The Selkie’s Daughter

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Long ago?”

  “Aye, I was but two and ten. ’Twas before I came to stay with Hagatha.”

  “You mentioned her taking you in afore. Did something happen to your family?”

  She paused from her probing. “For a stranger, you certainly wish to ken all my secrets.”

  Rhys laughed. “Your finger is half-buried in my hip and you are staring at my uncovered backside. I do believe we have gone past being strangers, Annys. I am trusting you with my life. Mayhap you should entrust me with your secrets.”

  She sighed deeply and went back to working to get the arrow tip out. “I had a family. A mother, at least, but she sickened and died when I was very young. I thought I had an older sister and a father. Howbeit, as I grew I learnt through their tongue lashings and insults that I was not the daughter of the laird. He told me one night I was the bastard get of a Selkie.” Her hand stilled, as if awaiting his reaction.

  His heart ached for the small girl told she belonged to no one, that she was a bastard. “Men say cruel things when the drink is upon them.”

  “Aye, they do. But when such words are repeated in daylight, again and again, you come to accept them as truth. I bear the mark of Selkie blood, so there is no denying it. That did not stop the man who was not my father from bartering me to gain alliance with another laird. I was betrothed to the Tanist of a lowland clan that had a fortress outside Selkirk.”

  “Did you wed with him?”

  She gave a brief bob of her head. “My father sent me north to foster with them until the feast could be arranged. It was quite a cheerful occasion. A lot of boasting, bragging, and all manners of tests of strength. Then, the priest came and spake the words. I was given a kiss of pax and the wedding party carried us both to the bed chamber.”

  Rhys stilled in his fidgeting against the pain she caused digging for the arrowhead. He did not want to envision what she would tell him next. She had been barely a child, with no mother to prepare her for what would come. Now he knew where she had seen a man unclad and one who had kissed her. Her husband. His insides burned at the knowledge. If she were married to another, why was she hiding out here in Rowenwood Forest for over a decade?

  “No one warned me of the bedding ceremony. I do no’ know what my father believed. That they would not dare send me back? They would accept me with the Selkie mark on my body?”

  “What is this mark you speak of?” Rhys could not imagine any flaw that could detract from her beauty. He could see the hurt on her face as she spoke of the humiliation, and was sorry he had pushed her to tell him of it.

  ****

  Annys was unsure why she’d told him. She had never spoken about it to anyone outside of Hagatha. She knew little about this man, yet some sense inside her said trust him.

  Rhys was so handsome, his warrior’s body hard, lean from the years of fighting. His dark brown hair lay in soft waves on the back of his neck and covered his ears. Locks fell over his forehead. Those pale amber eyes had a feral quality, which seemed at odds with his gentleness of nature.

  Meone had the same look in his eyes, as if he said he’d stay with her, only she would never be his master, never own him. There was no taming Meone, just as there would be no taming Rhys de Valyer. Did she want to tame him? She brushed the question aside, not brave enough to face answering it.

  “I have the tip.” The room seemed too hot, and her stomach did a slow roll, but she refused to get sick. There was much to do yet. “The bone is not jagged, so no fragments.”

  “’Tis good.” Rhys sounded exhausted, and struggling to stay in his presence of mind.

  Rising, she went to the table and poured water in the bowl, then cleaned her hands of his blood. Knowing the hardest part of the ordeal was yet to come, she filled the cup with more wine and took it to him. “Drink.”

  “Mayhap you need it. Your color appears pale. Are you sure you can finish the rest?” He expressed concern about her ability to see it through.

  She tried to smile. “There is none other, unless you think Meone capable.”

  “Meone?” When Rhys echoed the name, the black cat stirred from his warm place by the hearth and came over to meow. “No, I do not think the cat can serve.”

  She stared as he drank down the wine, watched his throat muscles work, swallowing. Oh aye, Rhys de Valyer was a handsome man, one to turn the head of any woman. Sadness filled her. No, there would be no taming this man. He would stay until he was healed enough to travel and the weather shifted. Then, he would be gone to Glenrogha, and in spite of his fancy words, he would soon forget her and find a woman to take to wife. She would be left here, her isolation all the more stark for his intrusion, left alone with memories of the beautiful man who came to her in a Yuletide storm.

  Before the dawn he comes…

  The thread of the dream floated in her mind. Had it been more than just a dream? Had the words actually been a foretelling of Rhys’s coming? Her mind struggled to recall more of the vision. What seemed so sharp before, now had faded, and was hard to remember.

  She crossed to the fireplace and pulled the long iron rod out, looking at the tip glowing red. Revulsion roiled through her as she considered using it to burn Rhys’s flesh. Mesmerized by the flames flickering and dancing, she felt that thinning of the veil between the two worlds.

  Something wondrous will happen, something magical…

  What she was about to do was not wondrous. It was obscene. Steeling herself, she walked back to him. “I will put this to the wound and say your name three times. Is there aught I need to do after?”

  “Snails help burns, I am told. I do not suppose they are about in this weather.”

  “I have a compress of thyme and yarrow and I can pack it with snow to dull the feeling.” Her voice quivered, so she swallowed back the tightness in her throat.

  Sucking in a breath, she placed the iron on his hip. Her muscles almost jumped in an echo of his. He reached up and clasped her wrist. There was so much strength in his grip that it felt like he could snap it like a dry twig. Yet, he controlled his hold so he did not hurt her. His flesh sizzled and the smell was overpowering.

  Rhys de Valyer…Rhys de Valyer…Rhys de Valyer…her mind chanted, clinging to the power of his name, as she forced herself to hold the iron in place. His fingers finally released his grasp on her lower arm.

  Pulling the poker away, she felt tears pouring down her cheeks. To hide that she was crying, she rose and carried the rod back to the fire. She tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand, but failed. Staring at the poker, she knew she would have to inflict the pain to his body again. She had to. It was the only way to save him.

  Her hand was unsteady as she poured him another cup of wine. She desperately wanted to drink it, but there was not much left. He would need it.

  “Annys, how fare you?”

  Something wondrous will happen, something magical. But only if you are strong enough to reach out and shape the future with your hands. I bring you Yuletide blessings and the chance of fulfilling your heart’s desire.

  Dreams lied.

  She plastered a smile on her face. “I have another cup of wine for you to drink. I wish there was more. It would ease your suffering some.”

  She took a moment to place the soaked rag poultice to his side, and tucked the woolen cover against it, to keep it in place. Sweat trickled from his face and down his neck as he took the cup and drank it down.

  She tried not to look at the sickening arrow still in his shoulder. She needed a few heartbeats to draw her inner strength together to face the ordeal again.

  He reached up and traced the curve of her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “You are very brave, Annys.”

  In awe, she reached up and put her hand against his on her face. So many emotions were buffeting her that she could not begin to sort them out. Some were so new she had no name for them. Others were bitter. There would be nothing wondrous for her, nothing magical. She would care for this man, and then he woul
d leave her.

  “What is your surname, Annys?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I am bastard get of a Selkie. When I grew old enough to ken what that meant I stopped using the name of the man who I thought was my father. After he sent me away, I have never spoken his name since.”

  “What about your husband? Did you not take his?”

  “Nay. The marriage was never made. He saw the sign of the Selkie blood and repudiated me. He ordered them to return me to my home. When the riders approached they were turned away––my family refused to accept me back, so the soldiers just dumped me outside the gates.”

  “Where did you go?”

  She dropped her hand, took hold of the shaft and pulled the arrow from his shoulder. “Blessings of the lady…the tip came with it, Rhys. It will still needing cauterizing, but I will no’ have to go digging around to find the end."

  He gave a small laugh. “A blessing, but I shall accept it.” He braced himself has she dripped the mixture of woad into the open wound.

  She started to rise from her knees, but he caught her wrist and pulled her closer. His touch sent her heart to pounding to where it was hard to think. “You needs must let me seal the wound.”

  “In a bit. Talk to me. I wish to hear what happened after the men dropped you outside the gate.”

  “I walked away. I suppose I was not in a good place in my thoughts. I just kept walking. Then the rains came and I found I was in a place I did not know. I was so cold, soaked to the skin. I was going up a hillside when water had come washing down from the mountain top. It knocked me off my feet and when I tried to get up, I slipped and went sliding down the hill and into a stream. I do not ken how to swim, and my mantle and clothing was so heavy it pulled me down.”

  “That is horrible. What saved you?”

  “I was going down, deeper and deeper, to where the light grew dim. I stopped struggling because it seemed futile. I recall closing my eyes and just floating. Then suddenly, I felt someone’s hand on me and a light grew in the green darkness. That is all I recall. When I awoke, I saw Hagatha standing over me.”

  “Since your marriage was never made, then I can do this without risking the wraths of Hell.” He pulled her closer and closed his mouth over hers once again.

  Annys lowered her eyelids and surrendered to the sensations washing over her. She knew it was wrong to allow him to kiss her. She liked it. Liked it too much. She pushed away, shaking. “You needs must allow me to finish closing the shoulder.”

  She went for the iron, holding it until the red end began to cool just enough to safely use it. Taking a deep breath, she placed the tip to the wound and heard the familiar hiss of his blood and the woad against the iron.

  Rhys de Valyer…Rhys de Valyer…Rhys de Valyer…

  ****

  Annys woke with a start and looked around her.

  Rhys was gone!

  Her throat clogged with tears. It had been four days since he had come. After the second night, she had awoken to the sound of water dripping from the eaves. The winds had shifted and now brought warm air, sending the snow to melt. She had closed her eyes at the sound. Why did it have to change? When the snows melted, he would ride away. She accepted that. Only, did it have to be so soon?

  These past nights they had lain before the fire. She cared for him, then he entreated her to talk about her life with Hagatha. She had finally showed him the deformity that marked her as one with Selkie blood. He studied the small webbing between the last two toes on her left foot. When presented with the reality he seemed puzzled. Then he had laughed. She had wanted to hit him! Her heart melted when he said any man who would send her away because of that was a bloody fool.

  The same heart that would break when he left.

  Fearing he had already gone without saying his farewell, she swung her mantle around her shoulders and rushed outside to the byre. When she heard his voice inside, she breathed again. Until that instant, she had not known she had been holding it. She paused outside the door that was cracked open, wondering who he was talking to.

  Moving so she could see inside, without being seen, she watched as he used a handful of hay to rub down the grey stallion. The horse’s hide rippled with delight at the tender care. To express his joy, he put his head against Rhys arm and nuzzled him. It was clear how deeply the man and animal were bonded.

  “Sorry, Spirit. I know the lodgings are not what you are accustomed to. But a few more days and then I should be strong enough to ride out of here. Challon speaks of Glenrogha as a wonderful place. I am sure you will find plenty of brazen mares there to keep you occupied come spring.”

  Annys brushed the stray tear that trickled down her cheek away with the sleeve of her sark. His words were a dagger to her heart. She had known his leaving was inevitable, but being a stupid, silly woman, her heart had not listened. Nothing wondrous or magical had happened. His coming only showed her just how empty her life would be when he was gone.

  She stepped inside. “You should be resting, Rhys. Your body still has much healing to do.”

  “Thank you for mending my clothing. I fear the pack horse with my other belongings is likely never to be found.” He petted the horse’s neck and then held out a handful of hazelnuts to him.

  “Please come inside. So far you have had no fever, but you should not risk it.”

  He came to her and kissed the tip of her nose. “You cared for me well. I am able to walk already without too much pain. I needed to see for myself that Spirit fared well.” Taking hold of her hand, he slid something on it. “Tis a token of my esteem.”

  “There is no need.”

  “Yes, there is. Do you know what today is?”

  “You are leaving?” she replied, trying to mask her sadness.

  “Today is Christmas. I do not have any gift to give you, and there is no repaying you for the care you gave. So I made you a ring from my hair.”

  Annys glanced down to see the braided hair encircling her middle finger on her left hand. Her heart felt like a fist was squeezing it. “’Tis a wonderful present, Rhys. I thank you. I have naught to give you. When you are gone, it will give me something to remember you by.” She desperately tried to hide the emotions inside, but it was too painful.

  “Are you so eager to be rid of me?” he asked with a teasing laugh.

  She shrugged. “Nay, but I know the day will come.”

  He nodded, “Yes, I suppose I needs must make my way to Glenrogha soon. Howbeit, I wish that you––”

  Whatever he had been able to say was left hanging in the air, as he pushed her aside and pulled his long sword from the scabbard of his saddle. Then she heard what he did: riders.

  Rhys was in no condition to wield the mighty sword.

  They stood inside the shed watching as seven men mounted upon palfreys filled the small clearing. No one carried a banner to identify them. They were a hard-bitten lot. Not knights, maybe hobelars, lightly armed men who were little more than mounted foot soldiers.

  “Stay in here, Rhys, I will deal with them.” Annys did not want these men to ken Rhys de Valyer’s presence. “’Tis likely someone seeking aid from Hagatha. No one kens she is gone yet.”

  “Or ’tis the men who waylaid my party,” he countered, trying to push her behind him. Rhys stepped to the doorway, his sword held before him. “You are far from the travelled roads. What brings you here?”

  “We seek the old witch. There is a need for her healing skills,” the man in the center returned.

  Annys’s heart dropped. There was no question about it. “Rhys,” she said lowly, “he is the man I was betrothed to. ’Tis been over ten years, but I shall never forget that face, his voice.”

  Rhys stepped in front of her body, once more, trying to shield her. “The old woman died several moons past,” he informed them.

  “Our laird sickens. He needs a healer. Is there no other? I was told a girl lives with her. Mayhap she can come,” Breathan Laidlaw pressed.

  An
nys prepared to step forward and confront the man who had spurned her, but Rhys pushed her back with his left arm.

  “There is no girl here. She must have run away after the old woman died. My wife and I sought shelter here from the storm. No one else has been around. We were lucky to find peats stacked in the shed and were able to ride out the snow and wind.”

  Annys gave a small gasp. Wife? What sort of nodcock was he? Mayhap he had no idea to declare before others that they were married was as binding as if he stood before a priest and spoke the words.

  “I regret your trip was for naught. I would ride hard to get out of these woods before night falls. It comes so early in this Northland. We came upon what looked like a fight…bodies, packs strewn. Another reason we took shelter here. Clearly, the roads are not safe in these troubled times.”

  “Oh, aye. A fair warning to heed. We found the same, and wondered who was traveling this far north. We looked to see if we could find any survivors, but no soul survived that we could see.” Breathan leaned in the saddle trying to see past Rhys. “Wouldst your lady wife perchance be learned in the healing arts? I am desperate to find someone to ease my father’s passing.”

  One stout man with red hair leaned to Breathan. Annys could not hear his words, but his mouth clearly formed the words, “That be him.” He reached to the side of his saddle where he had a crossbow slung. He leaned over and grabbed it.

  “My lady, step out from behind your husband please, so we may speak,” Breathan asked, but it was more of a demand than a request.

  Rhys hand tightened on her arm, telling her to stay put. She had to stop this now. The man with the crossbow could put a bolt into Rhys heart from this distance, and there was nothing to stop him. Rhys wasn’t even wearing mail.

  Ignoring the caution, she pushed by him. Breathan’s face seemed smug, but then changed to confusion and finally to a smile. It was not one of joy. “Well, well…I do believe ’tis Annys Bràigheach.”

  She saw Rhys trying to hide his anger and worry. He knew the situation was beyond his control, knew the redheaded man held the crossbow on his lap. His sword was no defense against it.