by Nina Mason
“While it’s a lovely story,” Cuan said, dissatisfied, “you left out the most important part.”
She blinked her long lashes at him. “What part would that be?”
“The part where he got his wife back.”
“He did not get her back,” said Aerwyna. “For no wife taken by a Finman has ever been returned to her husband.”
This, Cuan could not accept. He had lost Meredith and would not lose Cordelia, too. He just needed to figure out, using the elements of the story, how to get her back from Hether Blether before she was lost to him forever.
“Where can I find the Odin Stone mentioned in the story?”
“The stone is no longer,” Aerwyna told him. “For the man who bought the property upon which it stood broke it apart and used the pieces to build a byre.”
Outrage flared in Cuan’s chest. “Why would he desecrate an object of such sacred importance? Are there not rocks enough to be harvested from the fields of these islands?”
“He did not do it for the rocks,” she said. “He did it to keep his neighbors from crossing his land to visit the stone.”
Such selfishness fisted Cuan’s hands and brought is blood to a boil. Did humans not understand that nature’s abundance belonged at once to all and none? Clearly, they saw her bounty only as something to be bought and sold.
“Why did the farmer take his dagger in hand on his ride over to Eynhallow? Was the weapon purely for protection?—or did it serve some magical purpose?”
“Tradition held that any who saw Eynhallow on its brief appearance should hold something steel while rowing toward the island, never once taking his eyes off its shores. If he managed to place a foot on the shore, the enchantment that hid it from mortal eyes would be broken.”
“What is the significance of the number nine?”
“Nine is a hallowed number.”
“I gathered as much,” Cuan said impatiently, “but I should like to know the reason.”
“Because of the nine worlds through which the sacred tree of life extends.”
Even though he did not understand, he had no time to probe her further. “Will you help me rescue Cordelia? She is the fruit of your womb, after all.”
Aerwyna, wearing a dreamy expression, shifted her gaze to sea. “What would you have me do, Blue Man? For, much as I love and miss my daughter, I have no magical allure where my own people are concerned. I would, however, very much like to see my dear daughter again, should the opportunity present itself.”
Cuan did not ask her why she’d left Cordelia in the first place. For it was the way of things where mermaids were concerned. Getting to his feet, he dusted the sand off his palms. If she could not help him, he would save Cordelia on his own. He just wished he had his trident with him…or his harp, whose golden strings might mesmerize the Finman long enough for him to steal her back. But, alas, the only weapon at his disposal was his voice, and he knew not what affect his singing might have upon a Fin.
“Can you at least tell me in which direction Hether Blether lies—and where I might get my hands on some crosses and salt?”
“Hether Blether lies over there,” she said, pointing northeast, “and you will find on Eynhallow the ruins of an old Christian kirk. There isn’t much left apart from crumbling walls, but the humans who come over from the mainland have been known to leave offerings inside.”
Leaving her on the beach, Cuan circled back the way he’d come. Without shoes, he would tear up his feet on the jagged rocks of the cliff face leading to the bluff. The island was so small, the ruin could not be hard to find or take him long to reach, whichever way he went.
The ruin came into view as soon as his eyes peeked over the low ridge. At first glance, it resembled little more than a roost built of neatly stacked field stone. The same grass covering the majority of the island had begun to take it over. So had the island’s seabird population. Fulmars, Gannets, and Great Skuas perched on every available ledge. The ruin’s roof and window panes—had there been any to begin with—had been removed, leaving it vulnerable to the elements.
Cuan’s hopes withered as he approached the structure. The prospect of finding any useful offerings within undamaged by droppings or weather did not seem promising.
As he drew nearer, the birds took flight in a great flurry of warning screeches and flapping wings. As much as he wanted to assure them he meant no harm, he could not communicate with birds or fishes. Only other marine mammals.
He thought about the whale in the story. Had he been in the farmer’s shoes, he would have known the creature was not real. For whales were gentle creatures, after all, not man-eating beasts. The fire-breathing ketos, on the other hand, would have been harder to dismiss as a mere figment of Finfolk sorcery.
Entering the ruin through a narrow doorway, Cuan stepped into a rectangular nave flanked on either end by ornate stone arches. The eastern arch opened into what must have housed the altar. Through the other was the base of what he guessed had once been a tower.
He walked west, toward the chancel. There, true to Aerwyna’s prediction, was a collection of crosses. Most were crudely made of driftwood and woven seagrass. A larger crucifix with the figure of a dead man attached stood out among them. The cross, fashioned of ebony inlaid with steel, leaned against the stacked-rock wall.
Running his fingers over the smooth, cool figure of the crucified man, Cuan said, “Too bad you did not tell them to honor the earth. But then, you did tell them to love each other and they do not, so perhaps human beings are simply unteachable.”
Seized by a sudden compulsion to pray, Cuan dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Glauckos, god of the sea and father of my race, I ask that you aid me in this quest, which I humbly undertake in the name of goodness, righteousness, and love. I have always done my duty by my clan and the ocean. I have always been a faithful servant to you and the other gods. I have always tried to do what is right and fair, and have never asked for anything in return. Now, however, I ask you to help me, to show me that my loyalty and my sacrifices have not been in vain. I love her, Glauckos, as you loved Scylla. Do not let the Finman do to me what Circe did to you. Do not take her from me. Do not break my heart. Let me have Cordelia. Let me have love. Do not turn your back on me when I need you most.”
After finishing his prayer, he took the steel-embellished crucifix, walked to the northeastern corner of the island, and looked out in the direction of the invisible island. As expected, he saw nothing apart from the churning sea and the spray of the breakers.
He continued to the water’s edge and dug his toes into the wet sand as he tried to think what else he could do. As the brisk, salted breeze ruffled his hair, an idea came to him. If the Finfolk used mists to hide the island, perhaps he could summon a squall to blow the vapor away.
Lifting his face to the sky, he called out, “Gods of my fathers, working together, bring forth a great wind to expose Hether Blether.”
The wind kicked up, whistling in his ears as seawater sprayed his face. Waves crashed over his feet, soaking his jeans to the knees. He raised his arms and shouted at the sky: “Louder and louder I call to thee: Sweep away the mist of my enemy.”
He shut his eyes against the wind, which now blew with gale force. Sand buffeted his bare skin, stinging. His hair whipped his face like a lash. The wind blew hard for several minutes. When at last it calmed, he opened his eyes.
There, rising out of the water, was a small purple island that had not been visible when he’d closed his eyes.
It had to be Hether Blether.
He waded into the surf, his gaze trained on his destination. That part of the story, he assumed was true. The power of the salt and crosses he wasn’t so sure about. Those elements were probably added to the tale by Christian clerics, to discourage the practice of the old ways—beliefs which had connected humans to the sacred in nature. When they turned their backs on their Pagan gods, they also forgot their connection to the ocean, the source of all life.
When the water became too deep to walk, Cuan, still holding the cross, swam on the surface like a frog, his gaze fixed all the while on the purple shores of Hether Blether.
When he reached the surf, two beautiful Finmaids grabbed hold of his legs. They were bare-breasted and beguiling, but he only wanted Cordelia. Kicking them away, he waded toward the beach, ignoring their protests.
Cordelia?
Kew-in?
Where are you?
Bound and gagged in a cottage. Where are you?
Just as he started to tell her he was on his way to help, he heard a terrible roar behind him. Turning, he saw a great fire-breathing basilisk with huge yellow eyes, razor-sharp fangs, and armor-like scales coming toward him out of the surf.
Knowing the ketos to be an apparition, he turned his back and continued walking toward the dunes. At their edge, Finlay Trowbridge appeared out of thin air, startling Cuan. The Finman wore a dark scowl and held a gun.
“If you value your life, you will leave here at once and never return.” Trowbridge growled the words while aiming the gun at Cuan’s chest.
“I’m not leaving here without Cordelia.” Affecting a threatening expression and posture, Cuan advanced on the Finman. “If you have harmed one hair on her head, I will tear you limb from limb with my bare hands and feed you to the sharks like bait.”
“You don’t scare me,” Trowbridge said with a sneer.
Quick as light, Cuan swung the crucifix at the Finman’s head. As it connected with Trowbridge’s temple, he staggered backward, dropping the gun. Both of them dove to retrieve the weapon, but Cuan was faster. Tucking the cross under his arm, he turned the gun on Trowbridge. “Take me to her and pray to your gods I let you live.”
Rather than comply, Trowbridge kicked Cuan hard between the legs, jarring his organs but doing no serious damage. “Nice try…but I’m not built that way.”
The Finman glowered at him. “What are you?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you. As things stand now, it’s merely a very tempting option.”
Saying no more, Trowbridge led the way to the crest of the butte. As the island’s main body came into view, the reason for its purple color revealed itself. The entire expanse was covered in sea heather. There were several boats docked off to the right near an enclave of thatched-roof stone cottages. No other Fins were visible, only a handful of shaggy Shetland ponies grazing on the heather.
“Lead the way—and don’t try any of your tricks, Finman.”
Cuan, keeping the gun on Trowbridge, followed him to one of the cottages. Cordelia was inside, seated in a chair with her hands tied and a piece of cloth in her mouth. Despite her desperate predicament, she appeared admirably calm and collected. Cuan jabbed the pistol’s nose into the Finman’s back as he addressed her telepathically.
Are you all right?
I am now.
Did he hurt you?
He only gave me a bump on the head, but he shot MacInnes.
Is he dead?
I don’t know. I fell overboard right after the gun went off.
Cuan held the gun on Trowbridge as the Finman freed Cordelia from her bindings. When she was safely behind Cuan, he pulled the crucifix out of his armpit and brought it down hard on the Finman’s head. Trowbridge dropped to the floor like a sack of salted fish.
He wasn’t dead, of course, but he’d have a nasty headache when he came around. Killing was too good for him. He’d only come back to live another life, having learned nothing from this one.
“Come on.” Cuan took Cordelia’s arm and, after leading her to the dock, disabled all of the boats except one—a small cabin cruiser to take them back to Ronay.
Not until they were underway—and a safe distance from Hether Blether—did he set the controls to auto-pilot and rise from the captain’s chair. The helm was in an enclosed above-board cabin, which also included a small eating area and a single bench-like bed.
Eyeing the little bed with longing, he crossed to where Cordelia sat at the table. Instead of taking the seat opposite her, he pushed in beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him.
“I would like nothing more than to make love to you,” he said against her hair, “but it probably isn’t a good idea.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she gave him a smile. “It sounds like an excellent idea to me.”
He kissed her the way he’d been longing to for the past half-hour. There were more tasks ahead—paramount among them unveiling the drilling platform, confronting the president of Conch, and alerting the maritime authorities—but right now, they might as well seize these few moments to enjoy each other.
Chapter Fourteen
As Kew-in’s tongue swept into Corey’s mouth, overpowering love and gratitude filled her heart—and the emptiness inside her—a lonely ache that had been there so long she hardly noticed it anymore.
Drawing back, she took a moment to admire him. His skin had been buffed to a sheen by the salt in the water and his hair was a mass of crusted black tangles. She thought back to the time she’d brushed it for him and longed to do so again. In the absence of a hairbrush, she used her fingers to untangle and smooth the snarls as best she could.
“I love your hair, Kew-in.”
“I love everything about you, Cordelia.”
She pressed her lips against his—a tender kiss meant to convey all she felt for him. Powerful emotions she could never put into words. She knew now that she was so magnetically drawn to him not because of some sea-creature sex attractant, but because he completed her. Kew-in improved her by bringing out the best in her. The same way Jared had done.
When she was with Kew-in, she believed in herself, believed in magic, and believed happiness could be hers.
Kew-in’s arms were suddenly around her, his kiss deepening. She’d been wrong all these years. Instead of being the one who got away, Jared was nothing more than a step on the long and lonely journey that brought her to her true destiny.
Her noble merman.
While she lay unconscious in Trowbridge’s boat, she’d had the dream again. Only this time, she did not awaken before her mother reached their destination. It was Ronay. As they surfaced, she saw the white cottage. She also saw herself with Kew-in and two children, a boy and a girl, playing tag with the waves breaking on the shore. She was laughing with her little family like she’d never laughed before.
Wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, she reached between his legs, pleased to find he’d released his erection. As she ran her fingers along the hard length of him, he pressed his bod more firmly into her palm.
Oh, Cordelia. How glad I am you’re safe.
And how glad I am you rescued me.
She parted her lips, inviting his tongue, which he gave her readily. As they kissed, she clung to him. He was her lighthouse beacon, her safe harbor, her seaside retreat from the woes of the world.
Breaking free, he stood and offered her his hand. When she gave him hers, he led her to the narrow bed and helped her to undress. She waited, breathless with need, as he checked their course, seizing the opportunity to admire his shapely backside through his snug jeans.
Returning to her, he stripped off his clothes and squeezed in alongside her. He kissed her open mouthed, giving her his tongue. His body weighed upon hers with a pressure she found arousing. The scent of his skin was affecting, too—a heady mixture of marine and masculine aromas. She squirmed under him until he was fully atop her. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she rocked her pelvis against him in invitation.
Understanding what she needed, he filled her completely, taking his weight on his arms. Her sex clenched around his in welcome. Locking her ankles in his lower back, she pulled herself up, taking him deeper. Shuddering, he buried his face in her neck and began to crash against her like waves on the shore.
She clung to him with hands, feet and sex, blind-drunk with need, striving to keep him. If he left her, she would wither and die. Or so it seeme
d in the glorious throes of shared passion. Whirlpools of sensation swirled within her, blowing apart the very core of her. As the aftershocks rolled through her, he pushed up on his arms. She watched him fall apart, his features contorted by animal pleasure, the black tentacles of his hair hanging around both their heads, his nose and forehead dripping sweat.
Nothing had ever looked more beautiful to her.
* * * *
The first thing Corey noticed as Kew-in turned the boat toward Ronay was that the little rocky bay was empty—of other boats, workmen, booms, and oil. The tanker, too, was gone. Had Conch completed the clean-up in record time or had Peter Blackwell used Finfolk vanishing magic to make it appear as if they’d performed a miracle? Either way, it was clear Conch was going the extra mile to cover its dirty footprints.
The second thing she noticed was the car parked in front of the cottage. The blue Subaru station wagon was the one Donald MacLeod had been driving the night she’d arrived on the island. Hope bloomed in her chest. She wanted to speak to one or both of the MacLeods about staying at the cottage indefinitely. While she’d much prefer to buy it outright, she was willing to rent or lease it long-term. Her inheritance was more than enough to cover the cost.
Speaking of her dad…
She now realized he was not the hero she’d always believed him to be. He’d more or less enslaved her poor mother and had willingly taken part in an unlawful scheme to erect an underwater platform where offshore drilling was prohibited for good reasons. She no longer felt the slightest resentment toward Kew-in and his comrades for the part they’d played in his death. While she wouldn’t go so far as to say her dad deserved what he got, she did think he deserved to be punished for his sins against the sea. All of those involved did, especially Peter Blackwell.
The reminder of her boss tied her gut in knots. Was he still on Benbecula? If so, she needed to find him and give him a piece of her mind. She also needed to quit her job—without giving notice, which he wouldn’t like. But, that was tough shit. There was no way in hell she could continue working for Conch Oil, knowing the company was run by a president who, in addition to being an unbearable narcissist, was also an environmental sociopath.
