by C G Dalton
Seals of Kinney
CG Dalton
Seals of Kinney
CG Dalton
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
copyright © 2020 CG Dalton
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or means, or stored in a database retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author. Circulation of this book is prohibited in any format. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is not intentional and entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
The seal’s dark eyes tracked the small sailboat. It was new to the waters around the island, this boat. No doubt a tourist looking for a closer gaze at the stark and picturesque views around the small Kinney archipelago where the seal lived. The islands were sparsely populated with a close-knit local community that did not welcome strangers, so the odd boat with its lone sailor was remarkable.
The sea creature lifted his body off the rocks, watching the man adjust his rigging. He seemed to know what he was doing, but the seal knew the waters here required an expert seaman. Shoals made treacherous bottom-reaming obstacles, and storms this small craft could not ride out would often whip up with little warning. The seal barked loudly, pleased when the man turned to look at him on his outcropping.
Boyd laughed, wondering if the seal was greeting him or warning him away. His broad, dark shoulders were exposed to the sun, but that expanse of bare skin made him notice when the wind changed and the temperature dropped. Quickly calculating the distance, he needed to cover to return to port, Boyd swore under his breath. He hadn’t heeded the mainland locals’ warning not to sail out this way. The tiny dots on the horizon had called to him. Now he was worried he wouldn’t make it back before the squall he knew was coming. He took the time to pull on his shirt, glancing back at the shore to see the seal was gone.
When the gales hit less than fifteen minutes later, Boyd told himself not to panic. He was an accomplished sailor; he could get through this. He struggled, trying to furl the sails before the driving wind capsized the small craft. His frantic efforts were in vain. A large breaker swept the sailboat broadside, carrying her over onto her back and CyrilBoyd down into the murky depths beneath her.
Desperately trying to find his way out from under the floundering craft to get his head above water, Boyd became disoriented in waters obscured by a storm-darkened sky. He knew he was a dead man as his chest burned for oxygen and he could not attain the surface. Before he blacked out, he felt a sleek form glide past him in the sea.
It was the seal that bore Boyd’s body up out of the black, roiling ocean and carried his almost lifeless body through the powerful surf, past the jagged shoals onto the sandy strand. But it was a man that Boyd woke to, turning his face away from the shared breath of life to vomit sea water up from his tortured lungs.
“The seal...” he whispered, throat hoarse from coughing up the brine. “It was the seal.”
“I know,” Fisk cooed, stroking Boyd’s smoothly shaved head before the man passed out again, exhausted from his near drowning.
{{{
The next time Boyd woke he was warm and dry in a soft bed under a thick quilt. He slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the headache still lingering from oxygen deprivation. The room was lit by a few candles, but mostly the roaring fire built in the stone hearth that dominated one side of the space was the main source of light. It dawned on Boyd he was naked when he noted his clothes draped along the mantel to dry.
The castaway continued to take in his surroundings. The building was a very rustic one room cottage, the sparse furnishings all having a worn, scavenged feel. A good amount of the walls were covered in boards nailed to their surfaces to form shelves which were lined with books. And there was a young man sitting with his legs curled up under him in a beat-up rocking chair, nose buried in his reading.
Boyd studied the man who had saved him, or at least had finished the job started by the seal. He was dressed simply in a white buttoned shirt and brown cords. His frame was thin, wiry. He had curling waves of soft-looking brown hair to his shoulders, high cheekbones and well-shaped lips. He could almost be called pretty if his jaw wasn’t so firm. With eyes as dark as Boyd’s seal rescuer had.
“Are you thirsty or hungry?” Fisk asked without looking up from his book. He’d been aware Boydhad woken up, but had let him get his bearings before speaking. It wasn’t often the solitary young man had company, and the isolation was something he usually cherished. But the dark-skinned vision languishing in his bed made him tingle, so Fiskboth was and was not eager to gaze at him.
Boyd cleared his throat and sat up, the quilt slipping off his muscular torso. “Thank you for saving me. And yes, please. My throat is killing me.” He swung his legs out of the bed, holding the quilt in front of him for modesty.
“No. Don’t get up. You nearly drowned. Please”. Fisk put his book aside and got up, crossing the room to press a hand to Boyd’s chest. “I’ll make some tea. And there is stew. I hope you like fish,” he offered as he pushed his patient back into the bed.
Relenting, Boyd pulled his legs back into the bed, but remained sitting up, watching as his host swung a cast iron tea kettle over the fire and checked a small cauldron already hanging over it on another hook. “God, I hope my traveler’s insurance covers that boat,” he moaned.
Fisk smiled at the fire. “Hopefully. You really shouldn’t have come out this far solo. The waters are treacherous, and the islanders are fiercely protective of their fishing grounds. If you hadn’t nearly drowned you might have gotten yourself shot. I’ll go to the big island in the morning and have them radio the mainland that you are alive.”
“Thanks, man. I’m CyrilBoyd, most of my friends just call me Boyd.” Nose twitching at the smell of the simmering fish stew, his belly rumbled. Whatever was in it, it smelled fabulous.
“I know.” Fisk straightened up and scooped Boyd’s wallet off the mantel, tossing it to him. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but I had everything spread out to dry. Some stuff is ruined, but most of your ID was salvageable. Sorry. My name is FiskColwin.”
“Wow... thanks. Thank you for looking out for me, Fisk.” Boyd tossed the wallet onto the upended crate that was serving as a bedside table next to a lit candlestick and another stack of books. “No electricity? No wonder you read a lot.” Boyd chuckled, wondering if he’d go mad without his television, DVD player, and computer.
“Not here on the outer islands. Then again, there aren’t many hermits like me. Everyone pretty much sticks to the big three in the centre of the archipelago. But luckily for you, I’m out here on the outermost isle. I can’t afford a generator. Not yet anyway. Honestly I don’t miss most of the modern conveniences.”
“So, let me get this straight. You live on this whole island alone... and the others nearby are empty... so it’s just you out here? I managed to wash ashore on the only place with a living soul. Holy shit,” Boyd exclaimed.
“You had help,” Fisk said cryptically, smiling to himself again as he dished up a big bowl of the seafood stew, which he carried to Boyd.
Taking the bowl, Boyd nodded. “So, it wasn’t my imagination. There really was a seal that dragged me up,” he said with quiet awe, cradling the bowl in his hands but not yet eating, struck suddenly by how close he’d come to death and how unlikely his rescue was.
“Mmm hmm,” Fisk answered, mischief playing behind his eyes. He retreated to his chair to wait until the tea w
ater boiled, more comfortable sitting on the cushioned seat whose stuffing held his greatest secret concealed within it.
“Is that normal? Seals rescuing people. I mean it’s not, is it?” Boyd asked. Remembering the food in his grasp, he blew on it to cool its milky surface.
“He just liked you, I guess. You never know. There is quite a lot of recorded anecdotal evidence for sea mammals rescuing human beings going back centuries. Seals, dolphins, both are credited with pulling people to safety or driving off sharks since classical times,” Fisk answered, happily watching pleasure bloom across Boyd’s face as he tasted the soup.
“That’s the stuff of legends. It doesn't really happen in real life... I thought.” Boyd’s brow wrinkled and he glanced at Fisk, comforted by the calm smile on his aquiline features.
“You’d be surprised how many legends turn out to have a kernel of truth to them,” Fisk quipped, smile brightening.
Boyd chuckled and shrugged before concentrating on his meal. When the kettle whistled Fisk made them both cups of tea. He sweetened them up with sugar stored in an old mason jar from his cupboard. He watched Fisk quietly as he ate his own dinner, sipping his warm drink and admiring his host. Boyd refused to chalk the attraction he felt growing to gratitude for his life. He wasn’t averse to the company of men and Fisk was definitely easy on the eyes.
Finally, Boyd broke. “So, I got to ask, and if I’m being too nosy just say so. Why are you living out here by yourself?”
Fisk bit his lip and drew his knees up into his chair again, hugging them to his chest. “This place is kind of old fashioned. They don’t mix much with mainlanders. Like not at all, beyond quick trips to sell a big catch. They exist outside of modern society and don’t like anyone here to be different or act outside of their concept of the ordinary. I am being shunned. So rather than remain in a community where I had made myself unwelcome, I moved out. The cottage was already here and unoccupied. It was built by one of the few people to ever try moving here from the outside. A solitary fisherman who didn’t make it. It had been abandoned for over a decade, so I fixed it up and moved in.”
“Shunned? You mean like the Amish do? That’s some crazy backwards shi...” Boyd realized he was potentially insulting his host and backtracked. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No, you’re right. They are backwards.” Fisk grimaced, as much for the curiosity he saw in Boyd’s chocolate eyes as for admitting the place he was born and raised was positively medieval. “I suppose you’re burning to know why I was being shunned.”
“Something like that,” Boyd admitted, smiling reassuringly. He was burning alright. Maybe it was a fever from his ordeal, but he didn’t think so.
Fisk had rarely in his life, barring the few years he fled the islands to study, had the luxury of a sympathetic ear. And Boyd certainly seemed to be one. And he sort of owed Fisk, so he decided it couldn’t really hurt to unburden himself somewhat.
“There are less than three hundred people in this whole island chain. I committed a number of heinous sins in their eyes.
“As I’ve said, they don’t mingle much with non-Kinney. First, I went away to college. Unheard of. Why did I need that much learning to work a fishing boat? That alone made me wildly suspicious. Secondly, I refused to marry one of my cousins. And they are all my cousins. The fact we are too closely related and there are too few branches on the family tree isn’t seen as a big issue here.
“Then I did the unspeakable. I called in help from mainland authorities. My mom... she’s not well. She needed help she can’t get here. I had her committed.” The last was his most painful truth. He was wracked with guilt over her incarceration. It had been his mother, a struggling single parent, who had encouraged his love of reading and education. She had done her best buthad been eventually overwhelmed by the illness that had driven her husband away.
“That’s pretty heavy, man,” Boyd said sympathetically. Feeling guilty, he knew he had been half hoping Fisk would tell him he was being ostracized because he liked men. “Why even stay? Go back to the mainland. You sound like a smart guy. You’ve got a degree? Why not get out of here permanently?”
“The sea,” Fisk said simply as if that was enough of an answer to everything.
Oddly enough Boyd understood in his own way. Love of the ocean was what had gotten him into his predicament as well.
“I get it. I think. I was born in Chicago. Always loved sailing. You can do quite a lot of it in Lake Michigan and the other Great Lakes. But once I got my first taste of the ocean... yeah. I had to keep coming back. I’m a federal agent, but you know that since you saw my ID. And I own a few rental properties. Gives me just enough vacation and spare cash to spend time sailing. Been all up and down the east coast. But this is farther north than I’m used to. I tend to favour warmer waters.” Boyd explained how he’d come to be there, a little known and somewhat forbidding archipelago far off the coast of New England.
“That’s why you didn’t know the waters well,” Fisk observed. He yawned and reached for a spare blanket, pulling it over himself in the chair. “Help yourself to a book if you aren’t tired yet. There is a good one filled with local lore in that pile on the nightstand. Maybe you’ll find your seal in its pages. Blow out the candle when you go to sleep. Good night, Boyd.”
“Wait. You’re sleeping there? All coiled up in a rocking chair. Man, I can’t let you do that. I can’t take your bed,” Boyd protested.
“I’m not the one who suffered a near death experience today, Cyril. I don’t mind. I can sleep almost anywhere. On a sunny day I’ll waste a whole afternoon napping on the rocky outcrop sheltering the strand,” Fisk countered.
“That’s where I first saw the seal. He barked at me. I wonder if it was the same one that saved me,” Boyd wondered out loud, distracted by both the thought and the sound of his first name on Fisk’s lips. “We could share. I don’t mind.”
The idea of crawling into his narrow bed with the gorgeous chiseled man occupying it both worried and thrilled him. Boyd hadn’t been totally off the mark with his wishful thinking on the reason behind Colwin’s shunning. His understanding of basic genetics hadn’t really been what kept Fisk from joining with one of the island girls. That had merely been his excuse. “It’s not really big enough for two.” His hesitation was clear in his tone.
Boyd started to lift the blanket in invitation, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to scare Fisk off with his nakedness. “Just toss me my underwear first. They’ve got to be dry by now.”
Still hesitant, Fisk rose from his chair, retrieving the black boxer briefs from his hearth and tossing them to Boyd. A sly grin crossed his face. “Who do you think took them off you in the first place?” he teased, blushing at his own bold words after they escaped his mouth.
Boyd paused in the act of dragging them on under the quilt, feeling rather silly. Finishing drawing them up, he raised the blanket and beckonedFisk under it. “How did you get me up here from the beach?” Fisk was about his height, maybe even a hair taller, but his lean frame was at least thirty or forty pounds lighter than Boyd’s solid build.
“Fireman’s carry. I’m a lot stronger than I look,” Fisk offered as he climbed under the quilt, lying on the edge of the bed with his back to Boyd.
Though it seemed unlikely that Fisk could cart his unconscious dead weight any distance, Boyd let it go. However, Fisk had gotten him indoors. Boyd flicked the blanket over them both, wishing he dared spoon up against Fisk’s back. Instead he kept as much distance as two men over six-foot-tall could manage in a double bed, which wasn’t much.
“Goodnight, Boyd,” Fisk said quietly, a hitch in his voice as he leaned up enough to blow out the last candle, leaving only a faint glow of coals in the fireplace.
“Goodnight, Fisk. Thanks again,” Boyd replied quietly, maybe wishing that the circumstances of sharing the pretty man’s bed were different.
CHAPTER TWO
When he awoke in the morning, Fisk froze. Bo
yd had closed the space between them in his sleep. His arm was snug around Fisk’s waist, face buried in his hair and one leg slung over his calves. Boyd’s body was pressed full length along his back and left nothing to the islander’s imagination.
He closed his eyes again, feigning sleep to revel in being held. He hadn’t had physical contact with another human since the boy he dated in college. The one he left with excuses that he had to go home because of his mother. Fisk had been afraid to share his secret. Boyd had been so beautiful standing on that boat, muscles working in the sun before the clouds had blotted it out. Being this close to that form was like a dream to Fisk. He lay there for some time, pretending this was something other than what it was. Until Boyd stirred.
Boyd woke up imagining he was in the bed of some random hook-up and made a happy throaty noise, burying his nose further in Fisk’s locks, his hips grinding softly against him.
With a nervous gasp, Fisk pulled away and up out of the bed, not looking at Boyd as he scrambled for his trousers.
“Oh shit. Fisk... I’m sorry. I was still half asleep and forgot where I was. I didn’t mean to rub up on you like that, man,” Boyd apologized, sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor but not getting out of the bed. He dragged the quilt across his lap to minimize both of their embarrassment.
“It’s alright. You just startled me. But I understand. You were experiencing sleep inertia in a hypnopompic state. Depressed frontal lobe function as you move from REM sleep to wakefulness is often characterized by a few moments of slowed reactions and disorientation.”
“Come again?” Boyd’s brows wrinkled at Fisk’s terminology. It was too early for him to think that hard.
“You didn’t know what you were doing, because you were only half awake,” Fisk reiterated.
“That’s what I said,” Boyd retorted. Their eyes met and they both laughed. The natural comfort they seemed to have refilled the space.