She kept staring up at him in an intense way, encouraging red flags of arousal to fly on his cheeks. Embarrassed to be caught reacting like a lad half his age, he prompted, ‘I’m Niall. What would yer name be?’
Her eyelids fluttered as she continued to stare, and God help him, he felt a stirring in his groin. ‘I Cel—’ her wee threadlike voice cut off as Aileen let out a squeal, leaving him to finish the word that had been in his head since he first saw her on the beach: Selkie … and he wished he had been wrong, for not even his late wife had stirred him so strongly, and she’d practised many wiles.
There was nae stopping Aileen. She pushed her way in, saying, ‘Let me see, Niall. Is she really a Selkie?’
‘It would seem so, Aileen, but that’s nae reasons to treat her as if I found a big sea salmon on the beach and brought it home for tea. The wee lamb is shivering with cold even though I’ve done my best to keep her warm. What’s needed is a tub of warm water. You set the maidservants to filling the tub, and I’ll take her upstairs to my chamber; they can use that fancy bathing contraption Flora insisted on having built. Time it was used for something.’ His late wife had been used to luxuries and most of her dowry had been spent acquiring them, since his father had failed to add a codicil to the settlement to prevent her.
Flora had blamed him for her spending a lot of her days at Inverbrevie big with child, but what had she expected when he had to be away for months at a time and missing the comforts of home? He had to admit she was always tearfully disappointed to have another daughter. However, there had been times he had a notion that the birth of a son might have meant the end of sharing her bed, the way it had each time she realised she was enceinte.
Aye, his wife’s spendthrift ways had meant he had to find other methods of raising silver enough to stop the Keep from going to wrack and ruin, which meant he was away oftener than not. He had always been skilled with a sword and, though he said it himself, a guid leader of men. Hiring himself out to the French had been a dangerous occupation and, dare he admit, enjoyable. His father’s choice of a bride for his son might have come with enough coin to keep Inverbrevie Keep from falling victim to the fierce gales that swept the northwestern coat of Scotland, but Flora had been less interested in building walls to shelter frae said wind than in wearing silk shifts and velvet frocks topped with the finest Spanish shawls. He had to admit, though, that some of the shawls he had purchased on the French-Spanish border where he had been fighting were very beautiful.
Those were both guid catholic countries, but the Spaniards and their Inquisition were not to be borne.
As Niall’s foot took the first of the winding stone stairs leading to his chamber, he could hear Aileen calling instructions to the maids, who nae doubt would cozen a couple of the men to help carry the water upstairs. The wee lass in his arms hadnae uttered a sound since she had astounded them all with the truth. And why should he be surprised? Aileen had battered his ears with tales of such creatures all his young life and was now doing the same to his daughters. Aye, he had listened, enthralled by his nurse’s skill with words, but he had simply never believed that one day he would be carrying one in his arms, up to his bedroom, or wish that the precious wee creature in his arms was a real lassie instead of the sea creature she had confessed to being. Dreams notwithstanding, he couldn’t see the hot sensual contortions that had filled his young head ever eventuating.
It was the giggling that followed him up the stairs which awakened him to the presence of his three daughters on the lower landing. He stopped and looked back. ‘Away ye all go, back down to the hall. She might be a Selkie, that doesnae mean she isnae entitled to privacy.’
‘But we can help. We ken where all Mam’s potions and scents are that she kept for bathing,’ piped Fiona.
‘Aye,’ chorused the other two, one of them mentioning, ‘She’ll be needing the cream Mam used on her skin, after spending so long in the sea.’
Their logic was sound, but it always came with an opportunity to curl him around their wee fingers. Had they been boys it would be different, but Flora had insisted they be brought up as ladies; and while she lounged on a padded settle, the lasses had a fine time doing exactly what they wanted. Of course Flora had blamed their wildness on his never being at home—always away earning the silver she so enjoyed spending—and it was probably worse since she died. His chastisement of Flora before he left, now sat at the root of his guilt.
He simply hadnae the heart to keep scolding his daughters. They’d had had enough of that frae their mother. Only two days ago, before the storm roared in and vented its spite on them, he had caught his lasses racing across the shore at the edge of the waves, their sandy feet bare and skirts hoisted up and tucked in round their skinny wee waists.
He would never make ladies of them.
Much though Niall hated the notion, he knew his father had the right of it. Niall being now the McDonall’s only son, he needed a wife. The McDonall had the getting of a grandson in mind whereas, before today, Niall would have settled for daughters that would do as they were told and a quiet life when he was at home getting ready to return to France—something his father was against. The last letter he had received from his father—head of the McDonall clan—had made hints about finding a lass suitable for Niall. By suitable he meant having a guid dowry, not pleasing features and a body that would be a pleasure to take to bed. Flora had been quite comely, and life would have been a lot happier for everyone at Inverbrevie if she’d had a nature to match.
Nae, he didnae think much of his father’s choices, but up until this morning, he had thought of screwing up his courage to do what was needed. Aye, until this morning when everything changed with him finding a bonnie wee Selkie on the beach.
Celestina
She felt frightened, bewildered. The strong-featured man with a rough, barely-there beard, so different from the black, sharp-edged facial hair favoured by the hidalgos she had seen visiting her father, must be a lord. At least that is what she presumed from staring at the vaulted stone roof of the hall he had carried her into, not huge like a palace but hung with exquisite tapestries—quality she recognised since her father had a fondness for them. This man was not the peasant she had assumed.
He had daughters, three of them, but where was his wife? Celestina wanted to ask questions but dared not. To speak would give her away. Yes, she could speak to him in English but with an unmistakable Spanish accent. Her mother had always teased her about it. That was why she determined that from now on she must play dumb.
She could hear his daughters giggling as their soft footfalls followed their father up the stairs. Her father’s face would have frozen in an effort to hide his displeasure, but she had always been able to read him. The man carrying her was different, his lips quirked at the corners, and she wished she could see his children, but her view was filled by the expanse of his chest and the jut of his chin. His hair was long and skimmed his jaw, dark but not black like hers. That was one thing she could thank her father for, as her mother had been pale and blonde.
All thoughts of her parents shattered as the man pushed open a door with one foot and swept through sideways, protecting her head with his arm. Immediately, splashes of colour replaced the grey stone walls—a tapestry her father would not have sullied his home with: naked women.
Celestina couldn’t help but twist her head slightly to see over her shoulder, afraid what else she might see. With great effort she swallowed, stifled the gasp that sat in her throat. The bed was huge—a four-poster draped with red silk and piled with lacy pillows. A lady’s chamber, of a certainty his wife’s; but where was she—the woman who lived in a concubine’s love nest? Mouth open, Celi looked up and stared into his handsome face.
‘Easy, lass. I’ll have ye more comfortable than ever ye have been. I doubt ye have any such thing under the sea. Nae sand nor seaweed can compare to these fine feathers.’
His footsteps softened, and she felt certain there was carpet covering the flo
or. Not merely a lord, but a wealthy one. Yet his shirt was linen instead of silk. Then it occurred to her that mayhap he loved his wife so much he lavished her with silks and lace and kept naught for himself.
Her saviour simply loosened the woollen cloth he had wrapped her in and practically rolled her out onto the bed. At least he had been truthful, for the bed was softer than sand or seaweed, softer even than her bed at home in Coruña.
As she sank into the downy covers, Celestina realised she was no longer afforded the protection of the check-patterned wool that had enfolded her, the cover had hidden her nakedness after he’d found her half-drowned on the beach. Swiftly she crossed her arms to cover her breasts. No one, not even Rosalina, had seen her naked. Certainly, she still wore her silk shift, but the feel of air on her skin told Celestina that little of it remained after her fight with waves and rocks.
She wanted to cry out, ‘Por favor, don’t look at me,’ as he took the strip of wool she had felt safe inside and kilted it around his waist, catching it inside his belt. Instead she closed her eyes, as if by doing so he wouldn’t be able to see her. Behind her eyelids—in the dark—she felt again the sensation of hands pulling, and her shift ripping as she swam. Opening her eyes, she felt the heat of his gaze. No one had ever looked at her that way. It made her feel hot and cold at the same time, made her shiver.
‘Aileen.’ His voice sounded rough, yet warm with concern. ‘Come here and tend to the lass.’
‘The Selkie?’
‘That’s not been proven. She’s merely a poor soul in distress, and we need do what we can to help her. Have ye ordered the bathing tub filled? I ken she’s spent all her life in water, but she needs a little warmth in her limbs; she’s shivering.’
Distressed? Mayhap he had the right of it. Celestina knew only that she had never felt this way before and now was not sure if it pleased her in the least.
Niall
She was everything he needed and shouldn’t want. When he first saw her lying at the edge of the shore, he’d been sure she was dead. He had hoped for her sake that she couldn’t feel the mean beaks of the circling gulls, or realise he had been ready to put the creature he thought her to be out of its misery. Now Niall’s thoughts said, ‘Better for me if she had been dead.’ She was young, so young, so fragile he was afraid to touch her; instead, he had tumbled her onto his late wife’s bed, the shredded pieces of her Selkie skin still hanging off her, revealing the very human-looking female skin beneath.
Niall knew he should stand back, let Aileen take over—not a simple decision. His gaze was filled with slender but shapely legs; and, God help him for being human but male, he couldn’t prevent his glance travelling north. He had always imagined Selkies to be much fairer, to have come from the land of the Vikings, yet the hair hiding her mons was as dark as the long tresses he had wiped away from her delicate features. And her breasts … he dared not let his mind go there or Aileen might notice the hardness in his groin that he felt brushing the front of his kilt—a truth that made him wish that he had thought to wear his leather sporran on his walk to the beach.
He was relieved when Aileen bustled up to the edge of the bed. Jabbing him with her elbow, she laid a strip of linen on the bed. ‘The bathing tub is ready—steaming—so be careful as you put her in the water.’
Niall shot her an exasperated glance. A quiver of reluctance crept up the back of his neck even as he realised he had nae choice but to lift the lass into his arms once again.
‘Wrap her in the linen.’
Aileen had nae doubt sensed his moment’s hesitation, yet she showed none herself, stripping away the thin layers of Selkie skin surrounding the slight lass upon the coverlet. He prayed it didnae hurt. A shake of his head was enough to get him moving. Instead of wrapping her in the linen, he tossed the cloth over his shoulder and scooped her up in his arms.
The feel of skin brushing over skin almost took the knees out from under him. Nae lass had ever affected him so strongly. Gathering breath into his lungs, he lifted her higher, noticing Aileen take the remains of the Selkie skin and roll it into a ball betwixt her hands as he swung away in the direction of the bathing chamber. ‘What are ye doing with that?’
‘Whist now.’ Aileen dipped her head toward the lass in his arms. ‘I’ll tell ye later.’ She scurried out of the chamber, looking furtively over her shoulder as she passed through the door.
His daughters were waiting in the bathing room that had been an addition to the dressing room, and the scent of lavender floated off the water with the steam. He was pleased to note that the Selkie didnae seem to remind them of his wife. Their eyes followed him, wide, expectant. ‘We used lavender because Aileen says it is guid for healing.’ That was Ygraen, his eldest. He was filled with pride listening to her. Flora might have given the lass an outlandish name, but it hadnae tested her potential to one day become a wonderful young wife with a family of her own. Beth was quieter and Fiona impish; all were dear to his heart, and he loved them all equally.
Was it contrary for him to be glad of their presence as he slid the Selkie into the water and her hair floated around her the way seaweed did in the bay? He watched her raise her arms, making circles on the surface of scented water so deep she could almost float there, her legs and hips drifting off the floor of the tub as she tilted her head back until only her nose and mouth showed above the surface.
A tug on his hand dragged his attention away from the pink fullness of her lips that caused him to wonder if she tasted of the sea. ‘It is all right Pa; we’ll take guid care of her. After all, we ken how to wash lasses.’
He had his own notions of how he would like to take care of her. After all it was a grand tub, big enough for two. He sucked down his frustration and managed a smile. ‘That’s good,’ he told them. ‘I’ll leave you lasses to look after her. I’m sure Aileen taught ye well.’
The air was tight in his chest as he quit the small chamber Flora had claimed for herself. He had never shared that tub with her, never been as tempted to join her there as he had just been while watching the Selkie in the water.
Thank God for his daughters.
They had prevented him from making a right fool of his self.
Chapter 4
Celestina
Apart from the chorus of giggles floating over her head, reminding Celestina of the sunrise chatter of magpies, she might have been at home with Rosalina in attendance. Three pairs of small hands washed her hair then smoothed and pummelled her with sweet lotions and oils until Aileen arrived and startled them all by calling, ‘That’s enough nonsense, lasses.’
When the lord’s daughters stood away from the tub, Celi saw Aileen swathed in long strips of linen, no different from the ones Rosalina had used in Spain—confirmation that this was a hacienda equal to if not better than the home she had left in Coruña.
‘Fetch a stool, Fiona. I doubt the lass will be able to walk very well after doin’ naught but swimming.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘At least I would imagine so.’ Aileen turned, looking behind her as Fiona scraped the legs of the stool across the floor. ‘Right now let’s spread a strip of linen atop the stool for her to sit on while I dry her off.’
‘Me,’ Fiona sang out. ‘I’ll do it, because ye need to be gentle with her.’
‘Is that so, and whau taught ye all ye ken, wee missy?’ Aileen added a stern note to the conversation.
‘Why that would be my old nurse, whau else? That how I ken I’m right,’ Fiona cheeked Aileen, something Celestina would never have done to her nurse. She would have been too afraid. While she pondered the difference betwixt Aileen and Fiona, they lifted her out of the tub, one on either side, and eased her down onto the stool.
‘She has beautiful hair, long and dark, much straighter than mine.’ They spoke as if Celestina wasn’t there, or at least, as if she was unable to understand. ‘I hate red curls. Why am I the only one whau got them?’
Aileen laughed. ‘One of yon days when yer old enough, ye will be mighty h
appy to be blessed with bonnie hair like yer Mam. For now, though, ye can comb the Selkie’s hair, and dinnae tug at the tangles.’
At first, she was confused, why did they insist on calling her Selkie? Her name was Celestina, only daughter of the Master Commander of the San Miguel and owner of many warehouses filled with goods from around the world: gold and silver from across the Atlantic, exquisite silks and pottery from India and the Far East, treasures made to be adored and instil envy.
What good did that do her now?
Even should she survive, she could never reclaim his property. If only her brother lived, then at least all that her father had worked for would not end up in the coffers of the King or, worse, some unscrupulous rival. Miguel. Her brother had been named for the saint, as had the ship; neither choice, as it turned out, had been a good one.
‘Aieeah!’ she yelped, a sharp pain ripping through her scalp as Aileen began tsking at the little girl.
‘Fiona, did I not tell you to be canny with that comb? You’ve hurt the Selkie.’ She turned, close to the girl’s ear, and whispered as if uncertain how much the Selkie might understand of their language. ‘Whau kens what powers she might have? Ones we’ve never heard tell of.’
The old nurse was frightened of her—of her non-existent powers. She could reassure Aileen, but that would mean putting herself in danger, and that was something she could not yet bring herself to do. She and she alone had saved her life from el Teniente. Now, she must keep herself safe from these people, no matter how kindly they appeared on the surface.
Celestina looked up as a soft night-rail floated over her head. Her hands were slipped into the wide gaps in the sides and her hair pulled out from beneath the neckline to tumble down past her shoulders and waist.
Aileen patted her shoulder. ‘There now, lass, let’s get ye into bed. I’m sure yer tired after yer struggle with that wild sea.’ She took Celestina’s arm and led her over to the bed, sweeping back the garish red coverlet. At least the sheets were good plain linen and she would not slide out of the bed.
Bride From the Sea Page 3