The Silkie's Call

by Laura Browning

  “Hey, Poppy,” Taylor spoke absently. “Do you know the guy sitting at the end of the bar?”

  She glanced up again. He still had his face averted, but the jaw… It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

  “I don’t think so.” But when she looked at the man sitting next to him, she felt all the color and animation leave her face. It was! “I know the man sitting next to him. It’s Carrick Clifton.”

  She stole another glance and found herself staring into two sets of dark, hostile eyes. The third man wouldn’t even look at her. Ciaran and Carrick stared at her and Taylor like they could easily kill them, but that wasn’t what struck a blow to her very heart. The third man was Cayden. But this was a Cayden she had never seen before. There was no longer any of the boy she remembered in him. At twenty-four, he looked like a man in his prime, and right now it appeared to be a very pissed prime.

  “I think we should go, Poppy,” Taylor said quietly. “I’m starting to feel like I’m going to have to step in and defend your honor. While I’d be happy to do that in the normal course of events, the odds right now are a little lopsided and not in my favor.”

  “No! I will not leave,” she said. Pain and humiliation flooded her until she thought she would choke. “Do you think I want them to stare at me while I drag myself out of here? Do you think I want him to see ?”

  She stared down at the table, feeling all her earlier animation and sparkle drain away. Her hand clenched in a fist, the knuckles white. Taylor reached out and covered it with his own.

  “Are you going to stay here all night then?”

  “I don’t know!” She looked up at Taylor, hating the pleading sound to her voice. “Please, Taylor, think of something!”

  He stared at her intently. “I have an idea, Poppy, but it’s certainly not going to help your community image.”

  “I don’t care!” All she was after was escape. Ciaran and Carrick looked at her like they wanted to kill her, and Cayden wouldn’t look at her at all. Like she wasn’t there. And that told her everything she needed to know.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear, looking for the entire world as if they were simply sharing a good time. Taylor motioned to the waitress. When she came over he paid the tab and handed her another twenty.

  “I need your help. While I’m getting my sister out of here, I want you to get her crutches from under the table and run them out back and around to the blue Miata parked in front. Throw them in behind the front seat, down on the floor where they can’t be seen.”

  Annabel saw the sympathy on the waitress’s face. It wasn’t pity, that would have made her angry, just the understanding of one woman for another of the need to protect what self-esteem she had.

  “Sure thing, honey. I can handle that.” As she stood up, Annabel saw her glance casually around until she paused. She had spotted them. When the waitress turned back to her it was with a mixture of respect and puzzlement, as if to say…are you crazy? Avoiding them?

  Taylor stood up and then bent at the waist. “Put your arm around my shoulder, Poppy, and smile. Remember, you’re supposed to be a happy drunk. It’s your birthday celebration.”

  She did what he instructed, relieved to feel his arm close around her waist, supporting most of her weight as he straightened back up. She giggled nervously and that at least was not faked. She had never felt more vulnerable, and she hated it. Damn her legs.

  “Don’t you dare let me fall, Taylor Stokes!” she hissed even as she laughed a little louder.

  Taylor grinned at the group at the next table and laughed. “Sorry, my cousin’s had a bit too much birthday celebration. Twenty-one you know!”

  Everyone laughed, and Taylor began weaving his way out of the bar, Annabel vainly attempting to support her weight on her legs. As they passed near the Cliftons, she darted a quick glance up. Cayden looked away, his face flushed. Ciaran laughed, and Carrick’s narrowed gaze held nothing but open contempt. As soon as the door shut behind them, Taylor swung her into his arms and hurried down the steps to the Miata. The waitress had just stowed the crutches and was heading around the back of the building.

  “Thanks!” Taylor called out to her as he put Annabel in the passenger seat and buckled her in. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She tried to hide it, but the catch in her breathing gave her away.

  “Don’t, Poppy!” Taylor muttered. “They’re not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

  “He wouldn’t even look at me,” she said in a soft, barely audible whisper. “Take me home.”

  ****

  “Right off the top of my head I’d say your one true love hasn’t spent seven years pining for you, bro!” There was a smirk on Ciaran’s dark face.

  Cayden spun on his brother, his eyes black with rage. “Shut the fuck up, Ciaran, before I take you apart right here!”

  Ciaran’s eyes narrowed. “Try it, weakling.”

  Carrick laid a restraining hand on each of his sons’ shoulders. His grip was hard enough to remind them that he would and could still put a stop to anything they started. Cayden was the first to shake him off.

  “I’m out of here.”

  Carrick looked into his elder son’s eyes. “Let it die, Cayden. It’s time to move on. She has.”

  Chapter 4

  It was the middle of the night. Annabel felt like someone set up a drum line in her head. Upstairs, she heard Taylor softly snoring, but she was still wide awake. Big surprise there. With her mind going a million miles an hour and her temples pounding like she was banging her head against a wall, sleep was just a refuge to fantasize about, but nowhere near reality.

  She sat up carefully and fumbled in the dark to find her crutches. She pulled herself up slowly and made her way through the kitchen out onto the porch and down the ramp. Slowly, carefully, she negotiated the slope down to the dock. When she finally reached the end, her breathing was harsh in the silence of the night.

  It had always been the place she came to whenever her heart was heaviest. Here at the end of the dock, she could listen to the gentle lapping of the waves against the wood, feel the occasional bump as the Revenge brushed the dock while she bobbed on her moorings. She had come here when she was seven and her mother had just died. She had come here again when she was fourteen, hoping to find some answers to why her father would want to ship her off to Aunt Helen. Fate, God, sheer bad luck, whatever you wanted to call it, intervened that summer so that never happened. Instead, her life had turned into one long fucking nightmare, and she was still waiting to wake up. She supposed one good thing had come out of it. She discovered that she was indeed a lot tougher than she had thought in many ways. She also learned that some pain went too deep, that it never healed.

  Now she was back again tonight, seven years later, because of that pain. Seven. Her life was ruled by that number. But where most people considered it lucky, she thought cynically, for her it was just the opposite. As she stared down into the water lapping at her toes, her gaze went to her legs. Taylor was right. You couldn’t tell, just looking at her, that her legs were next to useless. Like right now, she couldn’t even feel the water on her feet although logically, she saw it…saw that it lapped as gently against her as it did against the dock, yet she had no more feeling there than if she were the dock.

  “I hate you!” she hissed at her feet. While she had regained a lot of feeling in her thighs, her feet continued to be numb. That inability to feel her feet remained one of her biggest stumbling blocks to training herself to walk. As she stared malevolently at her legs, the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. One tear for her mother. A second tear for her father. A third tear for the events her father and Aunt Helen had set in motion. A fourth tear for Taylor, and a fifth one for Cayden. A sixth tear for what she had been and a seventh for the person she had become: a person she didn’t much like, hardened by bitterness and cynicism. What she wouldn’t give to get back that summer of her fourteenth year. Hell, she’d take back just one day; the day she’d capsized. But that was so
not happening. If the last seven years had taught her nothing else, it was that you couldn’t believe in miracles because they just weren’t real.

  Annabel dragged her hand across her eyes with sudden decision. Without bothering to remove the t-shirt she slept in, she dove off the end of the dock and swam out and away. At least here she felt at home, felt normal. She could pretend that nothing was different, that she was still strong and beautiful, able to swim and run and sail. To do all the things she had always loved doing. For a time at least she could forget the crutches that sat on the dock, could forget the wheelchair that sat ready for those times when her weakened limbs wouldn’t tolerate her attempts to walk. And God! Tonight she needed to forget.

  She swam along the shore, careful not to stray too far out. She had limits now, limits her body would make her only too aware of each and every time she tried to move beyond them. It was time to turn around. Fool! She was just asking to spend a day or two in bed at this rate.

  “A little late for a swim, isn’t it Annabel?”

  The deep voice startled her. Cay! She floundered. Unable to effectively use her legs to tread water, she frantically scissored her arms to regain her equilibrium. Hard fingers closed around her upper arms. He grabbed her, holding her pressed against him while he stood, his feet firmly planted on the bottom of the bay.

  “What the hell were you thinking? Out here swimming by yourself as drunk as you were earlier?”

  “Leave me alone, Cayden!” she protested, arching away from him and pushing at him with her hands. Even as her mind panicked her body reacted to him, nipples hardened with desire and the ache of emptiness between her thighs. No, not again! At that moment she hated her body even more. Even in the darkness, she saw his nostrils flare as the scent of her arousal rose up to him. She didn’t want this; it was too painful. He was in her past and he should stay there, not see her like she was, not see her as a cripple! “Go away!”

  He swung her into his arms and walked toward the beach and out of the water with her.

  “No!” She recognized the edge of hysteria tightening her voice. “No! Take me back to the dock. Please!”

  Cayden ignored her. As soon as they reached the sand, he set her on her feet and turned her loose. Annabel tried desperately to balance, but her legs were too weak and they buckled. He caught her as she fell and his expression was now even darker than before. She saw the fury in the lines bracketing his mouth, the way his lips thinned, and his brows drew together.

  His voice dripped with contempt. “Your cousin got you so drunk you can’t even stand up. And now you’re out here swimming? Do you have a death wish, Bell?”

  God yes! There had been so many times over the last seven years that she had begged to die.

  “Take me back!” she pleaded desperately, not bothering to answer his question. Oh God. He couldn’t find out. He couldn’t see! “Take me back to the dock!” her voice rose as the bubble of hysteria worked its way to the surface, squirming and wiggling to break free so that she completely lost control.

  ****

  Cayden watched her in confusion. She clung to him even as she yelled at him. It was almost as if she was afraid to turn him loose. He tried again to set her on her feet, but she clung to his arms until he pulled away. Maybe if he put some distance between them they could talk. They needed that. He needed that. But she fell to the sand, and this time she screamed.

  “Get away from me! Go away Cayden! Go away! Do you think this is funny? Did you show up just to torment me?”

  “But you called me,” he whispered in a voice so quiet she couldn’t hear.

  Annabel was losing it. He could see the nearly blind hysteria on her face, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the alcohol, but he saw other things as well, fatigue and a heartbreaking look of humiliation that he would never have caused her. Crumpled as she was at his feet, for just a moment he wondered if she could even stand up. But he had seen her move in the water and in the restaurant. He bent toward her again, but before he could extend his hand, something slammed into him. He was knocked sideways by a Taylor he barely recognized. Her cousin was so furious the anger radiated off his body. Even as close as he knew Bell was to this cousin, it seemed all out of proportion.

  “Get away from her, Clifton!”

  Taylor turned back to Annabel and gently picked her up in his arms.

  “It’s okay, Poppy,” he crooned. “It’s okay.”

  She buried her face against his neck and clutched his shoulders. Cayden stared at them. Confusion mixed with jealousy and anger until he wasn’t sure what emotion he felt.

  “Take me home, Taylor!” she begged. “Get me away from him!”

  Taylor stared at him, his eyes hard. “Keep the fuck away from her! Whatever was between you is over. You walked away from it seven years ago. So for God’s sake leave her be! Hasn’t she suffered enough for all of you?”

  Cayden stood numbly watching the tall form of Taylor Stokes as he strode along the beach, effortlessly carrying Bell while she wept against him. He carried her away, up the steps until they disappeared at the top of the dune. He knew they were headed for the house. Did her cousin live there? Was there something he had missed or overlooked in learning about humans? Was that even allowed? His vivid imagination brought forth an image of Taylor parting her creamy thighs, stroking his fingers along the delicate skin of her core, the sex that he, Cayden, had denied himself, and his gut twisted.

  The dominant male in him wanted to go after them. He’d waited seven fucking years to get her back! He wasn’t walking away for any male. But then he saw her pale, stricken face and those wide, wounded blue eyes. He would kill himself before he harmed her. Fuck!

  He ran back into the sea, intending to swim back to his boat. At the last minute, he turned and went to the dock. After levering himself up out of the water, he stalked toward the house.

  Walked away? He had never walked away from her. He had been driven, pushed and kicked away. But hadn’t he also been pulled , a small voice nagged. Hadn’t his parents dragged him away just as fast as Phillip Barton drove him away?

  “Damn!” he swore as he stubbed his toe hard on something lying in his way. Cayden looked down and saw he had kicked a metal crutch. His eyes shifted slowly, took in its twin and then the bar next to the ladder, obviously meant as an aid to help someone stand up. His expression changed as the pieces suddenly fell into place. He looked up at the end of the dock to the ramp that had been carefully constructed leading from the house down to the dock. His brows drew together as he continued to stare up at the house, and his mind balked at what his eyes showed him.

  How quickly his parents had tried to get her off the boat seven years ago. How careful his mother had been to keep him away from hearing the medics assess her injuries. And his father? Carrick was livid when he found out Cayden tried to see her in the hospital.

  “Whatever you think is between you and this girl, it can’t be, Cayden. It can never be.” Those were the words his father had said when he bailed him out of jail and took him back to the Skerry. They had sailed for Scotland the next day.

  And tonight, his father told him to let it die, to walk away because Bell had. He looked down at the crutches again and his eyes suddenly clouded with tears as he let himself feel the pain she felt right now. He opened himself to it, and it drove him to his knees. Annabel Barton had never walked away because she couldn’t walk.

  She couldn’t walk, hadn’t walked, since that day seven years ago when the boom on her skiff had cracked her spine, and his parents knew it. His hands shook before he clenched them into fists and jammed them in the pockets of his wet shorts.

  Cayden ran back to where he’d beached the ski boat and scrambled on board. Paying no attention to the lateness of the hour, he fired the engine and shot out along the bay toward the Skerry. He tied the boat to the ship’s stern and climbed to the upper deck where his parents’ cabin was located. Without bothering to knock, Cayden shoved the
door open.

  He started to back hastily out when he heard the unmistakable sounds of lovers, the whispers, the grunts and moans. In the dim light he could see his father’s form arched over his mother. God! He closed his eyes. Nobody wants to know the intimate details of their parents’ sexual relationship.

  Carrick rolled off Catriona with a snarl, tossing the covers up over her. She blinked and held them up in front of her as she came up on one elbow.

  “Cayden?” She asked, puzzlement warring with growing concern in her expression.

  “What the hell is the meaning of this Cayden?” His father thundered.

  He stared at them with angry, accusing eyes. “You knew! All those years ago, you knew. And you said nothing ?”

  “Knew what, Cayden?” his father hissed as he stood up and grabbed a pair of shorts to pull on. “This is about that girl, isn’t it? You went to her, didn’t you? To Annabel Barton? Did we know she was damaged? Yes! We knew that, and knew we had to get you away before it was too late. You couldn’t commit yourself to a woman who would only ever be half a woman. You need someone who can give you strong sons.”

  “I don’t give a damn about that!” Cayden snapped. “Bell is my soul mate. Do you think I care if she can’t give me sons?”

  “Well you might not,” Carrick retorted, “but I sure as hell do. You’re my heir, Cayden. You must be the one to have sons to carry on our line, not Ciaran.”

  Catriona’s eyes suddenly focused on a point over Cayden’s shoulder, widening in shock.

  “Ciaran!” she exclaimed, one of her hands stretching toward her younger son.

  Cayden and Carrick both turned to see him standing in the doorway. His face was pale and his dark eyes were beyond furious. They looked dead. He stared at Cayden, and then his gaze turned to Carrick, glittering and filled with hate.

  “The prodigal returns,” he hissed, “and all is forgiven. I have spent seven years trying to please you, but it would never be enough, would it, Father? I was always second choice.” With a look of contempt for both his parents, Ciaran turned on his heel.