously smirked.

Siren interrupted, “Nevertheless, you propose to continue your treachery.”

Lochlanaire strode to the far edge of the canopy and gathered the rope dangling there. Commandingly, he gestured for Siren to come to him.

Siren threaded her arms around his neck as he stepped off the wood. Twirling, Lochlanaire and Siren eventually lowered aboard the main deck with a frail thump. Abruptly, Lochlanaire withdrew from her arms and advanced on his abandoned sword. He beckoned another sparing crusader forward. Lochlanaire and the pirate were twisted in a leviathan war. Siren observed the progress of the man Lochlanaire parried against, aware that the brigand could be slain if her husband continued in his ferocious quest.

The pirate staggered backward. His sword was dispatched and flew in her direction. Siren caught the weapon’s blade under her boot’s toe.  She seized the weapon. She sashayed to the pirate, who strained to breathe. Siren dismissed him and challenged her husband in the pirate’s vacated position.

“You’ll only be wounded if you wield that sword, Siren.” Lochlanaire’s weapon’s tip dipped toward hers. “I cannot assure that I’ll not liberate my bloodlust on you.”

Siren shrugged. “Lust, bloodlust. Do I appear distraught, Lochlanaire? No? Then deliver your wrath, for it is
I
that you seek to conquer with your tyranny.”

Lochlanaire coveted to see her as only a pirate holding a sword, but the vision of loveliness who whooshed her blade to slam against his was too heart-wrenching. He faltered...gravely. His sword was thrown backward under Siren’s strike. She pondered him, while he recovered without losing the blade. They skulked in a circle. Lochlanaire bashed Siren’s weapon. The blade ripped from her grasp, lacerated the mainmast and deeply pierced the wood. Siren withdrew the knife concealed by her boot’s inner scabbard, pointed it aloft and advanced on Lochlanaire. Before he could deflect, Siren swiped the knife across his throat and declared, “I believe I’ve proven myself, Lochlanaire. I’m not weakened by my condition and will never permit you to silence your craving for me.” Siren glided to where her sword impaled the mainmast. She tugged the weapon loose and tossed the sword to Lochlanaire. He easily caught the blade. His seductress wife roved to the passage that would escort her to the captain’s quarters. She disappeared.

Lochlanaire, of course, knew an invitation in hearing one. Discarding chivalry, Lochlanaire dropped the swords and hurried to his quarters, throwing open the door. Whatever he intended to say was immediately silenced from his lips. Jerked to a standstill upon the door’s threshold, Lochlanaire’s rankled gaze caressed the gorgeously curved body of the naked goddess who emblazoned his bed. Siren’s fingers thrummed the feather mattress. Her hourglass body was poised in such a poisonous seduction that he wouldn’t discover the strength to refuse her. “You impugn my honor.”

“Damn your bloody honor to Hell, Lochlanaire. Take what’s surrendered to you.”

Devastated by her skill to seduce, Lochlanaire rushed across the cabin. Ravenously he kissed Siren, his fingers scalding her body, igniting his lust and hers. His lips suckled her breasts. Siren arched her body, frantic for him to capture what both of them ached for, but his tortures continued. Siren nearly screamed, for he blazed a trail down her stomach to the juncture between her legs, and speared her there, drawing her to madness. Lochlanaire removed his clothes and his manhood raided her body, impaling inward and outward, firing them both to fracture.

Late in the night, hours after his bedding of her, Siren listened to her husband’s crazed rants. Lochlanaire writhed on the bed, entrenched within nightmares. Siren was distraught by what he muttered in his sleep. When he lunged awake, Siren dawdled at his side, her head propped up by one hand.

“What?”

Her eyebrow jumped with his question. “You murmur while asleep.”

Lochlanaire masked his distress at what he might have said. “And?” Standing, he cringed the wine decanter and poured a goblet full, offering her one. Siren refused the drink, her glance drifting over his godly sensual body that he never concealed. Moon light gloriously fondled his flesh.

“You said something about an audience with King James, and that you accepted His Majesty’s rule and would attend the mask with his ordaining. You muttered about cannon fire, which was to be fired at midnight precise. Such would veil your destruction,” Siren portrayed.

“I cannot imagine what the dream suggests.” Lochlanaire’s coy eyes fell.

“Come, Lochlanaire, admit it, the mask you spoke of is the masquerade you attended in order to slay my mother. I heard you say the woman’s name that you were sworn to execute. Emerald. It is a rare name
and
you described her flawlessly.”

Lochlanaire downed his wine. “I do not remember what you’re describing, Siren. Yes, I had an audience with King James. I remember that much, but I do not brandish a memory of what was spoken between us.”

“Your nightmare suggests otherwise,” Siren attested.

“
Damn
it to Hell!” Setting the chalice aside, Lochlanaire stomped to her. “You’re saying that I assassinated your mother at an alliance I invoked with King James, her lover? Does that witchery seem outlandish to you? Why would he seek her death?”

“Perhaps she threatened his kingdom. You’re the king’s assassin…what reason would he require for his lover’s death other than to secret her existence or to unburden himself of the encumbrance she’d become to him as he’d tired of her?”

“What of his children, Siren? Why not have me chase the both of you if he wanted to free his kingdom from all shame?” Lochlanaire suggested, one eyebrow flicking.

“Perhaps, he couldn’t kill innocents or owing to our age we were no burden to him, for we had not aged sufficiently to exact reward for our disinheritance of the British crown. He may have thought to raise us as his own but mother rejected him, keeping us distant of his reach ere he could obtain guardianship over us.” Siren shrugged.

“Your sister said that your mother danced with a man secretly on the night of the masquerade. If it was King James, so we assume, why dance with her clandestinely?” Lochlanaire inquired.

“To throw her off guard, enticing her to accept that nothing bizarre existed between them so you could shoot her without burden. She’d be unwary.”

Lochlanaire must admit it sounded plausible. “I can neither agree nor disagree, Siren. The memory remains clouded. I’m sorrowful.” He gathered his clothing and dressed. He wrenched his boots on and sat upon the bed beside his dejected wife.

“I understand, Lochlanaire.” Her fingers cupped his back, feeling the muscles twitch under her temptation.

“Do you, Siren?”

“Yes. I cannot christen you guilty for your lack of memory.”

“No, Siren, I suppose you cannot convict me for that dishonor. However, you may sentence me guilty for all my other grievances. I am a murderer, damned and doomed to Hell, a convicted titan who will never refute the crime. I’m clearly guilty of all sorts of titanic slaughters. Even my bloody dreams depict the depravity.” Lochlanaire fled to the door, never allowing her to object to his self-demoralizing declaration.