“I can feel ye here inside my skin right against my heart.” He touched the area she had mended. “And yet ye hae nae kissed me now that I am wakeful. Perhaps all yer affection went intae yer sewing.”
“Ha!” Hexy rose to her knees and leaned over Ruairidh. “I am not certain that kissing you is a wise thing to do,” she murmured. “You are still recovering from a near-fatal wound and should be resting.”
“Sae I should, and sae I shall. But a wee kiss willnae hurt me,” he coaxed. “And we’ve been apart a long, lonely while.”
“Hm.” Being careful that no other part of their skin touched, Hexy leaned over and brushed her lips over Ruairidh’s. The contact was fleeting, but still enough to make her heart beat faster and put a slight flush in his white skin.
Hexy moved back immediately. “No more of that until you’re well,” she told him, concern plain in her voice. “We’ve risked enough already.”
“Aye, that we hae done, lass.” Ruairidh paused, and Hexy wondered if he was going to scold her after all for going to the finman’s lair. But all he said was, “Yer a reckless lass. If we hadnae managed tae kill that monster there in the cave, or had he killed ye, we should hae been forced tae bloody war with the finfolk before we were ready.”
“I thought the finman had taken you,” she explained, trying to make him understand. “Something was calling me to that cave. I dreamed about it every night. And when you didn’t come and didn’t come…”
“It wasnae me that called ye there,” Ruairidh said, his eyes instantly concerned. “Are ye sure that it wasnae yer imagination? How did ye find the place?”
“No, it wasn’t my imagination. It was my brother, Rory Patrick,” she told him. “I didn’t realize it until I started freeing those souls, but the finman had him trapped in there, along with mad John’s son and the Reverend Fraser—and lots of other people.”
Ruairidh took her hand.
“I think some of them were selkies, too. They…” She tried to think of a way of describing how the souls had felt. “They felt different to me, but familiar, too.”
Ruairidh continued to look concerned. “But how did ye find the place, lass? It was concealed by magic nae person could see—not even one with the sight.”
“Well, as to how I got there, a finwoman brought me.”
“A finwoman!” He sounded dumbfounded.
Hexy nodded. “Sevin had done something bad to her—put iron hooks in her body so she couldn’t turn into a regular woman and walk on land.” Hexy’s brow knitted, showing her perturbation. “I hope that she is better now. She said she would be if I killed him.”
“Then she should be well, for the monster is well and truly dead,” Ruairidh assured her. “But how did ye find the finwoman?”
“The merrow told me where she was.”
“The merrow?” He sighed. “This is a long tale then, is it?”
“Yes, and it can wait. You need to rest,” she answered, unhappy at the weakening of his voice.
“Maybe so, but maybe no. Lass, this is important. Yer certain that it was yer brother that called ye there? It wasnae the monster himself, perhaps pretending tae be yer brother? He could have made the finwoman and merrow dae his bidding. He had many of his own people enslaved.”
“I am sure it was Rory Patrick,” she said instantly, wanting to smooth away the worried look from Ruairidh’s brow, but not daring to physically touch him and risk a transference of the salt. “My brother and I were very close, probably like you and Keir. It was natural that I should feel his presence even if I didn’t understand what it was at first. And anyway, I only found the merrow because of some old books Mr. Campbell gave me, which gave me the idea to go see the sin eater. It was all just a string of coincidences. And you said that Sevin is dead now. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
Ruairidh nodded, looking relieved. “That is true. And ye would hae no choice but tae answer if yer brother called. Even Keir should understand that,” he said, as much to himself as to her. He smiled then, but it was with less brilliance than before. “I’ve another gift for ye, lass, but it can never compete with the skin yer cuddling, sae I shall save it for another day. Perhaps I’ll give it tae ye on the day we are wed.”
“Wed?” Hexy asked, her mind going blank. “You mean when we get married?”
“Aye.” Ruairidh’s head cocked. “Would ye not wish tae be wed in the ways of yer kind? We’ve nae such customs here, as ye know, and I thought perhaps ye’d wish it.”
“I…” She thought about it for a long moment, imagining marrying in the kirk, perhaps with Jillian in attendance. Somehow, the image would not hold together. “I don’t know. It never occurred to me to do it. I mean, we are already wed in all but name.”
Ruairidh smiled again. His eyes began to drift shut. He pulled his fur back up over his shoulders. “Think on it, then. We shall talk when I wake. We also maun decide where ye would like tae live. We’ve a cottage on a coastal island that might suit ye and the babes.”
Hexy was disturbed by Ruairidh’s choice of words. “We won’t live together?” she asked.
“Aye, much of the time, but t’would nae be healthy fer ye always tae be in Avocamor—and sometimes I maun be here.” Ruairidh settled back into sleep, his fur tucking itself about him, though stopping at his face.
In her own lap, her new gift waited patiently. Hexy stroked it once in consolation, and then laid down beside Ruairidh, pulling the fur side of the skin over her.
She tried to go back to sleep, hoping that Rory Patrick and the fog were not still waiting for her. She needed to put the nightmare of Wrathdrum behind her.
After all, it was as she had said to Ruairidh; Sevin was dead and he couldn’t hurt them anymore.
Chapter Seventeen
Hexy roused from sleep, called to wakefulness and longing by she knew not what—a voice, a song, a thought. Perhaps it was her new fur telling her that it was lonely. She thought for a moment that she could hear Rory Patrick’s voice calling to her, but it faded even as she opened her eyes.
After a quick glance down at Ruairidh, to reassure herself that he was sleeping peacefully and unlikely to awaken, Hexy padded from their bed, taking her skin with her.
Her very own skin! She still could not believe that this miracle was possible. How she longed to put it on and go out into the beautiful sea. It was time. She had slept enough. Of course she had needed to rest, the same as anyone would after a terrible ordeal. But she was awake now and wanted to be out in the open. In the water—not here, where she was kept deaf and blind and all but dead to the world.
Without realizing what she was doing, Hexy began to disrobe.
It seemed odd now that she had ever feared the deep waters. But she had feared the ocean, as all supposedly sensible land dwellers did. It had appeared to her as a voracious thing, which swallowed up ships and men and brought terrible storms. It had even taken her brother from her.
But she had learned to ignore that fear when a sort of suprarational knowledge of her true self came to her. Of course, later, when she had no longer actively dreaded it, the sea had still seemed a lonely place—a vast and empty desert of dreary color, only different from the ones on land because it was covered in water.
But then the sea gave her Ruairidh, and she now knew that it was not lonely at all. She had met others who lived in the ocean, and they were kind. And now that she had her own skin, she had no reason for silly fears.
Hexy stood naked in the doorway, holding the skin to her face, rubbing her cheek against it while it caressed her back.
She was not supposed to venture into the water without Ruairidh, and she understood everyone’s concern that she not go out alone for the first time in case she had difficulties or got lost. But the long wait chaffed at her. Who knew how many days it would be before Ruairidh awakened and was able to join her for a swim?
Still…
Hexy paced and sang softly, and tried any number of things to keep herself from answering the ski
n’s siren call. But it was useless. The allure was too strong. Something powerful, magical, was telling her to put on the skin and go into the sea. Everyone was worrying needlessly. What could possibly hurt her? There was nothing dangerous out there.
Unable to resist the strange compulsion any longer, she took her fur out to the deserted great room and tried on her borrowed pelt. She hoped that a quick wearing would be sufficient to end the wild longing.
There was no awkwardness to this first dressing. The fur slipped in place as if it had always belonged on her, like drawing on a velvet glove. Without any help, it sealed itself along her breastbone, snugging close.
The transformation of her body was amazing. She could feel her limbs foreshorten and her fingers fuse, and her spine grow long and flexible. There should have been pain, but she felt nothing but the slide of velvet over naked skin.
She laughed softly, and her voice changed.
Her world shifted from a vertical orientation to a horizontal one, and she grew heavy and graceless and slid to the floor.
She found at once that prone movement was difficult without proper legs and put pressure on her belly. To escape from her painful land wallow she would have to go into the water, where her new shape belonged. There she could move the way the water flowed. She would be strong and graceful.
Just into the pool. She wouldn’t go beyond the cave, she promised herself as she sank beneath the surface of the lovely blue water of moonlight. There were no riptides running right now. No reason that she couldn’t just play in the pool right there inside the cave. No one would ever know.
The first thing she noticed as she dove down into the tarn was that the pressure on her ears wasn’t half what it had been before, and then that it was easier to float than it had been in her human body. She turned about a couple of times, rolling and spiraling, delighting in her flexible spine. How easy it was to move! She knew that out in the open she would be fast and elegant. This was what she had always dreamed of when she was a child.
What could it possibly hurt to venture just outside of the pool? To only go out as far as the shore and look at the land for a moment or two? Didn’t she want to know what it was like to bob on the surface of the sea, to ride the wind and waves as they rolled toward the land, to have her nose tickled by foamy spray?
She hesitated a moment, trying to recall why this might be a foolish thing to do. But when no answer occurred to her, she arched her body into a steep dive and swam for the open water. Thrusting downward with her tail, she moved quickly for the mouth of the cave.
Once there, she hesitated again. Water surged over her and crashed as it smashed itself against the sheltering stone, many currents braiding one into the other and making the sand swirl.
It should have seemed cold but didn’t because her beautiful fur insulated her from the chill. She looked out shyly through the jungle of kelp, swaying in time with surges that breathed in and out of the cave.
Next she looked up at the surface. It was bright with light and sparkles like crushed glass. It had to be near noon for the waves to be so bright.
There was nobody about. No one to notice if she went up to the surface for a quick peek.
Smiling with glee at her newly found freedom, she stroked upward for the glistening surface, allowing the current to help carry her toward the shore.
She shoved her head up through the stormwracked flotsam and looked around with her new eyes.
How different everything was! She saw now not just with her eyes that had amazing peripheral vision, but with her nose. She felt like a bloodhound, able to scent everything and everyone who had paused near her that morning. She knew that a rowboat with two men had gone by near dawn, and recently some seals had passed to bask on the rocks, and there were many birds that had floated in the water here.
The rocks that made up the shoreline looked bigger now that she was in the water, but also inviting, and she had a strong inclination to climb out onto them and enjoy the glorious sun while it gilded her fur with golden light. She didn’t even mind the northern wind that sang mournfully of a coming storm, because its cold could not touch her.
But there was an even stronger compulsion whispering in her brain, urging her away from the shore and toward the islands.
What she really wanted to do was go back to the island of the fishermen’s chapel and see if all traces of the monster had been washed away by the violent storm. It would be so good to know that not only was Sevin dead, but that all traces of his taint had been washed away, too. Without his ghostly traces, the island would be an ideal place for sunning.
She shouldn’t do that, part of her mind argued back. Ruairidh could wake up at any moment, and he would be worried about her. He would probably even be angry that she had not waited to share this moment with him. And hadn’t Cathair warned her that people might mistake her for a seal and try to hunt her?
But the islet was deserted. There were no people there now. And she really wanted to go to the island. She needed to go. And it wasn’t far. No, not far at all. She could go and be back in almost no time. And wouldn’t it be good to know that that awful chapel was truly purified?
Hexy shivered even though she was not cold.
But what about rip currents and deadly undertows? Cathair had told her that there was one right outside the cave—one so strong it made the stones vibrate like a horn once the tide had turned.
That was only at the turn of tide and in narrow places where the tide ran fast. That didn’t happen in the open sea. And as for undertows—they didn’t affect her when she wore her skin. With her fur in place she was fast and strong and had nothing to fear. She could cavort all day in the strongest current and never tire. She should come to the island…come at once…
Hexy twitched, her muscles wanting to be off, in spite of her mind’s hesitation.
What about sharks? The mermaid has made her wear those red sponges to keep hungry predators away. There must be something large and dangerous lurking in the water.
Nonsense, the inner voice answered impatiently. The wicked finwoman had worn nothing herself, had she? Obviously she did not fear the slashing bite of the shark. That was because she knew that sharks did not come near the shoreline of the islands. They did not like the turbulence of the sea when it met land. And they did not like the People, or water when it was hot and bright. She would only be in open water for a very few minutes anyway. If she left right now, she would have bright sun for her entire journey and be able to see any warning fins if they should come her way…
Hexy looked over the delicate wavelets toward the fishermen’s island. Its pale outline was reassuringly close. She could swim very fast and be there in only a moment’s time. She would have a quick look to be sure that all was well, and then she would come right back. No one would ever know.
She pivoted to look at the shore behind her, reassuring herself that there were no witnesses to see her misbehavior. Then, turning back and taking a last look at the island to check her direction, she dropped beneath the surface and, putting on a burst of ecstatic speed, raced toward the gray islet.
Ruairidh fought his way up from the fog of sleep, disturbed by a voice that claimed to be Hexy’s brother. The healing sleep did not have dreams, and this intrusion was enough to rouse him from slumber.
“Hexy?” he called, rolling onto his side and reaching for her.
She was gone, her place cold.
Her fur was gone, too.
Alarmed, he rolled from the bed.
The attack came without warning. The finman who rushed at her, eyes in his burnt face held wide in some form of religious ecstasy, was not as powerful in body or mind as Sevin had been. But he was fast, and Hexy realized immediately that he was far stronger than she, even with the aid of her new skin.
She tried to dodge him, but he snagged her in those long ropey arms and spun her around in his coils. She managed to avoid his eyes, so he could not paralyze her with his gaze, but she felt his presence prying at
her mind in the mental wound her earlier overshadowing had given him. Before he had whispered sweetly to her, acting as a lure. Now he roared. And the thoughts he battered her with were not his own; they belonged to the dead Sevin. The finman, Brodir, was carrying out his master’s last orders. As revenge on the People, the NicnanRon was to die.
Her horrified thrall ended as the finman’s attention wavered. He searched the nearby stones and then began towing her toward the rocks. She knew he planned to thrust her headfirst into a narrow crack after he had sucked out her soul.
Recalling Reverend Fraser’s fate, Hexy bent double and, planting her flippered feet on the nearest outcropping, thrust back with all her might. At the same time she ducked her head, getting as far away from the finman’s mouth as she could.
With all her will she cried out to Ruairidh, praying she could reach him in his healing sleep and he would understand what was happening. The internal scream was loud enough to shake her brain. Hurt followed hurt. Sharp pain stung her right shoulder and left hip as the finman tried to subdue her struggles and turn her about for an easy mouth hold. He could not trick his way back into her mind and so he spent all his effort in trying to squeeze the air from her body and latch his teeth over her nose. They fought all the way to the sea floor, where their thrashing sent up a mushrooming cloud of sand.
Hexy soon realized that there were many limitations to her borrowed skin’s abilities. Perhaps selkies had the knack for breathing underwater, but she did not. Her lungs were beginning to cry out for a clean breath. And though her neck was stronger than before, it was no match for the power of the finman’s tentacled arms. It could be broken.
She tried clawing at the finman, but without fingers she couldn’t get a grip on his arms, and her small nails left only superficial wounds. It was all she could do to keep him from wrapping a limb about her throat as he dragged her over the sand and back toward the fissured rocks.
Her world began to go black at the edges. She had an indignant and wholly inappropriate thought that the sailors had all gotten it wrong; There was no anesthesia to ease the pain of the last moments. Drowning was not a pleasant death. It was not peaceful. There was plenty of time to think and feel as your skull and chest seemed to balloon with used air and began to spasm in pain. And she wasn’t even to the point where her lungs exchanged cold seawater for depleted breath.
The Selkie Page 20
