Celestina was tired, more tired than she could ever remember, and thankful.
Her bones ached, and her scalp ached where it had been tugged. As for her eyelids, they felt heavy. So heavy…
Niall
It struck him that he hadnae hurried up the winding stone stairs as swiftly when Flora was waiting for him, not at the start of their marriage and definitely not near the end.
Aileen was leaving the master chamber, shooing his daughters in front of her as he reached the landing. ‘A word, Aileen.’
She gave him a quick nod, but it was the lasses she spoke to. ‘I have to thank the three of ye for helping me bathe the Selkie. Why don’t ye all scoot down to the kitchen and see if the cook has a wee treat for ye.’
Smiles broke out on two of the lasses’ faces, but not Beth’s. She was always the most serious of his daughters, as unlike her mother as could be. ‘I think we should find her a better name. Instead of calling her “the Selkie” all the time; it’s rude.’
As usual, Beth was correct.
‘Why don’t the three of ye lasses think of a guid name while ye eat yer treat. I’m sure the cook has some currant cake for ye.’
The suggestion sped their departure, and once they were out of earshot, he looked down on his auld nurse and framed his question with a lift of his eyebrows. ‘What did ye do with her skin?’ He felt weird asking such an odd question; she was a lassie not a deer with a hide to lay on the floor.
‘I buried it in the garden.’
His jaw dropped. He had never heard the like before. ‘Why would ye do that?’
The sigh Aileen expelled was long with a hint of exasperation. ‘Have ye never listened to the stories I tell?’
‘When I’ve been home, aye.’
‘I’ve buried the skin because a Selkie cannae leave without her skin. It all fits with the cycles of the moon. But never mind that. If we can keep her here, whau kens what guid fortune she could bring. An’ if ye could get her with child she would never leave—’
‘What are ye talking about, woman,’ he snapped. ‘Can ye not hear yerself, how daft ye sound?’ He began to wonder if he should forbid her to fill his daughters’ heads with any more nonsense, then his thoughts slipped into forbidden territory. Had Aileen sensed the direction his mind had taken earlier as he watched the Selkie floating in the deep bathing tub Flora had had built? He remembered his wife once mentioning that Mary the Queen had one. Aye, Flora had always had notions above her station, and none would envy Mary now. If ever a lass had been betrayed it was she—first by France then Scotland then England—all for the sake of power; and that was the way for the highest Scottish clans and families, a truth his father clung to. Aught else were naught but tales for minstrels and troubadours.
He could see from the way his old nurse fidgeted she was betwixt two minds—whether to fold her arms or turn on her heel and dash downstairs—so he settled it for her. ‘Off ye go and see to the lasses. Make sure they dinnae say over much in the kitchen, or before ye ken it will have reached the McDonall’s ears. And ye ken what that means.’
The chamber was in darkness with the exception of a wee candle on a table to one side of the bed. Niall stood in the shadows and looked down on her. It hadnae taken him long to realise he had never been more attracted to any woman. And that frightened him. Apart from his daughters, he hadn’t believed it possible to love a lass with nae more than a look.
And that was the last thing he dared do, fall fathoms deep and drown in that pool of emotion he felt by just watching her sleep. A hopeless cause to think of loving her, for if, as Aileen believed, she would begin to get restless and want to be off to sea again at the next full moon, he should let her go. It was one thing to suggest getting the Selkie with child and another—no matter how she made him feel—to seduce her into making her stay. How could he sink that low, to trick her into staying, yet be aware that she would always pine for the blue depths of the ocean?
Niall lost track of time as he stood by the huge four-poster bed that dwarfed the Selkie in a way it never had Flora. His late wife had never appeared vulnerable the way the sleeping lass did. Eventually he found enough resolve to make himself leave, yet couldn’t resist lifting a few silk-like strands of her hair in his fingers. He rubbed them betwixt finger and thumb, testing the texture for an instant then he let them float softly down to her shoulders, aware of the need to leave before temptation got the better of him.
Celestina
Celestina could not judge how long she held her breath, knowing he stood beside the bed. What did he think of her that required him to study her for so long?
They kept calling her ‘the Selkie’, yet she did not look so very dissimilar from other young Spanish señoritas of marriageable age. Nor were her limbs assembled any differently from those of his daughters. It was her hair colouring and pale skin that made her stand out as not belonging, just as her mother had in Spain—a lily amongst a bouquet of dark red roses, daughter of an English ambassador to Phillip’s court her father had dealings with. Then the Catholic Queen Mary of England had died and everything changed.
Her father had rescued her mother from a life where being Catholic meant living under a death sentence. What she no longer understood were his reasons for returning to a land her mother had been forced to flee.
Would she have to flee for her life as well?
Would she want to escape?
Already Celestina envied the warmth that emanated from this family—a new experience.
Sometimes she wondered if her life would have been happier had Miguel survived his clash with the French. A weary sigh pushed its way betwixt her lips and, before she completed the thought that mayhap her life could be happier now, she fell asleep.
Chapter 5
Niall
Niall had come to the conclusion that he was better leaving the Selkie in Aileen’s care—better for the young woman and better for his peace of mind. Yet for all his good intentions she was never far from his thoughts.
Almost four days had passed since the storm. He had spent the morning out on the hills, making a count of the black-faced sheep, happy to note the number of healthy young lambs. Unfortunately, the shepherd’s bothy was not such a bonnie sight. That would have to be seen to before winter set in and snow blanketed the hills. After studying the state of the bothy and a few of the other stone buildings, blame sat heavily on his shoulders. He could feel its weight, as if all the silver Flora had frittered away sat at the back of his neck.
By the time he reached the lower slopes where his cattle grazed, Niall had come to a decision and it involved Gordon, his steward. Part and parcel of the marriage settlement, Gordon had become established at the Keep when Niall had moved there with his bride; in truth, the man had been part of Flora’s dowry. Before, an attempt to pension him off would have been as clever as spitting in the wind. Aye, Niall had learned to pick his battles when it came to dealing with Flora. The dowry had tied his hands, but now…?
Niall looked at the bothy. Nae matter, he was used to getting his hands mucky whether with blood or dirt. He would gather up a few of the men and, betwixt them, they would put matters to right with what they could scour from the property—dry-stone walls and turf roof. Both shepherd and sheep would have shelter this winter.
His heart had lifted by the time he re-entered the Keep with the weight on his shoulders lightened. The fire crackling in the hearth was a welcoming sight, but the lasses kneeling on the rug, giggling, slowed his pace. The Selkie was at the centre of the group, blue eyes sparkling, bonnie lips shaped in an O, as if she didnae understand what had caused the hilarity.
Fiona was the first to notice him. ‘Pa, come see. We’re teaching Sellie to speak.’
Ygraen clapped her hands. ‘Ye should hear her, Pa; she has this funny wee accent.’
He smiled at that. ‘I expect some folks think the same of us.’ Niall paused to give his eldest daughter a considering look. ‘What can she say?’
His y
oungest piped up with the answer. Fiona always liked to be first, as if that made up for being born last. ‘She can say drink if she’s thirsty, but it sounds like trink.’ That set his daughters laughing again and the Selkie lass joined in, covering her lips as if in apology for acting naturally.
‘Nae lassies, ye dinnae laugh at folk for trying.’ He let his glance trail over the Selkie, her bonnie features, and long shining hair that his fingers itched to run through. Aileen had dressed her in one of Flora’s auld frocks, blue and, thankfully, not one of the elaborate ruffled finery she had taken to having made, as if she could ever look as regal as Mary had.
‘Pa’s right,’ said Beth, ‘we shouldn’t laugh at Sellie, though she doesnae seem to mind. Mayhap she doesnae ken any better.’
Beth had always been a mite sensitive and seemed happy with a nod and a smile in confirmation. Niall hadnae time to hear more, as Aileen bustled through and began chivvying the lassies to get ready for supper with, ‘Quick now, wash up or yer supper will be cauld before ye sit down.’ A lie, he knew, as Aileen never let the cook dish up until she saw them all seated.
‘I hope my supper is still steaming when I reach the table, for I need to get out of my dirt if I’m to sit at table with all these bonnie lassies.’ A compliment that drew more laughter as his daughters scattered and ran up the stairs.
The Selkie followed, almost as if she had understood all that had been said, but he supposed she had become familiar with the routine. He let her take the stairs ahead of him, her full skirts swaying as she lifted them in both hands. He listened to the soft scuff of her slippers on the granite steps that wound in a gentle spiral, wishing for another undeserved glimpse of the ankles he had enjoyed as they floated in the warm bath water. Once seen never forgotten, and therein lay his problem. A picture of perfectly shaped limbs had haunted his sleep. What more had he expected? According to Aileen, Selkies were able to enchant a man, to hold him in thrall.
Thrall—an old word for an immediate problem.
At the first landing, she turned into the master’s chamber. His own fault as, since she arrived, he had dragged himself off to a smaller chamber and left the Selkie in possession of his—naught Niall hadnae done before when Flora still lived.
Thrall—was that why he followed her?
With her back to him, she poured water from pitcher to basin and began to sluice water over her face then undid the fichu at her neck, turning as she patted dry her throat and the soft creamy curves of her breasts.
‘Oh.’ Her breath caught and her cheeks turned pink, a swift flush of colour as she saw him standing there, staring at her, but then he’d been told that’s what Selkies wanted.
‘Such a pity ye ken so few words.’ His mouth felt dry, as if well aware he shouldn’t say more, but his brain wasnae in charge and his arousal wouldn’t be gainsaid. ‘If ye could understand, I would tell ye how beautiful I find ye. Tell ye how much I want to take ye in my arms and hold ye close—how much I want ye, lass. I can hardly look at yer bonnie hair without needing to touch it.’ And so saying, he reached out and took a swath of her black hair in his fingers, lifting the silky texture of the strands to his nose and breathed her in.
Considering they made their own soap, he might have expected the bonnie lass staring up at him through eyes as blue as the sea she had come out of, to smell like Flora, but there was something else floating around his head, a scent to trap the senses and embrace every sexual need, especially the one rearing up from his groin like a hungry beast.
‘When you look at me that way I want to dip my head and taste your mouth until the world spins out of view.’ He paused, aware he had run out of time. ‘And then again, lass, mayhap it’s just as well that I resist.’
Niall was saved by the clatter of his daughters’ feet on the stairs from the floor above. The noise caused him to straighten and step away. He had to swallow hard, push back need—want—roiling inside him. The raw words scraped the inside of his throat in an effort to hide his true emotions, to sound normal, putting aside the truth. She couldn’t understand him and mayhap never would.
‘Please excuse me, lass. I must get some clean clothes from the kist. Sheep are such mucky creatures,’ he said, as if naught of momentum had gone before.
Celestina
Her heart had stopped—her lungs seized—and saved her.
To acknowledge Niall’s hard-wrought confession would have betrayed her.
He wanted her. No one had ever wanted her before—her, Celestina.
No one had ever gotten close enough to realise she was a woman—especially her betrothed—yet even with Niall’s back to her as he pulled a clean shirt and plaid from a chest, a surge of tension played betwixt them.
A sob caught in her throat as she turned away, pretended to fasten the soft muslin fichu in place above her breasts. What kind of woman was she that she could still feel the touch of his hard hands on her? That she preferred the brush of his fingers to the soft flow of muslin she draped across the curve of flesh that ached for him? … A strange truth to admit, even to herself.
Though she had once been betrothed, for the first time in all her twenty-one years, she had discovered how a woman feels when a man wants her—a thought that buzzed in her mind like a trapped wasp as she made her way back down the stone steps to have supper with the family Celestina wished she was a part of.
Niall
When he came home from France and discovered Flora had died less than a month after he left Inverbrevie—on what had felt like the back end of an argument—he’d found that Aileen and the bairns had taken to eating their supper at the big table that sat at one end of the kitchen instead of in the Hall.
Niall couldn’t say he blamed them. It would need a cruel heart to condemn his poor motherless daughters to sit at what had always been called the high board—Flora’s notion, part of her fascination with medieval knights that he could never live up to. Aye, there was comfort to be found in the smell of baking bread and the soup pot always on the heat.
The Selkie had already taken her place at the scrubbed wooden table when he sat down. One thing about Flora: she had refused to stand for slovenliness in her person or her home, but the notion of eating in the kitchen would never had entered her mind.
He ate everything put in front of him, yet he couldn’t put a name to the taste of any of the food he put in his mouth. His attention was caught up with the four lasses, two sitting on each side of the table. He watched the way the Selkie’s eyes sparkled as she listened to his daughters. Naturally she couldn’t speak herself, but her expressions said a lot, as if she understood. Mind you, there was a lot of laughter involved, and though she was only a wee bit over a head taller than his eldest daughter, even when she laughed with his bairns, nae one could see her as one of them. Her whole demeanour had a sensuality he hoped never to see a daughter of his display for any man.
Niall was thankful when Aileen, sitting closest to him, interrupted his chain of thought, saying, ‘It makes yer heart glad to watch them. I’ve been thinking the Selkie is just what the lasses needed. Look how happy they’ve been since that day ye brought her home to the Keep.’
‘If ye say so. I’ve not seen that much of them myself; there’s a lot needs attending to around the estate.’ He bit his tongue before he could speak the words that sprang to mind—Gordon was as big a mistake as Flora—which wasnae true. If not for Flora, he wouldnae have the Keep or his daughters, and he would nae change that for the world.
‘What do ye think of Gordon, lately?’ He blurted the question without thought, as if it still sat on the tip of his tongue.
Aileen drew her grey eyebrows into a frown. ‘I think ye should send him back where he came from. If ye were home more often, we wouldn’t need him. He would never have lent a hand with rebuilding the bothy, and there’s a lot more needs fixing about the place, but I very much doubt the silver he earns is enough to pay for it all.’
The McDonall had his own notion of what was needed. He had
said as much in a letter that came yesterday. ‘I’ll think on it, Aileen. Meanwhile, put away the notion that the Selkie is the solution to my problems. Ye have come to the conclusion that she has some sort of magical power that will help. She’s an enchanting creature, but I’d think twice against spreading such rumours around. The Selkie is far too bonnie a wee thing to be burnt for a witch. These days we have enough bother in Scotland through being Catholic; let’s not add to that burden.’
The auld nurse simply nodded, but he was well aware Aileen wasnae the kind of person to give up easily. Almost before Niall realised, they had all finished eating, and cook sent a maidservant to clear the table. He’d been too deep in thought to notice, until his attention was dragged by the clash of crockery on the kitchen flagstones as Jean dropped the plates she was carrying then burst out crying.
Aileen jumped to her feet and waved away the cook, who had bustled over. ‘Dinnae be crying, Jean. What’s wrong with ye?’ She patted the maidservant’s back to sooth her, the way she had done for Niall when he was a wee lad, as well as for each of his daughters in turn. Aileen might never have been a mother herself, yet she had been a true one to him and his daughters alike.
Jean shook her head and Aileen told her, ‘Dinnae give me that, lass. I noticed yer hands shaking while ye helped cook serve.’
The maidservant lifted her head and Niall saw from the tear marks on her face that the lass wasnae pretending to be upset to get out of breaking crockery. ‘I cannae get the thought of yon two bodies they found out of my head. I’m right scared.’
Surprised for once in his life by a domestic upset, Niall swiftly rose from the table and joined Aileen. ‘What’s this about bodies? Nae one came to me about them.’
‘One of the lads frae farther up the coast came searching for Gordon. He told me that, while I was there serving, then went through to tell Gordon.’
Bride From the Sea Page 4