Page 254 of The Liveship Traders Trilogy

A LTHEA WATCHED HIM leave. She had not joined her mother to walk him to the door.

Instead, she fled to a maid’s chamber in the upper storey of the house.

She left the dusty room dark, and did not even lean too close to the window lest Brashen look back and chance to see her.

The moonlight washed the gaudy colour from his clothes.

He walked slowly, not looking back, his gait as rolling as if he strode a deck instead of a carriage drive.

It was fortunate that Althea had been struggling with Malta when she first entered the study that evening.

No one had remarked on her red cheeks or lost breath.

She did not think that even Brashen had realized her moment of panic at seeing him.

The stricken expressions that Keffria and Mother had worn had near stilled her heart.

For one ghastly instant, she had imagined that he had come to her mother to confess all and offer to redeem Althea’s shame by marrying her.

Even while she reeled from the severity of Brashen’s real tidings, she had felt a secret relief that she did not have to admit publicly what she had done.

What she had done. She accepted that now.

Amber’s words had made her confront herself on that issue weeks ago.

She was almost ashamed now that she had tried to hide behind excuses.

What they had done, they had done together.

If she wanted to respect herself as a woman and an adult, she could not claim otherwise.

She had only spoken otherwise, she decided truthfully, because she had not wanted to be blamed for such an irresponsible act.

If he had really tricked or coerced her into bed with him, then she could justify the pain she had felt since then.

She could have been the wronged woman, the seduced innocent, abandoned by a heartless sailor. But such roles insulted both of them.

She had not been able to meet his eyes tonight, nor yet look away from him.

She had missed him. The years of shipboard camaraderie, she told herself, outweighed the harsh way they had parted.

Time and again, she had stolen glances at him, storing his image in her mind as if she were satisfying some sort of hunger.

The devastating news he had brought still tore at her heart, but her traitor eyes had studied only the bright darkness of his eyes, and how his muscled shoulders moved under his silk shirt.

She had noticed a cindin sore at the edge of his mouth; he was still using the drug.

His freebooter’s garb had appalled her. It hurt and disappointed her that he had turned pirate.

Yet, such clothes suited him far better than the sober dress of a Bingtown Trader’s son ever had.

She disapproved of everything about him, yet the sight of him had set her heart racing.

‘Brashen,’ she said hopelessly to the darkness.

She shook her head after his departing form.

She had regrets, she told herself. That was all.

She regretted that bedding with him had destroyed their easy companionship.

She regretted that she had let herself do such an inappropriate thing with such an inappropriate person.

She regretted that he had given up and not become the man her father had believed he would.

She regretted his poor judgement and weak character. That was all she felt. Regrets.

She wondered what had brought him back to Bingtown.

He would not have come all this way just to tell them Vivacia had been captured.

At the thought of her ship, the pain in her heart wrenched one notch tighter.

Losing her to Kyle had been hard enough; now she was in the hands of a pirate capable of murder.

It would mark the ship. There was no escaping that.

If she ever did recover Vivacia, she would be very different from the lively and spirited ship that had left Bingtown over a year ago.

‘As different as I am from whom I was then,’ she said aloud to the night. ‘As different as he is.’ She watched Brashen until the darkness swallowed him.

Midnight had come and gone before Malta managed to slip away from the house.

The family had all eaten in the kitchen like servants, making a late meal off what was there.

They had included Brashen in their company.

When Rache had come in later from her day off in town, the family and Brashen had moved to her grandfather’s study and continued their discussion.

Even Selden had been included, much to Malta’s disgust. All he did was ask stupid questions, which would not have been so bad, except that everyone kept trying to answer them in ways that he would understand, while insisting that he should not be scared.

Finally, he fell asleep on the hearth. Brashen had offered to carry him up to his bed and her mother had actually allowed that instead of rousing the little runt.

Malta drew her cloak more tightly about her.

It was a fine summer night, but the dark cloak helped both camouflage her and keep the dew at bay.

Her slippers and the hem of her gown were already soaked.

It was much darker outside at night than she had expected.

The white pebbled walkway that led to the oak tree and the gazebo reflected the moonlight to guide her feet.

In some places, grass sprawled over the path.

Wet brown leaves, unraked since autumn, clung to the bottoms of her slippers.

She tried not to think of the slugs and worms mashed under her feet.

She heard a rustle in the bushes to her right and stopped with a gasp.

Something hastened away through the underbrush, but she remained frozen, listening.

Once in a great while, mountain cats were seen near Bingtown.

It was said they would carry off small livestock, even children.

She longed to go back to the house, but she reminded herself she must be brave.

This was no prank or test of her will. What she did now, she did for her father’s sake.

She was sure he would understand.

She had found it very ironic that Aunt Althea had implored her to unite with her family to get the ship and her father back.

Even her grandmother had made a fine show with that squishy hug.

The truth was, neither of them thought Malta could do anything to help, save stay out of trouble.

Malta knew the opposite was true. While Mother wept in her bedchamber and boiled wine as an offering to Sa, and Aunt Althea and her grandmother would lie awake and think of what might be sold off to raise coin, only Malta would act.

Malta alone realized that she was the one who could rally others to their aid.

Her resolve hardened as she thought about it.

She would do whatever she had to do to bring her father safely home.

Then she would see to it that he knew who had truly made a sacrifice for him.

Who said that women could not be brave and daring for the sake of those they loved?

Fortified by this thought, she picked her way along the path.

A weird glow through the trellised roses sent a shiver up her spine.

A soft yellow light flickered and swayed.

For a second all the ghost stories she had ever heard about the Rain Wilds assailed her.

Had Reyn set something to watch over her, and would it think she was betraying him?

She almost turned back until a slight breeze brought her the scent of burning candle wax and the jasmine perfume that Delo lately favoured.

She crept towards the oak. From its deeper shadow, she discerned the source of the glow.

Yellow light shone gently through the slats of the old gazebo, outlining the leaves of the ivy that draped around it.

It seemed a magical place, romantic and mysterious.

Cerwin awaited her there. He had lit a candle to guide her to him.

Her heart surged and raced. It was perfect, a minstrel’s romantic tale.

She was the heroine, the young woman wronged by fate and her family, beautiful, young and heartbroken over her father’s captivity.

Despite all that her unloving family had done to her, she would be the one to make the ultimate sacrifice that saved them all.

Cerwin was the young man who had come to deliver her, for his manly young heart thundered with love for her.

He could not do otherwise. She stood still in the fickle moonlight, savouring the drama of it all.

She walked softly until she could peep inside the leafy door.

Two figures waited inside. Delo was huddled up in a corner in her cloak, but Cerwin paced back and forth.

It was his motion that made the candle’s light erratic.

His hands were empty. She frowned to herself.

That didn’t seem right. Reyn would have brought her flowers at least. Well, perhaps whatever Cerwin had for her was small.

Maybe it was in his pocket. She refused to let it spoil the moment.

Malta paused only to push back her hood, shake out her hair and spread it carefully over her shoulders.

She scraped her teeth over her lips to redden them, then entered the spill of light from the gazebo.

She walked forward with a dignified pace, her face grave.

Cerwin noticed her immediately. She stopped where she could be half in shadow, turned her face to the candlelight’s caress and opened her eyes wide.