Under an Enchantment: A Novella
Page 9
Ailie stood in the middle of the shanty, her face in darkness, and Domnhall’s motionless body lay between them. She looked at Malcolm, and her voice was soft, and very sane. “Catriona?” she said.
And then Torquil reached her, pulling her into his arms, hiding her face against his burly shoulders as if to shield her from the sight of Domnhall’s body, the blood flowing from underneath him, soaking the sealskins. He glared at Malcolm, and it took all Malcolm’s self-control not to leap over the body of his fallen nemesis and rip Ailie from his arms. “Who the hell are you, MacLaren?”
“Catriona MacDugald’s son.”
Torquil’s ruddy face turned pale. “I didn’t believe Collis when he came for me. You’re here for vengeance, lad, but you’re too late. Your father’s dead these last six weeks.” Ailie lifted her head to look at him, and in the gathering daylight he could see the mark of Domnhall’s fists on her pale face. There was no daftness in her face now as full understanding of who and what he was hit her. Just a dark, impossible sorrow.
It didn’t matter, Malcolm told himself, ignoring the searing pain in his heart. He’d come for one reason, and one reason alone, and he meant to have the answer. “Who gave the order?” he demanded. “Who paid the seal hunter to take my mother and cast her into the sea?”
Torquil shook his head. “Ye’ll not believe it, lad, but Duncan paid him good money to take her to the mainland and see her safely settled. None of us meant her ill.”
“You can’t prove it.”
“No,” said Torquil, releasing Ailie to face him bravely. “And I’m supposing you’ll want your vengeance on me as well. Or did taking a poor daft maid prove vengeance enough?”
She was so pale. He wanted to go to her, to kiss the bloom back into her cheeks, he wanted to hear her singing her mad songs about Bonnie Prince Charlie. He’d taken her innocence, not in the taking of her maidenhead, but the betraying of her trust. She was better off with the old man who’d love and care for her.
“Vengeance enough,” he said. And he turned and walked away.
Ailie Wallace Spens said not a word as Torquil led her back to the dower house. She barely paid heed to his soothing words, the promise of a swift wedding should there be an early bairn, the promise of devotion and forgiveness and cherishing and love. He’d watch over her, would Torquil, hold her so close she couldn’t breathe. She was a lucky woman, she told herself, and a fool to greet for a man who’d lied and betrayed her.
Margery took her to her room, fussing and crooning over her. The bath was warm and soothing, but Ailie refused to get in it until she was left alone. She wanted no curious eyes assessing the changes in her body. She sank into the scented warmth, closing her eyes and letting the memories come.
Torquil, Angus, and Fiona were busy arranging a swift marriage. The dominie would oblige, given the circumstances, and if there was talk on the island, well, after all, it was only mad Ailie.
Margery had laid the clothes out on her bed. Black, sober garb, with heavy black stockings and shoes. Even the corset had black trim, a corset to tie her up and lace her in and keep her prisoner.
He’d loved her. Selkie or no, out for vengeance or justice, he’d loved her, she knew it deep in her soul. She could stay here in safety and comfort, and slowly strangle to death. Or she could run to him and risk everything.
She rose steaming from the tub, looking down at her woman’s body. It was different now. It was no longer her own, it was his as well. And it would never, never be Torquil’s.
She locked the door, then shoved a chair under it. She moved to her cupboard, but all her colorful clothes were gone. It was the sight of those black clothes that decided her, drab and dour and lifeless. Torquil loved her, but he’d end up destroying her. Better to destroy herself in her last chance at happiness.
She dressed in her drab clothes, for the last time, then went out the window. It was getting on toward midday, and she hadn’t time to waste. He might be gone already, but something, old Morag perhaps, told her there was still time. She scrambled down the vines and was off, the black shoes pinching her feet, heading for the tumbledown house that had belonged to her lad’s family.
It was empty. The sheets lay tumbled on the bed, stained with the blood of her innocence, and she found she could smile. She wanted to rip them from the bed and hang them from the window to announce her triumph, but she hadn’t the time to waste. She ran back from the house, singing as she went.
Collis sat outside his croft, his mangy dog at his feet. “He’s gone, lass,” he said when she raced up to him.
“Where?”
“You dinna want a lad like that one. He came to hurt ye. He came for vengeance. Not that I blame him—his mother was a sweet one, who didn’t deserve what happened to her. But he shouldna touched you. I told him that. I told him making war on women was a shameful business, and I thought he listened.”
“Where is he, Collis?”
“Down by yon cove. That’s where he left his boat when he first came here. He’s no a selkie, lass. He didna come from the sea for ye.”
“He did, Collis. Fine I know it, and I’m away with him. Tell Torquil he needs a meek and douce lass, who’ll give him bairns and never shame him.”
Collis rose, worry creasing his ancient face. “You’d never shame a man, mistress.”
“I’d never shame Malcolm, Collis. He came for me, whether he knows it or not. Wish me luck.”
He shook his head, but there was the faint trace of a reluctant grin on his face. “You’re daft, lass.”
“Haven’t they always said so?” And she took off down the winding path to the small cove as fast as her tightly shod feet could take her.
He was already out into the surf when she reached the sand. It was a small, trim boat, and he was more than adept at it, handling it in the waves with an expert touch.
“Selkie,” she called, but the wind took her voice and hurled it away. His back was toward her, and he was looking out to the sea, to his home.
She threw herself down on the sand and began to rip her shoes off, throwing them away. She’d half a mind to tear off her clothes as well, but he was moving farther and farther away, and she couldn’t take the time.
“Malcolm!” she shrieked, and ran into the surf.
This time he heard her. The wind whipped his long black hair and hurled it in his face, and his expression was both shocked and unreadable.
“Go back!” he shouted to her.
“I can’t.”
“I’m no good for you,” he said desperately. “I’m wild and selfish. Go back to Torquil. He loves you.”
“So do you, Malcolm. I belong with you. By land or by sea, selkie, I’m coming with you.” The water was cold, lapping up around her thighs, the surf slapping against her, dragging her down with the heavy skirts, but still she came on.
“Are you mad, Ailie?” he shouted furiously. “You’ll drown!”
“Mad for you, selkie. You will not let me drown.” As if to mock her certainty, a wave came up and knocked her over, and she was down under the chilly brine.
She let herself drift for a moment, willing for what fate had in store for her. It would be easy enough to be pulled down, out to sea by the tide and the current and her heavy black clothes that were too much like a shroud. If Malcolm didn’t want her, she’d let the sea take her, and she might end up a selkie after all.
The hands were hard, hurting, as he hauled her to the surface, and his expression was glittering with rage. He said not a word, wrapping his strong arm around her shoulders and hauling her through the rough water. Hauling her toward his drifting boat, not toward the shore.
He pushed her up and over the side, so that she landed in a frozen, sodden pile in the middle of the small boat, and then he came up after her, surging over the side with the grace of a seal, to collapse beside her, panting, furious, pulling her into his arms to rest against his hard, warm, wet body.
“If you ever do such a mad thing again,” he said in
a tight, furious voice, “I’ll beat you.”
She smiled against his chest. “Nay,” she said. “You wouldna beat your poor daft wife, Malcolm.”
“Who says I’m marrying you?” He pushed the wet hair away from her face and kissed her eyelids. “I should throw you back into the sea.”
“You came for me, selkie. You’ll wed me, and you’d best not take your time with it. We’ll have a bairn in nine months’ time, and people will gossip enough. Fetching a wife from the sea is unco’ strange.”
He cupped her face and looked down at her, and the smile on his face was like nothing she’d ever seen. Full of love and peace, and future. “Not in my family,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her. “It’s a tradition. Let’s away, love. Before we both freeze to death.”
He released her, reluctantly, and wrapped her in a thick wool blanket that lay stowed beneath the bench before he took hold of the sail and set them on their course once more.
Ailie watched him, his graceful, efficient movements. “I’ll wear shoes for you,” she said suddenly, overwhelmed with love. “I’ll bind my hair and lower my eyes and sing no more Jacobite songs.”
He glanced at her, and his sea-green eyes were full of love and longing. “I thought you loved me, lass. That’s not the way to prove it. You wear what you want, sing what you want, give me bairns, and make me laugh. We’ll tell the people of Glen Corrie that you’re the selkie. I fetched you from the sea, and if you’re a bit strange, it’s no concern of theirs.”
“Malcolm,” she said, rising to her knees, the happiness spilling out of her. “I do love you.”
“And I love you, lass, though it makes no sense. You’ll make me a glorious wife if you don’t drive me mad first.” He leaned down and kissed her, full on the mouth, and he tasted of icy seawater and a wondrous future. He pulled her against him tightly, his arm holding the rough blanket around her, and as he looked down at her his dark, haunted face was light and joyful.
She flung her arms around him and kissed him back, and the sound of their laughter echoed over the sea as he steered the boat into the sunset, into the bright, blazing future.
Table of Contents
Under An Enchantment
Dear Reader,
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6