“Yes, I can see you’re heading almost due south,” Courtney murmured thoughtfully. “I only pray my recollections come through when I most need them.”
Even as she spoke, Mr. Scollard’s voice sounded from somewhere inside her. Your memory will prevail, Courtney. Now call upon your strength. And remember to listen with your heart. It won’t fail you.
Three hours later, Mr. Scollard’s prophecy was confirmed.
The waters had grown rough over the past few miles. Now, harsh waves pounded at the ketch, rolling it from side to side, yet Courtney’s stomach went oddly and abruptly still. With a hoarse cry, she flew to the railing, her heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest. “Papa,” she whispered, staring into the inky depths of the Channel. She groped for her timepiece and clutched it, seeing fragments of a vision unfold in her mind’s eye: Armon boarding with his crew, Lexley fighting valiantly for his captain, her father, bound and gagged, weighted down, dragged toward…
“Papa,” she whispered again, hearing his scream, feeling his fear as he struck the water and went down. “Oh, God—Papa.”
A sudden wind whipped about her, reached inside her with an icy chill that had little to do with the temperature.
Slayde abandoned the helm, came to stand beside her. “This is the spot.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” She swallowed, pain lancing through her like a knife as she focused on the eddying waves. “The currents are strong.”
“Very strong.” Slayde’s fingers closed around hers.
“I knew they were,” she whispered. “But somehow I remembered them rushing in the opposite direction—toward England rather than away. Had that been the case, Papa might have been hauled closer to shore. As it is…” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her father’s presence in her heart, her soul—but nowhere she could touch. “He’s not here,” she stated simply, her lashes lif
ting. Reverently, she cradled the timepiece in her hands. “We can go back.”
Courtney didn’t speak the whole way home, nor did she cry. She simply stood on deck, feeling naught but a vast swell of emptiness and a profound sense of isolation. It was over. She’d made the trip, sought her answers, and excruciating though they might be, found them.
Later, she’d feel. But for now, there was nothing.
She blinked in surprise when twinkling lights came into view, alerting her to the fact that not only had night fallen, but their ship was nearing land.
“Where are we?” she managed, her voice sounding thin to her own ears.
“Cornwall.” Slayde veered the ketch inland. “It’s after midnight. We’ll spend the night at an inn and go on to Pembourne at dawn.”
Dazed, she glanced up at him. “Why?” Even as the word left her lips, she visualized the worried, well-meaning homecoming that awaited them. “Never mind,” she countered hastily. “An inn would be fine.”
She went through the motions, helping Slayde bring in the ketch, then accompanying him to a small local inn, where he took two adjoining rooms. She bid him good night, not even noting her surroundings as she woodenly undressed down to her chemise, sinking into the bed in the hopes that it would warm the chill permeating her body.
It didn’t.
Pressing her face into the pillow, Courtney, willed herself to cry. Anything would be better than this hollow ache. It was unbearable.
The adjoining door opened, then shut. She didn’t have to look to know it was Slayde. The bed gave beneath his weight as he sat beside her. “Courtney.” He smoothed her hair from her brow. “Don’t be afraid. The emptiness is part of the loss. It won’t last forever.”
“Won’t it?” She raised up on her elbows, searching his face. “It has with you.”
Agony slashed across his features. “You’re wrong.”
“I hope so.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I can bear to live this way—so hollow, so cold.”
He reached for her, drew her into his arms. “You’re not cold, sweetheart. And you won’t stay hollow.”
Desperation seized her and cried out for relief. “Slayde, I can’t endure this,” she said in a broken whisper. “Make the emptiness go away.”
His silver eyes darkened with suppressed emotion. “I wish to God I could.” His lips brushed her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. “I’d absorb the pain and the cold, fill every shred of emptiness, if I could. But trust me. You’re far too extraordinary, too warm and giving, to remain hollow. In time, your very nature will fill the emptiness.” A fervent pause. “Just as it’s filled mine.”
Courtney blinked, a tinge of joy seeping through the void, wrought by something more potent than the emptiness. Never had she expected Slayde to make such an admission, one that, for him, was akin to an admission that he needed her. That, combined with his declaration last week…
“Slayde,” she murmured, voicing the question that had plagued her since she’d visited his chambers. “The night before you left Pembourne, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”
He never averted his gaze. “I meant it.”