by Holly Newman
When they reached the cavern landing, he watched, fascinated, as Loreanne rolled herself out of the water and onto the rock. Once in the air, her sparkling scales shimmered in the air like heat waves rising from land. As he watched, the scales partially dissolved and fell to the rock floor as thin nearly translucent pieces of mother-of-pearl. They made the sound of bells in the wind.
When the transformation completed she lay on the floor nude.
"Do you do that each time you get out of the water?" He held out his hand to help her stand.
"If necessary." She rose stiffly, hanging on to Andrew a moment for balance.
"You mean you can control it?"
She laughed. "Yes. But I do not do it too much. It's too hard, and sometimes it may only be one or the other and the choice is worse." She walked stiffly over to the chest next to the wall that Andrew had not noticed before. She flipped it open and pulled out a monk's robe. She slipped it over her head and tied the rope belt loosely.
Andrew laughed to himself. What would the abbey do if they knew a pagan fantasy creature had commandeered one of their robes?
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"We search the ship salvage in the cavern's for ideas."
"Ideas? You mean you don't know what we are going to do?"
He grinned. "Only generally. It depends on what we have to work with."
They started up the walkway.
"How did all this ship salvage get in the caverns?" he asked.
"The others, they did it."
"Others?" He looked around. "I thought you and Margareen were alone here."
"We are. Now. The others, they left before you came to the islands."
"Why? Where are they?"
She tilted her head dreamily. "In the far, far ocean where the whales play and the humans revere the sea."
Her voice held echoes of longing. Andrew looked at her closely. "Why didn't you go with them?"
"Because of Margareen."
"But she's not your mother."
She smiled softly. "No," she said, drawing the word out as she folded her arms together. "She is not my mother. She is Margareen, and I must stay with her."
"Why? If no other Merfolk felt they must stay, why must you? And why doesn't she go?"
She looked at him with wide-eyes. "But this is Margareen's place, and I stay because it is expected."
"By whom? The other Merfolk?"
She canted her head, considering the question. "I do not know. I never wondered," she shrugged in human fashion. "It merely was."
Andrew thought it likely that Margareen made it seem proper, the thing to do like his own father was wont to do with his edicts. Andrew left, like, he suspected, did the other Merfolk. That did not help those who could not fight, who were caught in the situation, as Loreanne or others of his family in England who didn't know how to resist the tyrannical selfish old man.
When he'd come to the islands he'd been a parasite, an existence in contrast to his father's control. With time boredom turned to curiosity, and curiosity turned his attention to the estate, its people and their problems. He improved their housing, their food, and their water supply. Then he improved their working methods. Tauton, the estate agent bemoaned the certainty of the earl's displeasure at Andrew's expenses, but when the estate revenues improved, his countenance became wreathed in smiles and he'd declared he'd always been certain Andrew had the right ideas. Andrew let him pander, for his attention had turned away from the estate. He'd become restless. Was that the reason Loreanne could invade his dreams?
He pushed his wondering out of his mind as they came to the caverns full of the human world.
They gathered canvas and rope, wood, and a mallet. They opened barrels to discover salt, sugar loaves, indigo, and centuries old rum. Andrew wiped out a dented tankard and sampled the liquor, pronouncing it drinkable as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He passed the tankard to Loreanne and laughed when she sputtered and gasped on the fiery alcohol. In an ornately carved casket he found gold chains and strands of pearls that he draped over Loreanne. They gleamed against the dark, rough brown monk robes. With a shy blush on her cheeks, Loreanne gave him a small jeweled Spanish dagger. It was a costly frivolous item, but he belted it at his waist.
Loreanne picked up item after item, asking Andrew their purpose. Her child-like curiosity delighted him, as did her frowns at the bullet mold, her laughter at the pointed shoes, her delight at the chicken skin fan. She shook her head over the horse shoe, and the razor. The items in the various caverns must have represented two hundred years of man's presence in the islands.
When he found the canvas awl and the rough nails he began to formulate an idea for a floating throne, a U shaped raft with a canvas sling in the center of the "U".
They carried their finds down to the rocky ledge at the cavern entrance. At first Loreanne was silent, doing as Andrew told her without comment, then as the raft began to take shape, she began to ask questions.
"May I try?" she finally asked, after she watched another nail join two boards together.
Andrew grinned with anticipated amusement as he passed the mallet and nails to her then sat back on his heels. The little mermaid's brow furrowed and she caught her tongue sideways between her teeth as she steadied the nail with one hand and held the mallet with the other.
Her expression caught at his heart. "Be careful you don't hit your hand," he cautioned, his voice unnaturally raspy. He cleared his throat and effected a nonchalance he was strangely far from feeling. He looked down at the nail she held, willing his concentration to turn from her to the nail.
She brought the mallet down on the nail with a light tap. The wood barely dented. She hit harder. A small hole appeared in the wood. She licked her lips and bit her tongue again. Andrew felt his heart lurch again. She hit the nail a third time. This time it stuck in the wood, but not far. She moved her hand out of the way and hit the nail as hard as she could. The nail fell over sideways.
A tiny mew of despair came from Loreanne. She sat back on the floor, her chin in her hand.
Her reaction released the coiling tensions he'd felt. Andrew laughed, and pulled her back up beside him, giving her a reassuring hug.
"No," she said, trying to pull away. "It is a human thing and I am only a mermaid."
He shook his head. "That makes no difference. It takes practice, that's all. And hammering a nail is not considered an occupation for a lady," he said dryly. "But if you really want to do it—"
She eagerly nodded, and her faith, her trust, and her expression captured him.
Overwhelming emotion nearly wracked his body. His hands shook slightly as he took the hammer and nail and hit the nail securely into the wood. He handed the mallet back to her. "Now try," he said.
This time when she hit the nail it went further into the wood. She looked up at him and smiled, delighted by her success. She looked back at her nail and hit it again. It sank deeper. She kept hammering. When it was all the way in, she jumped up, laughing, and hugged Andrew.
He swung her around, laughing with her, heady with her excitement, delight, and something else that he wasn't certain he wanted to name. Slowly, he set her on her feet.
"I did it! I did a human thing!"
He grinned. "Yes. And why not? Out of water you have a definitely human body."
"That's why I watch human kind. So many things they do. And wear!"
"I don't see you lacking for things to wear," he said, gesturing toward her attire.
"No. But I know it is not always done right. I do not look the same as the women I see." She frowned. "Sometimes I sit for hours and watch them, wondering what their lives could be like with so many of their kind about."
Andrew's brow furrowed. He trailed one callused finger down the side of her face. "It's not right for you to remain here as handmaiden for Margareen. You deserve a life of your own, a family of your own."
She looked away. "Perhaps," she said quietly.
"Th
ere is no perhaps, Loreanne."
She glance slid up at him. "If Margareen lives, will you stay?" she asked guilelessly.
Andrew felt he'd been slammed in the gut. He sat back on his heels. "I have a choice?" he asked, his voice deep and thick with roiling emotions.
She solemnly nodded. "So long as Margareen lives, I cannot bind you."
He looked down at his callused hands. They were a worker's hands, the hands of a doer. They never acquired calluses in England, and never would have in his old life. He turned them over to study the hard ridges at the base and the tips of his fingertips. They represented all the changes in his life, and all he'd become in the last year. He could not remain idle, no matter how he might tell himself otherwise. The past was gone, the future irrevocably changed to a different road. He had to return to England, to be the old man's heir, and to save those of his family who stayed behind from sharing Loreanne's fate. He knew that now. It was his responsibility.
He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "Less than a week ago I would have stayed, for I saw no future. Now I do. I know what I must do, and I have you to thank." He lowered his head and kissed her. It was meant to be a light, brief kiss, but the touch of her lips on his fired his soul. Slowly he raised his head and looked at her.
Her eyes turned bright and brilliant silver, their centers blacker than night and rife with shadows that he could not name. She visibly swallowed, and Andrew wondered if she had a lump in her throat as big as the one he felt. He compressed his lips, refraining from comment as he returned to the craft. He knew the truth of what he told her. He could not continue to run from his father. He owed it to those weaker to help them, now, in return.
They worked in silence, sadness, like an oppressive London fog, crept over them, blocking out all else from sight and thought.
It was night before they pushed the floating throne into the water.
"We can adjust the ropes on the sling to keep Margareen higher or lower in the water," Andrew said as they watched it bobble in the water. "The wound is not severe. If she allows it to dry it should heal rapidly. Shall we bring her here, now?
Loreanne nodded, a distracted, worried expression on her face. Andrew watched her with concern. She ran a hand through her hair, then quickly pulled the monk's robe over her head and allowed it to fall in a puddle at her feet. She dove into the water. Andrew drew his brows together as he pondered her melancholy. He dove in after her, taking for granted that the red cap would save him.
Swimming in the dark was an eerie experience, especially when they passed brilliantly hued fish that glowed as they snaked around rocks and through forests of seaweed. Beyond the coral gate death's minions restlessly circled, their soulless eyes capturing attention as if they would absorb them into their beings. Watching them, Andrew did not savor the necessity of moving Margareen past the coral gate.
When they came to Margareen's grotto Loreanne called to the dolphin sentinels to help them, and they fashioned seaweed ropes to serve as halters they could attach to Margareen's shell throne. In a stately court procession that rivaled any the Prince Regent could contrive, they made their slow way toward the caverns. All manner of sea creatures surrounded them. A color guard of natural enemies swam together. Bottom crawling creatures tried to cling to the shell throne, or to tendrils of Margareen's hair that floated past. Margareen was lethargic, put the pull on her hair made her fretful and Loreanne had to separate the well-meaning creatures from her hair.
When they neared the coral gate the shark's frenzy increased, straining the controls the dolphins had over the gateway. Suddenly one slipped past the guards and sped toward the procession, his soulless stare obsessed with Margareen.
Small fish darted every direction, crisscrossing in their panic. Andrew grabbed the Spanish dagger he'd belted to his side and slashed at the harness setting the dolphins free. As they wheeled about to confront the shark Andrew swam to Loreanne.
"Drag Margareen into the caverns! Grab her by the hair if you have to, but get her away from here!"
"But her wound!"
"It will not matter if the shark gets here!"
He turned back to where the dolphins circled the shark, his dagger clenched in his hand. By the gate the shark activity increased, spurred by the success of their fellow. Their numbers exceeded that of the dolphins, though blessedly they did not realize this fact. Nonetheless, Andrew didn't know how much longer the dolphins could keep them beyond the coral gate. He held the dagger out, watching for any sign that a shark could elude the dolphins. He glanced behind him, relieved to see Loreanne coax Margareen off her throne. Though weak, the older mermaid swam, with Loreanne's support, to the caverns.
He looked back toward the shark, his dagger ready. He felt awkward in the water. Without a tail his maneuverability was limited, his speed non-existent. But behind him was the woman who returned meaning to his life. How could he be thinking of leaving her? She needed him far more than anyone in England. For her he would give his life.
One of the dolphins broke for the surface for air. The shark plunged downward then veered right toward the cavern, his heavy muscular tail thrashing the water. The dolphins convened upon the enemy, worrying him backward. The shark frenzy was so great now they were near to tearing any flesh to shreds, blood or no blood. Andrew kicked forward toward the shark and dolphins, his dagger raised. The shark accepted his challenge. He swam toward him with frightening speed, the dolphins close behind, but they hung back, accepting Andrew's right to challenge the shark. Andrew held himself ready, conscious that time stretched as he stared at the black eyes and rows of teeth that charged toward him. His chest clenched. He would have one chance, and only one.
When the shark was upon him he kicked sideways while thrusting upward with the knife. The shark's teeth barely missed his head while Andrew's blade met tough skin that nearly resisted the dagger blade.
They collided one against the other with such force the knife blade went in to the hilt and his head blossomed with pain, his nose filling with water.
Water!
He jerked the dagger out of the shark and kicked away. He shouldn't be inhaling water! He glanced back to see blood trailing like a mist from the wound in the shark, and his red cap caught in the monster's teeth. The dolphins swam away from the shark and headed for the caverns, leaving the coral gate open for death's minions to enter. His lungs hurt as he kicked toward the surface, but he knew he must get air.
He broke to the surface and drew in gulping breaths just as the crowd of sharks from the coral gate fell upon the injured shark, churning the water with their violence. Andrew swam toward the shore, hauling himself up onto the sandy scree as the sharks finished their feeding. He stared out across the cove, watched a dolphin jump in a graceful arc above the blue waters, and looked toward the rocky cliffs that hid the caverns.
Loreanne was lost to him.
Deep inside he felt heavy hollowness. It happened so fast. He never had the chance to say good-bye. Waves gently lapped the shore. He ran his finger through the water as if he could catch a wave and hold it in his hand. But waves, like time, flowed on, ever changing, begging one to savor every moment for so quickly they are gone. His eyesight blurred, and his throat ached.
Loreanne!
Long before he saw her she entered his life, giving his dreams new directions, letting him discover himself and the world. And with her entry she brought peace, a focus for his thoughts that left selfish preoccupation behind. How could he have thought he could leave her? He lay back on the sand, his eyes squeezed shut, though not enough to prevent the slow course of a tear down his cheek.
"You will remember me to the earl, won't you, my lord?" Tauton asked as he handed Andrew a pouch of estate papers. "You will tell him how well the estate is thriving?"
Lord Andrew tucked the case under his arm. "Yes, yes Tauton. And I promise you shall receive credit for your efforts." His response was automatic, for his attention was on the ship he was to board and the wide expanse o
f sea beyond. In the week since he'd left Loreanne's world he'd avoided all sight of the sea, for the wound was too raw and like Margareen's threatened to seep unto his death. Loreanne! The thought of her constricted his heart and the empty ache returned.
"Oh! Oh my, that is kind of you my lord. I'm sure I never. . . . That is to say, I wasn't. . . ." The little man stumbled over his words, his ears pink with pleasure.
"Stubble it, Tauton."
"Oh yes, my lord. Of course, my lord." He returned toward the carriage driver. "See that all of Lord Carrelton's luggage is safely carried aboard." He turned back to face Andrew. "Have you any last moment instructions for me, my lord?"
"Hmm? Ah, no Tauton," he said absently. "Merely carry on with the plans we discussed."
"Naturally, my lord!"
From the ship the first mate waved they were ready to sail. They only awaited Andrew.
Tauton nodded his understanding, mopped his high forehead with large handkerchief and cleared his throat. "Ah, ahem, my lord," he squeaked. "If there isn't anything else, I should bid you farewell and safe journey."
Andrew tore his gaze away from the water. "Thank you, Tauton."
The time had come. Without a backward glance, Andrew climbed the ship's boarding plank. His fellow passengers had immediately made their way to their quarters. Andrew made his way to the ship's stern. He wanted a lingering look at the island as the ship drew anchor and set sail.
He was leaving a good deal of himself behind, for his heart remained in the cove, ripped out by the shark as surely as if the creature had ripped into his flesh. Nonetheless, he was leaving with more than he'd brought. He left with a wealth of sensibilities and a peace with himself. That was the wealth he'd discovered under the sea.
He reached around under his coat for the knife sheath buckled sideways at the small of his back. He drew out the Spanish dagger. The gems set in the gold handled glittered in the sunlight. It looked too elegant for violence, too dainty for use, yet it had ripped the guts out of that shark and thereby given Loreanne and Margareen the extra time they'd needed to escape. He hoped Margareen survived, for he did not want to think of Loreanne alone.