Selkie Island

by Jorrie Spencer

  “You didn’t like it the one time I insisted we slow it down?”

  Her smile deepened. “I liked that too. You always did have so much to show me.”

  That had appealed to his manhood nine years ago. Now, he believed she had just as much to show him. He passed a hand down her side, over ribs, to rest on her hip. “I was so shocked that first time…” He trailed off, feeling a twinge of guilt about how oblivious he’d been till afterwards.

  “…when I bled,” she finished for him, quite cheerily. At least it seemed to be a good memory for her.

  “It wasn’t the bleeding per se.” Clay remembered that at first Morag had thought the blood itself bothered him, more than the fact that she hadn’t told him she was a virgin, more than the fact that he’d assumed with her eagerness and her kisses she was not a virgin.

  She traced a pattern over his chest. “Later I wondered if you minded being my first.”

  “No,” he said immediately. “Although if I’d known you were ninety-something and a selkie, I might have reacted differently.”

  “And now?” Uncertainty dimmed her expression slightly, but hope and faith was there too.

  “And now”—he shrugged—“I just want you with me. Not exactly sure how that’s going to work but we’ll figure it out.”

  She turned away, taking his hand and leading him to the shack. “Don’t think about the future.” She threw back a look at him. “I’d go crazy if I did.”

  “What about thinking about dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  But before dinner they made love again, this time Clay driving her crazy with his mouth before he rose over her and entered her and they came together.

  The next day, Clay managed to wake up before Morag did, and in doing so he also managed to keep her by his side all day. But it wore him out, not taking a nap, or maybe it was all the lovemaking. For his body was still healing and the following morning, which was full of fog and cooler than usual, he found that Morag had slipped away while he slept.

  As was her wont. He felt a bit like a kept man. She’d left him food, chowder again, warming on the now-dying fire she’d obviously lit before she’d left. Chowder for breakfast was not something he’d ever particularly longed for, but it was sustenance and Morag had made it for him. So he ate it.

  He’d been awake for a while, trying to read though he felt distracted by Morag’s absence. He hadn’t yet shown Morag his books but maybe today. She was not particularly keen so he wouldn’t force it, but he suspected she wouldn’t have forgotten how to read, even if it came slowly, and she’d feel better knowing if reading was something she could now do.

  As he leafed aimlessly through a book, the door flew open and she burst into the room with none of her usual grace and quiet. Her face was grim. “We have to hide. Immediately.”

  In quick, efficient movements, she swept up the bedding and his pack and stuffed them in the chest. She grabbed clothing and yanked it on, then glanced at the cooking paraphernalia by the fire. “Don’t have time to put these things away.” She doused the fire and left the rest.

  “What?” he demanded, feeling a little slow as she dashed around the cabin.

  “They’re coming. They’d be faster but they don’t know where to land. However, it won’t take long for them to find my beach.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” It couldn’t be Aaron. Aaron didn’t know about Selkie Island.

  It could only be Aaron.

  “Not fishermen. The lobster boats aren’t out yet.” She held out a hand to him and he shook his head. He would not endanger her.

  “You go, Morag. Go be safe in the ocean. They don’t know you’re here.”

  “There’s a cave.”

  He frowned. “You never told me.”

  “I never told anyone and had no reason to show you. Until now.” She marched over and grabbed his hand.

  “Is it by the water?”

  “Of course.”

  Fine, she could still disappear into the ocean. He let go of her and stalked over to the chest, dug out his gun and bullets from his pack.

  She barely glanced at his weapon, as if it was of no importance. “Clay, now.”

  She led and he followed, down to those large rocks she liked to shift upon. But instead of entering the water, they walked around to approach the point and ducked under a low-hanging rock. It was hard to see the entrance unless you were right there, but once you were beneath it, there was actually space to sit. “Cave” was perhaps a generous word, but as a hiding place, it might do.

  At least, he’d easily be able to shoot anyone who tried to enter. However, if discovered, they were sitting ducks.

  “I’ll stay here and hide. Go to the ocean, Morag.”

  She shook her head. “I want to be with you.”

  “Please,” he begged. He wanted to physically drag her out of the cave and throw her in the water, but not only could he not bring himself to force her, he wasn’t sure he had the strength for such a battle.

  Leaning into him, she wrapped her arms around his middle and hugged him tight. “No one has found this cave since Sarah and I discovered it a hundred years ago. I promise you.”

  He blew out a long breath.

  “I want to be with you,” she repeated, her tone this time pleading, and he understood she was scared of being left alone again. “It’s important to me, more than anything else.”

  “Okay,” he muttered into her hair.

  They waited all day. At one point, the intruders climbed down to the shore near them, and Morag had gripped Clay’s hand, watching his face as he listened to the voices.

  Mostly they couldn’t make out words, what with the wind and the fact the intruders didn’t walk too close to their cave. She could see Clay straining to listen. Then one of them yelled, “No one’s fucking here, Aaron.”

  Clay’s entire body went taut and he squeezed her hand so hard it ached. But she didn’t let go, and the voices receded. He turned to look at her and she knew what was in his eyes. He wanted to chase after them, stalk them in some way, but the island was too small for that to be a safe strategy, not when they had weapons. She shook her head and he watched, assessing her, probably thinking of her safety more than his. Then he nodded.

  They sat there till the sun set, and Morag figured the men would have been forced to leave, unless they were staying for the night.

  “All right,” she said softly. “Let’s see if they’re gone.”

  Clay stood, hunched over given the cave’s low ceiling.

  She tapped his arm. “Let me go first.”

  “No.”

  She blinked at him in the grayness. “No? I know this shore like the back of my hand.”

  “They might be here. I will not have you killed on my behalf.”

  She didn’t suppose arguing that she’d lived a long life, longer than his, was going to get her very far, not given the implacable expression on his face. “Okay. I don’t want them to shoot me either. But let me go first until we’re on the bank. Once we’re in the clearing, you can lead. With that gun.”

  He didn’t like it.

  “I know the shore, Clay,” she repeated, trying not to get impatient.

  “I’ll exit first. You go ahead until we’re off the shore. Then I go ahead.” He took in her frustration. “These men are killers, Morag.”

  “I understand. But I don’t want you killed.” She glanced pointedly at his leg where he’d been shot.

  He sighed and ducked out of the cave. She followed, listening carefully. The wind had died down and it was quiet now. She just couldn’t imagine strangers staying here overnight. It hadn’t happened for one hundred years.

  However, they were hunting Clay and that hadn’t happened in a hundred years either. She placed a hand on his arm, insisting she go ahead. He barely allowed it, shadowing her so closely she felt crowded by him. And when they climbed up the bank, he stepped in front of her.

  Again she listened. Her island felt right, sounded right, wi
th just the wind and the water to be heard. Nevertheless they approached the beach cautiously and breathed more easily when they didn’t see an intruder’s boat there. They turned around for home.

  The house was empty too, but Morag felt no relief at seeing it. The contents of the chest were strewn and Clay’s pack was gone. The fireplace was a mess, ashes spread around the floor, her pots knocked over.

  She made her decision then and there. “I have to go for help.”

  “Help?” he repeated. He’d thought she was completely isolated and couldn’t guess at who she could go to for help.

  “I still have family,” she said stiffly.

  “Okay.” They were both tense and upset, so he spoke carefully. “But I thought you never talked to them.”

  “There is one I will talk to, but I have to search her out. She is old.”

  He was about to ask who this old woman was and how she could possibly help when he brought himself up short. What the hell was he doing? Morag’s leaving was for the best. Get her off the island so that when Aaron came back for him, she was out of harm’s way. He nodded. “Go then.”

  She blinked as if she’d been expecting more of an argument, and he opened his arms. She came into them, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go. They rocked together before he released her and she stepped back. She stripped off her clothing, slipped out the door and melted into the darkness. The sky was dark, clouds obscuring the stars and the moon, but Clay went into the darkness after her anyway. He thought he heard her footsteps but it might have just been the water and the small breeze that was beginning to rise.

  When he was sure she wasn’t returning, he went back in the cabin and lit a candle. It was difficult to see, walking across the clearing and picking his way through the small copse of trees, but he went slowly, carefully, until he found his boat.

  They’d smashed it up. It was unusable and given what he knew of Aaron, he wasn’t surprised they’d sought it out and trashed it. He hunkered down beside it, placing a hand on the broken side, and tried to think this through. He was trapped here, on a very small island, with a selkie who would come back for him, no matter the danger to herself.

  Clay had to face Aaron before Morag returned.

  Chapter Eight

  She swam. It was early for a summer visit to see her dead sister’s house, a visit she didn’t always make, and she hoped her niece was still alive. Morag had begun avoiding her relations, because the feeling of dread, her fear that her niece had died, was overwhelming. It was sometimes easier not to shift to human at all and just stay seal, stay removed from these emotions.

  Weakness. When her sister had been alive, Morag had been stronger. Now, when she was a seal, it could be hard to remember that her niece might wish to see her.

  But Clay was in danger and Morag had no choice.

  It was still very dark by the time she dragged herself out of the water and walked up the narrow path that led to the family house. Her sister Sarah’s husband had built it for his family. Morag had no clothing and didn’t see how she could find some without knocking on the door. She had used a more stealthy approach in the past, but tonight time was important.

  Thinking there was nothing for it but to forge ahead, she took a deep breath. With a clenched fist, she gave three loud raps on the door, paused for a few seconds and did it again.

  Voices murmured and she heard heavy steps coming from upstairs. Well, her great-nephew or great-great-nephew was not going to be happy to see her. She wanted to flee, the panic of meeting humans threatened to overpower her, but she stayed put, for Clay’s sake.

  The door pulled open and a large man stood in its threshold, crossing his arms, his face creased with sleep and then puzzlement as he looked her up and down once before averting his gaze from her naked body.

  “Heh, what’s this?” Embarrassed, his expression suggested he’d been thrown for a loop. “Rebecca!” he bellowed, in some kind of alarm.

  His alarm quieted her own. It was okay. It is hard to meet those who do not acknowledge what I am, but it is doable. A calm came over her.

  He wouldn’t look directly at her, but then his gaze seemed to land on something and he grabbed a big jacket. Probably his.

  Thrusting it at her, he demanded, “Put this on.”

  She obeyed.

  As an afterthought, he added, “You must be cold.”

  Not yet, but she would be if she stayed naked. She wrapped the large jacket around her.

  “Rebecca!” he yelled again as if he was depending on Rebecca to save him. His hair was gray but he was hale, not elderly, and he didn’t seem to be appreciating Morag’s visit thus far.

  A voice came, admonishing. “Hush, Henry, you’ll wake your mother.”

  As a dark-haired woman bustled into sight, Henry said through clenched teeth, “There is a naked woman on our doorstep.”

  Rebecca pushed him out of the way and took one look at Morag. “Well for God’s sake, invite her in. Don’t leave her standing in bare feet there. What happened to you, love? You must be freezing cold. Did someone abandon you? You shouldn’t be out in the middle of the night like this.” Rebecca continued in this vein, mixing statements with questions she didn’t expect answers to, as she drew Morag into the kitchen and decided Morag needed tea. Her final question was “Where are you from?”

  There was an actual pause this time, and Morag realized that her hosts were waiting for an answer, even if Henry still wouldn’t look directly at her. She spoke her first words. “I’m from Selkie Island.”

  Rebecca and Henry glanced at each other.

  He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he admitted, “She has the look of a MacNeil.”

  “So she does.” Rebecca’s mouth had thinned to a straight line. “Best you wake your mother after all.”

  Clay didn’t allow himself to sleep that night, he simply waited. He feared that if he did fall asleep he would not wake before Aaron returned. The idea of being shot unawares was worse than fighting for his life, even facing his death with eyes wide open. It was the longest night of his life, in large part because he feared Morag would return and he wouldn’t know how to force her to leave her own island.

  The morning arrived with fog and silence, only the occasional cry of a gull pierced the sky. And still he waited, fortifying himself with protein bars.

  At first the sound of the motor was so faint that he wasn’t sure if it was a boat or his imagination. But as the noise grew louder, he knew Aaron was returning to the island.

  Clay had taken his position before the sun had risen, and he crouched behind a rock—not that he was particularly visible in the fog—staying hidden while the boat rounded the point and approached the beach.

  Aaron and Steeles—yes, that was Steeles with Clay’s ex-boss—probably wore bulletproof vests, and Clay had to be careful he did not waste his bullets by shooting the vests. He wasn’t going to get a do-over here. If they actually came in his direction, he had a decent chance of taking them out. It was what he wanted, because if their guns were drawn and they were ready to attack, shooting them would be his only recourse. Ambushing them from behind was going to be more difficult for him to carry out, more cold-blooded.

  “You’re not a killer, Clay.” Aaron’s voice, half-chagrined, half-admiring, or so Clay had thought at the time when he’d talked down a suspect instead of shooting him. Maybe it had been one hundred percent patronizing, and Aaron had been disgusted that Clay had risked his own skin to save a guy now behind bars.

  Didn’t matter what his boss had thought. Aaron and Steeles were here, today, and they didn’t walk down the shore towards Clay but followed the path up to Morag’s lighthouse.

  Clay made sure they were far enough ahead that he wasn’t vulnerable as he left the safety of his rock. The fog aided him. He crept along the path, listening, trying to ignore his heart that beat too loudly.

  Just then he became aware of the motor of a second boat approaching. He’d been so focused on Aaron a
nd Steeles, he hadn’t realized someone else was arriving on the island.

  Morag.

  Christ, he didn’t want her here. Not now. He crested the bank to see that Aaron and Steeles were near the shack. Too far away to get a good shot. He lay down so he was barely visible and watched as Aaron stiffened and the two of them argued before they walked briskly across the narrow island towards where the boat was coming, presumably to get a better view.

  Surely they wouldn’t kill everyone in their quest to kill him. Too many bodies would ruin Aaron, no matter how clever he was. Clay watched the men watch the ocean. He couldn’t risk trying to take them both and failing, only to have them turn their guns on the new arrivals. When Aaron turned in his direction, presumably to head back towards the beach, Clay scrambled down the bank and retreated to crouch behind his rock.

  It was a larger boat that rounded the point. It didn’t even come to shore itself but sent a little lifeboat with Morag and some hefty middle-aged guy, who looked less than enthusiastic about this new assignment of his.

  Morag wore modern if ill-fitting clothes that made her appear different, like she didn’t belong here. And she didn’t right now. She should have stayed away for an hour longer. It would have been over by then, one way or the other.

  She and her relation, perhaps a cousin, got out of the lifeboat to confront Aaron and Steeles standing at the beach awaiting them. There was an innocence in the way the two of them went before these killers, and it made Clay’s heart ache.

  “Are you looking for someone?” asked Aaron as if he owned the island.

  There was a rather long pause, because Morag didn’t seem inclined to speak and the man with her was rubbing his unshaved face. He was the one who spoke, finally, to Aaron. “Why are you here? This island belongs in the family.”

  “Really?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “I believe it’s government owned.”

  The man scratched his jaw. “I think you should leave.”

  “No.” Steeles smiled. “At least not yet. We’re looking for someone. Have you seen a man hereabouts? Black. Six-one. Short cropped hair. Goes by the name of Clayton Johnson.”