Morgan scowled, aware she was about to scold him for treating her as the . . . what was it? Oh, yes, a weak and pampered
woman in need of his protection.
“Thank you.” She put her arms around him and held him, just held on. She sighed, her head fitting in the hollow of his
chest, their bodies perfectly aligned.
It felt good.
It felt like home.
He stroked his hands lightly up and down her back, tipped back her head. She smiled up at him mistily.
“Go,” he ordered gently. “Wash your face, catch your breath, get a cup of coffee.”
Her smile trembled. “I do need to use the bathroom.”
“Then go. I will stay.”
He watched her leave the room, his heart so huge he thought it would burst the bounds of his chest.
I will always stay, he thought.
He turned and saw their son watching from beneath half-closed eyes.
“I really screwed up, didn‟t I.” The boy‟s voice rasped. It wasn‟t a question.
Morgan was surprised. “You were unprepared. This is my fault, not yours.”
“I let him take me.”
So he did remember, Morgan thought with a flash of pity. “You fought.”
“I didn‟t win.”
Morgan chose his words with care. Zachary was still fragile. He needed reassurance. But he deserved the truth. “Sometimes
the victory is in holding on.” To a woman, he thought. Two children. A life. “You remembered who you are. You did not let
Tan touch your mother. You resisted. You were strong.” Morgan was forced to clear his throat. “I am proud of you.”
Zachary‟s pale face colored to the roots of his hair. He smiled crookedly. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”
Not a hook, Morgan thought dizzily. A harpoon, straight through the heart. “Congratulations, you have a son . ”
He went to the bed and awkwardly, for the first time, squeezed Zachary‟s hand. The boy turned his palm over and clung.
He heard a sound behind them. Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, her eyes shining with joy and tears.
“If you‟re both feeling better now,” she said, “we should think about going home.”
Epilogue
MORGAN OF THE FINFOLK STOOD BEFORE A PILLAR at the front of the small church, chafing against impatience
and his suddenly tight collar. Zachary, beside him, wore the formal clothing with awkward dignity, the dark suit setting off the
pale glitter of his newly shorn hair. Stephanie, sitting several rows back, kept glancing at Zachary as if she barely recognized
him.
“The whole island must be here,” Conn murmured on Morgan‟s other side.
Morgan stirred restively. As long as Elizabeth showed up soon, he hardly cared who was in attendance. But he was pleased
for her sake that her parents had come, that the community she longed for had embraced her.
And he was glad, after all, to have their son standing with him. To feel the press of angels as even the children of air
blessed this celebration. To see Dylan waiting with Nick in the front pew, daughter Grace gripping his thumbs as she practiced
standing on his lap. Margred, Caleb, and their newborn son occupied the row behind with Lucy.
“We are honored by your presence, lord,” he said to Conn.
“Lucy was glad for an excuse to see her family and meet her new nephew.” Conn‟s gaze rested briefly on his consort, his
silver eyes inscrutable. “She talks much of weddings these days.”
To Morgan‟s knowledge, the selkie prince and the targair inghean had never wed. The children of the sea did not require
the sacraments of men. But in this moment, waiting at the front of the church for Elizabeth, Morgan understood the importance
of the promise made before God and witnesses.
He shifted his weight, his eyes still focused on the church doors. “I thought you might have come to remind me of my
duty.”
“Your duty is here,” Conn said.
Morgan‟s attention was diverted from the back of the church. “Not on Sanctuary?”