The Selkie (11 page)

She laid a hand against her belly. Of course, nothing moved, but she sensed that something—some spark of otherness—was there.

“The wages of sin,” she murmured. Appalled, but unfortunately believing, Hexy fell back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her
head. Her voice was muffled but still plain as she added, “Of course it isn’t always thus. And now you probably see me as the whore of Babylon.”

Rory drew the covers down again, searching her face. “Lass, please dinnae be distressed,” he said, reaching for her neck. “I dae nae see thee as the whore of anything.”

Hexy slapped his hand away. “No more of that! It does something to my brain. You’ve been drugging me, haven’t you? You have something on you that’s a narcotic, don’t you?” She glared at him, wishing she wasn’t so tired and fuzzy-headed. Or that he didn’t look so sweetly concerned. “That wasn’t sweat it was—was—”

“The salt.”

“—an aphrodisiac. It’s like opium or something!”

“Opium?”

“Yes, opium—from the poppy. Why didn’t you tell me all this last night?”

Rory let his hand fall, obviously searching for words that would explain and soothe her. It was a hard search, for he was rather baffled himself.

“I didnae want tae distress ye. Sae many of the tales about us are frightening. I didnae want ye tae see me as a boggle afore ye knew me fer a good man. And last night ye said that ye didnae want to know.”

Hexy ignored his telling point, considering that with the consequences being so grave he should have
made
her listen. “A boggle! More like a snake in the grass,” she muttered.

Rory simply stared at her, his brows beetled in consternation. Apparently the reference to the snake had no meaning for him either.

“Lass, ye cannae hae been listening. I said I was a selkie, not a snake.”

“A selkie.” She said a bit helplessly, “You really, really aren’t…a human.” She’s seen it last night, believed it. But it all seemed so impossible in the cold light of morning.

“I am of the People. I am of the silkie.” His voice was definite.

Hexy nodded. “And I am…?”

“
MacNicol. NicnanRon.
My
aroon.
My lover.” Rory put the comb aside. He said matter-offactly, “Hexy, lass, I maun leave you for a while today tae see my brother Keir. You maun promise that ye’ll rest this morning and wait here tae receive my fur. Ye’ll dae this thing for me?”

Her lover.
Yes, for better or worse, he was that. And it had been her choice to join him in his bed. Her wrath deflated by several degrees, though not her worry.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Her voice was cross in concession.

“Later I’ll explain everything tae ye. This is a promise.”

“Please don’t,” she answered peevishly. “You never say anything I want to hear.”

Guilt stabbed her immediately when Rory looked hurt. Instantly penitent, Hexy held out her hand. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just upset.” Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Tell me your name again. Your real name.”

Rory looked at her and then nodded. She noted, with a trace of hysteria, that apparently it was satisfactory protocol to exchange names after you had conceived a child with a woman.

“I am Ruairidh O’Uruisg, great-grandson of the King of Lochlann, grandson of Ardagh, son of Cathair of
Clann Righ Lochlainn fo gheasaibh
.”

She repeated it.

“That sounds very important,” Hexy added, striving for a lightness she did not feel. “Are you an important selkie?”

“All the People are important,” Ruairidh answered. “There are very few of us left. And as far as I know, you are the very last of the
NicnanRon
.” Ruairidh reached out and put a hand over her belly. “Except for this babe—if it is a female. Sae guard both of ye well.”

Then, with a quick kiss, he was gone.

Discombobulated, Hexy leaned back against the pillows and began to clean house in her ravaged brain. The first thing to do was to put the clutter into boxes and have some order. Simplification was the key. But step one was to
get rid of outside distractions like…like everything else!

She could not send the repairmen away, but she could give the other servants a holiday. None of them were so devoted to Fintry that they would protest a fortnight’s leave. Their only regret might be abandoning a source of gossip, but she would tell them that Rory was departing as soon as his fur arrived—which might well be the truth. Without the excuse of company, there would be no reason for them to stay.

Jillian would have a fit when she found out.

Hexy frowned, but refused to allow herself to worry. If she ever started down that path she’d arrive at panic as fast as the cat could lick its fur, and panic was not a luxury she could afford. Not if it was all true, Rory—
Ruairidh
—being a selkie, a soul-sucking monster attacking fishermen, her being with child…

Hexy slammed the door on that thought immediately. Perhaps she had her priorities confused, but of the three things she had just listed, the last seemed to her the greatest cause for hysteria.

Carefully, she pushed the covers aside and stood up on the cold floor. She reached for her puddled gown, shuddering in distaste at the smell of the perfume that lingered in its silken folds. Obviously everything in the wardrobe was
going to need airing. Her allergies were getting worse.

First, though, she needed to eat. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but her body was crying out for food, so obviously it needed to be fed regardless of her rebelling tastebuds. Perhaps some plain scones without salt would do the trick.

As expected—and unwanted, at least by Hexy—Ruairidh’s fur arrived by special courier that afternoon. A uniformed guard with cravat and white gloves, driven in a chauffeured automobile was a wholly melodramatic manner of returning the coat, but typically Jillian. Hexy wished she could return the grand favor by sending down her employer’s sable, but that coat was still nowhere to be found.

However, a suspicion of its whereabouts was forming in Hexy’s brain. If she had made the mistake of confusing the two skins, so might someone else who was out on the rocks looking
for selkie fur—someone like mad John of Crot Callow.

Compelled by guilt for her recent laxity, Hexy decided that she would pay a visit to the furrier the following day and see if he could not be persuaded to surrender the stolen coat.

If Ruairidh was mistaken, and the furrier was in residence.

Surely when John looked inside and saw the lining and Worth’s label, he would know that it wasn’t a real selkie skin and give it back. Indeed, she did not know how she had ever made the mistake of confusing one for the other. The magic of Ruairidh’s fur when removed from Jillian’s expensive garment bag all but danced along her skin, whispering to her that she should put the coat on and use it for some unknown purpose. It dazzled her, entreated her to hold it close while it wrapped itself about her like a lover. She could not leave it, could not imagine how she had ever found the will to pack it in the first place.

The longing had to be that much worse for Ruairidh, she realized with a pang of belated compassion.

Dazed, she carried the fur to the window, rubbing her cheek against its soft nap as she stared out at the gray waters in some vague hope that she would see Ruairidh there.

She wasn’t so afraid of the sea now. It was open to her, welcoming of her. She was certain that its power would lift her, speed her, if she opened herself to it. It was a parent. It loved her. And it would return her lover to her if she waited patiently. Perhaps some day she would even see her brother again.

Lulled, she sat down quietly at the window, listening to the waves hushed beckoning.

Hexy was still waiting in his bedroom, the coat in her lap and sea-struck, when Ruairidh returned at dusk. His presence seemed to waken the thing, making its wild magic stronger. Every hair on her arms and nape erected itself. Impossibly, even the sea raised its voice in greeting, calling them to passionate union.

“
Aroon
.” He spoke no other word to her, instead taking her hand and throwing the fur out on the bed where he lowered them down upon it. Emotions chased one after the other across his face so swiftly that she couldn’t read them all in the dim light. There was longing, lust, elation—and then something else that might have been awe or fear. Before she could decide, his beautiful dark eyes turned downward toward her body and were veiled by his long black lashes.

The buttons of her dress were quickly undone and he rubbed his cheek over the swell
of her breasts where they escaped her chemise. His fingers touched her nape, moving lightly over her flesh as he gave a humming sigh. The fur nestled around them.

Hexy sighed, too. His skin was smooth, soft—the angled planes of his foreign-looking cheeks, his lips, his long-fingered hands, all were as smooth as the finest silk, for they possessed not the slightest hint of down. Yet, with fur or without, he was infinitely pettable. Her fingers could not resist him.

His own clothes were pushed away with hasty hands until he was naked and Hexy could feel the beating of his heart beneath her cheek, slow and deep like the crashing of the ocean. It caught her up, bespelled her more completely than the sea alone could. She would have resented the surrender of will had she been alone, but she knew that Ruairidh was likewise enthralled by the enchantment that happened between them.

There was no need for haste. The slivered bit of waning moon rose in silence as they kissed, and began its journey across the sky. It crept in the window, floating on stealthy wings. Its blue light danced over their skin until they glowed with lunar brilliance.

The warmth of Hexy’s body grew even as it clenched in on itself, rolling tight like a fist before battle. The heat in her belly quested outward
to her shivering skin and inward toward her loins, drawing muscles tight as it traveled. It was streams of lust, longing and love flowing into one another and making her nerves dance wildly when the combined emotions overflowed their normal capacity to feel and sought new channels of sensation. Fire was conducted immediately from nerve to nerve as it created new conduits of skin consciousness. Like Ruairidh’s fur, her own skin came alive, and it hungered for something.

Perspiration sheened them both. This time she was careful, tasting only in moderation—just a small kiss of the salt to let the wild magic free.

And this time there was no pain. Their union was right, inevitable. He entered her, moved in her, and suddenly that clenched fist was flung open, pitching her toward the sky, hurtling her outward into a place so beautiful that it seemed unreal, perhaps even forbidden to mortals since they were driven from the first paradise.

She came back to herself in time to see Ruairidh arch back above her, moved by the same pleasure that was close kin to pain. His eyes in the moonlight were bright, a black obsidian being consumed by moon fire.

Then the moon winked out and soft darkness fell over them.

They collapsed, resting, letting their hearts
slow and their bodies cool. It was only after their respirations were even and calm that Hexy tried to speak.

“How lovely to see you again at the shank of the evening,” she said, her voice polite. Inside, she was shaken by the blinding passion that had overtaken them. It was a sign—nearly proof—that something fundamental had altered in her world. He called it magic. She didn’t know what it was.

Ruairidh rose up on an elbow and tried to smile. It was a lovely thing to be seen by starlight, but his bottomless dark eyes remained somber and serious.

“I am sorry, but I maun leave ye for a bittock,
aroon
. It is something I maun dae for the People. I shall try tae return before the dark of the moon, I swear. But I ken how ye think now. If I am longer away ye must have patience and not set out on yer own tae find me. There are other dangers than the sea, and I haven’t time tae show them tae ye. Promise me that ye’ll await me here.”

Hexy’s hands tightened involuntarily on Ruairidh’s fur. She wanted to protest but was learning that Ruairidh could be as deaf as a gatepost—latch, hinges and all—when it came to matters of duty.

“Yer being stubborn, lass,” he scolded, taking in her silence and her still face.

“You don’t know me all that well,” she said, speaking without giving the answer he wanted. “And you can’t possibly read my mind. Right now, I’m certain I haven’t got one.”

“Ye hae a mind, Hexy lass.” He grinned suddenly. “It is just a tad wee and a bittock lost.”

Hexy punched him, though she did not truly feel playful. “Why must you go?” She swallowed, then asked fearfully, “Is it the finman you are going to see?”

“Nay. I am nae bound fer Sevin’s lair just yet. But I maun speak tae my father and the others of the council about what I hae found. There is also something that maun be returned tae the People and placed in its proper site.”

The merman from the circus.

“And, too,” Ruairidh paused, and then added in a guilty rush, “I need tae speak tae him about my mother.”

“Your mother?” Hexy blinked. Mother? Then she asked hopefully, “You know your mother?”

Ruairidh shook his head. He looked very uncomfortable and actually fidgeted by swinging a foot off the side of the bed, waving it to and fro.

“Nay. I always thought her some village lass, now long gone. But I suspected after our union that this isnae the truth.”

“What do you mean,
long gone?
Are you saying she left you for the city, or to be with someone
else?” Hexy blinked. She asked softly, “Or are you saying she died? That’s it, isn’t it? She died a long, long time ago. Lifetimes ago.”

“Ye shouldnae be thinking on it.” Ruairidh touched her gently.

“Don’t think about it? Ruairidh, don’t be ridiculous. How can one
not
think about this? She is your mother!”

And it would matter to them. What would happen to them in years to come? Would they stay together? Would she grow old while Ruairidh stayed as he was?

“Hush now.” He touched a stray curl of her hair and smoothed it back from her face. Then he trailed a finger down her neck. “Ye’ll distress yerself, and tae no good purpose.”

Hexy knew that he was drugging her or bespelling her, but she didn’t try to fight it. The fist about her heart was too painful and made it hard for her to breathe.

“It isnae the way of the People tae speak of our mothers or lovers, for there is naught but sad tales tae tell now that all the
NicnanRon
are gone, and none may come tae the sea tae be with their young. And it is a sad fact for our loves that we all live long past the short span of human years as well.”

Hexy sorted through his reply. As always, there was so much she didn’t understand. And a great deal that horrified her, though she was
now relaxed enough that she couldn’t give in to the incipient hysteria crowding her brain.

“How long
do
you live?” she asked, terrified of the answer but needing to know.

“Hundreds of seasons—often a thousand or more. If we are nae hunted.”

Hexy digested this.

“But I’m
NicnanRon?
You said that before. I won’t—”

“I believe ye tae be one of the People.” Ruairidh laid a hand over her stomach. “And even if ye were tae be otherwise, I wouldnae leave ye and the bairn.”

That was a wonderful promise, if true. Perhaps even enough. Maybe she didn’t need white lace and promises of deathless love.

“You have a choice?” she asked, again surprised. Nothing in the legends she had heard suggested that the selkies had any alternatives in this matter.

“Aye, after a fashion.” Again he attempted a smile.

“It must not be a very good choice,” she answered, a sense of unhappiness and unease growing within her. “None of the legends ever talk about the…”

She stopped, still unable to say the word with ease.

“Selkies,” he supplied.

“About the selkies staying on land.”

“It isnae a good choice for a creature of the sea. Still, a selkie maun choose—his
aroon,
or the sea. If the female isnae
NicnanRon,
or some other
sidhe,
then the only way they can be together is if he casts off his skin forever.” He added, “Most wha choose this also hae their memories bound and hidden sae they can never repine over what they hae lost. Otherwise they couldna bear the exile. Even with this precaution, many still pine away and die. Or they gae mad.”

Hexy fought not to turn her face away and hide it in the covers. The darkness was a hindrance to her eyes, but she suspected that it did not handicap Ruairidh. He saw with something other than normal sight.

“Your mother wasn’t
NicnanRon?
That’s why she left?”

“She wasnae
NicnanRon.
Had she been, the People would hae eventually made a place for their daughter, even if she was from the outside.”

Hope flared in Hexy, but it too was muted by whatever narcotic was clouding her blood. Before she could ask what he meant, Ruairidh went on.

“But she wasnae some village lass either. She maun be a
sidhe,
a faerie. What happens between us—” Ruairidh cleared his throat. He seemed embarrassed, though Hexy did not
know if it was because of their lovemaking or the fact that he was breaking the taboo of speaking of his mother. “It isnae the usual way of things. I thought mayhap it was just you wha was touched by the
sidhe
blood. It seemed possible that long ago some ancestor of yers might hae been with a fae. Faerie blood is a hardy thing. It can dwell unnoticed for many generations, just biding its time until the right moment comes tae awaken.”

“But it isn’t my blood that does this…this
magic?”

“Nay, not on its own. We both call the magic, and isnae something of the People. There maun be
sidhe
blood in my veins as well. Close blood.” Color crept into his cheeks. “That means it is frae my mother.”

“And so now you want to know about who your mother is?” Hexy asked, her voice soft and understanding. She could imagine how wonderful it would be for him to find that his mother was not, after all, dead and gone from the world—that for once the legends of abandonment and eternal separation need not hold true.

Ruairidh nodded, then shattered Hexy’s nascent sentimental vision of reunion by saying briskly, “Aye, fer the blood may make a difference tae our child. Perhaps it shallnae be necessary tae take our babe tae the sea. It may also
be that I hae other strengths, other magic, I can use when we gae tae see the finman.” He paused. “Of course, this maun be thought on carefully. There is always a price for using magic for violent purposes. And the People are very wary of it. Some would even fear me if they kenned I was part
sidhe.”

“Oh.”

Hexy thought about this. It seemed that danger was everywhere. Her first impulse was to beg Ruairidh to stay with her and avoid all of it.

Her second was to ask him to let her come with him. It frightened her to think of meeting more of Ruairidh’s kind, especially if they were prejudiced against anyone with fae blood. But it frightened her more to think that he would leave and perhaps be prevented from coming back.

She throttled both thoughts before they could leave her lips. This was a personal quest for Ruairidh, and an emotional one—though what the emotions were, she could hardly guess. He deserved the right to explore this without embarrassment and hindrance.

“You’ll only be gone a night?” she asked instead.

“Mayhap two. It shouldnae be any longer, sae ye’ll wait patiently for me here. I’ll worry else.” He stared at her, braced for argument.

Hexy swallowed; her mouth was parched and she was very thirsty, but she didn’t want to leave this conversation unfinished.