Lord of the Deep (12 page)

“H-his…
immortality?
” Meg said, having heard little past that. Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

Vega nodded. “That is the other exception,” he said. “Once a selkie gives up his sealskin, he loses his immortality. He will age like a mortal man, and at the end of his days, he will die as a mortal man also. Surely you have seen selkies seduced by mortals who stole their skins and are forced to live upon the land—men and women both. They are quite content to do so, while separated from their skin, but the moment it is returned to them, they go back to the sea that spawned them, leaving everything and everyone on land behind.”

He spoke the truth. Meg had seen such on the mainland, selkies who had surrendered to their passion to possess a mortal mate. She had also seen both selkie men and women return to the sea the minute their sealskins were returned to them. She groaned in spite of herself. All at once she felt as if a fist had seized her heart and was squeezing the life out of it. She could scarcely breathe. Had she cost Simeon his immortality? Had she inadvertently condemned him to a life upon the land—taken the one thing he loved most from him—the sea? How could she ever bear it?

“If Simeon’s sealskin has been taken…There must be something to be done,” she pleaded. “He would whither and die without the sea he loves so.”

“If such is the case, we will have it back,” Vega said. “There is no cause for alarm. All will be put right.”

But it wouldn’t be put right, not if her aunt had a hand in it. For all she knew, Adelia had consigned the sealskin to the flames in the old wood stove in the cottage kitchen.

“But if it cannot be had back…there is a way…” Meg pleaded. “There
has
to be!”

“If there is, the Waterwitch will know of it,” Vega said. “Look here, we do not know yet if his sealskin has been taken. Let us wait until Simeon returns before we worry. It does no good to agonize for naught.”

But if Adelia had a hand in this treachery, it wasn’t likely that Simeon would return. Vega didn’t know the depths of her aunt’s treachery the way she did. Given that, there wasn’t a moment to lose, and she leapt from the waterhorse’s back and ran off through the fog toward the cottage.

L
eaving Vega behind, Meg raced along the strand through the fog, for she would have known the way if she were blind, she had traveled that lonely beach so many times since she’d come to the Isle. From a distance, she saw Simeon clawing at the sand beneath the rearing head of the dune where they were to meet at midnight. Just as she’d feared, it was gone, but he didn’t stop clawing—flinging wet sand skyward in total aberration—until he’d torn up the dune to the tufts of beach grass that crowned it.

The fog covered him suddenly, and she slowed her pace. Other feet were treading the strand. She could feel the vibrations through the soles of her bare feet. Then there came a sound—a dull thud followed by a groan—and then the ground shook as though something had hit it hard. Meg darted behind a low dune. Her heart rose in her throat, and she opened her mouth to call out, but a hand clamped over it reduced her cry to a stifled snort.

“You can do nothing,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

It was Vega.

She struggled in his arms, and he pulled her hard against him, tightening his grip upon her mouth. “If you are seen now, they will take you, too. Make no sound. We will have him back another way.”

Meg turned her head, casting daggers at him. No mean task, for he held her in a viselike grip. The sky was lightening. Vega’s eyes glowed with the first bloodred rays of dawn. They were hard and immutable—his angular jaw set as he shook his head slowly.

“He will flay the skin off my body if harm comes to you, Megaleen,” he whispered. “You must let us settle this. We selkies have our ways.”

Meg relaxed in his grip. He had by no means convinced her, but she would never escape him while he held her thus. The fog was lifting and shapes were emerging. She picked out Adelia, shovel in hand, standing over Simeon’s inert body. She had evidently struck him from behind. The eunuch that had carried her off to Shamans’ Mount hefted Simeon over his shoulder, and there was another still hidden in the fog, which was tinted pink in the fiery sunrise—a harbinger of a storm on the way. Slowly the fog drifted inland, and the other’s image became clear. It was a tall, muscular man, wearing a flowing black
cote-hardie
. Simeon’s sealskin was draped over his arm. It was the shaman, Seth, putting coins into Adelia’s outstretched hand.

They were taking Simeon to the Mount! How would the selkies have him back from there? The Mount was impregnable. It was her fault. If she hadn’t told Adelia about their midnight rendezvous, none of this would be happening. Adelia would never have known where to look for the sealskin, and Simeon would not be draped limp over the hulking eunuch’s broad shoulder as the man trudged up the dunes toward the jetty. It would be visible now at low tide, but only briefly. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

Convinced that she would have a far better chance of stealing Simeon’s sealskin back from inside the fortified Mount’s walls, Meg sunk her teeth into the hand Vega still held over her mouth until she drew blood and shoved him with all her strength, putting him off balance as he let her go. Free at last, she ran up the dune screaming at the top of hr voice, waving her arms in wild circles that disbursed what remained of the fog like fleeing wraiths.

“Wait!” she shrilled. “Put him down! Let him go…it’s me you want.”

All three turned toward her.

“See?” Adelia cried out. “I told you he would be the bait to draw her, the little whore—just as the horsefeet draw the eels!”

“So you did, old woman,” Seth said, seizing Meg’s wrist. He jerked her to a standstill. “We have unfinished business, you and I,” he said familiarly to Meg, wrenching her closer. His breath was fetid with mead, or some such strong drink, and mixed with onions and fouled stomach gasses. He stuck out his tongue and licked her face in one stroke from chin to forehead.

“So pay me—cross my palm!” Adelia said, holding out her hand.

“You have been paid, and handsomely.”

“That was for the selkie’s skin.” She made a rough gesture to Simeon’s unconscious form dangling from the eunuch’s shoulder. “You never paid me yet for him.”

“But I have paid you for
her,
” Seth reminded her.

“Aye, the once,” Adelia said, her sharp eyes flashing. “’Tisn’t my fault you couldn’t hold onto the foolish chit long enough to diddle her. I’ve done twice the work, I’ll collect twice the pay, if you please.”

“Well, I do not please,” Seth snarled, shoving Adelia out of the way with a hand planted firmly on her breast as he yanked Meg along. “The selkie is worth neither pittance nor pother as he is, except for a little entertainment I have in mind, and I soon tire of those dalliances. You’ve gotten all you’ll get, so be off before I change my mind and take you, too.” Adelia cowered then, and Seth laughed. “Have no fear, old woman. There’s none on the Mount drunk or blind enough to cock a leg over you, but I could use another scullion in the kitchens.”

“Please…I beg you, let the selkie go,” Meg pleaded, digging in her heels. “You just said yourself he’s worthless to you…
please
…”

“Oh, I never said that, girl,” Seth responded. “I said I’ll not pay for the piddling entertainment I’ll get from him. Now that I think upon it, since I have you in the bargain, that little entertainment mightn’t tire me so quickly after all. Stop that god-awful caterwauling! The jetty soon sinks below the waves, and there’s much to be done before nightfall. ’Tis the solstice! And you’ve come just in time for the celebration.”

As he dragged her off toward the jetty through the last traces of a ground-creeping mist, Meg didn’t need to turn to know Vega’s eyes were boring into her. He would not interfere. He was outnumbered. He would follow to see where his brother was being taken, she had no doubt, but he would not act alone. She was counting upon that. There needed to be someone out there who knew where they’d been taken; someone they could trust. She was convinced that as long as she and Simeon were together, and the sealskin was in close proximity, there was hope for her to right the wrong she’d done him.

With Adelia’s curses ringing in her ears, Meg stumbled across the jetty tethered to Seth just as the tide began to turn. The narrow bridge of stacked stones was slippery with algae beneath her bare feet, and more than once she would have fallen in the churning water if Seth hadn’t had a good grip on her arm, dragging her along. Her eyes were upon Simeon, still unconscious, hanging limp over the eunuch’s broad shoulder. Once inside the compound, they parted company. The eunuch carried Simeon off toward the rear of the fortress, while Seth steered her inside the round tower, where she had been held before. Hanging back, Meg followed the eunuch with her eyes until he’d carried Simeon around the corner of the fortress’s curtain wall and disappeared.

“What?” Seth said around a lewd chuckle. “Did you imagine you two would be housed together?”

Actually, she had. In her naïveté, it never occurred to her that they might be separated. It didn’t matter. They were both in the same place, and she would find him no matter how she had to do it. Meanwhile, she was still within sight of the sealskin.

He did not take her below to the subterranean bath like she thought he would, considering the tattered and disheveled state she was in. He spun her into a chamber on the second level of the tower instead and shut the door behind them. Backing her up against the wall, he tossed down the sealskin. Removing her cloak, he fondled her through the gown beneath, then slid what remained of it over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his gaze.

He licked his lips. “We have unfinished business,” he said, close in her face. “But not yet. I smell him on you, your selkie whoremaster. First we remedy that.”

He reeled her toward an elevated canopied bed and sat her down on the edge of it. From the look in his eyes, Meg was certain he was going to fall upon her there, but he did not. Instead, he filled two goblets with wine from a decanter on a small table beside the bed and handed one to her.

“I’m not thirsty,” she snapped at him. It was a lie. She was parched, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Nor am I,” the shaman said, crimping her fingers around the goblet. “This is not for thirst; it’s for relaxing, to prepare you for my…entertainment. ’Tisn’t poisoned. I’m drinking it.” He took a rough swallow. “See? I haven’t withered and died. Take a sip. I think you will be quite pleased with the entertainment I have in mind…at least with part of it. Go ahead—drink! I will stand here until you do, so you may as well humor me.”

Meg took a swallow. It was nut-sweet and rich. She took a second swallow. The warmth of it sliding down was pleasantly evocative, the flavor like none she’d ever tasted. It went straight to her sex, igniting a fire at her very core. What had he given her? She longed for more, but dared not take it. It took all the willpower she possessed to set the goblet aside on the table beside her.

Seth drained his to the dregs, crossed to the wardrobe, and took out an indigo kirtle. It was cut low at the neck, with a tucked yoke, and was only semitransparent—quite pristine compared to the tattered rag that revealed her charms now. She snatched it from him.

“Not yet,” he said. “This is for after you’ve been purged of the stink of your selkie lover. Finish that wine; I will return presently.”

Striding to the door, the shaman quit the chamber, locking her inside. Meg fell back against the eiderdown counterpane. The silk felt cool against her flushed skin. Had the wine done that? It must have. Lulled by what she’d drunk, by the pleasantly erotic sensations it had ignited at the epicenter of her sex, Meg began to drift off when something struck her like a lightning bolt, and she vaulted upright in the bed. What had happened to the sealskin? The shaman didn’t have it with him when he left her.

Meg shook her head in a vain effort to chase the cobwebs from her fogged brain. He’d had the sealskin when they entered the chamber, but he’d tossed it down when he backed her against the wall. It wasn’t where he’d dropped it now. He hadn’t left the room, and he didn’t have it when he locked her in. It had to be somewhere nearby, but where?

Her gaze fell upon the indigo kirtle he’d taken from the wardrobe.
The wardrobe!
Of course, it had to be. Could Seth be so complacent that he’d simply tossed it in the wardrobe and forgotten it? No doubt he thought the influences of whatever was in the wine would keep her subdued in one way and aroused in another. She had to know.

Swinging her legs over the side of the elevated bed, she inched to the edge until her feet touched the platform it stood upon. Her head was swimming. It reminded her of gliding beneath the waves. Just rising to her feet was a mammoth effort, and she had to hold onto the bedpost and opulent curtains for support, at that. The room reeled around her. Why wouldn’t it hold still? The wardrobe was only a few feet away, yet it seemed like an unreachable distance. Meanwhile, her loins were on fire. What would have happened if she’d drunk the whole goblet dry? Two swallows and she could barely stand.

Stepping off the platform, she stumbled and fell to the floor. Trying to right herself while tangled in the gown that was barely clinging to her body was impossible. She tried and failed. Time meant nothing then. She would have to stay as she lay, lulled by the gentle lapping of the surf. It seemed to go on forever. Water washed over her in waves. Hot steam rose from it all around her. But this wasn’t the sea. The water felt like silk caressing her body. The smoky scent of hazelnuts drifted from it teasing her nostrils. This wasn’t a dream! She stiffened, and her eyes snapped open, but to blackness. She groped her face. She was wearing a blindfold, and there was water. She was sitting in it in some sort of elaborate tub, she discovered as her hands flitted over the fluted edge of it.

Someone grabbed he wrists. “Don’t!” a hoarse voice whispered.

“What now?” Seth’s voice boomed from somewhere nearby. “Get on with it or I shall do it myself!”

Meg heard the sound of wine being poured and the gluttonous sounds of drinking. Seth was filling and refilling his goblet. That struck terror in her heart. Whatever was in the wine obviously aroused whoever drank it. Judging from the amount he’d consumed, Seth would soon be as randy as a ram in rut. He meant to revenge himself upon her for attacking his private parts by the scrying pool. Someone else’s hands were upon her now; large, strong hands. They seemed gentle enough, but she was trembling in fear. It was the blindfold. Why was she wearing a blindfold? She prayed it was a nightmare brought on by the wine, but she knew it wasn’t. It as too real; Seth’s snorting was too sinister. It was really happening!

The water in the tub didn’t reach her nipples. When a hand touched her shoulder, she cried out in spite of her resolve to keep silent.

“Do not move,” the whisper came again. She could barely hear it for her thrashing. There was another sound now. It sounded like a chain rattling, and the tub nearly tipped over.

“I told you…Do not speak to the whore!” Seth bellowed, his words slurred with drunkenness. “And hurry up. My cock is ready for her….”

More clanking followed, and the tub jiggled as though someone were using it for support. Meg could bear no more. She reached for the blindfold, and the same hand that arrested her before did so again. This time more firmly, though he did not speak.

“Lift that mask and I will have her as she is!” Seth’s rowdy voice bellowed.

Meg’s hand fell back into the water, and the gentle hand began to rub her shoulder with something that smelled of herbs and hazelnuts—soap. It was
soap
! He was bathing her. As bizarre as it was, she relaxed somewhat. Perhaps it was his touch. It must be one of the eunuchs, and Seth was watching. When his hand approached her breasts, she quickly covered her nipples, but her bather swept her hands away.

“That’s right,” Seth said through another rough swallow. “Do the teats. I want to see you make them hard.”

The bather’s deft fingers began soaping the areola around Meg’s nipples in slow concentric circles without touching the hardening buds, and she knew. He wanted her to know and not fear him. I was
Simeon.
In spite of herself, Meg gasped. She wanted to reach out and clasp him to her. She reached out to touch him, for reassurance, though she did so with a groping motion so the gesture wouldn’t be obvious. Instead of her trembling fingers touching flesh, they grazed cold iron. There was a heavy chain around his neck, and she drew back her hand as if she’d touched live coals and gasped again.