The Selkie

by Rosanna Leo

  Look in the places that meant the most to me.

  Tentatively, as if she were being watched, Maggie took a step into the living room. Gran had an antique chest, one that had been reclining in the corner longer than Maggie had been alive. She knelt before it, unlatched the rusty latch, and raised the lid. She winced at the loud creak. The smell of old mothballs greeted her. With her nose wrinkled, Maggie reached in and burrowed through the worn blankets and clothing Nora had stopped wearing in the seventies.

  “Go-go boots? Please tell me these weren’t yours, Gran.”

  There was a noise somewhere outside. Without even thinking, Maggie pulled out her arm and slammed the lid shut. She quickly fastened the old latch. Then, without understanding why, she ran around the small house, locked the door, and shut all the blinds. Only after she was satisfied that no one was about, did she make her way back up to bed.

  Yet, as tired as she was, she still could not sleep.

  * * * *

  “More wine, please, Annette,” called Calan from his place at the end of the bar, “and another oyster platter.”

  The pub waitress did her best shimmy as she approached him with an inviting smile. “Why, Calan Kirk, that’ll be your third oyster platter tonight.” She leaned over his table, giving him an eyeful of carefully propped-up cleavage. “Are you fortifying yourself for the evening’s adventures?” She reached out a finger to twine in his long hair.

  He pulled away, but gave her what he hoped was a kind grin. “Not tonight, pet.”

  Human women. The grasping, gullible creatures.

  She pouted, her rouged lips curling into a perfect, little pucker. “But it’s been so long since you visited me.”

  It had been a while. Months, to be cock-teasingly precise. And for someone with his appetites, it was a bloody sacrifice. But as much as a mere whiff of Annette’s perfume used to tighten his trousers, now the sight of her ample bosom left him limp. And it was all Nora MacLean’s fault. Damn that meddling, old woman.

  Calan swallowed. He hated making women sad, even the human variety. The very idea grated on his fraught nerves, but it was best to make a clean break of it. “Annette, you know it has to end. We’ve talked about this.”

  The waitress blanched. “Is it another woman?”

  Shite. He didn’t even know how to answer that question. Was there another woman? Was it possible that Maggie Collins was more than just a tempting dream? Or was she a sin-inspiring succubus sent by the devil himself to torment him?

  Why did his life sometimes seem like an endless cycle of trying to escape those soft-skinned beauties?

  He knew the Collins lass was in Kirkwall. It didn’t take long for news to spread on the island, and the place was abuzz with word of Nora’s Canadian granddaughter. He just hadn’t been able to seek her out in person yet, despite his promise to Nora.

  He needed Maggie to do a little something for him first.

  How on earth would he introduce himself to the petite redhead? Not that introductions would be required. Surely, she’d recognize him as the stranger she’d been having intense, sexual dreams of for months. As the creature who’d been haunting the periphery of her fantasy world, egging her on in her nighttime touch fest because it aroused him as much as her.

  He shook his head, wishing he’d never lost that damned card game and subsequently, the pelt. It would teach him to drink and gamble at the same time. But he’d made an oath to the dying woman, hoping to appease her, when all he’d wanted was the pelt.

  When Nora had found his pelt on the beach during one of his swims, he’d thought he’d have to entertain the stout, old woman. She’d gotten a strange look in her cloudy eyes then, telling him she wanted him to please her lonely granddaughter instead. He’d explained the magic only compelled him to pleasure the finder of the skin.

  “So be it, Calan,” Nora had answered. “You are obliged to pleasure me. However, I daresay my old parts will not accommodate yours, and I shan’t break another hip. Therefore, the only thing that will give me pleasure is if you satisfy my Maggie.”

  The cagey, old woman had found an interesting loophole.

  He’d sputtered and griped but it had been hard to argue with her logic. After all, in doing this, he’d be pleasing Nora and the magic would be appeased. Still, he’d argued his point, feeling put in his place.

  Nora had tittered. “Poor lad. Would it ease your mind if we played poker for it? If you win, I’ll give you the pelt. If I win, you take care of Maggie.”

  “A tad unorthodox,” he’d grumbled. Still, he’d agreed, thinking he’d trounce the old bird.

  It hadn’t quite gone that way. Nora had plied him with booze, and he’d lost in a spectacular fashion. The deal had been done. It was his duty to lavish Maggie with some selkie attention, and to look after her, as Nora had requested.

  Because he could tell the old woman was dying, he’d given her his word.

  And now, for some bizarre reason, he couldn’t think straight for thoughts of Maggie. Even though he’d only glimpsed her in dreams. Not that it really mattered how he glimpsed her. For someone like him, dreams were a powerful method of communication. Why, he’d carried on entire conversations with family members in his dreams! And now, he felt as if he already knew Maggie, not that he’d asked to know her, although they hadn’t spoken a single word to each other in the conscious world.

  In his dream life, they’d done a lot more than just speak. And that was the only thought nowadays that put a bulge in his pants.

  “I asked you a question, Calan.”

  He looked up at the barmaid. Damn. He’d forgotten all about her. “I’m sorry, Annette, really I am.” He offered her the charming smile that had raised the skirts of many a barmaid over the years. “But I’ll take that wine and the oyster platter as soon as you’re ready, pet.”

  Dumbstruck, Annette stumbled away to place the order.

  Calan downed the last scrumptious drop of the red wine in his glass, and his thoughts returned to Maggie Collins. What was it about the woman? Ever since Nora had told him her story, she’d intruded into his dreams. He remembered his brother Angus having that experience when he met his mate Elsie.

  Now that was a scary thought.

  Angus had been immediately smitten with Elsie and had been following her like a wee pup ever since. Calan had never envisioned himself in that life. If Angus wanted to chain himself to a woman, and a human one to boot, so be it, but that wouldn’t be his fate. For so many years, he’d been more loner, than lonely. He was happy being on his own, shagging whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Living wherever his fancy took him. He was a nomad. A Gypsy.

  An animal, just as Maggie fancied him in her dreams. And the wee thing didn’t know the half of it.

  And the animal in him wanted his damned pelt back. But he wouldn’t get it until he fulfilled his promise to Nora, and that promise involved meeting Maggie in the flesh.

  And, by Freyja’s ponderous tits, he was a man who kept his promises. Even the ones made to the blasted humans.

  In this case, he certainly had to. Not only was he frustratingly curious about the Canadian redhead, he also needed to go home. It had been ages since he’d returned to his home under the waves and it was calling to him. A summons so strong it was practically a command.

  To say nothing of his brother’s situation. Angus had come to him in a dream not long ago, letting him know that Elsie would soon give birth to their firstborn. A huge event in a selkie family, one that all family members attended out of tradition. Angus was the closest of all his brothers, like a second father, and he really wanted Calan there for the birth. Calan couldn’t disappoint him.

  But he couldn’t go home without the pelt. He might be an excellent swimmer, but it was the pelt’s power that allowed him to stay underwater for more than a few moments at a time. Without it wrapped around his body, he was as good as landlocked. Sure, he kept a home on land, and could be quite comfortable for a time. However the pull of the sea wa
s great and no earthly home would ever be as welcoming as the embrace of the waves.

  He just had to hide the skin better next time. The day he’d lost it to Nora, he’d taken it off so he could sunbathe on a boulder. It had been an unseasonably warm day and after a time, he’d felt the need to dip his toes in the waves again. Damn him for not hiding the pelt better! He’d only gone out waist-deep to cool off, but by the time he noticed Nora creeping up on him, she already had the skin in her wrinkled hands.

  He’d been foolish. But when he’d seen the old woman collecting seashells down the beach, he never dreamed she’d try to collect a selkie while she was at it.

  Annette arrived with a new oyster platter and a more than a hint of desperation in her eyes. She dropped it in front of him and proceeded to flirt shamelessly with another man at the bar for his benefit. Calan breathed in deeply. He hated breaking it off with a woman. He knew, without any immodesty, that losing someone like him could be devastating to a human. He’d seen it happen countless times. Every time a lass thought she’d sunk her claws into him for good, he’d had to go. A man like him didn’t want to be tied down, not to one place, and certainly not to one woman. It was against his nature.

  It was bad enough being forced to stay with one when he couldn’t find his pelt. When there was no compulsion to stay, his need to escape was heightened.

  And what of it? There was no law against being a happy bachelor.

  He looked away from the barmaid who was practically sitting on the other man now, so intent was she on gaining Calan’s attention. No matter. He couldn’t afford to worry about Annette now. He had bigger fish to fry and a pelt to find. If he had to, he’d seduce it right out of the Collins woman’s pretty hands.

  Of course, without the pelt, he couldn’t give her the whole show, couldn’t do a full transformation for her. And if there was anything he’d learned about women, it was that they appreciated a bit of theater. They loved the idea of an animal becoming man for them. He wouldn’t be able to show Maggie his true selkie face, but he supposed he could harness his powers to fake it a little.

  He picked up an oyster shell and slurped the delicious contents down with resolve.

  It was time to meet Miss Maggie. In person.

  Chapter 2

  “And so, dear friends, let us bow our heads and pray for our sister, Nora.”

  Maggie listened to the minister, her mind clouded by grief. As each heart-wrenching moment passed, Maggie felt more numb. It was lovely to hear so many friends paying tribute to her gran, but it didn’t deaden the pain.

  “Now we’ll hear a few words of tribute from Nora’s granddaughter, Maggie,” the minister said.

  She stared, unblinking, and then jumped when she realized he was talking about her. Taking a big sniff, she slid out of the pew and shuffled toward the lectern as a zombie with a full stomach would toward a brain. She took her place, cleared her throat into the microphone, and winced at the feedback.

  The door at the back of the church opened with a sonorous, echoing creak. Maggie looked up.

  Standing there, red in the face and puffing, was Matthew. As all the silver-and blue-rinsed heads in the pews turned toward him, he gave Maggie an embarrassed little wave.

  Of all the…

  What was he doing in Scotland? Sure, Maggie knew Matthew wasn’t taking the breakup well. She’d attributed it to the fact that, in a bizarre twist of fate, life hadn’t been treating him too kindly lately. She’d heard through the grapevine that Caitlyn had made a formal complaint against him at work. In the drama that ensued, the atmosphere had become so uncomfortable Matthew had been forced to quit. The Toronto HR world was smaller than it seemed and Matthew hadn’t found a job since.

  Devastated by the loss of employment, and perhaps feeling the hand of divine retribution, he’d come looking for Maggie several times to apologize and make things better. In fact, he hadn’t stopped pestering her since the office fellatio incident. He’d always been the sort who never understood what he had until he lost it. But to haul his flabby ass across the ocean?

  Inconceivable.

  For a flash of a moment, she wondered if he’d come because he thought he could cash in on her inheritance. He wouldn’t, would he?

  Maggie stared at her ex. He was good-looking in a clean-cut way, with his tidy, sandy hair and earnest blue eyes. Matthew was smart and capable. He could be successful again if he put his mind to it.

  Why didn’t he just move on? Surely he wasn’t that distraught over losing her? Not with other women lining up to kneel before him. Of course, he’d come from nothing. Perhaps the idea of having nothing again scared him.

  The minister cleared his throat. She was supposed to be eulogizing Gran. But now the words were failing her. She stuttered and blinked and mumbled something unintelligible about sugar cookies. Finally, the solicitous Liz and Phyllis took pity on her and led her back to the pew. She remained cozily phalanxed between them for the rest of the service, glad of their glares at the interloper Matthew.

  At the reception afterward, the two ladies took care of her and didn’t let Matthew anywhere near her. They plied her with food she didn’t eat. Regaled her with stories she

  barely heard. Protected her in their way.

  “If that so-and-so thinks he’s getting anywhere near you, I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” Liz threatened, her wrinkled knuckles curling around her purse handle.

  For a moment, Maggie wondered if Liz would brain him with the handbag. She knew for a fact the old lady stowed a bottle of gin in there, so it would hurt.

  Phyllis narrowed her eyes at Matthew as he loitered near the sandwich table, trying not to appear conspicuous amongst the horde of pensioners. “Men,” Phyllis muttered. “You can’t trust them, Maggie. Mother always said so. You leave this one to us.”

  But at the end of the exhausting day, Maggie felt the need to escape. Silently, so that her helpful lady wardens didn’t see her, she exited and made her way back to the house. She threw on a jacket and her gran’s Wellingtons and headed to the nearby beach. As eager as she was for a chance to grieve in peace and quiet, she was also anxious for an opportunity to escape Matthew’s presence. And, she had to admit, she was eager to elude the doting old girls. They’d saved her from having to talk to Matthew, but had been driving Maggie crazy since she’d arrived in Kirkwall. Liz kept trying to feed her, and Phyllis made constant attempts to clean Nora’s house for her.

  Even given her frame of mind, Maggie didn’t quite have the heart to tell them she just wanted to be alone.

  She wandered the quiet stretch of beach, lonely as it was in the evening. In a strange way, she was happy to stare into its chilly waters again. She drew her anorak about her to fend off the breeze that was ever-present, even now at the height of summer.

  Her sore eyes narrowed as she focused in on a bobbing, brown head on the watery horizon a hundred feet away from her. She grinned, and then closed the distance between them by a few feet. “Hi, big guy.”

  Out in the water, the large seal watched her with as much interest as she did it. It had huge, limpid eyes, and Maggie could have sworn it was grinning back at her. Even at such a distance, she could see it was as fascinated with her and she was with it.

  It reminded her of the seal-man in her sexy dreams. That strange creature who’d watched her with unrelenting interest and more than an undertone of sensuality. The dream man who, over the course of a few months, had watched as she’d bared her soul and her sex to him. She’d never acknowledged it before, even to herself, but the dream seal-man made her uncomfortable. The same sort of uncomfortable she’d felt when she was sixteen and Steven O’Dowd felt her up under the school bleachers.

  It was an awakening.

  But Steven had been a horny, teenage boy. This was a seal. An animal. How weird was that? Hoping very much that she wasn’t developing some sort of weird marine-life fetish, Maggie tried to put the dream seal out of her mind and allowed her thoughts to drift.

 
She continued to meander down the beach, taking the odd swig from a flask of brandy she’d pilfered from Nora’s stocked liquor cabinet. However, Maggie soon realized the real seal was following her. With each step she took, he glided through the water as if in step with her.

  She nodded toward it. “You’re sweet, but I’m probably not the best playmate for you right now.”

  She’d seen seals on the beach before with her gran. The locals were always pointing out spots where one could glimpse the sleek animals, or “selkies” as they called them.

  But this one seemed persistent. He seemed to stare back at her, with intensity. As a human would. As if he knew her.

  As if he knew every inch of her skin, as well as its feel.

  Maggie swallowed. Had she turned against men so definitively that she was turning to the animal kingdom?

  And then she laughed at the ludicrous thought. She was grieving. For a lot of things. No wonder her brains felt just as scrambled as Liz’s breakfast eggs and just as dark as the black pudding she’d plopped on the plate next to them.

  “Okay.” She relented, smiling at the seal. “Maybe some company might be nice.”

  The animal bobbed in the water, seemingly in agreement. Maggie stared out at the beast, and was lost for a second in his brown eyes. She felt comforted, protected, by his vigilant presence.

  For some reason, she felt she knew him, and that she was meant to be in this exact spot at this precise time. For a quick moment, she had the impression she was standing on the edge of a huge cliff, destined to tumble from its heights into the welcoming waves below.

  For the first time in her life, Maggie experienced a peculiar sense of destiny.

  But then, deciding the brandy was getting the better of her, she dismissed the notion as utter nonsense. There was no destiny. No fate. It was up to her to create her own fate. And it certainly wasn’t with a big, hairy seal.