Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 by O'Malley Tricia

Author:O'Malley, Tricia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lovewrite Publishing
Published: 2018-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Grace had proceeded directly to her shower when she’d arrived home, allowing the steaming water to rinse away the tension of the night. By the time the water grew cold, Grace was spent. She crawled naked into bed, pulling a huge down comforter over her, and closed her eyes. With the sound of rain pattering on the roof and the warmth of Rosie cuddled at her side, Grace dropped right into sleep.

She’d gone to collect flowers that day. A silly endeavor, she supposed, for a pirate warrior. But Grace rarely had pretty things on her ship, as it was built for battle and for hauling goods. No sense decorating her captain’s quarters with the finest things if they would just be broken. But – well, she had a great love for flowers. She considered them little balls of joy, popping up from the landscape, giving of their beauty freely to the world.

She’d been a bit more sentimental of late, Grace supposed, for having spent time with Dillon. Oh, but she loved the man! From the stories he told her over the fire each night, to the way he made her feel with his touch. There was nothing like waking up each morning cradled in his arms, seeing the sleepy smile spread across his face as he looked at her. She’d never known such joy in her life. Sure, she’d loved her first husband, and his death had saddened her. But – ever the realist – Grace had picked up and moved on with her life.

Bending, she snipped some clover and pressed it into the basket, humming as she went. She’d sprinkle the flowers around the cottage when she got back, tucking them in various corners and along the windowsill.

Today, Grace thought. Today was the day she would ask Dillon if he’d want to come home with her. Meet her children. See her home, her land – everything she’d built and battled for. She reckoned he’d like it, though she’d never try to make him stay. Grace recognized a wandering heart when she saw one, and she knew that the man would never be happy without the sea. Nor was she, if she was honest with herself. Maybe they’d take a few of those adventures together, she mused, and crested the hill. Following the path that led toward the beach where their little cottage was sheltered, Grace slammed to a stop.

The flowers forgotten, strewn behind her on the path, Grace ran, digging the dirk from where she always kept it in the waistband of the breeches she wore. Dillon had teased her for dressing like a man, but she knew he appreciated how it showcased her shapely legs. Breeches gave her a freedom of movement both on the ship and on land.

She screeched a warning to the two men who battled on the beach with Dillon. Her heart thudded as he fell facedown into the sand and didn’t move, didn’t even try to get up.

“No…” Blind with rage, Grace didn’t

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