Tides of deception ✺ Outlander/Stephen Bonnet Fanfic

♤4 Do as the French 🕷

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the cabin as the ship rocked gently with the waves. The scent of saltwater mingled with the familiar spice and amber of Stephen's cologne, which clung to the air in the intimate space. Maria sat in silence at the end of the long wooden table, feeling the weight of the red velvet dress that Stephen had set out for her. The rich fabric draped over her form, making her feel more conspicuous than ever. She glanced at him, seated across from her at the same end of the table, his sharp eyes watching her as he sipped his drink.

Stephen's rugged frame was more polished tonight, his hair tamed, his shirt pressed beneath his long coat. The flickering candlelight only made his features more striking, and his expression carried its usual unreadable edge. The silver cutlery gleamed between them, reflecting the delicate dance of shadows that played across the cabin walls. As she shifted in her chair, the silence stretched thin, only the clink of his glass breaking the stillness.

"I see ye decided to dress up nicely for me," Stephen finally said, his voice low, almost playful, but Maria could hear the deeper note behind it. His Irish lilt was thick tonight, as if it curled and wove with the tension that hovered between them.

Maria lowered her gaze. "It's the only option I had."

Stephen chuckled, the sound soft but carrying an edge. "Aye, that it is." He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table before glancing at her plate, untouched.

She hadn't felt much like eating, her mind too full of questions, uncertainties, and thoughts of the stones. Time travel? Was it even possible? Could she trust him with the truth? The weight of his gaze pulled her thoughts back to the present, and she felt the intensity of his eyes burning into her.

"Ye look troubled." Stephen's voice was calm, but the amusement had faded from his tone. He set his glass down with a soft thud, his fingers grazing the rim. "What's on your mind, lass?"

Maria hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. "I was just... thinking about home," she lied, her voice quiet.

Stephen raised a brow, his lips curling slightly as if he wasn't buying it. He shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. "Home? Ye mean the one ye claim ye barely remember, or another lie ye haven't told me yet?"

The accusation was light, but it hung in the air, heavy. Maria swallowed, her hands tightening on her lap. She wasn't sure if it was his unpredictable charm or the way his presence seemed to envelop her, but she found herself speaking before she could stop.

"I remember more than I let on."

Stephen's eyes sharpened, narrowing ever so slightly. "Ah... so the little gypsy lass has a secret after all." His voice lowered, but now it held something darker, like a predator honing in on its prey. "Why don't ye tell me the truth then, love? Start with where ye really come from."

Maria's breath hitched, the truth pressing against her lips. She stared at him, feeling the tension between them thicken like a storm brewing. The candles flickered, casting shadows on his face that made him even harder to read.

"I..." she began, but her voice faltered. Her mind raced with images of 2024, the stones, the impossible shift of time. How could she possibly explain it?

Stephen tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he circled the table, drawing closer with each step. The sound of his boots on the wooden floor made her heart race.

"Go on then. I'm listenin'." His voice was a soft drawl, dangerous in its calm. He took the seat next to her, dragging it beside her own, and sat with a sudden shift of weight. His body was close now, his scent overwhelming her senses as he leaned in and reached for her plate, spearing a piece of food and bringing it to his lips. He ate slowly, savoring it, his eyes never leaving hers.