Page 40 of Scourge of the Shores

She rushed out of the hut and down the beach with the last of the first wave. Lucas grabbed her shoulder before taking his spot with the ambushers just in case.

“I’ll cover ye,” Lucas said.

She nodded before taking a firm stride to the front line.

She stepped onto the rock barrier and motioned for the first watch to kneel behind it. “No more blood.” She looked to the sky for whatever god would listen. “No more blood,” she muttered.

The ships were coming fast until they anchored outside the bay. One looked familiar—a red hull with white sails. She’d only ever seen one ship like that. She refused to hold out hope, despite seeing the glittering gold “J” flapping in the wind.

A group of pirates came to them in a single rowboat.

Her lips twitched as her mind held them pinched and suppressed all assumptions. Why would Robert return with his fleet? If he did, were they all there to stay?

The scene was all too surreal.

She glanced at Lucas, hidden in the brush, before squinting again at the ships.

Robert’s face came into view as he hopped out of the rowboat. His Captain’s hat and sea coat were neatly pressed and cleaned. He strode up to her with his hand hooked on his lapel. His confident body posture betrayed the lines of anxiety on his face.

“Captain Chadwick.” He dipped his chin.

Danna blinked a few times to ensure Robert truly stood before her.

Her tongue grew thick in her mouth. Her jaw hung slightly ajar.

She ran her eyes over his face. It had matured.

His beard was fully grown in yet nicely trimmed.

The sharp, spiced scent hit her in the face, carried by the wind, and memories of the Northern Boulder rushed upon her. Was it real? Was this a dream?

“Captain Jaymes,” she forced out.

Robert’s dark blue eyes rimmed in brown locked with hers, searching for the answers to his unspoken questions. His mouth moved, but no words came out as he stared up at her on the rock barrier.

She should have been angry. She should have been furious. Three years? Surely the whole fleet wasn’t staying, which meant he wasn’t either. But her voice was thin, barely above a whisper.

“What . . . brings ye back to our humble isle?”

She tore away from his locked gaze and scanned the ships. There were at least thrice as many as there were the last time he had been there.

“You, Danna,” he whispered.

Her brow furrowed, her gaze snapping back to his.

“After three years? Why? What for? I can’t leave.

And ye don’t wanna stay? Why’s yer entire fleet doin’ here?

” The questions fled from her mouth. She faintly felt the stares of the first watch, noticing the odd inflection in her voice, the unexpected exchange, and the unnatural frantic panic in her tone.

Still, as loyal soldiers, they awaited her command to defend or be at ease.

Robert removed his hat and knelt before her.

Her breath hitched. Her knees locked in place. Three years. Three years of hoping, of aching, of forcing herself not to believe he would come back—and now there he was, kneeling before her. Her heart pounded so violently she was sure the entire island could hear it.

“What—” The question barely made it past her lips. “What are ye doin’?” she asked, unsure whether to be mad with rage or sick with joy.

“Captain Lucas Ervin told me the man who wedded you would be worthy, and he would come from the seas,” Robert said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled a vial of emerald green iridescent liquid. It glimmered in the sunlight. “I’m grieved it took three years to find it.”

Danna’s jaw fell ajar. “Is—is that?” Her heart lifted and swelled, almost bursting in her chest.

“An enchantment to regrow limbs,” he said.

Danna stepped off the rock barrier with a trembling foot and stumbled toward him with water splashing around her ankles as Robert stood up. Tears filled her eyes. “Ye . . . did. . .” Each word fell on her exhale, but the sentence was never completed.

He placed it in her open hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “Take it to her, Danna,” he whispered. His gaze fell to her lips. “And then,”—his eyes met hers—“if I still have your heart, will you come with me?”

She stared at the vial in her hand, at the man before her, at the life she had let slip through her fingers.

The walls she had built to keep hope out—the ones that had stood firm against every passing ship, every stray memory of his touch—began to crumble like sand in the tide.

She had cursed his name in the dead of night and whispered it with hope at dawn.

Her throat tightened, and she shook her head in disbelief.

The joy in his eyes faded at her headshake.

“How . . . All this . . ." She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Her bottom lip quivered, and her knees wobbled.

She squeezed the vial, pressed it against her heart, and let out a shaky breath, a smile blooming on her lips, reigniting the joy in his eyes.

Her heart drummed victory within her chest.

“Aye,” she whispered, the word breaking something loose inside her.

The corners of Robert’s mouth turned up, and his pearly teeth shone in the bright morning sun. He stepped closer.

“Aye,” she said louder.

He laughed—a sound rich and unrestrained that told of relief finally letting loose.

Before Danna could react, he swept her into his arms, lifting her feet off the ground as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, the air catching in her throat, but her fingers instinctively gripped his shoulders, anchoring herself to the man she thought she might never see again.

The world tilted. Whoops and hollers ignited.

He spun her around, the breeze wrapping them together, the distant hum of waves echoing the pounding in her chest. The years apart dissolved in the spin of that moment, years of waiting collapsing into the present.

When he finally stopped, they stood breathless.

The cheers faded into nothing. The island, the people, the distant ships—all blurred.

Only him.

Only her.

His hand slid from her waist to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing the place where her tears had once fallen.

Their foreheads touched, and they just breathed together—the same air, the same rhythm.

“I’d forgotten,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Forgotten what?” he rasped, his breath shaky.

“This,” she said, curling her fingers into his coat. “How it felt to want ye this much.”

His lips parted. His eyes searched hers, asking for permission, asking if he could dare.

She rose on her toes in reply.

Their lips met in the merging of two souls who had wandered too far and found their way back.

His grip tightened around her, pulling her close as if he’d never let go. His hand on her cheek slid to her nape, fingers tight as if winning what he sought.

With her arms around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair, she finally realized Robert had come back, and he hadn’t come with nothing. He’d brought the one, rare, impossible gift that would allow her to leave the island.

He’d chosen her.

She’d chosen him.

Their lips finally broke apart, leaving them gasping for air. Her smile refused containment, brighter than any sun that touched the shores. Breathless laughter spilled from both of them in joy.

And then the world came rushing back.

Clapping.

Cheers.

Loud whoops and whistles.

They both startled and laughed harder. Her cheeks bloomed as she’d forgotten all eyes were on them. But Robert didn’t care. His excited gaze never left her.

“Let ‘em watch,” he whispered with a grin, his voice low and rough, his breath hot on her lips. “They oughta see what I’ve been fightin’ for.”

He pressed one more gentle, lingering kiss to her lips, pulling her close for the world to see. He pushed her hair behind her ear before glancing behind her to his ships.

She peered over her shoulder and saw Lucas standing with his hands clasped over his belly, a wide beam on his face. He gave her a nod, and she took Robert’s hand and raced toward her hut.

She threw open the door.

“Ma, Ma!”

“What’s wrong?” Ma screamed, but at the sight of Robert, pulled her shirt together at her collarbone. “Is this?—?”

“Robert,” Danna answered before Ma could complete her question. “And he brought ye a gift.”

“Me?” Ma asked.

The island villagers gathered outside the hut, their whispers growing louder.

Robert and Danna helped Ma to the edge of the bed, and Danna presented the enchanter’s vial to her.

“It regrows limbs, Ma,” Danna said, her eyes tinged with triumph.

“It regrows limbs,” she whispered, popping the cork top.

Ma’s jaw fell ajar. Her trembling fingers wrapped around the vial as Danna handed it to her, but she didn’t drink it. Not yet. She looked at Danna, then at Robert, then at the liquid shimmering in the sunlight from the open door. “Is this—” her voice wavered, thick with disbelief. “Is this real?”

Ma’s breath hitched. She clutched the vial to her chest like it was the most precious treasure she had ever held. “I— I don’t?—”

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she threw back her head and drank.

The room shook with Ma’s screams, raw and guttural. Her body stiffened. The air crackled. Her skin shimmered as her muscles tensed and tightened, rippling and twisting. Her back arched, throwing her onto the bed.

Danna gritted her teeth and held Ma’s hand with a firm grip. “The pain’ll pass, Ma,” Danna whispered as she wiped her mother’s brow.

Ma’s teeth bared as another anguish-filled scream edged through.

Lucas appeared in the doorway with eyes growing wide as the nubs lengthened into limbs.

Ma passed out from the pain.

Danna surveyed her mother’s body: two arms, two legs. “Ma,” she whispered, cradling her mother’s face. She kissed her forehead. “Ma, wake up.”

Ma stirred and opened her eyes. Sweat glistened on her brow. The island was silent as they watched Ma flex her fingers and stare at her hands.