Her head came up, and she stared at him, her eyes damp pools of jade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to awaken anyone.”
“You didn’t. I was already awake.” The agony on her face was unbearable and, without thinking, Slayde perched on her bedside, reached out for her.
She went into his arms with a heartbreaking whimper, burying her face against his shirt as harsh sobs wracked her body.
“Shhh…it’s not the wounds, is it?”
“No.”
“I thought not.” Tenderly, he stroked her hair, his lips brushing the satiny tresses.
“It was…a dream.”
Slayde could well imagine what, or whom, she’d dreamed of. “It’s all right. You’re awake now.”
“I wish I weren’t,” she wept. “Oh, God, I’m trying so hard to be strong, but I’m just not sure that I can be, nor that I even want to be. I’m sorry…I don’t mean to sound childish and irrational. I can’t seem to help myself.”
“You’re neither irrational nor childish.” His palm caressed her back, feeling her agitated tremors even through the thin barrier of her nightrail. “You’ve endured a brutal shock, not only to your body, but to your life. You must give yourself time to heal.”
“And what if I can’t heal?”
“You will.”
“I don’t think so. My dream…” With a shaky sigh, Courtney drew back, gazing up at Slayde with haunted eyes. “What would you say if I told you I think Papa’s alive—that he didn’t drown when he went overboard? Would you think I was mad?”
“I’d think you were mourning. Denial is part of that process.”
“No. My dream was too real.” She dashed away her tears. “He was calling out to me. Not in a spiritual sense, but in an actual one. He was reassuring me that he lived.”
“You’re emotionally drained and physically depleted. Not to mention the fact that you have a concussion, which very often jumbles thoughts. Believe me, you’re not mad. You’re perfectly normal.”
“Am I?” Her breath came in sharp pants, and when Slayde eased her toward the pillows, she clutched at his shirt, terror slashing her delicate features. “Talk to me,” she pleaded softly. “Stay with me. Just for a while. Don’t leave me alone with this horrible, gripping emptiness.”
“I won’t,” he promised, reversing his motion and bringing her against him. “I’ll stay as long as you need me. I wasn’t leaving. I was just helping you to lie back and rest.”
“I don’t want to lie back—or to rest. I want to talk. Please.”
How well he understood. “By all means.” Shifting a bit, Slayde eased her onto her side, cushioning her head in the crook of his arm. Then, he stretched out beside her, his back propped against the headboard. “How’s that?”
A deep, contented sigh. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Would you like a fire?”
“No. I’m fine—as long as I’m not alone.”
“You’re not. I’m right here.” He waited until his words had sunk in and he felt the panic ease from her muscles. Then he sought to distract her. “Did I hear Aurora mention something about your birthday being imminent?”
A tentative nod. “Next month.” She swallowed. “Papa’s gift was to be a puppy.”
“Any specific kind of puppy?”
“No. Just one who needed me—and, of course, one who was a natural sailor.”
“As you are, I presume.”
An ironic sound escaped Courtney’s lips. “I? Hardly. I dreaded every moment of our journeys. That’s why the second part of Papa’s gift meant so much. He planned to spend one full week with me. On land. Funny—” Her voice quavered. “At the time, it seemed too short an interval. Now, one week seems like the most priceless of gifts.”
Slayde felt a wave of compassion—and a surge of confusion. “If you dreaded your journeys, why in God’s name did you go? Surely your father didn’t insist that you remain—”