I punch my pillow, sit up, and stretch. I listen for any sound, but Nolan, Sheena, and the children have gone to bed. We have a guard outside, so there’s no sneaking away like an errant teen, though Megan helped me orchestrate that a few times. I need a little time alone.
I quickly dress and slide on my sandals. We only have a short summer here in Ballyhock. Even the warmest days are breezy, tempered by the ocean that surrounds us, but it was warm when I got home.
I quietly walk to the front door and close it behind me. My phone’s in my pocket and the guard stands within a few feet. One looks my way with a curious expression.
“Y’alright?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m fine, just having a bit of trouble sleeping. Going to take a walk.”
He nods, prepared to follow me. I cringe.
“Any chance you can… give me a little privacy tonight?”
“So sorry, but no. I can walk a few paces behind, but I’m not allowed to give you total freedom.”
I know this, but I suppose it was worth a try.
I nod, and head toward the pathway that takes me to the ocean. I shiver when a brisk wind picks up. I forget how cool it gets when the sun sets here, even in the height of summer. I walk quicker as if to walk away from the cold.
The moon casts a lovely glow over the path that leads to the beach. Large, flat rocks pave my way to the ocean. Both the McCarthy family home and the home I share with Sheena and Nolan lead to the gorgeous, rugged cliffs of Ballyhock. Below us lies the fathomless Irish Sea, and from several vantage points, one can see the harbor. I have a dim awareness that the McCarthy Clan conducts business on the harbor, though I don’t know what exactly that business entails. I love them, so sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Below the cliffs, near the waterfront, lies a small, private beach owned also by the McCarthys, groomed in recent years for the McCarthy family and their friends and family to visit. It’s rarely warm enough to swim, though the height of summer is best. Still, I often go with my mates to the shore, grab fish and chips from a local chippy, and we sit on blankets on the beach and dig our toes in the warm sand.
Tonight, I just want to look from the cliffs to the waves below. I want to hear the soothing sound of waves lapping on shore. I want to inhale the cleansing salty air and exhale my troubles.
The guard follows me noiselessly as I make my way to the very tops of the Ballyhock cliffs. Maeve has argued for years that it’s too dangerous up here, now that there are little ones that run amok at the McCarthy family home. But the men of the Clan insist we’ve enough guards, and all the children are safely tucked away behind the wrought-iron gate. So, they’ve left the cliffs in their natural state. I’m glad they put no barrier between the cliffs and the ocean. I much prefer it this way.
I walk along the edge, and my heart lifts, just a little, with the smell of the ocean and the sounds at the shore. I close my eyes and stand with my face toward the water. A gentle breeze stirs my hair and tickles my skin. I shiver. It’s a little colder than I thought.
When I open my eyes, I almost give a start when I see a figure moving below the cliffs on the shore. My skin prickles with awareness. I crouch, draw closer to the edge, and stare.
I know those wide, inked shoulders. I know the graceful, powerful walk, the way the lines and planes of his body move in synchronized perfection. Oh, God, he’s beautiful, even more than I ever imagined.
I watch, mesmerized, as Lachlan walks boldly toward the water, never looking back, but moving forward with purposeful steps toward the cold waves that crash and lap at the shore. His feet hit the icy water, but he doesn’t flinch. He continues walking until the water hits his waist, gives a little shiver, then bends and dives straight into an oncoming wave. I gasp when he’s swallowed up whole. Half a minute later, he resurfaces, but he doesn’t turn back. He swims deeper into the depths, with the grace and strength of an athlete.
After a moment, he stops swimming and rides the waves. I consider turning away. What will happen if he sees me up here watching him? Will he think I’ve followed him, or that I’m some sort of creepy stalker?
Don’t look, I think to myself. Don’t watch me.
But he’s trained well, and he misses nothing.
I know the moment he sees me, for he stops moving. The waves carry him as if he’s driftwood, rising with the swell of the waves and sinking back down. I don’t realize I’m grasping the locket around my neck until my palm begins to hurt. I look down at my white-knuckled grip and blink in surprise.
What am I doing? Why am I here?
Who even am I?
I tear my gaze away from the locket and look back at the beach. I blink in surprise and get to my feet. He’s gone. Did he sink beneath the surface? No, he couldn’t have. He’s too powerful a swimmer, and the ocean’s relatively calm tonight. I turn to my guard.
“Did you see him?”
He’s immediately on alert, straightening.
“See who, miss?”
I swallow. I can hardly bring myself to say his name. “Lachlan.”
He shakes his head, but his body tightens. I know why. Lachlan’s high ranking among his peers, and the men that protect me are all on their best behavior when he’s near. “No, miss. I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
I turn wordlessly back to the sea.
I wonder for a moment if he’s beneath the depths, but then I see the second set of footprints beneath the bright light of the moon. The first leading him to the ocean. The second leading him out.
I crane my neck over my shoulder, as if he’s somehow miraculously appeared right behind me, but of course I see nothing at all. With a sigh, I turn back to the sea and rub my arms briskly.
I came here tonight to calm my overwrought nerves, but instead, I’ve done the exact opposite.
“Bloody hell,” I whisper under my breath. “What are you doing to me?”
I need to go back. I should. But for some reason, I can’t tear myself away from the beauty and power of the ocean below. I imagine how far the horizon stretches, away to foreign countries and people of other lands. I wonder if on the other side of this someone else, just like me, is trying to find her way.
I don’t realize I’m crying again until a breeze chills my wet cheeks.
“Y’alright, Fiona?”
Oh, God. It isn’t my guard this time. I shiver. I know his voice. I love his voice. I live for the sound of my name on his lips.
I swipe my tears away. I don’t want him to see me like this.
I turn around and lift my chin as bravely as I can. “Lachlan.” I open my mouth but somehow can’t say anything more beyond his name.
He’s standing a few paces behind me wearing nothing but a pair of swimming shorts. He’s bare-chested and barefoot, still dripping from his swim, but over his arm he carries his folded clothes.
“Fiona,” he says softly, his brows drawing together. “Why are you out here tonight?” He looks around me as if checking for my guard, and when he sees him a good ways off, he jerks his chin toward him. “I’ll take over, thanks. She’s on my watch now.”
I shiver. He’s dismissing my guard. He’s my guard, just like in the old days.
She’s on my watch now.
Desperate longing fills me. Oh how I wish I mattered to him as he does me.
“You’ll freeze your arse off,” I say, and the power of suggestion makes my own body shiver with a chill that runs straight to my core. “It’s cold out tonight. You must be crazy.”