Chapter 3

The wind barely kissed the water's surface, tipping the sapphire waves with lacy white frothiness. Sails in full swell and clear skies across the horizon brought smiles and relief to every man's face. Ronan enjoyed being tossed about by a storm, but he could always count on his first mate, Dagun, to remind him of the many times the sea had refused to return the kinsmen it swallowed. He pulled in a deep inhale of the air's brine, filling his lungs with the lifeblood of the oceans—his lifeblood as ordained by the goddesses.

Dagun's stare burned into him, relentless as the cutting rays of the sun during the Caribbean's hottest season. The squint to his first mate's sharp eyes was a sure sign that he was about to say something Ronan preferred not to hear. But best get it over with. Dagun had never been silent before and wasn't apt to start now.

"Out with it, man," Ronan said. "Better to have yer thoughts out in the open. Be they good or ill."

Dagun cocked his head and continued studying him as if he were an oddity they had drawn up from the depths of the sea. "I can tell something's been troubling ye of late."

This was not the first time the first mate had started a conversation in such a manner, but Ronan had always diverted the man's attention to another subject. But today, he was too weary and distracted by his mother's summons to attempt to sway him. "Taken to reading auras, have ye? Since when do ye possess such talents?"

Dagun idly scratched the stubble darkening his chin. "A mite surly today, are we? Dinna blame me for yer mam calling ye home." He sidled closer and leaned against the wood railing beside Ronan. "Do ye ken why she summoned ye? Surely, she canna fear the season's storms. She understands better than most that ye are at yer safest when ye're in the arms of yer beloved sea."

Ronan shrugged off the question with the gnawing impatience that followed him every waking hour of late. He raked his gaze across the horizon, searching for the elusive answer in the wispy clouds skimming across the skyline. "Who can say what stirred her to call me home? Perhaps she foresaw an event we need to avoid. With Mother, 'tis difficult to know and safer not to guess at it."

Lightly tapping his thumbs together, Dagun stared down at the wide beam of wood fashioned to form the secure railing around the sides of the ship. He ran his hand along the grain smoothed first by craftsmen and then by the forces of nature. Ronan sensed the man was struggling to choose the proper words that would trick him into confessing his soul.

"Perhaps she has seen whatever it is that seems to be troubling ye of late," Dagun said. "Mayhap, she intends to offer her help."

Ronan slowly shook his head as he pulled his focus from the horizon and fixed it on his first mate. "Ye canna stand it, can ye?It's driving ye mad that ye canna work out what might be wrong. Ye are as bad as ye were that time we made port in Dela Ruga, and ye couldna discover whether or not I'd bedded the governor's daughter."

Dagun folded his arms across his chest as he turned and leaned back against the side of the ship. "Well, I beg yer pardon, ye surly git. Forgive me for being fool enough to care about my captain. The man whose life I just happened to save when he wandered into the wrong pub at the wrong time. The one man bound to the sea but didna ken his arse from a hole in the ground when it came to surviving in port. Far be it from me to force m'self on anyone. From now on, I'll be minding me own business, and ye can do as ye will. Let the devil take ye!"

Ronan stared down at the dancing waves lapping against the side of the boat, trying to hide a grin. He'd gone and hurt the poor beggar's feelings. Dagun could be as tetchy as a sore-tailed mongrel at times. Maybe he should share a bit about the strangeness of late. What harm could it do? "Do ye ever feel as though someone is calling out to ye? That ye are supposed to find them? As if they need yer help and are reaching out with every bit of their soul to make ye hear them?"

"Mother of God! I thought ye were safe from the MacKay curse since ye were the second of the three sons to come out of yer mother's womb?" Dagun's eyes went wide, and he backed up a step.

"No, man. I dinna see how it could be the MacKay curse. I've had no dreams about a woman destined to be my mate. 'Tis nothing like Father said he went through when he discovered Mother was fated to be his wife."

Dagun arched his brows nearly to his dark hairline and shook a finger in Ronan's face. "Ye had best be thankful for that small favor. The clan still talks of how miserable yer father was during that time."

"Knowing Father, if he was miserable—so was everyone else." Ronan shook his head again. "'Tis nothing like a dream of a beautiful lass that I'm about to bed but canna touch. I feel a pull toward somewhere unknown. Or toward something—or someone. There is a great sadness reaching out to me. But I dinna ken where it's from or who I am meant to help." Ronan worried with the bronze medallions hanging around his neck.

"Well then, mayhap yer mother can be of help to ye. This sounds like something she could use her gifts for to guide ye. Help ye discover what ye are meant to do." Dagun frowned, his clear blue eyes troubled. "I only met her the one time. Beautiful woman, but I didna miss how the entire clan treated her like a powerful being—a goddess, even—one they didna care to cross."

"Aye." Ronan resettled his forearms on the railing. "Her gifts are oft more of a curse than a blessing. No matter her kindness, her ability to heal and ease pain separates her from everyone. They fear her."

Dagun nodded. "Aye. I remember ye saying the clan was not so accepting of a strange woman from the future. Especially with her abilities and powers."

Ronan straightened, remembering the tale his father had told him many times. "They made her feel so unwelcome at first that she left for another realm for a while, right before the birth of me and my brothers. The Goddess Brid sent her back to Father right as the pains started coming to bring us into the world. Father made her swear to never leave him ever again."

"They accept her now, though," Dagun said. "Albeit with a bit of leeriness." He winked at Ronan. "Ye canna blame them for being a mite careful around her. Ye told me yerself that any time anyone threatened yer da, yer brothers, or yer sister, that those doing the threatening somehow ceased to exist."

Ronan snorted in amusement. "Aye, and no one's ever had the nerve to ask what become of them, either." He pushed away from the railing. "I dinna ken what to tell her, or even if I will tell her anything at all." He aimed a hard glare at Dagun. "If she gets wind of this, there'll be no peace for as long as we are at the dock. Do you understand what I am telling ye, man?"

Dagun backed away, hands lifted in submission. "I'll not be the one to tell the lady a word about her son's melancholy. But if I had a sack full of coins to wager, I'd be betting she'll know as soon as she sets eyes on ye."

"Aye…well, that's why we're taking the long way back to Scotland. I figure I can stall her for about another three weeks. But after that, she'd best be seeing our sails on the horizon." Ronan scrubbed the stubble of his close clipped beard as he turned to take refuge in his quarters.

"By the way…" Dagun followed close on his heels, stealing furtive glances up and down the deck as he lowered his voice. "Did ye bed the Governor's daughter?"