She heard Mama’s voice ring out sharp and commanding, “Leave. Now. You will not have my daughter.”
She heard people departing hesitantly. Her mother went to close the door and Ailsa caught a glimpse of one older woman still standing on the porch.
“You too, mother,” said Mama.
The old woman stood her ground and pointed at the child. “Kill her, Heather, before she kills you.” Then she turned around and limped off, supported by a cane.
Mama slammed the door and carried her back towards her bed. Cameron followed behind silently, twisting his fingers through his blonde hair.
Instead of putting Ailsa in the little cot, her mother placed her under the covers of the larger bed and climbed in after her, along with Cam.
“Mama, who were those people?” Ailsa asked, glancing worriedly towards the door.
“Hush baby, they won’t hurt you. Just some nosy neighbours.”
“They wanted to take me away!”
“I won’t let that happen,” said Cameron fiercely from where he was tucked under their mother’s arm. He was only two years older than her, but his boyish face was determined.
Tears filled her eyes. “They said I’m not your daughter.”
“Of course you are, love. Look.” Ailsa’s mother lifted her chin until she was looking into her face. She smoothed Ailsa’s brown curls away from her eyes. “See? Same hair as mine. Same eyes.” Ailsa lifted a little hand to touch her mother’s hair. Then she raised her eyes to Cameron’s own, wide-eyed and blue like the ocean.
“My little family.” Her mother squeezed them tightly to her.
“You don’t have a mark,” Ailsa murmured. She didn’t like hers, it looked wrong on her face.
“You were blessed, baby, by the faeries. Some people don’t understand, but I know that one day, this mark will help you.” Her mother blew out the candle, plunging them into darkness. After a while, her brother’s soft breathing filled the room and she slipped into a comfortable sleep.
Chapter 33
Ailsa awoke in an unfamiliar room and was immediately alert. She was warm and dry, and she knew that this hadn’t been the case before she had lost consciousness. A grey glow shone through the curtains on the opposite wall. She attempted to lift her head up from the soft pillow when she felt a twinge of pain in her chest and throat and gave up.
“Ailsa!” cried a voice from the foot of her bed. Harris’s ginger curls blocked out the daylight and she sighed, relieved. At least she wasn’t alone.
He peered down at her, concern pinching his face. “How do you feel?”
“Like my lungs and throat have just been scrubbed by a dish sponge,” she croaked. Speaking was painful, like sandpaper was rubbing against her throat, but she persevered. “What happened?”
“A kelpie.”
She squinted at him wordlessly.
He kept his eyes glued to her face as he explained. “A kelpie is a water fae, usually found at river crossings. They lure their victims into the water before they drown and eat them.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her wrist in his hand; she felt his warmth pleasantly envelop her.
“They can turn into any form most desirable to their victims,” he continued, stroking her skin with his thumb. “Usually a horse for a weary traveller, an abandoned child for a passing mother…” He clicked his tongue. “Your neck has a huge bruise.”
Her hand flew to her throat, where the skin felt as tender on the outside as the inside.
When Harris was satisfied she wasn’t about to combust, he asked, “What did it appear as for you?”
Blood rose to her cheeks. She pulled her wrist away. How embarrassing! Does this mean that what I most desire is… a man? Pathetic.
Harris cut through her shame. “It’s okay, Ailsa,” he said, giving her a strange look. “When I saw the kelpie it appeared as… a beautiful maiden… with ash-brown hair and a sparkling dress.” Instantly she felt better, though her cheeks felt hot still.
It must be normal then, she thought.
“What happened to Angus?” she rasped.
His expression hardened. “Once he’d gotten his fat head out of the clouds, he ran for help. He managed to buy a few donkeys from a farmer to carry you and our things.” He stood and moved to look out the window. “Since then, he’s been hiding from me.”
She grimaced at his back. “Why?”
“Because I’m bloody mad at him for not watching out for you,” he growled. “After what happened in the forest, I thought he’d be a bit warier—”
“Don’t be mad at him, it’s not his fault.”
“You could have died, Ailsa!” He whirled on her, anger darkening his features. “Not fifty feet away from him.”
She folded her arms over her chest in protest. She wanted him to know she was annoyed with him, but her words weren’t quite conveying the right message. “You can’t watch me all the time,” she whispered. “Besides, aren’t I supposed to be your guard?” Stupid selkie.
Harris reluctantly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still mad. I’ll let him suffer for a bit.”
“You’re just worried. I’m fine though, see?” She gesticulated.
His face softened a little and he bobbed his head.
“Get some sleep. We’ll need you back at full strength soon so you can go back to saving our asses.” He pushed off from the window ledge and patted her head. It made her feel like a dog. “Stay safe please,” he whispered to her, before striding to the door. He gave her a parting wink then closed the door with surprising care.
She didn’t understand why he was blaming Angus for something that clearly wasn’t his fault. Angus didn’t have any special powers. He was just as human as she was. Maybe he would’ve been more to blame if he’d been fae himself and had sensed the kelpie…
With sudden clarity, she understood. Harris wasn’t truly angry at Angus. He was angry with himself.
Her head was starting to swim so she closed her eyes again. The allure of sleep was too much to resist. As she drifted off, she drowsily wondered about Harris’s own version of the kelpie and what it meant he wanted.
Chapter 34
It turned out that the two men had managed to drag her all the way to Kearnaharra, about half a day from the western coast. They’d brought her to a little inn on the edge of town, which was moderately empty and infinitely cosier than the one Iona, Harris and Ailsa had stayed in on the way to Dunrigh.
To her confusion, Harris did not return to check on her. Instead, when the sun was going down, Angus appeared at her doorway, holding a tray of food. The hair on his head and beard was matted, sticking up at odd angles, and his clothes were wrinkled, like he’d been attacked in his sleep. He avoided looking at her as he entered, and instead stared miserably at the meal.
“I’m so sorry,” he began before Ailsa cut him off.
“It is not your fault!”
He shook his head wretchedly. “If I had been with you—”
“You probably would have been drowned, too. I’m sure we humans are more susceptible to fae trickery than, say, selkies.” She stared pointedly at him and he deposited the tray on her lap, sitting beside her on the bed.
“If you had died, I never would have forgiven myself,” he muttered, gaze still on the steaming stew. His eyes were starting to glisten with unshed tears.
Oh no, she thought, I do not need a prince wallowing in self-pity. How long had he been like this? Since she’d lost consciousness? She needed to snap him out of it.
“Well I didn’t, so stop moping,” she snapped, grabbing a fork and digging in. “If you really want to be useful, then you can get me a drink, Your Highness.” When he gaped at her in disbelief, she flicked a pea at him and it hit the side of his nose.
He let out a stunned croak of laughter. “When you’re better, you’ll regret that. One drink coming up.” He mussed her hair with a big hand before heading back through the door, looking a bit more cheerful.
Ailsa slept fitfully t
hat night. She dreamt of visiting the King and finding not him, but a crippled and dying Angus instead. He reached towards her, flesh peeling from around his nails, and she backed away to the edges of the cramped glass room.
As she moved backwards, she thought she hit a wall, but it was Harris. He looked down at her sadly, before exiting through the only door and locking it. She could still hear his voice through the glass as she banged on it.
“I’m sorry, Ailsa, it’s just better this way,” he shouted and then he walked away from the chamber.
A moaning sound came from behind her and she whipped around to find that Angus was huddled over, wrapped in his blanket. She approached cautiously to help him but when he looked up, the blanket fell away to reveal her mother. She was covered in the same sores as the King.
Ailsa woke suddenly, gasping. It was still night, and the wind whistled eerily outside, accompanied by the tell-tale patter of rain. Just once, it would be nice if it were dry all day. She rubbed her face with a hand and rolled over to go back to sleep.
She almost screamed when she realised that there was someone in the chair beside her bed, until her brain registered Harris’s rhythmic snoring. A gap in the rain clouds allowed the moon to illuminate his sprawling form. He had one leg on the dresser beside her and, in the dark, he looked ghostly white, grey freckles spattering his cheeks. The only colour, as always, was his vibrant red hair, chaotic even in slumber.
When did he come in? she wondered, pulling the blanket up a bit higher to dispel the cold. She studied him for a while as he twitched in his sleep, examining the curve of his mouth and the wings of his eyebrows that, even asleep, had a mocking arch.
She had been travelling with the selkie for a week now and she still knew little about him. So far, she knew he had been engaged, he had a sister and… he’d saved her life. There had been other pieces of information she had gleaned as well. The way he talked about his family told her he wasn’t well respected in their matriarchal society; he was more used to playing the fool than having any real responsibility. Something also told her that the success of this mission was much more important to him than he was letting on. Could it be that Harris, who seemed to fit in effortlessly, was trying to prove something as much as she was?
Then there were his feelings. She had almost thought he’d been jealous when she hung around Angus. Now, though, he was being a right idiot, blaming Angus for her brush with death. His emotions were all over the place. She could never quite work out who he wanted to be: the immature trickster, the concerned friend—or something more.
Ailsa studied him as he slept. His hair dangled over the side of his head, revealing even his ears were freckled. The sight reminded her of a story about an enchanted faerie, cursed to sleep for a thousand years.
In the dimness of the room, she couldn’t tell whether he had his eyes opened or closed. With a jolt, she realised that she couldn’t hear his light snoring anymore. She stared at him for a moment more, her heart banging against her chest. A scene played out before her eyes, where she called out into the night and he answered, rising from his place at the end of her bed to join her.
She shivered and closed her eyes, doing her best to go back to sleep.
Chapter 35
There was a loud, dull noise coming from the main room. When Ailsa went to investigate, she found a young man playing the bagpipes. She’d woken that morning to find Harris gone, but a mug of tea steaming was beside her bed. As she descended the stairs, she still felt the aches in her muscles from the attack. One particularly weathered step caused her to pitch forward, painfully twisting her shoulder as she gripped the bannister, dragging a groan from her lips.
The noise alerted her companions and she immediately had two sets of strong hands helping her down the remaining stairs.
“You two are worse than mother hens.” She clicked her tongue at Angus and Harris. Her throat was still in agony and all her words came out as croaks. Harris had told her yesterday it made her voice sound husky, but she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
The youth with the bagpipes gave them a quick glance, before heading out the door. Ailsa was glad not to have an audience as they half carried her across the room towards an enormous fireplace.
“You’re injured, lass. We need you fighting fit again as soon as possible.”
Urgh. It wasn’t as if she had died. Reining in her frustration took most of her will power.
Gritting her teeth, her voice somewhere between polite and a growl, she said, “Well in that case, I think you should get me some breakfast.”
Angus dropped her arm. “I’ll do it. You sit down and relax.” He raced through a corridor to the left, from where the faint smell of baking bread was emanating.
Ailsa sighed and let Harris support her. “He’s still trying to make it up to me.”
He glowered, his hand gripping her arm a little tighter. “Good. He almost got you killed.”
“No, he didn’t,” she objected. “Stop exaggerating. Are you planning to forgive him any time soon?”
His face remained stormy. “I’ll keep him on his toes for a bit longer.”
“Like kicking a puppy,” she muttered, repeating his words from a few days prior.
He stuck his tongue out but helped her into an armchair beside the fire.
When Angus returned, he was somehow balancing three plates of bacon and eggs. A portly man followed behind him, carrying a copper pitcher.
“Ailsa, this is Gibby,” Angus explained. “He owns the inn.”
The man wore a flour-dusted apron and a friendly grin. “Very nice to see you up, dear. When these two walked in with you, you looked half-dead. Gave me and my girls quite a fright.”
“Thank you for letting us stay,” Ailsa mouthed around a bite of breakfast. It was the best thing she had tasted since leaving Dunrigh.
“Don’t worry about it.” He set the pitcher down and patted his belly. “Least I could do for a young lady in need… and royalty.”
Angus’s eyes bulged, cutting around the room. “I don’t want everyone to know.”
“How many people are there around here?” asked Harris, frowning.
“Well, there’s my three daughters, plus the rest of the village.” Gibby held a meaty fist over his heart. “Don’t worry, lad, I won’t go blabbing when people start to arrive.”
“Arrive?” Ailsa asked, uneasiness creeping through her. “Do you have more guests?”
“No, but we’re having a ceilidh tomorrow night. It’s Bealltainn, the Beginning of Summer. We usually throw a party to celebrate.”
“It’s wonderful,” exclaimed a lanky, blonde girl entering the room. She carried a tray of tankards made from cow horns.
The innkeeper looked apologetic, his face growing red. “Sorry for the interruption. This is my youngest daughter, Flora.”
“Oh good, you’re up. Are you feeling better?” Flora bounced on her feet as she spoke, giving Ailsa the distinct impression of an over-excited rabbit. She even twitched her nose at the end of her sentences. Ailsa watched as the mugs rattled around on the tray without toppling over.
“Mostly,” she replied, a twinge making her grimace as she settled back into the cushions of the chair. Aside from her throat, her body wasn’t feeling that bad but there were still a few too many aches and pains.
Flora hopped forwards and deposited the tankards on the table beside the jug. “If you’re recovered enough, you should come to the ceilidh.”
“Oh, I—”
“There will be a band. And dancing. And a bonfire. And lots of young farmers.” The girl filled the cups as she chattered, her words coming faster with excitement. Ailsa caught Harris’s eye and suppressed a smirk.
Lifting a tankard, Ailsa said, “You probably don’t want me there. I’m not usually popular at parties.”
The girl tilted her head. “Because of your face?”
“Flora!” admonished her father, his cheeks going beetroot.
His daughter simply la
ughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not as easily scared up here. We have bigger monsters than changelings to worry about.”
Gibby looked like he was about to faint. “Flora, these are paying guests. They are not paying to be insulted.”
“No, it’s okay.” Ailsa didn’t want to get the girl into trouble. Chances were that she would forget about inviting her soon enough. It wouldn’t hurt to at least pretend she was going. “Thank you for inviting me, Flora. I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t you think you should stay in bed? You need to rest,” Harris murmured, crouching down beside her.
She turned to him, incredulous. “Since when are you turning down a party?”
He scowled, the freckles condensing on his nose as he wrinkled it. “I’m not turning it down, I’m telling you that you can’t go.”
“Oh? Can’t?” she repeated, her face becoming thunderous.
He rocked back on his heels. “Shouldn’t,” he corrected quickly. “Probably.”
She narrowed her eyes, before turning to a beaming Flora. She would show him.
“Count me in. Can I borrow a dress?”
The girl squealed and clasped Ailsa’s hand. “We’ll have so much fun! I’ll dig out a few things and leave them in your room.”
Harris folded his arms in front of him, regaining some of his nerve. “Well, if you’re going to be dancing tomorrow night, you should rest.”
“But I’ve slept for almost two days,” she protested.
Angus sat down beside her and gave her a wink. “Better let him coddle you, Ailsa. Or he might not let you go.”
It was all she could do not to leap out of the chair and strangle them both.
“I’d like to see him try.”
“Please. I’ll read to you,” Harris said, in a wheedling voice.
True to his word, once they finished breakfast, a large book was placed in Ailsa’s arms before she was lifted from the chair. One of the selkie’s arms went under her knees, the other around her back, somehow trapping her arms in the blanket he’d thrown over her. It was just as well, Ailsa thought, because she would have gladly taken the opportunity to claw at his face. She glowered at his winning smile as he carried her back up the stairs.
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