He squeezed before walking off, followed by two of his official guards.
Aine’s heart throbbed. There was a time she lived to receive that simple gesture and only now consciously realized why she used the same gesture with Caz.
President Olan’s next words shocked her.
“It’s a shame he’ll retire so soon, Admiral.”
Sammuel had been taking a sip of wine. His hand jerked slightly. Aine knew she and Caz were the only ones who noticed.
“Yes. His negotiation skills will be greatly missed. He has accomplished much in a very short amount of time.”
Olan was on a fishing trip. He dropped his voice. “I heard rumors he’s ill, that it’s what prompted his retirement following this mission.”
Aine’s breath froze in her chest. Under the table, Caz dropped his hand to her thigh and squeezed. Not in a lecherous way, but to distract her and bring back her focus.
Sammuel carefully set his wine glass on the table. “The Ambassador does not listen to rumors. Neither do I.”
Caz leaned in. “Permission to excuse myself, sir?” he whispered.
She absently nodded.
He pushed back from the table and bowed to the President and Sammuel. “Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Aine also didn’t miss the way Sammuel’s angry gaze followed Caz from the room. For a brief moment, fear took her. Would he order his men to follow Caz and kill him for touching her? Then her reason returned. Surely he wouldn’t do that.
Would he?
Sammuel’s gaze landed on her for a moment, then continued on to the President. “President Olan, I hear the Confederation has made great inroads with regards to raiders in the Talsaurean sector.”
She tuned out the rest. While waiters served the next course, Aine anxiously awaited Caz’s safe return and excused her waiting to eat until everyone else was served. Caz passed his hand over her plate as he sat, gave her an imperceptible nod as he did.
Ker returned, but did he look a little pale?
Sammuel thought so. He pulled his angry glare from Caz to his Master, his expression transforming to concern.
Ker squeezed his shoulder before he retook his seat. “I am fine. No worries. Where were we in our discussion?”
From that point on, it was a conversational tennis match between Olan and Ker, from the inconsequential to aspects of the treaty talks. Toward the end of dinner, Aine saw her out. Dessert had been served, and the men stretched back to settle in for a bullshit chat.
She stood, Caz on immediate alert and rising with her. Sammuel looked at her.
Ker did not.
“President, Ambassador, Admiral, I have greatly enjoyed our evening together, but we must return to our ship and prepare for the tour. If you still feel up to it tonight?” Part of her hoped they wouldn’t.
Part of her wanted the chance to show them what she’d accomplished.
Olan spoke first. “Wonderful! We’ll be there within an hour. Don’t bother garbing the crew in formal uniforms. I want to see a normal day on a Dreadnought.”
She tipped her head in a bow. “Very well, President.” She saluted, then steeled herself and bid her leave to Ker and Sammuel.
Ker’s eyes never turned her way, but he nodded in her direction. Sammuel stood and bowed despite the unpleasant glare on his face and the murderous look he shot Caz.
They were safely out of the banquet room and down a private corridor leading to the berth lift when Caz slipped an arm around her waist and hurried her along even faster.
“I have to get you back to the ship. Right now. I’ll have Maddings conduct the tour.”
She barely felt her feet. “No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.”
He hustled her past the guards and into the lift, where he punched the button and entered their berth code. Then he turned on her, his voice harsh. “No, you can’t. You can’t see what you look like, but sir, you look like you’re about to drop dead on me. I can’t allow you to do that to yourself.”
Her voice trembled. “What did you find out?”
He set his jaw, not bothering to bullshit her. “The Ambassador isn’t sick. He’s dying.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dying?
The word echoed through her brain as she allowed Caz to lead her to their berth. He had her in her cabin less than a minute later, the door sealed for privacy.
He knelt in front of her. “Sir, please. Let me have Officer Maddings do this,” he begged.
Even her lips felt numb. Dying? “No. If I can’t do this I don’t deserve to be captain of this vessel.”
“Begging your pardon, sir. Right now, you don’t look fit to captain anything.”
She turned and glanced into the mirror. Her face looked pale and drawn, hollows under her eyes. “Make-up. I guess they’ll see me in it after all.”
Knowing better than to argue, Caz grabbed the case and set things out for her. In a few minutes she almost looked normal.
Normal enough.
Bless his heart, he never asked even though he had to be dying to know why she reacted like this.
“Did you mean it, that you would follow me as long as I stayed in?”
He eagerly nodded.”Yes, sir.”
“Ten, twenty, thirty years? I’m a lifer. You know that.”
“Absolutely.”
“No one waiting at home for you to return?”
A dark shadow crossed his face. “No, sir,” he said. “No one but you would miss me.”
She took a deep breath and forced herself not to cry. He was as alone in the universe as she was. Why had she never asked him about his family before, never looked through his records beyond his recent service dossier? “Will you swear an oath bond to serve only me? To wear my rune?” She had taken on her father’s rune and had never offered an oath bond to any other crew member before.
He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Only you, sir.”
“To the death?”
He nodded. “Yes, sir. To the death. I follow you.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, left it there. “On your soul, you swear to hold my confidence?” Why was she even doing this? It wouldn’t heal the gaping wound in her own psyche.
But she’d been alone for so long, it finally hit her tonight just how alone she felt.
Ker and Sammuel still had each other. Well, for now, at least.
It wouldn’t ease the perpetual ache in her solitary soul, but at least she would have a trusted confidant.
Perhaps someone to mourn her when she died.
“On my soul, my word, my bond, or my death,” he swore.
She squeezed again and released him, turned to her private command console, and started typing. In a moment she called him over. “Here.”
He glanced over the document. Without hesitation or question, he pressed his thumb to the screen reader. A message blinked.
Commission bond recorded.
She deactivated the screen. From her desk she withdrew a box. Inside lay a holographic pendant on an unbreakable chain, identical to the two she wore. She turned to him again, and he bent so she could fasten it around his neck.
“Do you know anything about my history, Caz?” she quietly asked.
“No, sir. Not beyond common knowledge.”
“This was my father’s rune.” She showed him the ring, then the two matching pendants she wore. “Mine and my Da’s. We were the only two people Captain Edmund Lorcan oath-bound in his career. His lover and his daughter. I don’t do this lightly, Caz.”
He fingered the pendant. For a moment she thought maybe he would cry, but he didn’t. “Thank you, sir,” he quietly said. “This is an honor and a privilege. I promise I will never let you down. To the death. I mean it.”
She took another deep breath to steady herself. “You’d better sit down.” For the first time since she left the Ab’yoika Maru she told the story of her time with Ker and Sammuel to someone else, to a real, living, breathing person. Not
everything, not all the details, and not why she left them, but enough. When she finished she watched him.
All through the story he fingered his pendant as he listened to her without interruption. A few times he reached up to scratch the back of his head, running his fingers through his short hair as if maybe he once wore it longer and was used to playing with it. She’d noticed he did that sometimes. He sat on the end of her bunk, stunned shock and something else she couldn’t interpret on his face.
“Does this change how you look at me?” she asked when she finished. “Regretting your oath? Do you wish release from your bond?”
He shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. She felt his stunned shock. “To the death. That’s exactly what I meant.”
“It helped make me who I am. I suppose I should quit feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re a damn good captain.” He snorted in amusement. “It also explains why Admiral Jorvis kept looking at me during dinner like he wanted to kill me with his bare hands.” He laughed. “He did want to kill me for touching his t’wren.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
He grinned. “Wanted to tell the bastard to go fuck himself because you’re my captain. I just thought maybe he had the hots for you.” His smile faded. “Under the circumstances, I really wish you’d reconsider the tour, sir.”
“No.” She stood and walked over to the vid port. He let the silence lay between them. “Did you find out what’s wrong with him?” she eventually asked.
“No. Unfortunately my sources weren’t that well-informed.” She had a feeling maybe he had a suspicion, but if he wouldn’t speak it, she didn’t want to press him and send her imagination spinning even harder than it already was.
“So why are you alone, Caz?” She turned to look at him.
That sad cloud passed through his eyes again. “Begging your pardon, sir, I will tell you that story. Will you trust me when I say I would rather it not be tonight? I prefer to get you through this first. Then you can ask me, when we can both sit down and talk about things. You’re not the only one who’s been a long time without a confidant.”
She smiled. “Fair enough.” She didn’t feel anything romantic for him, and knew damn well he didn’t for her either. He felt like family.
Brother. The term floated through her mind on a wispy thought. It sort of fit, though. The two of them alone and bonded together. She would take care of him as her yeoman while he took care of her as his captain.
Something pecked at her intuition. How had he known the word t’wren when she hadn’t used it? Then the official chime sounded at the airlock, distracting her. She stood ready with Caz as President Olan, Ker, Sammuel, and four official Act’huran guards stepped aboard.
Aine bowed, then saluted. “Welcome aboard Dreadnought Candola Ryke, President, Ambassador, Admiral.”
The men nodded. President Olan took the lead. “Captain, we appreciate the tour. Where do we start?”
She led them to the bridge. Her agitation grew the longer she spent with the men. Caz moved with her, more an extension of her body than a separate individual. Maybe now that he had job security in the most literal sense of the word he felt freer to connect to her in a way he hadn’t before. Calming energy flowed from him to her every time she stepped close enough for her arm to brush his.
She didn’t miss the ever-darkening frown on Sammuel’s face.
They worked their way through the ship toward the hold, docking bays, and engineering. The lift only held six. The four guards stepped in, followed by Olan and Ker.
Caz reached in and punched the lift code. “We’ll join you there in a moment, gentlemen.”
The door slid shut. Behind her she felt Sammuel’s possessive rage radiating off him.
And his passion.
She wanted to close her eyes and lean back into him, feel his arms around her, feel him take her and own her and…
Aine closed her eyes and took a long breath to steady her nerves.
When she opened them, Caz watched her while trying to keep his gaze off Sammuel.
“This is a beautiful ship,” Sammuel said, startling her.
She turned, shocked. The look on his face screamed…something. She honestly couldn’t tell what anymore, but his voice sounded neutral.
No one else walked the passageway. “Thank you, Admiral.”
Caz glared. She shot him a warning look to keep his mouth shut.
Sammuel lifted his chin and she tried not to think about falling asleep nestled against his chest, her head safely tucked against his neck, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear.
His cock inside her.
“Yeoman, you appear extremely devoted to your captain,” he observed. “More so than the average man.”
Caz set his jaw and straightened. Sammuel had three inches and fifty pounds on the yeoman, but Caz’s heart was ten times as big, she suspected. “Aye, sir. I serve no one but Captain Lorcan. I am willingly oath-bound to her as of tonight. I wear my captain’s rune with pride.”
Sammuel slowly arched an eyebrow at her. “Interesting.” His gaze pierced her. “Some would call that slavery.”
Caz jumped in. “I volunteered. I’ve never served under any Confederation captain with a fraction of the heart and soul and skill as Captain Lorcan.”
Sammuel’s green gaze floated through her soul, through her heart, ripping new shreds in her sanity.
“My yeoman is very devoted and performs his job well,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t quaver. “I wouldn’t have extended the offer to just any crewman.” She glared at him. “You have to have a deep level of trust to extend an oath bond. Even more to accept it.”
Sammuel slowly nodded. “Yes. You do.” His eyes never left hers. “I suspect he holds as much loyalty and devotion for you as I do for Ambassador D’arsolan.”
Where is that fucking lift! “I would suspect that’s true.”
Caz watched the exchange, ready to pounce if she gave the slightest indication.
Sammuel started to reply, but the lift door opened. Caz stepped in. “Sir? Admiral?”
Sammuel didn’t look away from Aine. “We will be along shortly. Go on ahead.”
Caz stepped back out. “I’ll wait.”
“I wish a word alone with your captain.”
Aine forced back the urge to swallow hard. She wasn’t the scared little girl, the grief-stricken teen, or the mortally wounded castaway. She wasn’t the dying woman trusting her life to this man. She wasn’t the woman screaming with passion under his hands. She wasn’t the woman snuggled safely in his arms, sleeping without nightmares.
She wasn’t his anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.
When she stepped inside the lift, Caz moved with her. “Anything you wish to say to me, Admiral Jorvis, you can say in front of my yeoman.”
Sammuel’s jaw clenched as he followed her inside the lift. Caz punched the buttons perhaps a little harder than he meant, but remained silent.
When Sammuel stepped forward, Aine didn’t give ground. She looked up into his face and tried to ignore his scent, still the same and achingly wonderful even this many years later.
“He is proud of you.”
She expected almost anything but that. She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“He has followed your career with great interest. He is very proud of you, even though he cannot and will not tell you himself.”
Recriminations, insults, possibly even coaxing to return. Anything but that.
She reached over and hit the stop button for the lift, punched in her code to lock it.
“What’s wrong with him, Sammuel?”
Sammuel glanced at Caz, then back to her. “I suspect you know.”
“Dammit, I asked you a question!”
“He is dying. Your yeoman probably already told you that.”
She gritted her teeth. “Why is he dying?”
Sammuel stepped to the other side of the lift and crossed his arms over his chest. His tone sounded even a
nd steady. “That is none of your business, Captain Lorcan.”
He might as well have slapped her, she felt the sting in his words. No “Ki’ato.” No “Little One.”
She stared, stunned.
What the hell did you expect, dumb fuck? This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?
“It is my business, and you damn well know it!”
He studied the floor. “I sense your yeoman will understand this concept even if you do not. I have sworn a loyalty to my Master.” Another sting in her heart and soul. “I will not betray his confidence. All I can tell you is that he is dying. He has maybe five years left, if that. Even telling you that much is pushing the bounds of my loyalty to him.”
“Act’hurans don’t get sick. They don’t age quickly. He looks like he’s aged a lot in the past few years.”
Sammuel slowly nodded. “He has.”
Caz’s voice startled her. “He’s soul sick, isn’t he?”
It startled her even more to realize he’d spoken perfectly accented Act’huran, a language she hadn’t heard anyone else speak since she left her men.
Both Sammuel and Aine’s heads slowly swiveled to stare at the yeoman. Sammuel’s hand went for the butt of his plasma pistol, but then he seemed to remember himself. “What do you know of that?” he growled in Act’huran.
Caz’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Because my Master was Act’huran,” he said, still in that tongue, “before I joined the Confederation. He died in combat, along with my t’wren.”
Aine stood there in shock. Caz joined the service when he was just twenty. There’d been nothing in his records about anything else.
Then it struck her how he used the word t’wren earlier.
Ironically, Sammuel’s expression softened, kind and sad. His entire body language changed as he relaxed with this new knowledge. “I am sorry, brother. My regrets and sorrows go with you.”
“Thank you.” He looked at Aine. “The Confederation knew I was much older than twenty. With them both dead, and since we were on a shadow mission for the Confederation, they reworked my credentials to give me a new life, so to speak. They changed my records several times over the years to protect my identity when I didn’t age as normal humans do.”