He'd actually been thinking along the same lines for when they got to Bermuda. Disappear into the island, set up a bookshop or maybe even take a job as a librarian. He rather enjoyed it until the cruise had gone pear shaped. Have their own quiet little place in paradise. Maybe work on convincing Mae she wouldn't be as bad of a mother as she was convinced she would be.
Cath winced as she revealed the ugly red scar where the bullet had pierced her body. As if thinking about it wasn't enough to tie his stomach in knots. <"Mae..,"> he pleaded. God, as if he didn't relive the whole horrible incident in his nightmares enough.
He snorted wryly at the Gatling gun comment. Now really wasn't the time for him to indulge in that sort of mental image. <"So we'll tell them something else,"> he suggested. <"We both lived in dangerous places all our lives. I've a bloody degree in military history. That should be enough for most of them.">
And as for the rest, they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, there was more important issues on everyone's mind then why the people who were stepping forward were doing so. That would come later, when things calmed down or got worse, he wagered.
Her tears stung him worse than either blow had. He hated the idea of her being miserable for even a moment. He reached out towards her face to brush away the tears. <"That's my girl,"> he murmured, moving to gather her in his arms. Hopefully, she'd let him.