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The wind was bad and sailing slow going, driving the men who weren’t used to merely being passengers on a ship insane. They would sit up on deck all day, arguing with the crew about how to do things, swapping fish tales, and drinking to their heart’s content. I, however, was not allowed on deck it would appear, having always been promptly sent back to the room if I ever made an appearance. It felt better that way, though, giving me an excuse to stay away from Tristan.
We hadn’t spoken much since leaving port, save a few customary pleasantries here and there. He would speak up whenever I was ordered away, but always left me alone when I decided to leave. It seemed that he was making extra effort to have me treated the same as everyone else, while I did everything possible to act like it didn’t matter.
Every day, I became more and more depressed with my decision to go home. It didn’t feel right—it hadn’t when I’d said it the first time—but I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t want someone to hold such power over me, to hurt me the way Tristan had. I knew I was being selfish and stubborn, but it simply couldn’t be helped. What if he had accepted it and I told him I was sorry? What if he was already planning his life without me? No, this was something I had to deal with on my own. Needing him was a habit I had to break myself of.
It was on the fifth day of our voyage, as I sat in my hammock pondering these things, that the door suddenly opened and he appeared, shutting it quickly and sliding one of the heavy animal food containers against it.
“Don’t be mad,” he said, holding his hands up. “I just want to talk with ye, if that’s all right.”
“What is it?” I asked, suddenly worried. “Is something wrong?”
“Aye, lassie. Ye and I are wrong and I don’t know how to make it right.” His voice was pleading and he took a small step toward me, hesitating as I stared at him. “It’s been a week, Samantha. Will ye talk with me about it again?”
“I don’t know what else there is to say,” I replied, stumbling over the words. “I told you how I feel about what you did.”
“I know ye did. Have ye not changed yer mind about it, then?”
“No,” I whispered, turning away as tears gathered in my eyes. I hated myself for crying, for letting him have the ability to do that to me.
“Ye were hurt that day,” he said forcefully, “but not by Thomas or his crew. It was I that hurt ye and I’m deeply wounded because of it. Tell me what to do, how to fix it. I can not stand watching ye on yer own any longer. I can’t lay awake every night wondering if ye’ll open that vase and be gone from my life before I ever get to tell ye how sorry I am. Before I can take ye in my arms and kiss yer lips. Before I get to hear ye say ye love me again. Ye do, don’t ye?”
“Of course I do,” I laughed, blinking as the tears rolled down my face. “I love you so much that just the thought of leaving you sends me into a panic attack. But I don’t want to be treated like a trophy. I told you that before we were even married. But, now that you’ve hurt me, I don’t want to give you that power back. I don’t want to put my heart in your hands and watch you squeeze it until there’s nothing left of me.” Sniffling, I wiped my face with the back of my hand, jumping as he sat down beside me and wrapped his arms around me. Despite myself, I leaned against him, sighing at the comfort his touch brought.
“I can’t make what I did right,” he said softly. “But I can swear to never do it again. I don’t want to crush yer heart, Samantha. I want to carry it with me and cherish it always. When I sent ye away, I wasn’t thinking of the other battles ye’d been in, or how much ye’ve grown since we first met. I was thinking of my own foolish heart held in yer hands. Thomas Randall has tried to have ye harmed and even killed before. I thought he would take the chance to do it again. My heart couldn’t stand seeing ye in that much danger.”
Nestling against him more, I exhaled and sniveled, feeling completely worn out. “So, where does that leave us?”
“Do ye still want to go home?” It was a simple question with a thousand implications. What about our marriage? Would we even get the vase back? Would I be able to go if actually given the chance?
“No,” I breathed out. “I didn’t want to when I said I did. I was being a jerk and wanted to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, ye did,” he laughed softly, his chest shaking. “I’ve never been so hurt and terrified in my entire life.”
“Welcome to the club.” I’d meant it as a joke, but it came out bitter and harsh, silencing his laugh as he held me, the two of us cuddled in the hammock.
“Do ye forgive me?” he asked finally.
“No. But I will. Eventually.”