Bride From the Sea

by Frances Housden

  ‘Ach, lassie, yer a temptation but one I must resist,’ he groaned as he placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her toward the door, her head spinning, dazed by the experience of Niall’s mouth draining her will.

  A large hand slapped her bottom, cushioned by her skirts, yet shocking and as recognisable as one of the little taps he gave his daughters whilst they were being cheeky. Temper spiked and she spun on her heel to see him laughing again.

  ‘Off ye go now and let me get on. I’ll see all of ye at supper.’

  The door closed behind her and her indignation cooled as she reached the head of the stairs. This was Niall’s house, his land, his world. Spain and its strict courtesies were far away across the seas, and if she wished to survive, she needed to blend into the customs and mores of a new land.

  Niall

  Guid God, I’m the one that’s daft. I kissed her, and aye, would have done more if I hadnae looked up and spied that bluidy tapestry.

  Niall had avoided this room on his return from France. It smelled too much of Flora, and until he had placed the Selkie there, he hadnae realised it was almost like cocking a snook at his late wife. She hadnae died in her bed; nae, she had tumbled down the stairs and broken her neck. After remembering the argument they had had that last day, he’d had a suspicion she had done it intentionally. He’d done his best to turn a blind eye, believing her spendthrift ways were meant to keep them apart. Now it seemed Flora stepped into her lover’s arms the moment he left.

  Last night that truth had convinced him the proof had to be in her chamber. Aileen had said naught had been touched in Flora’s chamber since the day she was buried. He knew how his late wife’s mind worked, knew she tossed very little away. Even after she had given a gift, Flora always found a way to remind the recipient of her generosity. In his instance, she had loved to bring up how she had brought him the Keep with her dowry, an amount he had repaid over and over again with his sword and his blood.

  Striding across the chamber to the big chest, he lifted the lid and the bits and pieces Aileen had hidden by the shawls he had brought home from his trip to France. They werenae the first he had bargained for with a favour, mainly knick knacks such as the ivory fan Flora had never used, broken and stained a dried brown. He tossed it on the floor, and the farther he dug into the contents, the more disgusted he felt. What need had Flora for a small cat-o-nine-tails, the fierce black leather mask and the vicious silver dagger with its prick-shaped handle.

  He sweated profusely by the time he found the last item, a carved wooden box that gave off the scent of her favourite perfume, a heavy mix he’d always felt more suited to an aulder woman. Opening the box, he removed a bundle of letters tied with a black ribbon, as if in mourning for their owner.

  He unfolded and read them every one, the parchment crackling in his fingers, for some were auld, written long before they had married. By the time he had finished, his gut ached with the need to vomit.

  ‘Christ’s blood,’ he cursed aloud for imagining one of his precious daughters discovering and reading the filth, staining her young mind the way it marked his soul. Most of what he now considered vile contents could be burned, the chest as well, the whip and knife he would throw into the deepest part of the bay from the end of the peninsula. Gordon he would hang for theft and corruption, for naught would convince him that as a bonnie wee lass as innocent as his daughters, Flora hadnae been the victim of his steward’s wiles.

  For a moment, he wished he’d left the shawl he had given the Selkie where it was, atop the chest; then common sense assured him Flora had never handled the bonnie silken squares, only Aileen.

  He ripped one of the bed curtains off and wrapped a lot of the contents inside so nae one could easily poke through them. The dagger and whip were rolled in a strip of scarlet bedcover he sliced off the end with his skean dhu, and tucked them in the small dressing room until he could dispose of them.

  As he dashed down the stairs to order a pair of his men to carry the kist outside, he pictured Aileen looking at him askance, imagining him gone mad, but not even she could ken the truth. The whole truth that was … hell, he didnae mind being thought a cuckold as long as the rest didnae come out.

  Niall watched two of his stronger fighting men carry the chest outside the courtyard and over the brae into the next wee brae where a wee stand of trees grew, and ordered them to cut pine branches, piling them about the kist into a bonfire.

  Nae doubt they thought it was grief driving him. If his eyes were red, it was because they were dry, as if the blood in his veins had stopped flowing. Niall didnae give a damn what they thought, as long as none but him was aware of the kind of woman he had married.

  After he was satisfied, he left them on guard and walked back to the Keep. He had already warned Aileen to make sure all the lasses stayed inside and away from the windows. As he strode over the brae a little voice at the back of his mind urged him to fight Gordon and put him to the sword, however that was his true nature speaking, his conscience. He had watched men hang while on the continent: deserters, thieves. What Gordon had done was worse than aught he could think on, and a clean steel blade was too guid for him.

  Mind made up, he increased his speed. He had a hanging to arrange, and he wanted it done before the end of day.

  Chapter 8

  Celestina

  A pall settled over Inverbrevie. There had been a hanging the night before while Aileen kept them all close to the Keep. Most of the occupants and clansfolk of the Inverbrevie were bewildered by Niall’s actions.

  Sitting at the kitchen table with the three lasses, Celestina could not avoid noticing how nervous they all were. For instance, Fiona’s spoon rattled against her porridge bowl more often than it ever touched her lips. As soon as Niall entered the warm kitchen with its brick-vaulted ceiling, the lasses pounced. ‘Was Gordon the murderer, Pa.’

  ‘Is it safe to go out again?’

  ‘Gordon was Mam’s friend. Why did he have to die?’ Ygraen the eldest asked and, to Celestina’s mind, reached the heart of the matter, for none there knew what the steward had done that warranted being hanged.

  ‘Enough.’ Niall’s command brought immediate silence, and everyone in the kitchen, cook and maids included, stopped and turned to watch, waiting; and inside the kitchen, the heat seemed to quiver from the tension they all exuded—even Celestina, for surely no one could question that she too felt the strain that had caused a deal of hand wringing.

  Aileen walked up behind Ygraen and curled her palm round the eldest girl’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, as if making up for Niall’s mishandling of the lass.

  ‘All of ye listen and listen well. Gordon wasnae the murderer, but I discovered he has been stealing from me, which means he has been stealing from every man, woman and child at Inverbrevie. Ye must all be well aware that I’ve been hiring both my sword and those of the Sept’s fighting men to the French, ensuring that none here starved. However, the fault was mine. I indulged Flora’s whims, felt sorry for dragging her away from her friends in Stirling. Gordon took advantage of that.’ His gaze drifted to Celestina’s face, which she kept placid—a difficult task, but it would not do for her to give her fears away at this crucial stage. He had just hanged one miscreant. What would he do to a Spanish imposter?

  ‘Yesterday—more fool me—I discovered a hoard any pirate would have been proud of. The pity of it is, he must have spent most of the silver we had earned indulging his rich tastes—’

  ‘I saw that furniture when I served him. I just thought the mistress had given it him,’ Jean cut in, unaware of the danger she continually put herself in by being unable to hold her tongue.

  ‘As my steward—one, I might remind ye, recommended by Flora’s father—I put my trust in Gordon. From this day forward, I will take care of all of the Keep’s business myself. Any problems, bring them to me.’ Niall drew up his shoulders, appearing taller, bulkier, his shadow looming over all who sat round the table. ‘That said, Gordon wasna
e the murderer, which means the restrictions still apply. Dinnae be wandering around the Bailey, and definitely dinnae go outside the walls without a guard.’

  Fiona’s lips quivered, but nobody spoke as he left the room.

  Lips crimped together, Aileen took a moment to let her gaze touch them one by one before giving in to the annoyance sitting behind her eyes. ‘Ye heard him. Dinnae have me to be telling yer father his daughters disobeyed.’

  Silence—a strange occurrence in a room full of females, most of them studying the table-top until Ygraen, pouting, said, ‘I liked Gordon,’ and everyone looked at her.

  Celestina followed suit but naturally appeared puzzled, since she had put herself in this situation of apparently being unable to understand, and was beginning to hate herself for it. She had never met people who accepted her unconditionally. In Spain, bloodline and wealth came first, and an English mother had counted against her. Yet look at her now. She had been welcomed into Inverbrevie—no matter that they were under the impression that she was a magical creature, a Selkie.

  As usual, Aileen took it on herself to resolve the problem. ‘Ach, lassie I dinnae blame ye, he was always plausible, but that’s how yon kind of folk, rogues, get away with it, he was sleekit. Think on how ye would feel if he’d come in here and took yer porridge off ye and kept it to himself, for that’s what he was doing, taking the food out of our mouths, only we didnae see it happening.’

  Celestina had become better at reading people by their expressions, and no matter that Aileen had a soft lilt to her voice, her eyes had the same steely glint she remembered in her father’s when some hidalgo tried to take advantage of his good nature. Yes, they had been rich, but her father had worked hard and honourably for his wealth—the truth was, his marriage to an English woman had haunted him and his good name.

  And Celestina.

  Niall

  So nae doubt his lasses thought him bad, mean, mad even. He couldnae find it in him to care. Gordon—devil take him—had left this earthly dominion and now Niall intended to obliterate every last sign that he had ever been there.

  He reached for the tapestry, tugged hard, uncaring whether it ripped, and tossed it onto the pile his men were carrying outside the Bailey, ready to burn. When not a particle was left, he would leave it to the four winds to scatter the ashes. Two of the men awkwardly carting the table through the door, cast him another sideways glance as the tapestry hit the flagstones. Being typical Scots, such blatant waste was a crime in their eyes. Hell, it was anathema to him, there was a fist in his gut clutching his innards that reminded him he had paid guid silver for every last one of the expensive possessions he was about to destroy.

  Seeing the Selkie standing in the doorway that the table had just scraped through—probably the worse for wear now, the way his men had struggled to make it fit through—for a moment he felt like smiling. She had that effect on him.

  ‘I thought I said all you lasses should stay inside the Keep.’ The words had barely left his lips when it dawned on him that chances were that nae one had explained it to the lass, but that notion disappeared as soon as he realised she was alone. He strode to the door and gripped the frame higher than Celi’s head and frowned down at her then scanned the Bailey, still hoping to see an escort.

  ‘What?’

  She might have few words, but she certainly managed to put a lot of expression into that one. He placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke close to her face, but didnae shout. She was too fragile, too gentle to scare when all he wanted to do was kiss her again, but that might be Flora’s betrayal affecting his judgement. ‘Ye shouldn’t be out on yer own.’

  She touched her chest then laid her hand atop his dusty linen shirt. ‘Me and Niall.’

  Niall couldn’t dispute her thinking. ‘Yer learning quick, and since yer here, ye might as well help.’ He pulled her across the space he had already cleared, drew back the curtain concealing the sleeping area and was confronted by the bed. Gut wrenching or not, he couldn’t let himself be intimidated by the use Gordon and his wife had put it to; both adulterers were dead and could nae longer harm him and his family.

  He stopped in front of a painted chest he recognised as French. Tipping back the lid revealed a tray fitted with painted boxes. Opening one he pulled out some very English-looking garters and chucked them onto the pile for burning. The second contained a heavy gold chain and medallion. He showed them to Celestina. The box he threw onto the growing heap of discards; the chain he dropped into a silver bowl then signalled to the lass she should check the rest, hoping she could tell the difference in quality. Meanwhile he dragged the covers off the bed and did what had to be done. Never let it be said he couldn’t face the devil and spit in his face.

  While he dismantled the bed, kicking the posts until they collapsed under the blows, he could hear metal clinking into the silver bowl, and it was all he could do not to turn round and watch her each time the bowl rang like a bell, as if it were calling him.

  It made no difference.

  He could imagine the way she moved, the lithe shape of her body as she bent over the chest to lift out another box, the way her breasts pressed against her bodice enough to flow over the neckline beneath her fichu. His head was full of her as she touched his arm, and his instinct was to gather her into his arms. He had almost acted on it when he heard the soft rustle of parchment. Niall saw another bundle of letters similar to the one he had found in Flora’s chamber except for the colour of the ribbon.

  A glance was enough to tell him the writing was Flora’s. He had seen chicken scratchings more legible. ‘I’ll take care of them,’ he muttered, pushing the letters inside his leather sporran. Not to read—only a masochist enjoyed adding to the pain of being taken for a fool. ‘I thank ye,’ voice gruff; aware he had been a bit abrupt, ‘Lets see what else ye have found.’

  He turned her around, hand on her elbow and dipped his fingers into beads and chains. Apart from the first pendant, naught he imagined a man would wear, they were delicately wrought. However, he could imagine Gordon ransacking Flora’s chamber, gathering up aught of real value. Lying amongst the tangle, a pale blue-green twinkled betwixt strands of gold and silver. Niall hooked his little finger into the bowl and pulled free a chain studded with deep aquamarines the colour of the sea in summer or the Selkie’s eyes. Without further thought, he looped the chain around her neck. ‘Suits ye.’

  Glancing over the top of her head, he noticed Tam had come back. ‘Almost done here; ye can take the stuff on the floor and come back for what’s left.’

  By the time he escorted the Selkie lass back to the Keep, Tam and Jamie had cleaned out all but the chest and the silver bowl. Unlike Gordon, Tam and the others were men he had fought and lived with, men he trusted not to steal from him. He picked up the chest. It at least would burn, and as he carried it out into the Bailey, he couldn’t help thinking of the massive differences he had been shown. Flora’s avaricious nature had made her covet aught that sparkled, made her dance around clutching gifts to her breast, whereas the lass he had found on the beach had simply patted the aquamarines hanging from her neck, a wee smile shaping her lips as he walked her back to where she would be safe with Aileen and his daughters.

  Done with Gordon’s abode, he went out to the cliff where the bonfire was waiting. One by one he lit the letters off a lantern’s flame that Tam had carried out, tucked them amongst the pile and watched them burn. Aye, he could see his men’s eyes widen, surprised that he would destroy his own as if it were plunder belonging to the enemy.

  Only he was aware of the sickening acts that had taken place amongst all the frills and falderals in Flora’s chamber and Gordon’s rooms—a truth that encouraged him to burn aught that a flame would eat and spit out as smoke.

  Chapter 9

  Celestina

  The silver chain warmed against her skin. When Niall looped it about her neck, the cool metal had startled her at first, her heart leaping wildly as his strong fingers lifted the f
ragile chain over her head. She was reminded of the rope of pearls her father had presented to her before he told her she would be going with him on the San Miguel.

  A beautiful bribe, she realised in hindsight, yet she had been flattered. Now the pearls sat inside a silver casket in her cabin with the rest of her precious jewellery, most of which had belonged to her mother, and she did not know how to feel about Niall’s motive for giving her the chain.

  Aileen’s reaction felt more honest. The nurse’s smile was broad, knowing, as she glanced at the necklace and said, ‘Bonnie.’ The lasses never noticed. They sat in morose circle, heads drooping over the fine threads they were tatting to edge kerchiefs: Ygraen ecru, Beth white and Fiona a much handled hue of greyish blue, as it was taking her longer.

  Celestina pulled up a stool and joined the group about the hearth, coughing to attract their attention and, when they looked up, told them haltingly, ‘I want … need to learn more words.’

  Ygraen brightened, and immediately took charge. ‘Listen to ye, Sellie, ye have come on so well.’ From that point on, she conveyed with a show of hands and lots of pointing that Celestina should indicate something in the hall and they would reveal its name—a game that began solemnly, but ended in hilarity. Fiona liked to tease and began to make up names, which her more serious sisters took exception to and corrected, while Aileen’s comments were confined to a lift of a brow.

  Celestina liked to believe Aileen was happy to see her charges’ sad mood dissolve into laughter. Eventually they all slipped out of the great hall, passing the huge entrance doors on the way to the stairs that wound up a curved outside wall at the far end of the Keep. Opposite the entrance, Jean was slipping through a smaller door that, according to Ygraen led to rooms where they were forbidden to play and ended in the kitchen.