The Selkie Enchantress (2 page)

“I’m a professor at the University of Ireland in Galway.” He turned, leaning against the railing. The wind blew his wavy hair into his eyes. “Irish mythology.”

She smiled, like she didn’t already know. It was his career that first drew her to him. It was one of the main reasons she’d chosen him. A scholar of Irish myths who not only studied them, but who
believed
in them? It was almost too good to be true. “I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “I won’t bore you with the details. I have a tendency to get caught up in my work.”

“So do I,” she said. The ocean lapped at the hull of the ferry. Seawater sprayed onto the deck. “I’m a writer. It goes with the territory.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, regarding her with new interest. “What do you write?”

“Songs.”

Her lips curved when she said the word ‘songs’ and she caught the slight shift deep in his eyes. As if something was registering, fragmented pieces of knowledge clicking together in that sharp, perceptive mind. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I didn’t catch your name.”

She held out a delicate hand. “It’s Nuala Morrigan.”

“Nuala the songwriter from Limerick,” Liam repeated, taking her palm in his. His grip was firm, his strong palm callused from working on the island’s docks to burn off steam on the weekends. She liked that about him. That he visited his family and friends so often. That those relationships meant something to him. “I’m Liam.”

“Liam the professor from Galway,” Nuala echoed. “Maybe you’ll take a few days off this weekend?”

Liam let go of her hand. “Doubtful. I have to work on a presentation for a conference next week. There’s a lot riding on how it’s received.”

And there was a lot riding on how well she would be able to divert him from that task. Nuala glanced back down at the brilliant blooms between them. “May I ask… why did you choose yellow?”

“It’s her favorite color.”

Nuala brushed a finger over the tips of the fragile petals. “But it’s also the color of friendship.”

Liam’s brow creased. “It is?”

She nodded. “You didn’t know that?”

Liam shook his head. “Do all women know that?”

She lifted a slender shoulder. “I don’t know. But maybe it’s good that a white one found its way in here.”

“Why? What does white mean?”

“White can mean anything you want it to.”

Liam arched a brow. “That’s a powerful rose.”

“It is.” Nuala smiled, shifting the bouquet so the fragrance filled the air between them. Perhaps he would embrace this change. This chance. This
opportunity
. “What do you want this one to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Liam looked thoughtfully at the single white rose. “I guess I’d have to think about that.”

Nuala’s gaze dropped to that lovely-shaped mouth. She couldn’t help it. It was impossible
not
to look. How long had it been since a man’s lips brushed against hers? She wanted to know how they tasted, how
he
tasted. What it felt like to kiss a man like Liam O’Sullivan. Her fingers itched to reach up and touch that silky black hair.

But she swallowed the urge. For years she had lived in the shadows. Cut off from everyone, every
thing
she had ever known. When she made the trade, she hadn’t counted on the loneliness. The sorrow that would eat at her like a salty tide ate at the shoreline. Rubbing against the fine broken rocks until there was nothing left but dust.

But she had served her time. They would have to accept her back now. They would not turn her away when she brought back her prize. “Is it new, then?” Her eyes lifted, meeting his. “This relationship with the woman you’re having dinner with tonight?”

Liam nodded slowly. “You could say that.”

“Then maybe it means new beginnings,” she offered.

“New beginnings.” Liam tested the words as they rolled off his tongue. “That sounds right.”

Nuala gazed back out at the water. “New beginnings can be wonderful.” Through the mists, a sprinkling of whitewashed cottages dotting a rocky hillside came into view. Lamplights burned in the windows and smoke curled from the squat chimneys of the homes leading up to the cliffs. The scent of peat-smoke burned her throat and she swallowed the urge to choke, burying her face in the fragrant roses.

Three days. Nuala’s hands squeezed the tissue-covered stems. Three days and the new beginning she’d wanted for ten years would finally be hers.

Liam pushed off the railing and waved to the captain sheltered behind the protective plastic covering, signaling that he would take care of the bow line. “Do you mind holding onto those while I help Finn with the lines?” Liam gestured to the roses, already gathering up the thick wet rope in his strong arms.

Still clutching the flowers, Nuala watched Liam swing one leg over the railing, ready to jump down to the pier as they motored up beside it. A second rope lay coiled in a loose circle around his other foot still resting inside the railing. It was now or never. She pushed the pointed toe of her heeled boot underneath it, nudging it up and over his ankle.

The motor made a loud grinding sound, pulling at the water to slow the heavy vessel. She almost missed the sharp intake of breath from her son. Clinging to the opening in the cabin, his black hair mussed from sleep, Owen stood frozen, staring at her boot. Nuala glanced over her shoulder, meeting her son’s panicked eyes and, with one last flick of her ankle, caught Liam’s foot in the other rope.

Dark shapes slid from the rocks in the harbor. The seals, usually numb to the comings and goings of the ferry, shrank back from the boat, slipping soundlessly into the sea. Nuala watched Liam push off the edge and, holding her arm out over the water, she opened her fingers and let the roses, all of them white now, drop into the sea.

Dodging the village, Caitlin veered onto the rocky cliff path leading down to the harbor. If Liam was still at the docks chatting with Finn, she was going to let him have it! She didn’t care who heard her give him a piece of her mind. She spied
O’Sullivan’s
pub, where all her friends and neighbors would be gathered around the crackling fire, telling tales over a pint and a warm bowl of stew.

Which is where she should be, too—in a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt—not tromping around in these toe-pinching heels. The faint squeak of a weathervane faded behind her and she was almost past the outskirts of the village when the door to the pub swung open and voices spilled out into the night. She heard an American accent shout, “Dom, get my med kit!”

Med kit?
Caitlin whirled, spotting Tara O’Sullivan break into a run, heading for the harbor. More footsteps pounded on the cracked pavement. The frantic murmurings of her friends and neighbors flowed into the street. She reached down, jerking off her soiled heels. A man’s footsteps, heavier and faster, followed and she spied Dominic running after his wife, her bag tucked under his arm.

A thick mist slid over the cliffs, dripping liquid silver over the jagged edges. Struggling to see through the fog, Caitlin started after them. She saw a flash of white light. Was that a runner light from the ferry? Her bare feet slipped on the wet earth as the trail curved sharply, connecting with the single road leading down to the docks. Another beam of light swept over the harbor, illuminating the body of a man lying motionless on the pier.

Liam!
Caitlin raced down to the docks. Finn’s voice echoed over the water, shouting to Dominic. She spotted Tara through the fog, dropping to her knees in front of the man lying on the pier. “What happened?” Caitlin skidded to a stop, grabbing Dominic’s arm.

“I don’t know.” Dominic’s gray eyes were wild with worry as he passed the bag to his wife. “We just got the call from Finn.”

“Did he fall in the water?” Caitlin asked, frantic. “He’s soaking wet.”

Finn’s knuckles were white as he gripped his wool cap. “He lost his footing stepping off the boat.”

“This is all my fault,” an unfamiliar female voice hitched.

Caitlin started, noticing the woman kneeling beside Liam for the first time. Her sleeves and hair were dripping wet. She was wrapped in one of the captain’s blankets and a small boy—his face hidden under a black hood—huddled behind her.

“His foot caught in one of the ropes,” she explained. “I tried to reach him before he fell, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Finn, get the boat ready to leave again,” Tara ordered, leaning down to breathe air into Liam’s water-clogged lungs.

Caitlin sank to her knees, wrapping Liam’s cold hand in both of hers. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Dominic knelt beside her. “Liam!” His voice was rough with panic, his fingers digging into his brother’s shoulder.  “Liam, wake up!”

Tara scooted down to his side, interlacing her fingers and pumping the heel of her palms against Liam’s chest.

“Liam,” Caitlin whispered. “You have to wake up.”

***

Light pierced the insides of Liam’s eyes. Searing pain filled his lungs. He sucked in a breath, but it lodged in his throat. He choked, rolling onto his side. Familiar voices echoed through the ringing in his ears as he coughed seawater out of his lungs. He held himself up on arms that ached. Every muscle in his body felt like it was on fire.

Where was he? He tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but the dark surface of the water blurred with the edge of the pier. He squeezed his eyes shut as the ground began to spin.

“Liam, can you hear me?” A familiar voice—
Tara’s
voice—rang out in the night. What was Tara doing here? His head throbbed but he blinked, struggling to focus. He dragged a spoonful of air into his lungs. Moist, wet air. Cold air. It tasted of salt. His fingers curled around the edge of the pier, his palms rubbing on something gritty, like sand.

“Liam, it’s Tara. Can you hear me?”

The wind snatched at her words, bit into his wet clothes. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. Why was it so cold? His eyes flickered open, focusing on the rings forming in the sea. The dark shapes moving in frantic circles just under the surface.

“He’s waking up,” another voice whispered, this one only vaguely familiar. But there was something about it. Something that pulled to him. He turned, his gaze locking on a mysterious blonde. Seawater dripped from her long pale locks. She was wrapped in a thick gray blanket. But the heavy material had slipped off one slender shoulder, revealing a deep v-neck sweater soaking wet and clinging to her lush figure.

“Where am I?” he breathed.

She reached for his hand, her sleeves dripping cold water onto his wrist, her palm curling soft and cool around his. She smiled hesitantly and he caught the first faint chords of a song, drifting like whispered words over the waves. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, unable to tear his eyes from that glorious face. “What happened?”

“You fell off the deck of the ferry,” Tara answered from behind him. “Finn and another passenger pulled you out of the water, but you have a head wound that’s still bleeding. I need you to stay flat on your back until I can stop it.”

Liam brought a hand up to his head, felt something sticky and warm running down his forehead. He pulled his fingers away. They were coated in blood. “I fell?”

Finn’s weathered hands worried over the frayed plaid of his cap. “I’m so sorry, Liam. If it weren’t for the lass here…”

“I’m teaching you to swim, Finn,” Tara cut in, pressing a fresh wad of gauze to the wound. “As soon as it’s warm enough.”

Liam’s gaze drifted back to the blonde, inhaling the scent of wet wool and saltwater. “You pulled me from the water?”

The woman squeezed his hand. “The captain said he couldn’t swim… I just dove in.”

That voice. Those words. Where had he heard them before? Lost, he continued to gaze into those lovely almond-shaped eyes until he felt warm, insistent fingers curl around his other forearm.

“Liam,” a familiar female voice asked from his other side. “Do you feel okay?”

Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze from the mesmerizing blonde. His brow creased as he focused on the other woman’s face.
Caitlin?
Her red curls were tamed into soft waves. Her smoky blue eyes were filled with raw concern. The hem of her fitted dress had ridden up her thighs, revealing a pair of dark lace stockings. Since when did Caitlin wear stockings? Liam’s gaze flickered up to her face, then back down at the dress hugging her generous curves. “You look… different.”

Caitlin’s eyes clouded with confusion.

Liam’s gaze dropped to the muddy heels discarded on the pier beside her. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why?” Caitlin lowered her voice, her gaze darting over to Dominic. “You know why.”

“I do?”

From the corner of his eye, Liam saw Tara put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Dom, why don’t you let the rest of the islanders know that Liam’s okay and I’ll finish up here?”

Rocking back on his heels, Dominic looked back and forth between Caitlin and his brother. “I think I’d like to hear the answer to this question first.”

“Liam.” Caitlin tugged the hem of her dress further down her legs, looking at him strangely. “You were coming over for dinner tonight.”