Chapter Four
1026 Words
Sansa woke to the sound of voices outside her cabin.
They were low, masculine, edged with tension and not Rowan’s.
She sat up slowly, drawing her shawl around her shoulders as the ship creaked beneath her. The storm had passed sometime before dawn, leaving behind an uneasy calm. Sunlight filtered faintly through the small window, glinting off the polished wood that surrounded her like a reminder of whose world she occupied.
A knock sounded at her door.
“Yes?” she called.
A young deckhand stood there, respectful, his eyes were carefully averted. “Captain Blackwood requests your presence on deck, miss.”
Requests.
She doubted very much it was optional.
The moment she stepped onto the deck, she felt the shift in the air. The crew was gathered more closely than usual, their attention divided between the horizon and the man at the helm.
Rowan Blackwood stood tall, commanding as ever, his expression unreadable as he issued orders. Yet the instant he saw her, something in his posture changed. His gaze locked onto hers with a focus so intense it was almost physical.
“Come here,” he said.
It was not a request.
Sansa hesitated only a second before obeying, lifting her chin as she crossed the deck. She was keenly aware of the eyes following her curious, speculative, measuring.
Rowan descended from the helm and stopped directly in front of her. “You should not wander the ship alone,” he said quietly.
“I was escorted,” she replied.
His eyes flicked briefly to the deckhand who retreated instantly. Then Rowan’s attention returned to her, sharper now. “This ship is not a place for idle curiosity.”
“And yet,” she said coolly, “you insisted I remain aboard it.”
Something dark and possessive stirred in his gaze.
Before she could react, he placed a firm hand at her lower back not rough, but claiming and turned her slightly so she stood at his side, facing the crew.
“This woman is under my protection,” Rowan said, his voice carrying across the deck. “Any man who troubles her answers to me.”
The words struck like a blow.
Sansa stiffened, torn between indignation and something far more unsettling a flutter deep in her chest that had no business being there.
Protection… or possession?
A murmur rippled through the crew. Rowan’s hand remained at her back, steady, deliberate, daring her to pull away.
She did not.
When he finally released her, it was with visible effort. “Walk with me,” he said under his breath.
They moved toward the quieter end of the deck, the sea stretching endlessly around them. Sansa stopped abruptly, turning to face him.
“You had no right,” she said tightly. “To speak of me as though I were….”
“Mine?” he finished.
Her breath caught.
“I spoke to ensure your safety,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“That is not how it sounded.”
Rowan studied her, his expression darkening. “Did it trouble you?”
“Yes,” she said at once.
“And yet,” he murmured, stepping closer, “you didn’t pull away.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You are infuriating.”
A faint smile curved his mouth. “You are honest.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and charged. The sea slapped rhythmically against the hull, mocking their restraint.
“You should not look at me the way you do,” Sansa said softly.
“And how is that?”
“As though you are already deciding what to do with me.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I am deciding what not to do.”
That startled her. “Why?”
“Because if I allow myself even a moment of indulgence,” he said, his voice lowering dangerously, “I will not stop.”
Her heart raced. “You speak as though I am a temptation incarnate.”
“You are,” he said simply. “And you don’t even realize it.”
Before she could respond, a voice interrupted them.
“Captain.”
A woman stood a short distance away tall and striking, with sun-kissed skin and knowing eyes. She wore the confidence of someone accustomed to command’s proximity.
Rowan turned, his expression hardening into something cool and distant. “This is not the time, Mara.”
Mara’s gaze flicked to Sansa, assessing. A slow, amused smile curved her lips. “I see.”
Sansa bristled. “See what, exactly?”
“That the rumors are true,” Mara replied lightly.
Rowan shot her a warning look. “Enough.”
But the damage was done.
Later, alone once more, Sansa paced her cabin, her thoughts in turmoil. Rumors. Women. A past she knew nothing about and yet felt the sting of all the same.
That evening, Rowan came to her.
He did not knock.
“You should have warned me,” Sansa said the moment he entered.
“Of what?” he asked, though he knew.
“That I was stepping into a history already written.”
Rowan closed the door behind him slowly. “Nothing about you is written,” he said.
“Then what am I to you?” she demanded.
His gaze held hers, intensely “A complication,” he said honestly. “And one I do not regret.”
The admission settled heavily between them.
“You cannot claim me before others,” she said quietly, “and then expect me not to feel the weight of it.”
Rowan stepped closer, his voice low and resolute. “If I claimed you,” he said, “there would be no doubt. No confusion.”
Her pulse thundered. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is a promise,” he replied. “One I am not yet prepared to keep.”
Their gazes locked, the air between them thick with everything unsaid.
When he finally turned to leave, Sansa knew one thing with chilling clarity:
The line between protection and possession was already blurring.
And soon, one of them would cross it.
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