Page 37 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

‘ Are you sure this is okay? ’ Rory asked after they’d swum a few miles.

He was getting second thoughts about their planned adventure for the morning.

What with everything he’d absorbed yesterday, the details of Fionn’s impending wedding had fallen through the cracks a little.

‘ You’ve got time for this with me? Only I think you said something about having to act quickly… ’

‘ For you, Rory, I have time for anything, ’ Fionn replied sincerely. ‘ There is nothing more important to me than you. ’

Rory frowned. ‘ That’s not right. You ought to prioritise your own shit too, you know? I don’t want you to take me to see a whale if it means you end up sold off to this red tribe, or whatever they are. ’

Confusion from Fionn. A sense of guilt that Rory had been disturbed by his own desires. Striving, once again, to not be a disappointment. Rory empathised with him all too keenly.

He swam in front of Fionn, cutting him off. ‘ Look, I’m new to this sort-of-committed-partnership-thing, right? But I’m pretty sure the idea is to face our problems together. You don’t get to show me only half of yourself. I want all of you. ’

Old Rory would have winced so hard at those words. I want all of you. But he really meant it. He wanted Fionn, and he sure as shit didn’t want some folksy magic marriage bargain taking him away.

‘ Rory… ’ There was hunger in Fionn’s song.

If Rory felt he was burning up for Fionn suddenly, then the heat coming through the bond matched it like an inferno.

A shadow passed overhead. Something stark white and red dropped past Rory’s face. He jerked away from Fionn, snapping abruptly out of his heat-haze.

‘ Was that a beer can? ’ Rory tracked the can’s passage to the seabed. Another one sailed behind Fionn’s head. Rory grabbed it on the way down.

‘ Rubbish, I presume. ’ Fionn’s lip curled. ‘ I often have half a mind to throw these things back at the louts who drop them. ’

Rory turned the can over in his hands. It was a cheap gut-wrecker, favoured by the likes of his dad for its effective cost-to- oblivion ratio. Something mischievous and a bit mean awoke in him. ‘ Why don’t we? ’

‘ That would be irresponsi— Where are you going? ’

Rory kicked for the surface. The hull of a small boat was silhouetted against the sun.

If its crew were the kind of people to carelessly drop full beer cans overboard, they were probably also the kind of people who didn’t think twice about discarding old fishing nets on the waves.

The injured leatherback turtle seared across Rory’s mind.

Anger flared in his chest. The seed of a new sense of purpose was finding purchase in his heart.

Fionn caught him just before he broke through the surf. ‘ What if they see you? ’

‘ That’s the plan. ’ Rory grinned, and there was an edge to his smile. ‘ I’m going to scare the shit out of them. ’

Fionn’s mouth dropped open, then he laughed. ‘ And you were angry with me for breaking fishing traps! ’

‘ That’s different. But also, I get it. Are you coming with me? ’

‘ You should be careful. What if they have weapons? ’

‘ You’ll protect me. ’ Rory held back a smirk at the way Fionn’s chest swelled, muscles flexing as he straightened his shoulders.

He could tell from a glance that the boat above them was a piece of junk. It had the profile of an old-fashioned fishing trawler and probably shouldn’t even have been out on the water, judging by its rusted hull.

Emerging into the air, Rory got a better look. A glimmer of something dark inside him twisted as he recognised it.

‘This is Ol’ Doaty’s boat,’ he said grimly.

‘Who is that?’ Fionn asked, half-singing like he hadn’t quite remembered to adjust to human speech.

‘An old bastard who likes to make my life hell.’

Fionn swiped a finger over the hull’s orange corrosion. ‘He is far from land. I don’t think his boat is fit for this.’

Rory had already climbed up the side of the trawler with the beer can wedged into his waistband.

He wanted to throw it at Doaty’s head. If there had been seaweed to hand he’d have draped himself in it and pretended to be a monster rising from the deep.

He’d give Doaty a story to really rave about back home.

And the old man would never dare to drop his shite into the ocean or to call Rory useless again.

Rory landed softly on the deck. There was litter everywhere. Empty cans and bottles, old newspapers, packets of crackers and a half-eaten sausage roll that had gone soggy from sea spray. In the middle of the mess lay Ol’ Doaty. Face down, blackout drunk again.

Fionn made a sound of disgust behind him. ‘It is no wonder that his boat is leaving a trail. Not even seagulls would eat this.’

Rory nudged Doaty with his foot. He was a little disappointed the old man was unconscious. A slice of retribution would have been a nice way to close the door on Ullapool before he left it behind him.

There was a pool of vomit by Doaty’s mouth. Rory’s nose wrinkled, but his conscience kicked in. ‘We should check he’s okay.’

He bent down to find Doaty’s pulse, inwardly shuddering at the visible grime in the old man’s hair as he brushed it away. Once he was sure Doaty was also breathing clearly, Rory moved him onto his side in the recovery position. He stepped back.

Doaty was a really sad fucking sight.

‘We’re right in the middle of the Minch, aren’t we?’ Rory said, peering at the distant Hebridean islands.

‘Yes. Many miles from your home.’

‘Hmm.’

Doaty had gotten drunkenly lost at sea before, but it was almost always within sight of Loch Broom. A rescue team or a bunch of older fishermen always got to him before he ended up in any real trouble. To be this far out he must have taken the boat overnight.

Now that Rory could see Doaty’s face clearly, he discerned odd tracks that had washed some of the patina from his cheeks. Had Doaty been crying?

He looked again at the debris littering the deck. They weren’t the supplies of a man intending to survive for very long.

For the first time, fully himself while caught between the sky and the sea, Rory saw a different version of Doaty than the one he was used to.

Doaty had been a young man once, probably proud and hardworking as he toiled on this very boat before it succumbed to age and salt decay.

He was the kind of man who was born to be a fisherman, had come from a family of fishermen, had watched the industry grow then shrink and change and ultimately leave him behind.

And what were you when your sense of purpose left you?

‘Worthless,’ Rory murmured to himself.

Fionn, not understanding, nodded in agreement. ‘He certainly looks like a waste of skin. Shall we leave him?’

‘No.’ Rory rubbed his temples, torn between a desire for justice and the nagging urge to take responsibility for the life in front of him.

Did Doaty even deserve saving? Any piece of trash fluttering off this deck could well have contributed to the leatherback’s entrapment from a few days ago.

Yet, there were far bigger culprits out there than a lonely old man lost at sea.

‘Do you think we can tow him?’ Rory asked.

‘Are you questioning my strength?’ Fionn picked up a rope and tested how secure it was against the cleat it was hitched to. ‘A few of these should do.’

‘I know I was just saying we ought to concentrate on your problems a minute ago—’

Fionn held up a hand. ‘I can see this is important to you. Let us do this, first.’

Gratefully, Rory helped Fionn fashion a loose harness criss-crossed over his torso, then tied the other end to the bow of Doaty’s boat.

Before they dived back in, Fionn flashed him a wry smile. ‘You know, we are going in the wrong direction if you were serious about running away.’

‘Shut up.’

‘But may I ask why we are doing this? If I have understood correctly, you don’t owe this man anything.’

‘No. But I owe it to myself to make the right choice. Right?’

Fionn’s smile widened. ‘I hadn’t thought my admiration for you could grow, yet you prove me wrong once again.’

Rory’s cheeks burned. His whole body burned. Fionn thought him worthy of so much admiration.

Struck with sudden swagger, Rory said, ‘Maybe later you can admire me up close.’

He jumped overboard before Fionn could call his bluff.

Not really bluffing any more though, am I?

It took a couple of hours to tow Doaty’s boat into Loch Broom. Fionn explained they couldn’t use the power of the currents otherwise it would capsize the trawler, so they had to make do with a more plodding pace.

Rory didn’t mind. It was so natural now to swim by Fionn’s side, inches from his skin. Arms sometimes brushing past each other. Existing in the same space.

How had they gone from feeling like near-strangers navigating new territory, to comfortable companions forging a path home?

New energy bubbled beneath Rory’s skin. He itched all over again and put it down to nerves. All of this was really happening. Fionn could really be his.

The sun had reached its zenith by the time they entered the siltier waters of Loch Broom. Bright rays streaked down from the surface, infusing the water with a golden glow.

‘ This will do. ’ Rory tugged Fionn to a stop about a mile from the Ullapool harbour. ‘ He’ll be spotted from here. ’

They dropped the ropes and retreated to keep watch.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a narrow skiff was jetting across the water to Ol’ Doaty’s boat.

He’d be cleaned up and looked after in no time.

Safe in the weathered hands of folks who held an inkling of understanding for his situation.

Old fishermen trying to rebuild their worth together, even if they were doing it by looking inside the pub.

Fionn hummed against Rory’s neck. ‘ May I admire you closely, now? ’

All thoughts of Doaty vanished from Rory’s mind.