“Swim in?”
Alanna wasn’t used to being interrupted, especially in such a tone. “If you would be silent,” she said levelly, “I will explain.”
His lips hardly moved. “Then do it.”
“The cave is located just below sea level.”
“Below.”
“That cave was picked for the convenience and security of selkie and human alike. Once inside, it rises and becomes dry land. Sandy, and difficult for a selkie to travel. Yet even at low tide, the entrance is just underwater. I swim in at low tide and, with luck, swim out on the same tide.”
“Without luck?”
She grimaced. “It’s only happened once. I lingered too long and I had to stay. It’s dark.” She remembered that early mistake with a shudder. “And cold.”
“You stayed in an underwater cave in damp clothes. You swam alone…” He gripped her shoulders as if he wanted to shake her.
Remembering his memory of the night sea, she stroked him apologetically. “I only did that once. I was young and stupid. It hasn’t happened since.”
“You still swim in that”—he glanced toward the sea, blushing in the advent of evening—“that ocean.” He said ocean as if it were a curse. “You do that so you can look at an old parchment?”
“Nay.” She still tried to comfort him. “The pact is there. It’s been there forever. I don’t worry about that. But once a year I wrap the important documents from the village in an oilskin and take them there. Soon, before the first winter storm, I’ll swim out with this year’s documents.”
“Why?”
He demanded until her patience frayed, but she tried to restrain her annoyance. After all, he’d been so good about the other conditions of the marriage. “Because we always have kept them there. Because, I suppose at the beginning it kept them safe from marauders.”
“What kind of marauders would come here?”
“Vikings,” she said succinctly.
With bright eyes, Mr. Lewis observed them. “Vikings burned the church more than once.”
“A long time ago,” Ian said. “You’re not going ever again.” Alanna tried to speak, but he placed his hand across her mouth and glared. “You’ll get a cramp. You’ll be swamped by a wave.”
She pushed his hand away. “I have never—”
“No argument. When I think about you—” He took a deep breath again, like the ones that had wracked him when he had told her about almost drowning. “I can’t swim anymore,” he said precisely. “There would be no one to save you.”
“I don’t need anyone to save me.” She put her hand over his heart and felt its racing. He was truly disturbed, but he needed to understand. “Ian, I’m a skillful swimmer. I go right before low tide and I return as soon as possible. You don’t need to worry.”
He wasn’t listening; she could see that by his set mouth and angry jaw. “You say our marriage is traditional,” he said. “That I’m in charge. Fine. Then my first command is that you stay on dry land.”
Old vows and new vows clashed. She knew Ian wanted her. Wanted her for his sake—and for hers.
Worse, she wanted him in the same way. He was a drug. Not like the drugs she’d taken that fatal night of her flight through the woods. Those herbs had lost their effect by morning. No, Ian permanently altered her moods, her desires, her goals, changing her from Alanna MacLeod, the lady who would give anything to protect Fionnaway, into a woman who wanted more from life than just duty and property.
She turned sharply away from the sight of him. Had he cast a spell on her? He could, after all, command the weather.
But if this was a spell, why did she think so clearly? Why did she see the doubts, know the fears? No, Ian couldn’t change her. She might love him, and deeply, too, but Fionnaway would always come first. It had to. She had sworn it would.
Fixing her level gaze on him, she said, “Ian, the stones. The selkies place the stones in the cave.”
“I have enough money—I earn enough money—to make improvements to Fionnaway. Earning money may be offensive to your noble bloodlines, my lady—”
She interrupted hotly. “Good Scotsmen don’t scorn money honestly earned like your Sassenach nobles do.”
“—but anything that needs to be done, I can afford to do. We don’t need those bloody stones.”
She thought of Armstrong, trudging toward Edinburgh to sell the stones. Or perhaps he was returning, Ellie in tow. “But that’s part of the pact, and an important secret, one you must never divulge. The selkies contribute the stones.”
If Ian cared, he didn’t show it. “Who taught you how to swim? Who taught you to find the cave?”
“My mother, a long time ago.”
“Is that a MacLeod tradition, too? Because someday we’ll have a daughter, too, and she’s not going to risk her life for some louse-eaten documents.” He thrust his ring under her nose. “And for a stone.” He jerked the ring off.
Alanna gave a cry, and she thought Mr. Lewis, and perhaps even the cat, echoed it.
“It’s just a rock. A pretty rock.” Fury and some other emotion burned in Ian’s eyes as he tossed the ring in his hand. “It’s not worth your life.”
Walking to the edge of the cliff, he threw the ring as far as he could into the ocean he hated.
The child of a selkie-human union is well favored with gifts from the other world. They’re bonny or braw, mighty of bone and thew, blessed with as much magic as the dear Lord sees fit, and given bequests of silver and stone.
Yet grief can sometimes overwhelm them. They are half-breeds, torn between land and sea, between animal and mortal. They fit nowhere. Fear of ridicule or revulsion dogs their footsteps. Sometimes it seems enchantment, not love, holds their mates, and frequently not even enchantment is enough.
The half-breeds who walk the land sometimes attempt to cast off their selkie birthright, but that is impossible. That heritage is bred into the bone.
Among humans and selkies alike, it is said that a half-breed who cannot find ease in his own heart is doomed to shipwreck on the shoals of disaster, while those who love them best can do no more than watch.
Chapter 23
As Ian and Alanna stepped across the threshold of Fionnaway Manor, he should have experienced a surge of satisfaction. He owned an estate. His bride was beautiful and titled. She gazed on him without flinching, and she trusted him. Every goal in his life had been met, yet…Alanna wasn’t happy. She didn’t understand why Mr. Lewis hadn’t let her keep her rune stone. She wanted to swim in that hellish ocean, and the thought of her tossed on capricious currents made him furious. Furious with her mother, who had taught her to swim. Furious with the tradition that demanded she risk her life for so little. Furious at Alanna for insisting she was the lady, and that she had to go.
He regretted her grief, but she had taken vows to obey him, and Alanna was the kind of woman who would honor her vows.
“Is the family at dinner?” Alanna asked Mrs. Armstrong as she handed the woman her hat.
“Just finished,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
He could not see an aura around either of them. He knew the auras were there; he had simply lost the sight. When he’d thrown his ring away, he’d renounced his selkie heritage.
Mrs. Armstrong took the basket from him. “Was it a fine luncheon, sir?”
“Very fine.” The whole world seemed off kilter, limited to physical shapes and forms.
But Mrs. Armstrong seemed unaware. “Mr. Fairchild and the rest o’ the company have gone into the great hall.”
“They’re all here,” Alanna said. “It would have been too much to hope that my cousins, at least, would have left.”
Was she nervous? Yes, nervous. He could tell by the faint trembling in her fingers. He tried concentrating to bring back the sight, but all he could sense was the pull of the tides and the disturbances in the air. That part of his birthright would never fade, he knew, for those powers were not dependent on an external prop. They were knit into his
very fiber.
Taking her hand, he squeezed it meaningfully. “You’re the lady, and I’m your husband, and there’s naught anyone can do to change that.”
She gave him a troubled smile. “I know. It’s done, and we’re bound, but it wasn’t the wedding I expected. I thought my friends and my people would be there, and there would be a big celebration, and this just feels…odd.”
Like a greedy lad, he’d thought only of marrying her as quickly as possible before someone, somehow, snatched her away. He hadn’t thought of what she might want. “When the harvest is in, we’ll send out invitations to everyone we know. We’ll announce we’re wed and we’re going to have a big party. We’ll get you a wedding dress from London and you’ll get a valet to shave me, and we’ll roast an ox and roll out the whisky.”
A smile started on her face and grew during his recitation. “We should invite the king.”
“Well, he’s not doing well, from what I hear.”
She drooped a little.
And even though he knew she had been teasing, he offered guests like candy to make her smile again. “But we can invite Lady Valéry, and Lord and Lady Whitfield and their children. Boys, three of them, full of mischief…” Alanna’s eyes shone, and Ian wondered if she thought of the children they might have. “We’ll invite my other cousin, too. We’ll mention there are selkies in the water and Hadden will be standing knee-deep in the ocean waiting for them to appear. He’s so charming, they’ll probably come.”
“I would like to meet your friends,” Alanna said.
Ian was startled. He hadn’t really ever considered Lady Valéry a friend. At one time she had been more of an opponent. But he did like her; certainly he admired her scheming.
And ever since he’d met her, he called Lady Whitfield “Cousin Mary,” and for years now he’d called Lord Whitfield “Sebastian.” But friends? Sebastian had taken him into business only at Mary’s urging, he knew. But in the time since, there had been invitations to quiet family dinners, introductions to the right people and to eligible women…Yes, perhaps Sebastian and Mary were his friends.
And Hadden. For all that Hadden had once beaten the guts out of him, Hadden was certainly his friend.
Perhaps Ian wasn’t such an outcast…although it had taken Alanna to show him. “I’d like you to meet my friends,” he said. “But first we’ll face my father.”
Together they walked to the great hall and found Leslie and Edwin, Brice and Wilda, grouped around the fire with Damon stretched before the hearth. Despite wineglasses each human held, only the dog appeared content.
Leslie’s cheeks were rosy, his eyes alert. He leaned against the arm of the chair, but he gave the appearance of a man who lounged rather than one about to topple. Not bad for a man who less than a fortnight ago had been on his deathbed.
The dog rose to stretch and shake, then trotted across the floor and pushed his head into Ian’s hand. Ian petted him, Alanna petted him, and Leslie said sourly, “You’ve ruined another dog, Ian.”
Ian scratched under Damon’s chin, to Damon’s obvious ecstasy, and considered his father. Alanna had said Leslie insulted him because he envied him—a poor reason, in Ian’s opinion, to ruin two lives. Capturing Leslie’s gaze, Ian said, “All creatures need to know they are of value, Father. I simply assured Damon I valued him.” Desperately he tried to convey that Leslie, too, was a creature of value. That even now, Ian could forgive him.
For a moment Leslie looked back and read the message. But unlike Damon, he had the ability to reject such comfort, and he deliberately lowered his gaze and snorted in contempt. “You always were soft. Just like your freak of a mother.”
It was not better, Ian found, to know why his father hated him. Not when Leslie refused to put the past behind.
The silence stretched until Wilda hopped to her feet. Placing her glass on the table, she skimmed across the floor to them. “You’re back. I tried to make them wait dinner, but your father didn’t want to, Ian. He said you wouldn’t starve, although if you stayed away long enough, you would. I mean, people can’t go for days without food. It makes them hungry and they get skinny and their clothes hang wrong.”
“We can’t have that.” Ian grasped Wilda’s hand and pulled her closer to the fire. Her smile wavered tonight; he wondered why.
“No! That’s what I said. Mama says a well-fitting costume is of the utmost importance to make the proper impression. If company dropped in and they found our clothing needed to be taken in, they would be put off and refuse to stay beyond a short visit.” Wilda stopped and frowned as if she’d forgotten what she wished to say. Then in a low tone she added, “And the bills at the tailor would be tremendous.”
“You’re right, as always.” Edwin leaped to his feet and bowed gallantly.
Glaring, Brice retained his seat.
Glancing at Brice, Wilda tossed her head.
But Ian had no time to wonder at her curious disdain, for Leslie stirred restively. “Wilda, I don’t know why you’re babbling about proper impressions when my ward and my son have obviously just returned from a romp. They’ve got grass stains all over their clothing, and they look disgustingly satisfied.”
Edwin swung about, and his flailing arm caught Wilda’s goblet. Crimson wine splashed out before Brice caught the glass and set it back.
“Edwin, try not to be a ass,” Brice gritted.
Leslie laughed as Alanna glanced down at her gown. Then he coughed one of those watery coughs. “There’s no concealing the evidence now, miss. As your guardian, I demand an accounting of your day.”
“Let me tell you the important part, Father.” Ian pulled up a chair and pushed Alanna down on it. With his hands on her shoulders, he looked at all of them, one at a time, and announced, “Congratulate us. We are married.”
A split second of silence.
Then Wilda squealed. “Married? You got married? After what you said this morning, Alanna? I mean, Cousin Alanna. For you are my cousin now, and I’m so happy I could just scream!” So she did, short, sharp little cries that sent Damon fleeing the room. She hopped up and down, leaned down and hugged Alanna, hugged Ian, then hopped up and down some more.
Ian tried to fight the smile that tugged at his lips, but he couldn’t. The men might be sitting like great stones, but he could always trust Wilda to say whatever crossed her diminutive mind, and right now she was thrilled. Alanna smiled, too, watching Wilda’s display with a great deal of pleasure, and he leaned over and spoke into her ear. “What did you say this morning?”
Without turning her head, she replied, “That I was determined to marry Damon.”
“Liar.”
“Coxcomb.”
He straightened and looked at the others. Brice and Edwin were trying to speak, but every time Wilda bounced past, they lost their concentration.
His father…Ah, Leslie’s gaze never wavered from the sight of his son and the new bride. And worse, he was smiling.
What Ian would do right now to have that ring on his finger. He wanted to see the emotions that he knew swirled around them.
Throwing his ring away had been impulse. Yet he couldn’t proclaim to Alanna she would have to renounce her ties with the selkies if he did not do the same. Even so, he wouldn’t have done it if that ring hadn’t turned black when Brice touched it. Ian frowned. Or had it been Edwin who influenced its change in color?
No matter. When the ring had ripped him with its killing cold, Ian had realized for the first time it had the power to drag him into the other world. The world he’d seen in the dark ocean on that night so long ago. He’d done the wise thing by rejecting the ring, and soon he would get used to the sensation of having amputated a limb.
When most of Wilda’s shrieks had quieted, Leslie said, “Congratulations indeed, Ian. You have done what I could not. You have captured the plumpest pigeon in all of Scotland.”
Alanna’s shoulders stiffened beneath Ian’s grip. He kneaded them until she relaxed again. “She’s not a pigeon
. She’s a great lady.”
“Bah. You’re still a damned opportunist, and you always will be. If you can’t have one woman, take another, that’s your motto.”
Ian had played this game with his father before. It was never pleasant, but if he and Alanna remained united, all would be well. Calmly he answered, “Alanna is the woman I want.”
“With her property and her income, why not? And you’ve always been able to seduce the birds from the trees. What chance has a silly girl against your powers?” Leslie lost color as he lost strength. The old man was fading, but still he managed to add, “Good work, son. Good work.”
Alanna stiffened again, but this wasn’t the place to remind her Leslie could twist the truth to an unrecognizable wreckage. “I’m a married man now, Father, and my primary responsibility is to my wife. So having at last achieved your approval, I must say, it no longer interests me.”
“But I don’t approve!” Brice finally gathered his wits enough to make his statement. “I’m the laird of Clan MacLeod. Alanna should have come to me for permission.”
“You wouldn’t have given it,” Alanna said.
“I might have, but not for such a hasty marriage. It’s indecent!”
She shifted restively. “MacLeod women have always wedded quickly, Brice, you know that.”
“And repented of it.” Brice shook his finger at her. “Look at your mother!”
Did the man always have to choose the worst way of saying things? He’d infuriated Alanna with his criticism, so Ian stepped in before she could speak. “You are right, Brice.” His admission brought Brice up short, and brought a sputtering admonition from Alanna. “I should have come to you and asked for Alanna’s hand. But when given a choice of Alanna or the proprieties, I never even thought of the proprieties.”
“Well…well…you should have,” Brice stammered.
“I agree.” Ian stepped forward and held out his hand. “You have my wholehearted apology.”
“He doesn’t have the right to give permission for my hand!” Alanna said.
Ian ignored her. Brice was now his cousin as well as Alanna’s, and through bitter experience with the Fairchilds he’d learned the sense of goodwill between relations. “Let me make you a promise, laird of the MacLeods. I will care for and protect Alanna for as long as we live, and beyond.”
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