Page 80 of Scourge of the Shores
Lucas took two fingers and gingerly pushed on her belly and ribs, feeling. Each touch made her grimace. He drew in a deep breath. “Ye do what I say, and ye’ll live, barely. Got a few broken ribs and some damage in the gut. Rest only, Danna. Don’t pick nothin’ and no one up. Don’t move unless I tell ye to. Savvy?”
Danna spurted, “Aye.”
Lucas cradled Danna’s cheek before placing a hand on Ma’s shoulder and leaving to tend to the injured once more.
The bonfire’s light played with the shadows of Ma’s face as she watched in silence. Danna closed her eyes, listening to the life that filled the island. The fear that kept their laughter at bay vanished.
Danna’s lips curled into a tight smile. Her home was free. Her home was safe. Her home could live again, even if Ma didn’t.
The two women stayed silent until the moon was high in the sky. Danna finally opened her eyes and saw Ma’s fingers tapping to the beat of the music.
“Lyin’ in that bed forever, Ma, it’s nothin’,” Danna said through the pain. She turned her head to her mother with burning eyes.
Ma’s finger-tapping stopped. “When Lucas is finished making his rounds, he’s going to take me back.”
“No, Ma,” Danna gritted. “I gutted a sea dragon. For ye. For this entire isle. Thirteen years. Thirteen years, I fought. Now he’s dead,” she rasped. “I don’t even remember what life was like before Cain came. But ye do.”
“And I had legs then, Danna. I had two arms,” she said in a broken cry. “I’m just an invalid on an island where you got to be worth your food and shelter. Don’t want anyone seeing me like this. Killing Cain don’t change that. Don’t change that I’m in the same useless body every morning. Don’t change that I only got one arm.”
Her voice broke on the last words, and for the first time in years, Danna heard something new in it—something deeper than bitterness—a raw, quiet grief.
Danna’s limbs tingled with desperation. Cain’s death still had not healed her mother. “Ye’re loved, Ma.” Danna’s voice cracked. “They miss ye. I miss ye.”
“I see you almost every day, Danna.” Ma peered over her to Danna lying on the ground.
“I’m sayin’ ye died thirteen years ago, Ma,” Danna said, her voice caught in her throat. The next words were raw and broken. “And I want ye back.”
The fire’s light flickered over Ma’s face, revealing tear tracks down her sunken cheeks.
Late into the night, Lucas helped Danna back to their hut and returned for Ma.
Danna lay on her cot, covering her body with the blanket Ma had made her when she was a child. It was too small now, but she didn’t care.
She faced the flames, listening to the lingering cheers, dancing, and songs that filled the air outside. Lucas’s heavy boots thudded behind her. He thudded inside and plopped a sleeping Ma in her bed. She stirred, and Lucas ensured she was comfortable before sitting beside Danna. He placed a warm hand on her ankle.
“How ye feeling?” he asked. His eyes, intent on her.
“I’ll heal,” she whispered amid the agony. “Just a bad bruise, maybe some broken ribs as ye said.”
Lucas patted her ankle. “That’s not what I meant,” he said with care.
Her chest swelled with grief in response. She touched her bottom lip with a trembling finger, remembering Robert’s kiss. A deep, unseen wound tore through her, raw and aching, like the bruise in her stomach had stretched all the way to her heart. Her fingers fell limp at her chin. The ache in her ribs grew worse. A cruel trick of the body: how heartbreak could make every injury hurt more.
“I’m fine.” The crack in her voice betrayed her words. Her flickering smile faded to a frown.
Lucas sighed and gave her ankle a comforting squeeze. His shoulders slumped.
“I warned ye, Danna,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Danna shut her eyes and bit back every rage until it came out as a calm breath. “I know, Lucas,” she managed to whisper.
He continued, eyes reddening, glistening in the firelight. “I told him to leave ye alone. Neither of ye listened.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again.
“I know, Lucas,” she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her. Her whole body tensed, as if sheer willpower could force back the grief clawing at her throat.
“I tried to protect ye.” He shook his head.
He kept talking, and she clenched her jaw, her nails biting into her palms. “I know, Lucas,” she repeated, harsher this time. A warning, a plea, a desperate attempt to stop him from saying something that would break her completely. Agony burned in her stomach. She fought back hot tears. She was a Chadwick, and Chadwicks didn’t cry, especially over a man.
