Skin Deep

by Marissa Doyle

  “It is said that the men who lived here feared us when we first came. They were afraid we were Mahtahdou’s allies, come to help him kill them. But we abhorred Mahtahdou and his creatures, and joined with the men to fight him so that we could both live in peace. We could fight him and his creatures in the water more easily than men could, so they were glad to accept our help. At that time Mahtahdou had found a body to inhabit—it was a shaman visiting from an inland tribe who did not understand what Mahtahdou was—and our battle with him was fierce. After a long struggle we destroyed his body and bound him, and the men gave us these waters as our home so long as we kept Mahtahdou enchained.”

  “Enchained how?”

  “With magic. There have always been selkies among us who did have magic—it runs in my family, which is how we became guardians of Mahtahdou and lords of these waters, even after the men who were driven away by men from the old world who took their lands. My grandmother was a strong magic wielder and kept Mahtahdou well imprisoned. But none of her children had her strength. My father—” His voice caught again. “My father tried. For a while he succeeded, but he made a mistake. Instead of marrying one who did have the power to keep Mahtahdou chained, he fell in love with my mother. She was bright and strong and a brave warrior but not a magic wielder. And while they were happy and had five sons—my four older brothers and me—Mahtahdou was waiting and watching from his disintegrating prison.

  “He escaped when I was young, when my voice was just starting to break. Father was killed almost immediately and the rest of my family fled. Our home—”

  “Selkies have homes?” she interrupted.

  “We did. It is an island, near to the place men call Monomoyick. But it’s not on your charts and maps. We selkies know where it is but men almost never see it, and when they do, it’s on a misty evening and no one believes them. We had a beautiful palace there, built of old sea-polished wood and roofed with shell so that it shone silver by sunlight and moonlight. At least it used to. Mahtahdou took it to live in—though he’s a spirit and did not need an abode, he thirsted for what we had. Now it is so befouled—half of it is a fetid wreck—that I fear it can only be burned and rebuilt.” A bitter smile twisted his face. “If any of us are left to rebuild it, that is.”

  Dear heaven, this was real. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. “What about the rest of you? Your mother and your brothers?”

  Alasdair rolled off the bed and began to pace at its foot. “Mother died trying to avenge my father and retake our home,” he said. “My brothers, one by one, tried to defeat Mahtahdou and failed. Then there was only me. The last of the lords, ruling over a small fragment of what had once been a large people.”

  “And Conn,” she said softly.

  “And Conn.” He stopped pacing. “Gods, Garland, what have I done, begetting a son? My people begged me—if I were to die, who would be lord after me? They needed someone to rally around, even if it were only a child. It didn’t feel right to take a mate, but there was Finna.”

  He sat down on the end of the bed with his back to her and his head bowed. “She had always tagged after me when we were small,” he said. “She was younger than I, and so pretty. Her father had died alongside my mother and I thought that by taking her as my wife I’d be giving back to her for that loss. I thought that she’d be safer because I’d be there to protect her. But I wasn’t. Mahtahdou took her because she was mine and because she’d born me an heir. If she hadn’t she might still live. I might as well have struck her down with my own hand. She would have suffered less if I had…” He trailed into silence.

  She climbed down to the edge of the bed and touched his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “I should have known. I should have realized that Mahtahdou would use Finna to get at me. That was how he got Mother out to fight…” He shuddered. “When we were taken that night before you found us, I very nearly did kill Conn to keep him from being touched by Mahtahdou. But I was too late. They took us and three of my warriors and I had to watch while Mahtahdou gave them to his creatures to play with. It took a very long time for them to tire of their sport.” He swallowed. “And then they started on us. I expected far worse than what my warriors had been through, but Mahtahdou wouldn’t let any touch us but himself. And in the end he chose not to kill us outright. He wanted us to die slowly and be conscious of death as it took us. Too much torture doesn’t permit that, you see. He said he was taking our sealskins to hang on the wall of his hall that used to belong to my family so that he could look at them and gloat over his victory, and he cut us until we were bleeding from many wounds. He licked at my wounds and said that I was delicious and he wished he could eat the rest of us. And then he had us bound and dragged to the water and thrown into the storm.”

  She remembered the eerie shouts and screams in the wind that night, her first in Mattaquason, and Rob examining their wrists and ankles the morning after, and shivered. “How did you get free?”

  “I don’t remember,” he said slowly. “When I hit the water I screamed as the salt of it touched my wounds, and then I blacked out. No selkies would have dared to be near, but our little brothers the seals might have been there. The only thing I can guess is that they bit away our ties so that we wouldn’t drown. I don’t know if they brought us to your beach or not, but the next thing I knew I was lying on the sand in the sun, and a beautiful woman was holding my son wrapped in a magic skin, and—”

  She stopped him. “Wait—that’s the second time you’ve said something about magic—what are you talking about?”

  “Garland.” He turned and touched her face gently. “I know you don’t know it. I don’t understand why you don’t, but your quilts—they’re magic. Very magic. When I touched your shirt that you put around Conn that morning—you had sewn a piece of your quilts—”

  “A block,” she added automatically. “A Compass Rose block.”

  “Yes. Whatever it is, it is like—like a cloak of protection. Why do you think Conn never wants to take it off? Why do you think that he wasn’t killed when he wandered out of your house the other day?”

  “That scratch on his cheek—”

  “One of Mahtahdou’s creatures had found him, I think. But it couldn’t take him or even hurt him much because of your shirt.”

  Her head was spinning. Selkies and demons and quilts—

  “And the robe that you gave me to wear—the one you made for your husband—” His expression softened. “I was so jealous when I felt it, wondering what perfect man had merited that robe. There was such love in it—”

  And Derek could barely stand to touch it when she’d given it to him. “But I don’t do anything to them. I just make them.”

  “It is because you make them that they have magic,” he said. “The first thing I thought of when I touched your shirt was my grandmother. Do you know how she kept Mahtahdou bound all those years? With a braided circlet of beach grass. Something that anyone could make. But when she made it, it could keep Mahtahdou restrained and powerless. Think, Garland! What else has happened with your quilts?”

  This was ridiculous. “Nothing,” she said. “Yes, people like them—”

  “Being struck by a car while you held a quilt that told of the return of life to the land and being unhurt—is that nothing? Catching Conn’s fingers in your fishnet quilt is nothing?”

  She was silent. He nodded and went on.

  “After I felt your power and understood that you meant us no harm—that you would take care of us—it was the first time I’d had any hope in years. My people are scattered and my—my skin is in Mahtahdou’s hands. But if you were helping me, with your power… There was only one problem. You were kind and gentle with my son, and strong and caring to help us heal…and so beautiful, like summer fruit ripening in the sun…” He leaned toward her and kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers.

  “I ached with wanting you,” he murmured. “But I have to leave you, before I can’t. I thought t
he healer loved you—that he would take care of you—”

  She held his face between her hands so that he couldn’t look away. “But why do you have to leave?”

  His eyes were dark and sad. “Why else? I killed Finna with my love. I will not kill you the same way. Listen to me. Mahtahdou knows I am alive and that I’m here with you. He must have guessed when my body was never found. He tried to get into your house but couldn’t—remember how all the other houses here have been damaged, with their windows broken? His creatures found Conn but could not take him. And I think your accident with the car was a test, to see how strong your magic was—”

  “Wait—a test? How could he have—”

  “I told you that Mahtahdou can inhabit a human body when he needs to. I think he used the body of that woman to see if he could kill you. If he could not, then he would know you were out of the ordinary.” He put his hands over hers. “If we don’t leave soon, something worse will happen. Your magic may be able to keep his creatures from breaking windows, but will it be strong enough to withstand a mountain of water flung at your house? All I ask is that you give me the quilt you have made me—it may keep me safe long enough to gather my people together and rescue my skin, and then—”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I’ll know that you’ll no longer be his quarry. I need ti make sure you’re safe. And I”—he took a deep breath—“I will not hide behind you any longer. I am not a Derek. I have used you, and I am not proud of that. If matters were different—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I owe you my life, beloved. Now I must protect yours.”

  She jerked her hands away and pounded the bed in frustration. “But you and Conn won’t be safe. Alasdair, if this is real, I—I don’t want to lose you now. Either to this Mahtahdou or to anyone else.”

  “Then you do believe me?”

  Did she? His story accounted for so much—his otherworldliness, his injuries, his fear of leaving the house—but demons and magic quilts? “I don’t know. I think I do, but parts of it…I just don’t…” She exhaled, and met his eyes. “But I know this. I love you.”

  “Garland—” He reached for her.

  “I don’t care who you are or where you came from. I want to be with you always, and I want to be a mother for Conn. I love you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t reply but pushed her down and kissed her hard, and then made love to her, and she stopped thinking again and let her body say everything that could not be said in words.

  Chapter 15

  Garland looked through half-opened eyes at the sleeping Alasdair who lay on his stomach next to her, one arm flung possessively across her. Aragorn. She had called him that once, hadn’t she? It had been a more apt nickname than she’d guessed for her dark, beautiful, dispossessed lord.

  Dispossessed lord…what did she think about his tale? Impossible—and yet it had been impossible not to believe him last night, watching the emotions that had chased each other across his face as he spoke. Did she believe him now, in the cool light of day?

  She stroked the hand that lay atop her breast and touched the webs between his fingers. Selkie hands. He hadn’t even thought of using them as proof last night—she’d been the one to remember. But was that proof enough?

  What if he were a selkie, working to defeat this Mahtahdou-thing? Did he really plan to leave her and go fight it—him—just when they had found each other? She rested her cheek against the top of his head and remembered their lovemaking last night. He had touched her, held her, loved her like a man who knew it might be his last time.

  And if Mahtahdou were real and Alasdair defeated him, then what? Alasdair had mentioned the old stories of human and selkie lovers. In most of them the selkie lovers stayed on land for a while, long enough sometimes to beget families. But in the end they always returned to the sea. Was that how it would be for them? Would she have him for a year or two or ten and then be forced to watch him leave her, just as Derek had? Would that be any better than watching him leave now? Her hand tightened on his convulsively.

  Alasdair stirred. Garland cursed herself for waking him and lay still so that he would drift off again. But instead he groaned and lifted his head.

  “Garland, I…there’s something wrong.” He seemed to find it difficult to focus on her face. “It hurts, like it did—” With an effort that made him groan again and his face contort, he rolled onto his side.

  The sheet below him was soaked with blood.

  * * *

  Garland tried to take deep, calming breaths while she dialed Rob’s cell phone number.

  How had Alasdair’s wounds reopened? They’d been healing well, with fresh, pink scar tissue emerging from under the scabs. Yes, their lovemaking last night had been gloriously bruising, but surely not enough to—

  Five rings…six… “Come on, Rob!” she muttered.

  But no one picked up the phone, not even voicemail. Fine, then. She’d try him at the office. She punched in the first digits, but Alasdair reached out and touched her hand.

  “Do you think it wise to call him?” he asked, speaking as if it were an effort to get the words out.

  “Why shouldn’t I? He’s a doctor.”

  “He’s also in love with you and sees me as a rival.”

  She felt a warm flush rise up her neck. “How did you know?”

  Alasdair’s mouth twisted in a faint, crooked smile. “I may not be human, but I am male. I know how he feels about you. Will he want to help me?”

  “Of course he will,” she said, hoping she sounded surer than she felt. “Doctors have to help—they take a vow, to ‘ease suffering and to harm none’ or something like that. Personal feelings aren’t allowed to come into it.” She finished tapping the number in and waited.

  “Dr. Mowbray’s office. This is Stacy. How can I help you?” Rob’s receptionist’s warm, calm voice had never sounded so welcoming.

  “Stacy! Thank God you’re there. It’s Garland Durrell. Is Rob there?”

  There was a pause. When Stacy spoke again, the warmth and calm had vanished. “Mrs. Durrell. Oh no, he’s not. It’s so strange—I found a message this morning that he’d been called out of town unexpectedly.”

  Garland was glad she was sitting down. “Gone? Are you sure?”

  “I tried calling him at home but there was no answer. I have to call all the appointments he had today and reschedule—”

  “Did he say when he’d be back?”

  “Well, it wasn’t very clear—he left a note stuck in the office door, and it was sort of scrawled, like he was in a hurry—”

  He hadn’t even bothered unlocking the door and putting it on Stacy’s desk? What could have driven the usually careful and courteous Rob into such a rush? And what would have dragged him away from his patients?

  “—but it looks like it says ‘a while.’ I’m sorry, that isn’t very helpful, is it?” Stacy sounded flustered and apologetic. But under the surface emotions Garland heard something else, too. Was it fear?

  “Stacy, are you—are you sure you don’t know where Rob is?” she asked, very gently. “Is there something wrong? Did he tell you not to talk to me? I need him badly—my friend here is hurt agai—”

  “Oh, I’ve got another call coming in. Can I put you on hold? Maybe it’ll be him.” Stacy cut her off so abruptly that it took Garland a few seconds to realize what had happened.

  “Stacy put me on hold,” she murmured to Alasdair. “She thinks Rob might be on the other line.” She sat with the phone glued to her ear for several minutes, listening to a Mozart string quartet and thinking about when she’d tried calling 911 the day she’d found Alasdair. The similarities were disquieting.

  “Always hated Mozart,” she said in explanation as she slammed the phone back into its cradle. “Stacy must’ve forgotten about me.”

  Alasdair didn’t reply but the furrows in his brow deepened. “Do you really think the healer is gone?”

  “I don’t know.�
�� She was already hitting the redial button. A loud, obnoxious busy signal sounded in her ear. “Damn,” she muttered, hung up, and turned back to him, hoping she looked and sounded more confident than she felt. “I’ll try her again in a few minutes. You rest while I’ll make you some toast. Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry for you, but I’ll settle for toast,” he said, with a ghost of his old smile.

  “Incorrigible.” She bent to kiss him gently then looked at his torso. Fortunately she still had some of the Teflon pads and bandaging from when he’d first been injured, but she’d have to run out to the pharmacy for more if she didn’t get hold of Rob soon.

  While waiting for Alasdair’s toast she tried calling Rob’s office again. The line was still busy. Stacy had said she’d have to make a lot of calls to cancel Rob’s appointments, but the blaring busy signal made her uneasy.

  She stared out the window at the beach. Yesterday had been golden and glorious, but overnight the weather had done a complete about-face. Sullen gray clouds hung low in the sky, and tendrils of fog reached and withdrew across the sand like groping hands. The very air felt heavy and foreboding, as if a storm were lurking offshore, waiting to pounce. She turned away with a little shiver, finished buttering Alasdair’s toast, and brought it upstairs.

  Alasdair lay as she’d left him, his eyes closed and his mouth tight as if he were holding back a grimace of pain. She set down her tray and dragged up a chair beside him. “Do you want to eat now?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes. “Toast. I’d been thinking how much I was going to miss toast when I left.”

  “You’re not going anywhere for now, so you might as well enjoy it.” She helped him sit higher in the bed then peered at his side again. The bandaging would need changing by lunchtime if his wound were still oozing at the same rate.

  Alasdair managed a slice of toast and some tea but shook his head when she offered more. “Maybe later,” he said, and closed his eyes. “Tired.”