Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy)

by Clare Austin

  “There. Do you see her?” Muireann whispered and pulled him back to the present.

  Against the dark water, Tynan’s vision focused on a silvery streak. Just when he thought he had made out a form, it disappeared. Then there were two and in a moment a third silken and sleek creature appeared. “Seals?”

  “Cool, huh? It’s a family.” Her voice caught. “I watched that pup being born right here on this strand. This is home to them. Harbor seals live in the same place all their lives.”

  Muireann’s face softened and her lips turned up ever so slightly as she spoke of these animals. She reminded him of American girls’ reaction to puppies and newborn babies. The female need to nurture inspired an instinctual fear in the gut of most men, himself not included. When the time was right, Tynan would be more than ready for a nurturing female in his life.

  She turned on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her expression hardened. “Seals follow the sound of fishing boats. So many seals are hurt or killed each year by careless fishing methods. Locals know this and take care.”

  The two adults and the pup hauled out and readied for a nap in the sunshine. “This bunch seems to feel safe here.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed and continued. “That’s why I want to keep big business interests out.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ty admitted. “Seals have lived for centuries alongside fishing boats. What’s changed?”

  “The economy or perhaps simply greed.” She looked straight in his eyes. “If industrial fisheries are allowed in here, this family will be gone. I won’t be able to protect them. The large nets will trap and strangle them, the food supply will dwindle…They’ll starve.”

  Ty questioned that thinking. “Aren’t there plenty of fish to go around?”

  Muireann’s jaw clenched. “Industrial fisheries overfish sand eels for animal feed and fertilizer. Greenpeace calls the practice ‘Hoover fishing’…a clean sweep.”

  “Sand eels?”

  “Right. And these little fish are the main food source for harbor seals, and seabirds as well. Everything’s tied up in the ecosystem of the sea. It’s a domino effect. The most profitable fish are also the ones the seals need to survive. Without sand eels, this cove, this strand, it’ll be empty.”

  Ty loved her passion for this crusade but couldn’t see how things could change. “What can one person do?” This was the adult Muireann. The girl had become a woman with serious interests. She took some getting used to.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I want this to be designated a marine protected area.”

  “Seems that’s going to be a hard sell with Ireland’s economy tanking and high unemployment,” Ty suggested. “Is there some sort of compromise?”

  Muireann sat up and hung her long legs off the rock edge. She turned to him. “I’m not an impetuous child anymore, Tynan. If you knew me, you would realize I’m not inclined to compromise when it’s a matter of saving something or someone I love.”

  Tynan could indeed sense her instinct to fight to the death for justice…or love.

  “I stopped a whole damn oil company from setting up a rig offshore right there.” She pointed toward the horizon, then turned and gave him an ebullient smile. “Me and my mates. We camped out here and made the oil company’s lives a living hell until we got enough attention in the media.”

  “You amaze me.” Truly she did. When she talked about saving seals, her love for the sea, when he saw her passion in the pottery she created, Muireann had that same charisma he had admired last night in O’Malley’s when she sang.

  She was zealous about things she loved and, if he was any judge, she would be just as exciting as a lover.

  He scolded himself for thinking with his gonads yet again, but just as quickly gave himself a break. After all, they were adults now.

  She lifted the mandolin case from where it lay on the grass and stood. Then she bent and took his hand in hers urging him to stand beside her. Tynan snuck an arm around her waist—a little move, a touch, just to see how she might react. He told himself it was just innocent, like a tiny bite of a forbidden sweet.

  He breathed the scent of her hair, a subtle herb he couldn’t place. Whatever it was drained the blood from his frontal lobe and directly into his favorite extremity, which he fondly referred to as Himself.

  “Am I so unusual?” She curved her body into him. Himself took special note of her breasts, soft as well as firm. “Have you ever looked into the eyes of a harbor seal? You cannot deny they have knowledge we humans can only hope to understand.”

  Though Ty really tried to concentrate on her global virtue, he had now completely lost focus. The sun had traveled west, casting an aureate glow on the water. A chill gust of wind swept up the wall of black rock.

  Muireann didn’t seem to notice the cold or Ty’s hand, millimeters from her backside, as he led her a short way from the edge of the drop.

  He settled into a flat granite slab big enough to be a four-poster bed and pulled her to sit beside him. Heat from the many hours of sunlight radiated from the inner core of the rock. “Gotta wonder what events might have taken place here,” Ty pondered aloud.

  “Locals call this an Leaba Leannán Sí,” Muireann told him. “The bed of the fairy lover.”

  “Ah, then, how many lads might have lost their innocence on this very spot?”

  Muireann patted the rock surface. “Yeah, and who got to be on top?” She gave him a lopsided grin.

  Who indeed? The visual sent a hot bolt of need through his body. “The tales he would tell back at the pub.”

  “So, Ty,” Muireann purred and ran a finger across his mando case in a way easy to visualize her touching various parts of him, “are you going to carry that mando all over the west counties just to look cool or are you planning on playing it?”

  “Are ya askin’ for a tune, like?” he said in his best culchie accent and reached for his mandolin, brushing her hand lightly with his fingers. He hadn’t seen a spark jump from her hand and arc to his fingers, but felt a jolt, if not electricity, certainly its close cousin. Whatever it was tingled through him and set his imagination spinning off to erotic destinations.

  “Go ahead. Impress me.”

  “Sure, now, and why not?” He settled the instrument, caressed the wood, stroked the curve of its lines, imagined Muireann fondled thus.

  “You hold that mando as though it’s a woman in your hands,” Muireann suggested.

  “She’s a poor substitute for the real thing.” Ty picked out a melody that had been rattling around in his head. Last night he had been unable to sleep with it tickling his brain. His fingers, unable to stroke Muireann’s body, had found fulfillment in his imagination and the music reminiscent of her mystery.

  “That’s not a tune I’ve heard,” she said. “And I’ve heard them all.”

  Ty raised one brow and kept playing. “A bit of a song that came into my head last night.” He bridged to another key. “I’ll bet you know this one.” Ty cleared his throat and sang.

  “Is cosúil gur mhaeath tú…”

  Muireann tilted her head, smiled, and joined him. “...nόgur thréig tú an greann…”

  They sang every verse of “An Mhaighdean Mhara,” a tale of love lost, a mermaid returned to the sea. Muireann closed her eyes and became the vessel of transport for the traditional Irish lyrics.

  When Tynan played the last chord, a little smile on her full, just-licked lips sent his mind to places with little room for expansion.

  “Great song,” she said. “Wouldn’t the man have been better off if he’d left her in the sea?”

  “Perhaps, but then we wouldn’t have a song about his broken heart.” Ty tucked the mando back into its case and stood. He offered Muireann his hand and helped her to her feet.

  “Are you telling me, Muireann O’Malley, you don’t believe in taking risks for love?” he whispered, tangling his fingers into the hair at her nape. “Have you never broken any hearts like the mermaid in that old
tune?”

  “Hmm…well, now, I might have.”

  He listened to her breathe, and with every breath, his need for her wound tighter and begged for release. Ty touched the smooth skin of her throat where her pulse accelerated under his fingertips. He wanted to kiss her, but this was not the place. He would have to keep the tension all the way back to her cottage unless they went right to it here on the Leaba Leannán Sí. Somehow getting himself bare-arsed out here in the cold didn’t sound like the best way to impress her.

  “What about you, Ty?” She leaned back and watched his eyes. “Have you ever had your heart broken?” She placed her hand on his chest and ran a finger down his breastbone. Electricity sizzled between them.

  He barely had the breath left to respond. “Not yet.”

  ****

  The sun was in its relentless pursuit of the western horizon as Muireann and Tynan walked from the car to the door of her cottage.

  She hoped they wouldn’t startle Cú and have him wake to think Tynan an intruder. Muireann wanted this man whole and healthy.

  Tynan bent and extracted the door key from the flower pot. “Why bother to lock your house when everyone knows where you hide the key?”

  “Everyone who knows where it is also knows they’re welcome anytime. My hound is none too fond of strangers when I’m not around.” In truth, the worn latch hadn’t held in years. She locked her door only to keep it from swinging open with the slightest breeze.

  Tynan put the key in the lock, but before he lifted the latch, he turned Muireann to face him. “One question,” he breathed in a whisper Muireann was sure he had used on many a besotted girl.

  “Sure, now, ask away,” she replied and searched his face.

  “Is yer hound gonna bite me bollocks off?” A mischievous half grin lifted his lips.

  “He just might.” Muireann laughed and then in mock sobriety asked, “Is it worth the risk?”

  “Hmm…let’s see.”

  One hand slid up her back, pressed her to him, and brushed her lips with his as though tasting a new and exotic morsel.

  The touch on her mouth ignited a spark that ran from Muireann’s lips straight to her girl parts.

  His hand traveled up her back and settled between her shoulder blades, pressing her close to his chest where she could feel the steady thump of his heart.

  “Is that all the sampling you need?” The words barely passed her vocal chords when the tasty visual of him naked in her bed disjointed her knees. She wanted, needed, more of him, but in the back of her mind, a warning pealed. Don’t take this too fast.

  He hadn’t read her thoughts.

  With his hand tangled into her hair, he held her firm and drew her to him again. Starting at the corner of her lips, he nibbled his way across her mouth and cheek. He tasted, taunted, and teased his way to her ear. “I think it’s worth the risk,” he murmured as he pushed the door open behind her.

  If he hadn’t had his hands on her, she would have fallen backward over Cú, who lay snoring in the entry. “Ah, step very softly. We don’t want to wake him,” she said in a breathless whisper.

  “Uh huh.” And as though dancing, he moved her toward the center of the parlor, where he kissed her again. This time he held nothing back. His mouth savored hers as his tongue ran languorously across her bottom lip, prompting her to open to him.

  Her limbs turned boneless. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She had wanted to be in control. Thoughts spun but made no sense. The only solid reality was Tynan’s body pressed into hers, his lips, tongue, and breath possessing her. “Muireann.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I remember now why I could never forget you. You’re a great kisser.” As he spoke, he moved her until the edge of the sofa pressed behind her knees. “I could be at great risk here.”

  “Why?”

  “You might not be Muireann at all. You could be a shape-shifter. The same creature I saw through my jet-lagged imagination a day ago. You’ll have your way with me and then slither back into your selkie skin and disappear into the mist beyond the sea. The mortal Muireann would know nothing of it.” Her legs folded beneath her, and in one deft move, he had her cradled in his arms and lowered to the cushions.

  “I guess that’s a chance you’ll have to take,” she said, her fingers tracing a line from his jaw to his collarbone. She focused on his mouth in a vain attempt to pull her attention from the hardness she felt where her hip pressed into his pelvis. The man had been blessed.

  Think lips, she commanded herself. He had lips to die for. They’d improved with the years. Full, firm, sensuous lips that felt fabulous on her mouth and, she imagined, a few other tender spots. The visualization paralyzed her. Herself naked, legs splayed over the edge of her bed, Tynan kneeling between them, his tongue teasing her until she cried for him to fill her. Then, pulling him into her…Go way outta that.

  She shivered and her nipples tightened as his hand skated over the silk of her blouse and long fingers cupped her breast. “You are perfectly made,” he said and took possession of her mouth before she had a chance to ask on what authority he made that judgment.

  No tongue on a first date had been her admonition to herself since the time she’d French-kissed Devlin Daley after catechism class and sent him running to confession. That had been in sixth grade.

  Rules were made to be broken.

  Besides, this could conceivably be considered their second date, she rationalized as she delved into his sweet, smooth warmth. He tasted of wine and wheaten bread, tart and sweet in a mix so satisfying she would never need any other sustenance.

  “May I?” he asked when she let him catch a breath. His fingers played with the buttons of her blouse. When she didn’t answer, he undid the top closure and the next in a tantalizing exercise in restraint. Tynan drew his index finger across her collarbone.

  “Ty.” She stopped his hand before he moved any further south.

  “Yes, beautiful,” he whispered into her neck and a bolt of hot voltage tingled along her nerve endings.

  “Come with me.” She stood and her knees almost gave way.

  Ty steadied her and she led him to her bedroom all the time fighting the knowledge that she would likely regret this tomorrow.

  The mix of desire and trepidation threatened to make her head ache.

  Tynan sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled her into his lap, kissed her nape, and growled deep in his throat. “Are you sure about this?” he said as his hand found her breast and cupped it gently.

  Muireann slipped off his lap and pushed him backward on the bed. “Don’t go anywhere. Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.” She kissed him and headed for her bathroom. If she was going to do this, she would do it right.

  Muireann’s imagination stretched Tynan out, naked, on her bed like a captive warrior.

  Reality is never as much fun as fiction. When she returned to the bedroom, he was fully clothed with a giant canine on his chest and alarm in his eyes.

  “Get off that man, ya mangy cur,” Muireann shouted and reached for the first object at her fingertips, the prayer missal she received from her mam on her first communion. She took aim and threw it at Cú, missed the hound, but smacked Tynan in the forehead.

  Then all eyes turned to the man in the doorway.

  “Hey, selkie, how ya…Ty? Whatta ya doin’ in Muireann’s…bed. Oh, sorry,” Simon stuttered. “Right…good on ya.”

  “Simon O’Flaherty, ya flamin’ eegit. Both arms busted? Can’t ya knock?” She looked from Simon to Ty and snatched a fringed scarf off the chair to cover herself.

  “Knock? Muireann O’Malley, in thirty years have ya ever known me to knock?”

  “Well, then.” Her fury was barely contained. “Why aren’t ya down at the pub playin’ those whinin’ pipes of yers?”

  “I was there…and now I’m here.” He grabbed Muireann by the hand. “Excuse us for a minute, would ya, Ty?” And he almost dragged her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, shutting the door
behind them and leaving Cú to mind Tynan.

  “Simon, what the fuck are ya doing?”

  “Listen to me,” he whispered. “He’s the one.” Simon pointed toward the bedroom.

  Muireann shook her head. How could Simon be her friend and be so stupid? “The one what?”

  “He’s the one who owns Bertie’s place.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Tynan? No way. Are ya out of yer mind?” she assured him. “He came here to find me.”

  “He came here to sell it.” Simon retreated a half step in defense.

  “Where did you hear this ridiculous nonsense?”

  “Mick overheard Caitie chattin’ up that shitehawk Feeney.”

  “And Mick told you this?” she said, incredulity raising the pitch of her voice.

  “Naw, Mick-o doesn’t gossip. He told Niabh. She probably threatened to quit warmin’ his bed if he didn’t tell her what went on at the pub.”

  “You talked to Niabh?”

  “Muireann O’Malley, yer just not listenin’ to me here.” Simon rolled his eyes in frustration. “You know Niabh doesn’t talk to any O’Flaherty since my uncle refused to marry her sister.”

  “That was thirty years ago.” Her aggravation level was rising into the red zone. If Simon didn’t get to the point soon, she was boiling over.

  “Well, Irish women never forget.”

  “Simon, I swear if you don’t get to the point of all this in the next five seconds, I’m gonna—”

  “Niabh told yer da when she delivered the bread to the pub. And yer da told meself.” He stood proudly with his hands on his hips. “I thought you should be aware of who yer thinkin’ of shaggin’ here, that’s all.”

  “Shaggin’?” She looked in his eyes for signs of insanity. “Do you think I need you to tell me who I should and shouldn’t have in my bed?”

  Simon looked at his feet as though he expected them to speak words of wisdom. “My sources,” he began. “My sources say the sale is a done deal.”

  “Sources? Simon, yer a flamin’ bog warrior. You wouldn’t know a source if it bit you in the bollocks.” Muireann instantly regretted being so mean. “Sorry, go on.”