by Rosanna Leo
Oh, yeah. To get away from Calan, the love of my life. To find his pelt so I can send him back to Atlantis or wherever he comes from.
She felt like such a fool. Her reasoning had made sense back in the stable. Now it all just seemed rubbish.
Every inch of her skin was screaming to be returned to Calan. Every vein was pumping for him. Each sinew and fiber wanted to wrap itself around him. Her body already believed in him even if her head was fighting against the belief. Even now, she felt him calling to her. His voice was reverberating inside her body and in her head. Making her see pictures she didn’t understand. Forcing her to confront truths she’d never comprehended.
She’d never believed in magic in her life. Even though Gran had peddled all those old myths so long ago, Maggie had never once stopped to think they might contain a grain of truth. And then Calan walked into her life, making her question, making her wonder.
Making her want.
And now, she knew without a doubt there was something else out there. Not in an Area 51 sort of way. No, this was different. Mystical. Ancient. The sort of something that left her dumbstruck, and wanting to believe in fairies and centaurs and giants.
Running from him was causing the greatest, most mind-splitting ache she’d ever suffered. And she didn’t even understand it.
She picked up a handful of sand and tossed it, even though it did nothing to satisfy her need to throw something really big and heavy.
Cursing, she pulled herself up and continued down the beach. Luckily, Nora hadn’t lived far. Indeed, everyone in Orkney seemed to live within twenty minutes of each other. She was already approaching the small rise that led to her gran’s house. It was a stretch of ground that led to a small precipice overlooking the water. Maggie swore she saw storm clouds gathering over the waves, but paid them no attention. Her plan was to grab Gran’s car, head into town, and scour St. Magnus Cathedral, the last spot on the hit list she’d devised with Calan.
The pelt had to be there.
She forced her legs to move her body uphill, as much as it hurt, and approached the bluff. Looking down, so that she didn’t trip again, she ran straight into Matthew.
Her ex looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks and his eyes were wild. He steadied her with his hands. “Whoa, Maggie.”
It occurred to her in that second that his touch had never felt quite so wrong, and Calan’s so right. “What are you still doing here, Matthew? Go home.” She pulled out of his grip and turned away.
He grabbed at her hand and pulled her back. “Oh no you don’t. I came all this way to reconcile with you. You’re not turning your back on me again.”
She looked at him, her eyes burning. “I didn’t ask to reconcile with you. I don’t want to. I don’t even understand why you’re trying so hard. It’s over.”
His grip on her arm tightened. Somewhere out at sea, thunder rumbled.
“Do I need a reason, other than loving you?”
Her shoulders dropped in exasperation. “You don’t love me. You’re just afraid to be on your own. You stopped loving me the moment you contemplated putting your dick down Caitlyn’s gullet.” She shook her head at him. “Just go home and see if you can salvage what’s left of your vacation days.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. It’s time you stopped acting like a child, chasing ridiculous men, and avoiding reality,” he uttered. “You’re coming home with me.” He yanked her arm to drag her away from the bluff.
A streak of lightning illuminated the gray sky, making Maggie’s eyes hurt even more. She was all of a sudden conscious of another presence, and turned to look behind them.
Standing near the edge of the precipice was Calan. His face red. His jaw tight. His hair blowing in the breeze. He looked like a tempest. He slowly blinked his eyes, and each time he did, lightning flashed.
“Get your hands off her.”
Maggie swallowed. His voice was dripping murder. Okay, clearly selkie folk could be truly badass when they wanted to be.
Matthew released her, but only apparently so he could finally have it out with the man he considered to be the “backward Scottish biker.” Maggie could only watch as he launched himself at Calan with a battle cry, could only stare as she saw the grim smile on Calan’s face.
“Oh, come on, guys,” she called. “Don’t do this.”
It was too late. As the thunder rang out above them, Matthew hurled his fist toward Calan, but Calan caught it easily in his hand. Enraged, Matthew tried again with his other hand, but Calan caught it as well. After a tense moment, the selkie released him.
“You need to go home, my friend,” Calan warned, “before I lose my temper.”
Grunting, moving in a black, irrational fury, Matthew attempted to batter Calan once more. Each assault was to no avail. It was clear from the start that Calan had the more practiced technique. Matthew might have liked talking sports with his buddies at the gym, but he never exactly spent all his time bench-pressing. Calan’s body was muscular, and he moved with the easy grace of an animal.
Of course, he was one.
They circled each other for a moment, making Maggie think of a couple of hungry sharks. Matthew kept trying to get in a couple of jabs, but Calan responded by ducking. At one point, looking frustrated, Calan put his hands on Matthew’s shoulders and thrust him away. Matthew reeled, spilling backward. For a split second, his feet fumbled and he struggled to maintain his balance. But not before reaching the edge of the bluff. He stumbled yet again, trying to right himself like a cartoon character waving its arms
propeller-style, and plunged over the bluff. Calan reached out for him but not in time, and watched in shock as his adversary toppled into the water below.
“Matthew!” Maggie shouted and ran to the edge, feeling Calan pull her back. Matthew was thrashing and sputtering in the waves below. Maggie turned to Calan. “He can’t swim!”
Calan just stared at her, his face a mixture of disappointment and remorse. He took a deep breath, and then leaned over and yanked off his boots. Without a word, he turned and dove off the bluff, doing a perfect swan dive into the chilly water.
Maggie cried out for him, but within moments, he was hauling a drenched, waterlogged Matthew onto the beach. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she raced down the rise to the beach. Calan deposited a spitting Matthew onto the sand, and whacked him on the back a couple of times to help him dislodge the seaweed in his throat. At least, she thought that was why he whacked him. There was a certain, satisfied gleam in his eyes that indicated he enjoyed giving Matthew a skelping, even if it was in the name of saving him.
Maggie touched Calan’s arm and felt her body go up in flames. She pulled herself together enough to whisper, “Thank you. I know he didn’t deserve it, but thanks all the same.”
Calan just stared at her, ignoring the drips of seawater trickling all over his face. “Why did you leave?”
She felt her lip tremble. “I don’t know anymore.”
He enfolded her in his wet arms, holding her tightly to his frame, running one hand through her hair. After a couple of minutes, she heard the low rumble of his laughter against her ear. “Woman, you almost gave me a stroke.”
She looked up and noticed the sky had cleared. Any trace of storm clouds had dissipated. And Calan was smiling at her.
Calan was smiling at her. It was the best feeling in the world.
Matthew chose that moment to cough up a third lung. With a sigh, Calan pulled him up and checked to see he was okay. Matthew nodded and looked over to Maggie. He resembled a sorry dog who’d fallen into the lake.
He was shaking his head and his shoulders were drooping. He looked utterly defeated. “Maggie,” he babbled, “I lost my job. I lost everything. I just wanted something nice back in my life, and you were the nicest thing I ever had.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”
She nodded. “Yeah. But now you get to go home and fix it. It’s time to start over, Matthew.”
Th
ey walked him the rest of the way to Nora’s house. After making sure he was okay, Calan nudged him into his rental car, turned the ignition for him, and leaned over to say a few quiet words.
She didn’t know what he said, but whatever it was, it prompted Matthew to drive away. For good. Calan then turned to her, one eyebrow cocked, and said, “Lass, I’m soaked. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to towel me off.”
God, it was so tempting. Still she buried the lust that was already threatening to overtake her. Maggie just couldn’t forget the mournful look in Calan’s eyes when he’d been staring out to sea from the stable window. That look haunted her. And she knew in her soul that the only thing that could ever erase that look for good was for him to have
his pelt back. He might think he wanted her. He might even think he was fond of her, but it was the sea he needed.
She would not be the one to take it from him. Matthew was going home. Now Calan needed to go home, too.
She pasted on a loopy grin that probably did nothing to hide the turmoil inside her. She pushed him toward Nora’s house. “I bet you’d just love me to towel you off right now, but it’s not going to happen.”
He turned and frowned at her.
“You can frown all you want, buddy. You’re going to dry yourself off, and we’re going to St. Magnus. This needs to end.”
He stood as still as a post. “What exactly needs to end?”
This. Us. The way my heart’s already breaking. “This deranged quest to find your matted, old skin.” She prodded him toward the door. “It looks pretty quiet in there. Let’s grab you a towel.”
He stared at her, his face a blank slate, his voice cold. “Never mind, Maggie. I’ll air dry.” With that, he walked over to her car. “Shall we?”
What was wrong with him? Could it be he didn’t want the skin anymore?
He opened the driver side door for her and she slid in, shaking her head.
Men. She’d never understand them.
* * * *
Maggie experienced a strange relief when, two hours later, they pulled onto Broad Street in the heart of Kirkwall. They were finally headed for the cathedral. The journey over had been excruciating.
Back at the house, after Calan had escorted her to her car, he’d shut the door and left her inside it, and then walked away. He hadn’t gone far. He’d found himself a good-sized boulder about twenty feet from the car and had leaned against it, looking back only once to glare at her.
She’d made him mad. Oh well, it had given him a chance to cool down and to air dry.
Then, postponing the inevitable and making her more nervous, Calan had insisted on stopping somewhere to eat. And as much as Maggie just wanted to be done with their skin adventure, she’d also been starving. They’d stopped at another cozy pub, this one blessedly Annette-free, and had eaten. A great deal, in Calan’s case.
He’d taken his time eating, too, and she suspected it was to get her goat. It had worked. Maggie had never known a sexier eater than Calan Kirk. He relished his food, oohed and aahed over it, even going so far as to lick his fingers suggestively when she was looking. He’d had an enormous, juicy burger, one that dripped juices. Maggie had had to quietly stamp on her own foot so she wouldn’t propel herself over the table at him to lick the juices from the corners of his mouth.
Now she was fit to be tied. Thank God they were headed for a church. Hopefully the atmosphere of religion and devotion would douse the flames of eroticism ripping through her.
Although she seriously doubted it.
As if to taunt her further, Calan put his hand on the small of her back as they made their way to the massive doors. She bristled. “What are you doing?”
He looked down at her, his eyes hooded and shrewd. “I’m just touching you, lass. Is there a problem?”
The bugger. He was trying to get under her skin so she’d cave in and wrap herself around him, rather than being the dignified, detached person she wanted to be. If she was going to relinquish the pelt to him, she couldn’t get any more attached to him than she was. It was clean break time. “No problem,” she retorted, lying through her teeth. “Only we’re entering a church so you might want to keep your hands to yourself.”
Calan’s only response was a growl. The great big beast.
He yanked on the door and it creaked open. They entered. For a moment, they both just stood there at the top of the nave, taking in the view.
The cathedral was empty and silent, as it was between services. Maggie wondered at the beauty of the building with its mix of red and yellow sandstone. As eroded as it was on the exterior, after centuries of exposure to the harsh Orcadian winds and rain, inside it was pure majesty. With thick columns lining the nave and Gothic pointed arches, it took her breath away. Her gaze flew to the magnificent stained-glass window of St. Magnus and she smiled at the blond hair under his crown. He looked like a Viking saint.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Calan asked, gazing down at her.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Where do you think we should start?”
“Well,” she said, roused out of her reverie by his question. “Gran volunteered as a tour guide here. She would have known every nook and cranny in this place.”
His gaze bore into her. Intruded into her core and on her wellbeing, making her break out in a sweat. Maggie was fairly certain that if Calan kept looking at her like that, as if her clothing were no impediment to his appraisal of her assets, she would lay herself down on the cold cathedral floor and beg him to take her.
“Would you rather start with the nooks,” he whispered close to her ear, “or the crannies?”
She gulped and walked with purpose down the aisle. He followed her slowly, and she could hear the echo of his footsteps on the floor. Taking his time, as if he just knew she couldn’t get away from him. “Maggie,” he called from down the aisle, “you’re avoiding me. Why?”
She bent over and scanned the area under the wooden pews. “I’m not avoiding you. We have a job to do.”
She spied Calan popping into the St. Rognvald Chapel, dedicated to the Earl of Orkney who was canonized in 1192. And felt his gaze on her the whole time, rather than on the statue of the saint. “I know you’re afraid. You won’t convince me you’re not.”
Damn his mind-reading skills! Gritting her teeth, Maggie inspected the aisle that led to the monument of the Arctic explorer John Rae. She walked around the reclining stone figure, keeping an eye out for recesses or spots where a pelt could be tucked.
“Admit you’re scared, Maggie. You’re afraid to trust yourself with me,” he called from the altar area.
“I will not dignify that with a response.” She wandered from the nave to the choir aisle, tucked behind a decorative screen. She searched each seat and even around the organ. “Shoot! Why did my grandmother have to make this so difficult?”
There were footsteps behind her. And then there were hands upon her, soothing her. He ran them up and down her arms, making her skin explode with goose bumps and
making her breath catch. “Huss, lass. We’ll find it.”
Dammit, why was she fighting this? He made her feel so good.
He spun her around and her knees almost buckled at the warmth in his eyes. “Look. We’ve searched the whole main floor. Why don’t we call off the hunt?”
“No. Calan, if it’s not here, I don’t know where it is.” Her emotions bubbled up inside her, making her quiver when she wanted to be strong and decisive. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “We have to find it. It belongs to you. You need it.”
He stared at her, seeming to understand how badly she wanted to give him the pelt. Realizing she needed the completion of this quest. “Well, we could try the tower.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Right. The tower. Okay.” And this time, as they walked together to the ancient stone staircase leading to the upper level, Maggie didn’t object as he placed his hand on her back.
As they trudged u
p the two hundred stairs to the top floor, she felt her heart sink. This chase was starting to feel distinctly goosy. Even still, they maneuvered each tight, spiral staircase, walked the balcony in front of the massive rose window, and completed their search of the cathedral.
All in vain.
Finally, Calan turned to her, resigned. “Look, love. Perhaps we’re not meant to find it.”
“No,” she replied, angry now. “It’s yours, and you’ll have it.” She shook her head, mystified. “I just wish Gran had left some other sort of message. If she couldn’t come out with the info, why couldn’t she leave some sort of clue? I feel like I’m the loser on the bloody Amazing Race. This is insane.”
“We did our best, Maggie,” he said, trying to console her. “We looked in the places that meant the most to her.”
“The places that meant the most,” she repeated, dazed. “The places that meant the most…”
Maggie scoured her memory, searching for a kernel of information. Something she might have missed. Gran was almost ninety, after all. It wasn’t as if she spent her days gallivanting. She was mostly a homebody, just like Granddad had been.
Granddad. The places that meant the most…
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Calan asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes widening. “We need to go home. I think the skin was there all the time.”
Chapter 14
As soon as they were back in Nora’s house, Maggie bounded up the stairs to the bedroom she’d been sleeping in since she’d arrived. With Calan following her, she headed for the bed.
“Don’t tell me I missed it under that mattress,” he said in a wry tone.
She didn’t answer, but gave the bed a great shove. “My Gran loved my grandfather more than anything,” she said by way of explanation. “So much so, that when he died, she couldn’t bear to let him go. He was cremated, but Gran refused to put his urn on the mantelpiece. She was always worried she’d knock him over one day and have to vacuum him up.”
