I shook my head, willing myself to not get lost in the byways of speculation. “But why didn’t he say something before he left? Did it not occur to him that I might worry when he disappeared?”
“Aye, it did, after he began to suspect that ye might recall what passed between ye both. He suggested first that I might want tae gae and break the happy news of his survival tae the clan meself, but I declined the honor. And that is why I am free tae be here and at yer service whilst he’s away.”
“And why would I not recall what had passed between us?” Later I would be embarrassed at this conversation, for it was far more likely that I would disrobe in front of stranger than discuss making love with someone I did not know. But for the moment I was too curious and annoyed to keep silent. Also, I had a strong suspicion that very little embarrassed Eonan.
“May I speak honestly, mistress?”
“Will it make me regret meeting you?” I asked in return. The question momentarily startled him out of his good humor, and I found myself amused. “I’m just teasing you. Please be honest. I’d prefer it.”
Eonan smiled, comfortable again. “Weel…it happens that many lassies forget their encounters wi my kind. If we wish it.” He did not seem repentant. In fact, the word incorrigible came to mind. I was very glad that I had not met him when I was young and persuadable.
“And you might wish this because…?”
“If nae child comes of the union, then ’tis best a lassie doesnae carry any memories wi her,” he said. “ ’Tis a danger tae her and tae us.”
This sounded unethical to me, but I didn’t argue. This was a discussion—one of several—I was saving for Lachlan. “But this forgetfulness doesn’t work on me? This drug—”
“The salt,” Eonan corrected. “Nae so well as Lachlan waud probably like.”
The young man’s voice was again slightly amused, but I found myself unable to remain annoyed. It was like feeling anger at dandelions for blowing seeds all over the garden: a pointless activity if ever there was one. Instead I said, “Well, you’d best come up to the cottage. Um…you don’t happen to have any fruit or honey, though, do you? I’ve had the most awful craving for sweets, and I’ve eaten up nearly everything in the village.”
“Nay…” Eonan bent down and picked up my nearly full pail and spade. We turned and started up the path, side by side but not touching, though the way was narrow. With every step we took from the sea, the wind grew stronger at our backs. I sensed that a storm wanted to push in but thought maybe Eonan was keeping it away. This did not seem strange. “But Lachlan shall be bringing something when he comes that will help wi’ the cravings. They are strong?”
I sighed. “Unbelievable.”
“That is marvelous news!” Eonan said.
“For whom?” I asked grumpily.
“For the bairn. A strong craving means a strong babe.”
“Hmph.” But I was relieved to hear this. My experience with pregnancy—even the human kind—was exactly zero, and I had been worrying that my body was not behaving normally. I had not forgotten Lachlan saying that his other half-human child had died.
“It is a wee bit odd, yer remembering sae clearly and being sae calm in yer situation,” Eonan mused. “Yer family perhaps knew of us frae before?” Us—the selkies. And by before, he meant when the MacCodrums lived in Scotland, I was sure. I wondered about this also, but had no answer.
“Granny MacCodrum might have. But she never said anything to me. My family was very…private about its dealings. This is all very unexpected.”
“Ah—a MacCodrum! That waud explain yer resistance tae the salt.”
I glanced at Eonan and laughed. “Maybe to you. I’m still baffled.” But even as I said this, I felt my mind make the final separation from the old reality and accept the new one. I had a lover who wasn’t human. I was pregnant, whether I wanted to be or not, and I was going to have Lachlan in my life at least for a time—again, whether I wanted him or not. And I thought I did.
I also might be headed for Avocamor, kingdom of the selkies. That, however, remained to be decided. I was not convinced that it would be the best thing for me, especially if Lachlan’s people were upset by his return and inclined to dislike me and perhaps our child. However much I wished to leave Findloss and its dangers, I would not go to a place where I was hated and there was potential political turmoil.
“Eonan, I found a poem in an old book last night. It is called ‘The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry.’ ”
“Aye. I ken this poem well.” He didn’t look happy.
“Why did the selkie take the baby from his mother?”
Eonan sighed. “The babe maun make the change tae sea life or die. There isnae hiding what he is, once the change happens, and history has proved that yer kind are none tae tolerant of us; our bairns were almost always murdered. And those wham were hidden still died when they stayed on land. A young selkie maun live in the sea a number of years afore he can safely shed his skin and walk on land again.” He paused. “None of this waud happen if oor lovers could breed selkie females. But it is only males wham survive.”
This wasn’t news I wanted to hear, but I was relieved that it wasn’t cruelty that made the selkies take their children from their human mothers. Given their apparent contempt for my kind, I had been inclined to wonder.
“But why human mothers at all?” I heard myself ask. “Lachlan said that he had a selkie wife once. And he had a grandson who married a faerie…?” But I wasn’t sure about this as I said it; a lot of my thinking was fuzzy, and I was having a hard time recalling past conversations. Had I imagined this?
“Aye, but she was the last. There’ve been nae female selkies born aen centuries of your time.”
Lachlan had said this, I recalled now that I was reminded. It hardly seemed like the kind of thing I would forget. Unless I had been told to.
“Me own mither was of the fey,” Eonan remarked.
“Really? Was she an elf?” I asked randomly.
“Nay. She was a pooka—a mischievous spirit wham could be a river horse when she willed it.”
A pooka? Lachlan had said something about pookas. I concentrated hard, chasing down the memory. He’d said I should be glad I didn’t know any, that pookas were tiresomely cheerful and inclined to play pranks. And this was whom Lachlan had sent to guard me?
“Megan? Lass, are ye well? Yer scowling like an angry moggie.”
“Sorry if I seem absentminded. Lachlan’s dru—salt—makes me…confused. I forget things. And I see things sometimes, which is a bit frightening.” I was still feeling a bit discombobulated by what I had seen on the beach with the seals the previous day, though today all was calm and beautiful, if rather cold. Of my other thought I made no mention; there was no need to be impolite.
“Aye, weel, MacCodrums hae always had the Sight. Ye joost tell me if there’s aught that frightens ye and I shall force it away.” He said this all quite comfortably. Apparently nothing upset or surprised him.
“Did the seals come and find you?” I asked.
“The seals? Nay. Why waud they?”
“Oh, I thought that perhaps…” I stopped, unwilling to admit that I had been talking to animals in hope of getting a message to Lachlan. “You know about the finman?” I asked abruptly.
“Aye. That is also why I am here. Lachlan feels that ye need protecting.”
“Does he?” I tried to keep my voice even. If he thought I was in danger, what the devil was he doing going off to visit relatives? Surely my pregnancy was not so urgent a matter. Not yet.
“Aye. He says yer a wee bit reckless and impulsive, and might not stay indoors where ye’d be safe. Tae be honest, he maun be very worried, because he usually says I’m the ficklest being he knows and nowt tae be trusted.”
This seemed honesty indeed. I wasn’t sure how to react. Finally I decided upon: “Well, fair enough. I’m glad to know he cares at least that much.”
Eonan turned his head to study me, catching the ann
oyance beneath my mild tone. “Yer a bit like a tricky tide. Calm aen the surface, but running rough beneath. I’ve angered thee?”
I smiled wryly. “Hm, I suppose that is true—the surface calm, I mean. Be glad of it. Otherwise I might express my annoyance at you instead of at Lachlan.”
“Then ye are annoyed.”
“Lachlan seduces me…” This was perhaps slight exaggeration, since I had been far from unwilling. “…tells me I’m pregnant, gives me a drug that addles my brain and then leaves without so much as a note of farewell or thanks, all when there is a killer finman loose in the village, who has come to this very cottage more than once…Of course I’m annoyed!” I stopped. Jekyll was being taking over by Hyde, and none of this was Eonan’s fault.
“A note. Ah, weel, selkies arenae accustomed tae writing. We’ve never needed it much, ye ken? Though I believe Lachlan has the knack. He learned whilst on land.”
This stopped my peevishness. Of course selkies didn’t need to write. They lived in the ocean. As seals. Which reminded me: “Oh my God—what have I done?” I asked, feeling suddenly cold as reality again asserted itself. “What’s going to happen to me? I’m pregnant.”
“There noo. Ye just need a cup of tea and a bit of sit-down. Ye’ve exhausted yerself. All shall be well.” Eonan’s arm came around me. I was grateful for the warmth, though very aware that he was not Lachlan.
“Eonan, the finman has killed someone in the village. A monger called Bertie Stornmont. They’re saying it was suicide, but I don’t think so. The creature is getting desperate. And bold. Maybe he’s gone after Lachlan as well.”
“The finman was always these things,” Eonan answered, reaching for the latch at the garden gate and shoving it open. The yard looked sad and dead. It seemed impossible that anything would ever grow there again. “And it waud simplify things a deal if he went after Lachlan directly. The finman might be able tae kill me, but he’ll nowt escape Lachlan. My cousin is a verra dangerous man.”
“Lachlan told you what the finman was after?” I asked.
“His heart, aye.”
“Did he tell you that—?” But here I stopped dead; the words simply would not leave my mouth. I tried again to say that the heart was buried in the cottage floor, but all to no avail. I tried so hard to shape the syllables that my eyes watered. I could feel a prohibition to speak of this like a weight on my tongue that I couldn’t shift. This was some kind of spell. “Damn it, Lachlan! Let go!”
“I beg yer pardon?” Eonan was puzzled. “Megan, what ails ye? Can ye nowt see that it is I wham holds thee?”
“Of course I can see. It is just that Lachlan did something to me. He doesn’t want me to talk about…something, and he…he bespelled me. That bastard! He didn’t say he could do this to me! How dare he? I’ll…I’ll…ooh! ” I shook off Eonan’s arm. Rage had warmed me and given my weak knees strength.
“Lass, if Lachlan has silenced ye, there is a guid reason fer it. Ye maun be calm.” Eonan actually sounded slightly alarmed.
“I don’t care! He has no right to do things to me without asking!” I charged up to the cottage door and threw it open, not caring that it banged against the wall. I could not express sufficient rage with words alone. I spun about, ready to describe in detail what I thought of Lachlan’s high-handedness, when I felt a small flutter that I knew came from the babe in my womb. The child was distressed, maybe even in pain. That stopped me dead in my tracks.
“There noo. It’s the babes. Ye’ve upset the bairns. This is why we use the salt on ye lassies. Ye maun be calm while the babes are sae wee.” Eonan had followed me inside. He closed the door softly, setting down the pail and spade. He did not take Lachlan’s charm off of the door.
I made my way to the nearest chair and sat down. I was only a few feet from the finman’s repulsive heart, but I felt dizzy and disinclined to move.
“So, I am to be a slave to the baby’s wants as well as Lachlan’s.”
Eonan knelt before me. He took my hands in his, and I realized that I was very cold and again frightened. “Is that not always the way?” he asked gently. “A mither must think first of her bairns.”
He was correct, but I doubt that a human baby would be able to cause so much bother so early on. How quickly did selkie children develop? “So, for nine months I will be kept drugged and coddled like a half-wit who can’t be trusted with her own care?”
Eonan didn’t answer.
“Eonan? The truth, please.”
“Weel, the truth depends on the bairns.”
“How so?”
“Let me make ye some tea.” He made to rise.
“Later.” I clamped down on his hands and those long, long fingers. He was far stronger than I, but allowed himself to be held in place. “What do you mean, it depends on the bairn?”
“Mayhap Lachlan had best—”
“Lachlan isn’t here.”
“Nay—and I’m wishing noo that I had gone tae Avocamor instead of coming here. It couldna be any more difficult.” He said this with great feeling.
“You have my sympathy. Answer the question. You don’t want me getting upset again. It’s bad for the baby.”
He stared at me, and I knew the thought that he could drug me into quiet flitted across his mind.
“Try it and I’ll pound a yew stake through your heart,” I warned. It was an idle threat, but the anger that made me utter it was not.
“If the bairn is a lassie, then ye’ll be three seasons—nine months—perhaps a bittock less. But that is unlikely, ye ken?”
“And if it’s a boy?”
“Then ye might be carrying him longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Six seasons.” He said this reluctantly.
I thought it through. Twice. Then I said: “Are you saying that I may be pregnant for eighteen months?”
“Aye.”
I dropped his hands. “Perhaps I had better have some tea. With whisky.” My voice was hollow enough to have an echo.
“Nay. Ye cannae be drinking that poison while yer wi’ child. The pups waud nae like it.”
“The what? ” I felt the blood leave my head. “What did you say?”
“The babes—er, babe,” he corrected himself. “Noo, put yer head doon,” he instructed, taking hold of my neck and pushing my face toward my knees. “Yer lookin’ swoonish, and Lachlan willnae be pleased if he returns tae find ye sick.”
I did not fight him. I was indeed feeling swoonish. I could barely contemplate the idea of giving birth to a human child; what if the baby looked like a seal?
“I hope Lachlan is bluidy grateful,” I heard Eonan mutter as he headed for the kitchen. “I’d nae be doin’ this if I didnae owe him my life.”
Chapter Nineteen
The boat has left the stormy land, Stormy sea before her—
When, O! too strong for human hand The tempest gathered o’er her.
—Thomas Campbell, “Lord Ullin’s Daughter”
“Where’s the cat?” I asked, almost dropping my mug as alarm overran me. I had succumbed to Eonan’s coaxing and was sitting by the fire with a cup of rather weak tea. He was obviously less experienced with brewing the universal British panacea than Lachlan, but I didn’t complain. “I can’t leave him outside. It isn’t safe. And he hates rain.” It had started to pour again.
“There is nae need to fret o’er the moggie. He is weel.”
“But the finman—”
“Cannae harm yer puss. He’ll nowt even see him.”
“He can’t?” Lachlan had said this too. I began to calm. My fuzziness of thought was leaving, just as it had the time Lachlan “anesthetized” me, but I still felt distracted, as though a good portion of my mind was busy listening to something that my ears couldn’t quite hear.
“Nay.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Why can’t he hurt the cat?”
Eonan took a breath and reached for the teapot with fingers so long they nearly could have surrounded it. H
e topped off my mug. “Yer moggie…weel, ye’ve heard that a cat has nine lives? It is so. It is just that, fer some cats, some lives are a wee bit different from the ones before.”
“Why? How is Herman different?”
“Herman was a familiar. Ye ken this? Fergus Culbin inherited him frae the witch wha lived here before. She was a kindly creature and gentle wi’ the animals and didnae deserve wha happened tae her.” He didn’t pause long enough for me to ask about her fate. “Weel, yer moggie was…” Eonan faltered. “He was sacrificed by Fergus Culbin. The idiot mage didnae realize that ye cannae kill a witch’s cat sae simply.”
“Sacrificed?” I recalled Fergus’s journal. He had planned to kill the cat and mummify him so that he could use the corpse to hunt for the lost Spanish gold. But, in spite of the bag of gold in the desk, I had assumed that Fergus died before he got around to completion. It was a good thing the bastard was dead, or I would have had to do something terribly unpleasant to him, probably involving the iron shackles and the yew beater.
“Yer moggie was slain by a mage. But he wasnae a verra competent mage, and since yer moggie wasnae joost a cat, he’s come back.” Eonan thought for a moment and spoke mostly to himself. “Think ye that Fergus Culbin was trying tae steal the finman’s powers wi’ a blood sacrifice? Was that why he killed the moggie? The man was a vile sneak-thief.”
“I don’t care about Fergus,” I snapped. This was a lie, of course; I cared, but in that moment I cared about Herman more. “Herman is not a ghost. Or a mummy. And he isn’t out for revenge or anything nasty,” I insisted.
“Nay. He isnae,” Eonan agreed.
“Then what is he, and why would he come back?” I swallowed hard, thinking of the finman. How many undead things had come back here looking for Fergus?
Lachlan’s cousin sighed, apparently feeling that the more he explained, the more he would have to explain. And he was correct, which was probably why his cousin had opted for silence on so many subjects.
The Selkie Bride Page 15