by Sophie Moss
The Selkie Enchantress
By Sophie Moss
Copyright 2012 Sophie Moss
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
For my mom
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my mom and dad for sharing your love of stories, for reading me my first fairy tale, and teaching me about magic. Thank you to my big brother for believing in me and supporting my dreams. Thank you to my earliest readers: Danielle Mulcahy-for your friendship, pep talks, and positive spirit. Diane J. Reed-I’m so blessed to have met you this year. And Margot Miller-for your incredible attention to detail.
Chapter 1
Caitlin Conner tapped her scarlet high heel. She imagined ripping it off and tossing it in Liam O’Sullivan’s ridiculously handsome face the moment he walked through her door. Maybe it would knock some sense into that thick head of his—the one he always had stuck in the clouds.
Sure, there were times she admired his penchant for daydreaming. But this was not one of them. If he didn’t walk through that door in about three seconds, she was personally going to see that he suffered. She let the shiny heel dangle, catching the strap between her toes. She had good aim, too.
Candles flickered, wax dripping down their golden stems. Steam rose from an herb-crusted roast cooling in the center of the table. She poked at a glazed carrot threatening to spill over the edge. Liam wouldn’t be the first to become a target for her temper. And that fire simmering under the surface was starting to boil.
She tugged at the neckline of her sweater dress. She’d worn a dress—a dress for Christ’s sake. She hadn’t worn a dress since Tara and Dominic’s wedding three months ago. And, oh, how Liam had liked that dress! Her lips curved. She could still picture the look on his face when she’d walked up the hill wearing the black dress Glenna had brought her from Paris. She was looking forward to having that same effect on him tonight.
And letting him feed her chocolate covered strawberries in bed.
But if he didn’t get his fine Irish backside over here, he wasn’t getting anywhere near her hand-dipped strawberries. Or her bed. Her smile faded as she glanced up at the clock. Oh, he was going to suffer alright. There was no way she was letting him off the hook for this.
***
Footsteps echoed on the deck of the passenger ferry. Alone at the bow, Liam O’Sullivan turned as a woman stepped out of the cabin and ducked her head against the frigid November winds. Wrapped in one of the captain’s heavy wool blankets, she picked her way across the thick coiled ropes and storage crates. She rested her arms on the peeling paint of the railing to take in the view beside him.
The woman and her son were the only other passengers on the ferry tonight. Liam hadn’t given them much more than a passing glance when they ducked into the warmth of the cabin an hour earlier. He preferred to ride up on the deck, no matter how cold, and watch the ocean stretch out until the first twinkling lights of the island came into view.
Home. He’d spent the last nine years in Galway working at the University, but he’d never considered the vibrant coastal city his home. He favored the solitude of the island. His family and closest friends still lived there, and part of him—a large part—wanted to move back someday. Glancing down at the bouquet of roses tucked into the crook of his arm, he wondered what Caitlin’s reaction would be when he told her that tonight. That he’d spent the last few months lobbying for a full-time research position at the University so he could move back to the island at the end of this term.
He smiled, lifting his gaze from the flowers to the ocean. The mists were thick tonight; the air cold and wet. Seawater lapped against the hull of the ferry, splashing up over the deck smelling of salt and kelp. “Not much to see this time of night,” he commented to the stranger beside him.
“I just needed some air.”
The woman’s rich, lilting voice had him gazing at her profile. The hair that peeked out of her hood was moonlight blond and waterfall straight. High cheekbones framed fair, delicate features and thick lashes curled out from eyes that stayed fixed on the churning surface of the water.
“I heard talk of snow on the mainland tonight.” Liam nodded to the thick clouds blotting out the moon and stars. “Won’t get any of that on the island. But it’s not the best time for a visit, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind the cold.”
Liam glanced back at the woman curiously. They didn’t get many tourists this time of year. Even the most adventurous travelers preferred the cozy villages along the coast rather than suffer the hour-long ride to the island. “What brings you to the island?”
The ancient motor hummed as they cut a slow path toward the faint outline of rocks in the distance. “I needed a few days away from the city. For myself, and my son.”
“Galway?”
“Limerick.”
Liam nodded. “I try to get away from the city as much as I can.”
The wind whipped over the bow and the woman huddled deeper under her cloak. “It wears at you, doesn’t it?”
Liam took in the slight downward curve of the woman’s mouth, the sad eyes staring down into the water. “It does. I’m lucky I have the island to escape to.”
Pulling her gaze from the water for the first time, she looked up at him. “Do you have a home on the island?”
Liam nodded, noting how pale her eyes were, almost like glass. He’d never seen eyes quite like that before. “I grew up there. My brother and grandmother still live there.”
She motioned to the flowers Liam held. “Are the roses for your grandmother?”
“No.” Liam shook his head, smiling. “The roses are for the woman I’m having dinner with tonight.”
“They’re beautiful.” She gazed back at the water, her tone turning wistful. “She’ll love them.”
Studying the traveler more closely, Liam saw that she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Surely, she didn’t have any trouble finding men to buy her flowers. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought a woman flowers. This wasn’t exactly normal for him. Glancing back down at the roses, he frowned. “That’s strange.”
The woman’s gaze flickered back up to Liam’s. “What?”
Liam pulled the bouquet from the crook of his arm and stared down at the velvety flowers. “Where did this white rose come from?”
She turned, her violet skirt rustling with the rhythm of the waves. “It wasn’t there before?”
Liam shook his head slowly.
The woman’s gaze locked on the single white rose sparkling in the center of the fragrant bouquet. “Maybe you overlooked it.”
“Maybe,” Liam murmured. “But I could have sworn they were all yellow.”
***
Twenty minutes was one thing, but thirty? Pushing to her feet, Caitlin blew out the candles. Ignoring the little bits of wax that splattered onto the tablecloth, she c
rossed the room to the telephone. Something must have happened. There was no way Liam had purposely ditched out on their date. They’d been planning it for weeks!
She started to punch in the numbers for the pub and then stopped. What if Dominic answered the phone? What was she supposed to say? ‘Hey, Dom, I thought your brother was coming over to my place for dinner, but he never showed. You haven’t seen him have you?’ She shoved the phone back into the cradle. She hadn’t even talked to Dom about this whole, dating-Liam thing.
Now that was going to be a fun conversation. Marching across the room, she grabbed her wool sweater off the hook and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Bracing herself against the cold, she pulled open the door. A thick fog swirled through the dark street and the scent of the sea rushed into the room. With one last fleeting glance at the romantic table for two, Caitlin lifted her eyes to the ceiling. God help me, Liam O’Sullivan. If I find out you flaked on our first date, I will never forgive you!
***
Icy winds stung Nuala Morrigan’s face as she peered up at the man standing beside her at the bow of the ferry. He was taller than she’d expected—tall and lanky with a thick shock of black hair and sharp, lighting-blue eyes. He wore rectangular, wire-rim glasses and one shoulder hung slightly lower than the other, adding a studious vulnerability and boyish charm to his otherwise strikingly handsome features.
“Would you mind if I…?” She gestured to the bouquet.
“Oh,” Liam stammered, his troubled gaze following the white rose as he handed her the flowers. “Of course.” The tissue paper rustled in the wind. “I guess I missed it when the florist snuck the white one in with the rest.”
“Long week?”
“Busy.” Liam dipped his hands in his pockets. “But that’s nothing new.”
No. It wasn’t. Nuala held the flowers up to her face, closing her eyes as she inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent. She knew he stayed up until all hours of the night writing. She’d seen the lights burning in the windows of his apartment along the River Corrib long after the rest of the city fell asleep. She lowered the flowers, gazing back up at his attractive profile. “What do you do on the mainland?”
“I’m a professor at the University of Ireland in Galway.” He turned, leaning against the railing. The wind blew his wavy hair into his eyes. “Irish mythology.”
She smiled, like she didn’t already know. It was his career that first drew her to him. It was one of the main reasons she’d chosen him. A scholar of Irish myths who not only studied them, but who believed in them? It was almost too good to be true. “I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “I won’t bore you with the details. I have a tendency to get caught up in my work.”
“So do I,” she said. The ocean lapped at the hull of the ferry. Seawater sprayed onto the deck. “I’m a writer. It goes with the territory.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, regarding her with new interest. “What do you write?”
“Songs.”
Her lips curved when she said the word ‘songs’ and she caught the slight shift deep in his eyes. As if something was registering, fragmented pieces of knowledge clicking together in that sharp, perceptive mind. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She held out a delicate hand. “It’s Nuala Morrigan.”
“Nuala the songwriter from Limerick,” Liam repeated, taking her palm in his. His grip was firm, his strong palm callused from working on the island’s docks to burn off steam on the weekends. She liked that about him. That he visited his family and friends so often. That those relationships meant something to him. “I’m Liam.”
“Liam the professor from Galway,” Nuala echoed. “Maybe you’ll take a few days off this weekend?”
Liam let go of her hand. “Doubtful. I have to work on a presentation for a conference next week. There’s a lot riding on how it’s received.”
And there was a lot riding on how well she would be able to divert him from that task. Nuala glanced back down at the brilliant blooms between them. “May I ask… why did you choose yellow?”
“It’s her favorite color.”
Nuala brushed a finger over the tips of the fragile petals. “But it’s also the color of friendship.”
Liam’s brow creased. “It is?”
She nodded. “You didn’t know that?”
Liam shook his head. “Do all women know that?”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “I don’t know. But maybe it’s good that a white one found its way in here.”
“Why? What does white mean?”
“White can mean anything you want it to.”
Liam arched a brow. “That’s a powerful rose.”
“It is.” Nuala smiled, shifting the bouquet so the fragrance filled the air between them. Perhaps he would embrace this change. This chance. This opportunity. “What do you want this one to mean?”
“I don’t know.” Liam looked thoughtfully at the single white rose. “I guess I’d have to think about that.”
Nuala’s gaze dropped to that lovely-shaped mouth. She couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to look. How long had it been since a man’s lips brushed against hers? She wanted to know how they tasted, how he tasted. What it felt like to kiss a man like Liam O’Sullivan. Her fingers itched to reach up and touch that silky black hair.
But she swallowed the urge. For years she had lived in the shadows. Cut off from everyone, everything she had ever known. When she made the trade, she hadn’t counted on the loneliness. The sorrow that would eat at her like a salty tide ate at the shoreline. Rubbing against the fine broken rocks until there was nothing left but dust.
But she had served her time. They would have to accept her back now. They would not turn her away when she brought back her prize. “Is it new, then?” Her eyes lifted, meeting his. “This relationship with the woman you’re having dinner with tonight?”
Liam nodded slowly. “You could say that.”
“Then maybe it means new beginnings,” she offered.
“New beginnings.” Liam tested the words as they rolled off his tongue. “That sounds right.”
Nuala gazed back out at the water. “New beginnings can be wonderful.” Through the mists, a sprinkling of whitewashed cottages dotting a rocky hillside came into view. Lamplights burned in the windows and smoke curled from the squat chimneys of the homes leading up to the cliffs. The scent of peat-smoke burned her throat and she swallowed the urge to choke, burying her face in the fragrant roses.
Three days. Nuala’s hands squeezed the tissue-covered stems. Three days and the new beginning she’d wanted for ten years would finally be hers.
Liam pushed off the railing and waved to the captain sheltered behind the protective plastic covering, signaling that he would take care of the bow line. “Do you mind holding onto those while I help Finn with the lines?” Liam gestured to the roses, already gathering up the thick wet rope in his strong arms.
Still clutching the flowers, Nuala watched Liam swing one leg over the railing, ready to jump down to the pier as they motored up beside it. A second rope lay coiled in a loose circle around his other foot still resting inside the railing. It was now or never. She pushed the pointed toe of her heeled boot underneath it, nudging it up and over his ankle.
The motor made a loud grinding sound, pulling at the water to slow the heavy vessel. She almost missed the sharp intake of breath from her son. Clinging to the opening in the cabin, his black hair mussed from sleep, Owen stood frozen, staring at her boot. Nuala glanced over her shoulder, meeting her son’s panicked eyes and, with one last flick of her ankle, caught Liam’s foot in the other rope.
Dark shapes slid from the rocks in the harbor. The seals, usually numb to the comings and goings of the ferry, shrank back from the boat, slipping soundlessly into the sea. Nuala watched Liam push off the edge and, holding her arm out over the water, she opened her fingers and let the roses, all of them white now, drop into the sea.
Chapter 2
Dodging the village, Caitlin veered onto the rocky cliff path leading down to the harbor. If Liam was still at the docks chatting with Finn, she was going to let him have it! She didn’t care who heard her give him a piece of her mind. She spied O’Sullivan’s pub, where all her friends and neighbors would be gathered around the crackling fire, telling tales over a pint and a warm bowl of stew.
Which is where she should be, too—in a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt—not tromping around in these toe-pinching heels. The faint squeak of a weathervane faded behind her and she was almost past the outskirts of the village when the door to the pub swung open and voices spilled out into the night. She heard an American accent shout, “Dom, get my med kit!”
Med kit? Caitlin whirled, spotting Tara O’Sullivan break into a run, heading for the harbor. More footsteps pounded on the cracked pavement. The frantic murmurings of her friends and neighbors flowed into the street. She reached down, jerking off her soiled heels. A man’s footsteps, heavier and faster, followed and she spied Dominic running after his wife, her bag tucked under his arm.
A thick mist slid over the cliffs, dripping liquid silver over the jagged edges. Struggling to see through the fog, Caitlin started after them. She saw a flash of white light. Was that a runner light from the ferry? Her bare feet slipped on the wet earth as the trail curved sharply, connecting with the single road leading down to the docks. Another beam of light swept over the harbor, illuminating the body of a man lying motionless on the pier.
Liam! Caitlin raced down to the docks. Finn’s voice echoed over the water, shouting to Dominic. She spotted Tara through the fog, dropping to her knees in front of the man lying on the pier. “What happened?” Caitlin skidded to a stop, grabbing Dominic’s arm.
“I don’t know.” Dominic’s gray eyes were wild with worry as he passed the bag to his wife. “We just got the call from Finn.”
“Did he fall in the water?” Caitlin asked, frantic. “He’s soaking wet.”