Seaborne (2 page)
Authors: Katherine Irons
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Chick-Lit, #Mythology
She couldn’t do it again. She didn’t have the strength.
Medical science had done all for her that money could buy. She’d never ride in competition again, never dance or walk … never be able to conceive and carry a child. The accident had left her with such unexplained gaps of memory and mental confusion that she wasn’t able to safely drive a motor vehicle. In spite of all the money the jury had awarded her, she’d be confined to this wheelchair as long as she lived.
She’d never find romance again, never feel the heat of a man’s mouth on hers, never make love to him, or feel the exquisite thrill of an orgasm. She rubbed her lifeless legs, unable to feel the caress of her own fingers. She, who enjoyed sex so much, would never know physical love again, never marry again, never have a reason to exist. Was it any wonder that she was depressed?
Claire buried her face in her hands and wished she had the nerve to wheel the chair out of the house, down the walk to the cliff edge, and off into nothingness. If only …
But she knew she wasn’t that brave. All she could do … all she would ever do was sit here and think about what might have been.
CHAPTER 2
M
organ put a seaweed-coated boulder at his back and stood ready, sword in hand, watching his half-brother and his two comrades. The storm raging above the surface had little affect here below, other than reduced visibility. Strong currents off the coast of New England were a mild inconvenience compared to undersea. It was something Morgan had learned to deal with centuries ago.
organ put a seaweed-coated boulder at his back and stood ready, sword in hand, watching his half-brother and his two comrades. The storm raging above the surface had little affect here below, other than reduced visibility. Strong currents off the coast of New England were a mild inconvenience compared to undersea. It was something Morgan had learned to deal with centuries ago.
Caddoc advanced until he was just out of reach of Morgan’s weapon and took a threatening stance. He was a big man, tall and broad with powerful shoulders. Again, their father’s heritage. It was too bad that he’d gotten his morals and disposition from his mother.
Morgan guessed that Caddoc outweighed him by two stone. He was a solid block of a man and what little neck he possessed was wrapped in layers of muscle. His dark hair was cut straight to fall at his shoulders, held in place with a thin gold headband. Pearls were twisted in the thin braids on either side of his face. As always, Caddoc was garbed as befitted a prince of the realm, albeit a minor one. In contrast to his own sharkskin kilt and chest bands, his half-brother’s garments were embroidered with gold. Even Caddoc’s sandals were set with precious stones, more suited for palace wear than the open ocean. Caddoc’s eyes were small and dark with the clear and merciless gaze of a killer whale. When they were children, Caddoc’s bulk and expressionless eyes had frightened Morgan.
No more.
Tora, the big Samoan, moved to guard Caddoc’s right. The Pacific-born mercenary was thick and compact, hair cropped short, and hands as wide as shovels with stubby fingers. His front teeth had been sharpened to points and his wide ruin of a nose was flattened and cleaved in two grotesque halves by an ugly scar. Tora’s weapon of choice was a massive coral war club, the head carved into the face of a Polynesian deity. He was equally handy with a long slashing knife, set with shark’s teeth in place of a blade, that he wore on a sheath across his chest.
Tora shadowed Caddoc’s every move day and night, and court gossip was that they were lovers. Caddoc, it was said was oversexed, even for an Atlantean, and would swive any creature, male or female, that possessed an orifice of a convenient size.
The ugly Samoan had been driven from his own underwater kingdom by a rebellion, and he had sought refuge bearing terrible wounds, including the loss of his tongue. Caddoc had befriended him, earning the man’s loyalty, but for selfish reasons rather than altruistic ones. Caddoc enjoyed the contrast that they made in public, and he enjoyed controlling such power with a word or a glance.
The third member of the trio was Jason, Caddoc’s cousin on his mother’s side. Jason was close to Morgan’s age, but they’d never been friendly. Jason, slim and sinewy as an eel, was armed with a sling and a broadsword. Jason’s skin had a golden tint, and his eyes were large and colorless.
Caddoc motioned to his cousin, and Jason stepped left and unwound his sling. Morgan was more concerned with the sling than he was with Tora’s club. Jason’s missiles were deadly at twenty yards, and the Samoan had to close in to strike a blow.
Caddoc jutted his chin. His eyes clouded with arrogance. “You look pale, Brother.��
Morgan tried to assume a bored expression. “You’re bluffing.”
“Why shouldn’t I end this now? Once you’re reduced to chum, our fishy friends will make certain no one ever finds a trace of you.”
“Point,” Morgan conceded, tamping down his temper. If he was to get out of this alive, it was his wits that would save him, not the strength of his sword arm. Some claimed the Atlanteans were immortal. Not quite true. Compared to humans, they were; but injured badly enough, he could die as surely as any land dweller.
“Are you afraid to die?” Caddoc taunted.
Heat flashed under Morgan’s skin. Rarely had he ever been angry enough to want to kill one of his own kind, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness. If he did, they would close in. Morgan suspected that the only reason they hadn’t taken advantage of the situation was that Caddoc wasn’t certain he could come through the encounter without injury. His half-brother would go to any length to avoid the slightest pain.
“The three of you could probably kill me,” Morgan said nonchalantly. “It’s not certain, but the odds are in your favor. But you know I won’t go down without a fight. You could die or you could lose a limb. And chances are, I’ll kill at least one of you in the struggle.” Morgan spread his legs and took a defensive stance. “And if it’s not you, Caddoc, you and I both know that you’ll then have to finish off whichever of your buddies survives the fight.”
Jason cut his gaze at Tora uneasily. Jason wasn’t fool enough to completely trust his cousin. Tora might appear stupid, but Morgan knew that he possessed more intelligence than Caddoc gave him credit for.
“And why would I do that?” Caddoc demanded. His face flushed. He didn’t look as sure of himself as he had a minute ago.
“You couldn’t leave a witness, of course,” Morgan said. “You kill me, and so long as these two are alive, they’ll be a danger to you and to your hope for the crown. They could blackmail you any time they wanted something from you, or they could turn you in just to see you imprisoned for eternity when they tire of your nonsense.”
His half-brother scowled. “That’s crap.”
Morgan raised one eyebrow. “Is it?” He glanced at Tora. “Are you so certain that Caddoc wouldn’t protect his own ass? Remember what happened to Deepak?”
“That was an accident,” Jason said.
Morgan shrugged. “So the court decided. But some wondered. You probably wondered, Jason, especially since Caddoc took your friend’s wife to his bed so soon after that.”
Tora lowered his club and looked from one to the other. His lopsided grin wouldn’t have convinced a child.
Jason nodded and took a step back.
Caddoc laughed. “We had you there, for a minute, didn’t we, Morgan? Any longer and you’d be shitting down your legs.” He turned away and signaled for his friends to follow. “Running you through would be too easy. Once the court gets through with you on the charges I’m going to file against you after what I’ve seen today, you’ll wish we had.”
Morgan watched through narrowed eyes as they swam swiftly away. He exhaled slowly, as his heartbeat slowed and his muscles gradually relaxed. They’d meant to kill him, all right. Sooner or later, he’d have to settle with Caddoc.
He knew sooner would be better. He might not be so lucky next time. He gazed upward toward the surface. He should return to Atlantis immediately and answer the charges Caddoc would make against him, but the pull of the human woman was too great. There would be time enough to explain his actions to his father and to the High Council. For now, he would return to the beach where he’d seen her.
He’d seen beautiful human women before, but he’d never found them sexually attractive. They were too weak, too fragile. But this woman on the beach was different. She possessed a strength that called to him with an irresistible lure, and he could not shake off her spell until he’d solved the mystery. He had to discover what magic she possessed that could draw him from the sea time and time again.
Cursing his own foolishness, he turned back toward the mainland. When she returned to the beach, he would be waiting.
The morning after the storm dawned bright, and by eleven Claire was able to return to her beloved spot on the beach. The house sat high above the shoreline well back from the cliff face, and the only way down was a narrow flight of stairs and the elevator Claire had ordered installed for her wheelchair. At the base of the bluff, a six-foot-wide cement walk ran almost to the water’s edge, ending in a partially roofed pavilion complete with safety rails, table and chairs, and lounge where she could nap comfortably.
After many mishaps, Claire had perfected her technique and was able to reach her oasis without assistance. Once on the pavilion, she would ease herself inch by inch out of the wheelchair and into a cushioned deck chair. Or if she preferred, the concrete pathway ran down the beach parallel to the high-tide mark so she could use the chair to “walk” the beach when she wanted. Her father had been dismayed by the cost, but she would gladly have spent ten times over to have a place that was hers alone to retreat to.
This morning, the beach was alive with all manner of wildlife. Sandpipers and fiddler crabs scurried about, squabbling with seagulls and willets, and the occasional saucy common tern. The waves that had crashed and boomed against rock and shore the previous day now ebbed and flowed with a kind of orchestrated music. The air smelled of salt and wet sand and sea. The sun felt warm on her face, making her feel alive with each breath.
Claire should have been content today, now that she was on the beach again, but she wasn’t. If anything, her despair was worse than yesterday’s. Shortly after nine, she’d received a phone call from the private detective agency she’d engaged to search for her biological mother. When she saw the number come up on caller ID, she’d hoped that Robert Kelly had real news for her, but instead, he’d once again dashed her hopes.
Essentially, what Robert had conveyed in his brusque Brooklyn twang was a reluctance to continue the investigation at all, unless her father could provide more information on the woman who’d given her up for private adoption. Claire had always known that Richard wasn’t her birth father. He’d even insisted she call him by his name, rather than “Daddy,” but she’d never doubted his devotion. The only thing he’d ever told her about her mother was that she was young, gifted musically, and very, very beautiful.
Everything about her birth seemed to be cloaked in mystery or untruth and there seemed to be nowhere to find information. Her birth certificate listed her birthplace as Seaborne, and her parents as Richard and Elaine Bishop. The attending doctor had died of a heart attack when Claire was a child, and the live-in English nurse who’d cared for her as an infant had seemingly vanished after she left Richard’s employment. And Richard had been no help at all. From the beginning, her father had been against her search for her birth mother. He’d refused to provide any assistance, claiming that the woman had insisted that Claire make no attempt to contact her. He told her that going against her birth mother’s wishes would only bring heartbreak.
Richard’s wife, Elaine, had never been a real mother to Claire, and Claire suspected that she’d only agreed to the adoption to please Richard. They had divorced when Claire was six, and Elaine, now remarried, lived in Brazil with her fourth husband, a man even better off financially than Richard. Claire had written to Elaine twice begging for information on her adoption, but she’d never bothered to reply.
Since the accident that had destroyed her life, Claire had been obsessed with finding the truth about her birth. As a child, she’d secretly dreamed of finding her birth parents, but she’d never felt the need for a mother’s love more than she did now. Robert Kelly had a reputation for being the best. With his decision to suspend the investigation, Claire’s dream of reuniting with her birth mother seemed as hopeless as everything else.
Today, the sea provided none of the peace Claire sought so desperately. Hours passed, her solitude broken only by Mrs. Godwin’s appearance with a lunch tray and a second intrusion when she returned with a pitcher of lemonade and the mail.
“You haven’t eaten a bite,” the housekeeper observed. “If you keep losing weight, none of your clothes will fit you.”
“Does it matter?” Claire picked at the fruit salad to please her. She wasn’t hungry. She was rarely hungry. Eating had once been a joy, and she’d been blessed with a metabolism that kept her from becoming a blimp, no matter how much pasta, chocolate, or ice cream she devoured. Now, food had no taste and eating seemed like one more unpleasant task she had to perform to keep herself alive.
On the tray was the usual container of pain medication. So far today, she’d resisted the allure of numbing her senses, despite the incessant pain in her neck. Sometimes she wished she could drown her agony in alcohol, but even when she was a teenager, she hadn’t been able to stand the taste of it.
“It’s warm out here,” Mrs. Godwin said. “Would you like me to help you back to the house?” She shook out a beach towel and spread it over Claire’s useless legs. “You wouldn’t want to get a sunburn.”
Claire shook her head. “No, I suppose not.” It was easier to agree than to argue. She wanted only to be left alone, and the sooner Mrs. Godwin was appeased, the sooner she’d leave. “I’ll be up later.”
“You should lie down and take your afternoon nap.” The older woman was tall and sturdy with a no-nonsense helmet of salt-and-pepper hair twisted into a fat bun at the back of her neck.
Mrs. Godwin never wore makeup, except on Sundays when she attended church. Then she exchanged her blue uniform skirt and white blouse for a navy dress with a white collar and stained her full lips and plump cheeks with a pink lipstick that Claire always thought of as the exact shade of bubble gum. Mrs. Godwin’s shoes were her only weakness. Imported from Italy and hand-stitched, the low pumps with one-inch heels were expensive, comfortable, and long lasting. She polished them every evening and replaced each pair every five years on her birthday.
Claire liked to think that Mrs. Godwin had a special affection for her that went beyond the employer-employee relationship, but she wasn’t convinced. And she suspected that Mrs. Godwin enhanced her salary by taking additional money from Claire’s father, both to spy on her and to make certain that his rules were followed. On more than one occasion, Claire had caught the housekeeper listening in to phone conversations on another extension. The problem was that Mrs. Godwin had worked at Seaborne since she was fifteen, and she was now only seven years from retirement age. Getting rid of her, at this point, seemed harsh.
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