except to draw her knees
to her chest. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, her face buried between
them, and was rocking herself. Shaking his head, he approached her. This woman
was to be his wife, and needed to learn to trust him to care for her.
"Let
me refresh that cloth for you," he said softly.
Shannon
looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Had she been crying?
"Thank
you. I am not accustomed to being looked out for. Only watched."
"Why
watched, Mistress McCleary? Do you have a penchant for mischief?"
"Aye,
that I do," Shannon sighed. "So much so that no one wished to
accompany me on the journey to my new home. I know nothing of Moldavia or its
people, nor do I speak their language."
"Moldavia
is a beautiful country. Much warmer than the green isle, and fed by beautiful
rivers. The people are inviting and hospitable, and always make room at the
table for a stranger. Most have been educated to speak English out of
necessity."
"The
village I was from used to be that way. Then the missionaries came in and
planted seeds of fear and hatred."
"Not
all who believe in the ways of the church are like that. Good, kind people do
exist, even in this part of the world. My father…" Dom caught himself.
"Yes?"
Shannon looked up. "What about your father?"
"He
is gone. He was a good, righteous man who was loved and respected by all he
met."
"I
have no family. I am alone in this world," Shannon said sadly. "My
mother passed when I was but a child, and I was raised by the sisters. I called
the king 'Father' for he cared for me as though I was his own. He and my mother
were very much in love, but she refused to return with him to his
country."
"Why
would she make such a choice? Surely she knew he could not relinquish his
throne."
"She
was of the land. Her strength and faith were drawn from the soul and spirit of
nature. Her clan was the last of the true druids, and she honored the old ways
in healing and dance. She was burned in our hut before she could pass the blessing
of the clan on to me."
"I
truly am sorry. Allow me," he offered his hand to help her rise.
Shannon
looked into his eyes as his hand folded around hers. "Death is kind,"
she said softly.
"It
can be. It can also be cruel, calculated and unforgiving. Let's walk to the bow
and feel the wind on our faces. It will wash away your pain as well as your
sickness."
"Can
the wind wash the bitterness from a broken heart?"
"Aye,
it can. That and much, much more."
CHAPTER 5
Shannon's
legs wobbled as she stood upon the wooden dock belonging to the Danish
seaboard. In her arms was a bundle that had been unceremoniously handed to her
by one of the king's men, along with an order to refresh herself in an inn
named the Golden Herring. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of fish, dead
barnacles at low tide, and insect-ridden seaweed that promised to raise a worse
stench once the sun began to rise.
"Is the aroma of the docks not to
your liking, Mistress?"
Shannon
turned to look at the ever-present Dom, now barefoot and bare-chested, and
still wearing snug breeches that hugged his muscular thighs. She swallowed
dryly, trying not to stare at his sculpted torso. "You again? Don't you
have a ship to raid? I thought you would be leaving once we landed."
"What
gave you that impression? I intend to accompany you to your destination."
"I
doubt that my husband-to-be will appreciate a non-appointed escort, especially
a peasant pirate. Thank you, but you must be on your way."
"Your
husband-to-be is a wise man and benevolent ruler. He will appreciate my
attentiveness. It was I who helped to keep your stomach intact this past week,
is that not correct? You have still lost weight," he observed, holding her
chin firmly in his hand. "I will make certain you are given food as you
refresh yourself."
Shannon
pulled her chin from his grip. "Yes, you helped me greatly and ceased not
to remind me of that fact on a daily basis. I am also very capable of ordering
food for
to her chest. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, her face buried between
them, and was rocking herself. Shaking his head, he approached her. This woman
was to be his wife, and needed to learn to trust him to care for her.
"Let
me refresh that cloth for you," he said softly.
Shannon
looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Had she been crying?
"Thank
you. I am not accustomed to being looked out for. Only watched."
"Why
watched, Mistress McCleary? Do you have a penchant for mischief?"
"Aye,
that I do," Shannon sighed. "So much so that no one wished to
accompany me on the journey to my new home. I know nothing of Moldavia or its
people, nor do I speak their language."
"Moldavia
is a beautiful country. Much warmer than the green isle, and fed by beautiful
rivers. The people are inviting and hospitable, and always make room at the
table for a stranger. Most have been educated to speak English out of
necessity."
"The
village I was from used to be that way. Then the missionaries came in and
planted seeds of fear and hatred."
"Not
all who believe in the ways of the church are like that. Good, kind people do
exist, even in this part of the world. My father…" Dom caught himself.
"Yes?"
Shannon looked up. "What about your father?"
"He
is gone. He was a good, righteous man who was loved and respected by all he
met."
"I
have no family. I am alone in this world," Shannon said sadly. "My
mother passed when I was but a child, and I was raised by the sisters. I called
the king 'Father' for he cared for me as though I was his own. He and my mother
were very much in love, but she refused to return with him to his
country."
"Why
would she make such a choice? Surely she knew he could not relinquish his
throne."
"She
was of the land. Her strength and faith were drawn from the soul and spirit of
nature. Her clan was the last of the true druids, and she honored the old ways
in healing and dance. She was burned in our hut before she could pass the blessing
of the clan on to me."
"I
truly am sorry. Allow me," he offered his hand to help her rise.
Shannon
looked into his eyes as his hand folded around hers. "Death is kind,"
she said softly.
"It
can be. It can also be cruel, calculated and unforgiving. Let's walk to the bow
and feel the wind on our faces. It will wash away your pain as well as your
sickness."
"Can
the wind wash the bitterness from a broken heart?"
"Aye,
it can. That and much, much more."
CHAPTER 5
Shannon's
legs wobbled as she stood upon the wooden dock belonging to the Danish
seaboard. In her arms was a bundle that had been unceremoniously handed to her
by one of the king's men, along with an order to refresh herself in an inn
named the Golden Herring. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of fish, dead
barnacles at low tide, and insect-ridden seaweed that promised to raise a worse
stench once the sun began to rise.
"Is the aroma of the docks not to
your liking, Mistress?"
Shannon
turned to look at the ever-present Dom, now barefoot and bare-chested, and
still wearing snug breeches that hugged his muscular thighs. She swallowed
dryly, trying not to stare at his sculpted torso. "You again? Don't you
have a ship to raid? I thought you would be leaving once we landed."
"What
gave you that impression? I intend to accompany you to your destination."
"I
doubt that my husband-to-be will appreciate a non-appointed escort, especially
a peasant pirate. Thank you, but you must be on your way."
"Your
husband-to-be is a wise man and benevolent ruler. He will appreciate my
attentiveness. It was I who helped to keep your stomach intact this past week,
is that not correct? You have still lost weight," he observed, holding her
chin firmly in his hand. "I will make certain you are given food as you
refresh yourself."
Shannon
pulled her chin from his grip. "Yes, you helped me greatly and ceased not
to remind me of that fact on a daily basis. I am also very capable of ordering
food for
Similar Books
