Selkie's Revenge (6 page)

But as Machar left the hospital, the idea of Beth crying on Gerald’s shoulders gave him an ache in his gut. It clanged inside him like a gong. He wanted to blame the nagging sensation on the massive helping of steak and eggs he’d had at his parents’ house, but knew that wasn’t it.

No, this discomfort had nothing to do with indigestion.

The next day, Mack stood at the entrance of Kirkwall’s Balfour Hospital, cursing the cold wind that had just whipped up. Of course, he felt it a little more without his pelt nearby.

How on earth had he managed to forget it in Beth’s hospital room? He’d never forgotten it anywhere. Selkies were trained at an early age to keep their pelts close when in human form. One never knew who might find it. And Mack had always kept a close eye on the skin.

But in the confusion of bringing Beth to the hospital yesterday, of seeing how it warmed her body through, somehow he’d neglected to take it back. It was probably still sitting on the hospital chair with her other belongings. If Beth understood anything of selkie lore, she would have known possession of the skin gave her power to compel Mack to be her love slave. An Orkney lass would have seen the skin, hoped to high heaven that it belonged to a selkie, and would have hidden it for dear life, but Beth wasn’t from this part of the world. Clearly she had no idea what sort of power she currently wielded over him.

And Mack had only noticed the missing pelt last night when, in his frustration at Beth, he’d been about to dive into the waves so he could finally join Leda and the salvage crew. Somehow, the idea of the pelt being with the stubborn Floridian hadn’t worried him as much as it should have. Even still, he needed it back. He couldn’t swim out to Leda without it.

Only this morning, in the cold light of an Orkney autumn day, Mack realized he wasn’t feeling a great urgency to join Leda after all. Yes, the selkie woman had made his body hum for many a year, but she’d made it patently clear she wasn’t interested in him as a mate. It was ridiculous to consider trying again.

And there was the orange-eyed finman to consider.
Damn
. After hunting him for centuries, after patrolling the beaches like a loony, armed lifeguard, the finman had finally decided to show his ugly mug. The timing couldn’t have been worse. As a self-declared stalker of the creatures, he could hardly turn his back now. No doubt the bastard was long gone, but better safe than sorry.

Mack drew his leather bomber jacket around his torso, feeling more chilled by the idea of the finman enticing Beth out to sea than by the sharp Orkney breeze. If he’d left her on the water, trudging to the finman, she would have suffered a frightful fate. As soon as the finman had her close, he would have dropped his camouflage. He would have appeared to her as the gloomy conjurer he was, and by then she would have been in his clutches. The finman would have swept her into his hidden boat with his grotesque fin arms and would have ferried her, screaming, to the forsaken island of Hildaland. It was a place no woman needed to see, not from what he’d heard. Finmen weren’t kind to their female captives. The women were nothing to them other than spawning machines. If Beth had been captured, she would have been raped again and again until she could produce no more children, and then she’d be murdered and discarded like a dirty rag.

It was simply the way of the finmen. They didn’t much take to courting their women in delicate fashion, savages that they were.

Perhaps, now that Mack had interrupted him, the finman would forget about Beth. Perhaps he’d move on to some other poor woman, or skulk back to Hildaland and rut with one of his own kind. Mack still got the willies considering it.

It was because of Anne. He’d become a hunter because of the human woman he’d loved at the end of the eighteenth century. Lovely Anne with the dimpled chin and the rosy cheeks. Daughter of a local merchant and Machar’s only real love. He could still see her now, in those gut-wrenching moments when he allowed himself to visualize her. He could still feel the soft skin of her body, could smell the sweets on her breath, the ones he used to bring her. And her throaty laugh danced yet through his memory.

Now, almost three hundred years later, Anne’s face taunted him. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed her image away, as he had done so many times before. It did no good to think of what he’d lost.

As he opened his eyes, Mack’s attention was distracted by the sound of a male nurse’s voice at the hospital doors.

“Is someone coming to pick you up, love?” the nurse asked.

The man had brought Beth out in a wheelchair. She had his selkie pelt over her lap, keeping her legs warm. She looked up at the nurse. “I’ll have to get a cab.”

Mack strode forward, ignoring the tingle of odd satisfaction that he felt seeing his pelt on Beth’s lap. “She’s coming with me.” He turned to her. “Hello, Beth. Do you feel better?”

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Mack?” She blushed, obviously recalling how she’d banished him from her room in anger. “You don’t have to do this.”

He took over from the nurse, pushing her toward the parking lot where his dad’s Mustang was parked. “Don’t be daft, lass. You need a ride. I have one.” He wheeled her to the car, opened the passenger side for her, and eased her out of the wheelchair and into the car. “Besides, didn’t I tell you my savior duties include a ride home? It’s in the contract.”

Once she was settled and he’d buckled her in, he covered her lap with his pelt again. She could hold onto it for the time being … if it kept her warm, what harm was there in letting her use it?

She looked at him as he smoothed the pelt over her legs. He heard her small intake of breath as his hand made contact with her knee. He met her gaze and swallowed.

A variety of emotions flitted across her face, some of which he couldn’t even discern. She stared back at him for a moment and then spoke. “Thank you.”

He allowed his lips to relax into a wide smile. “Well, seeing as you’ve decided not to sic Nurse Ratched on me again, why don’t you tell me where you live?”

* * * *

Beth sat quietly in the black Mustang as they veered out of Kirkwall and into the surrounding countryside, unsure of what to say to Machar. She contented herself with running her hands over the leather interior.

She’d hoped to see him again, God help her, and here he was. When he’d left her hospital room, no, when she’d shooed him away, he’d taken all the color with him. She’d been left again in a somber room that did nothing but fill her with dread.

Now that he was with her, she was glimpsing bright hues again. The warm chocolate tones of his worn leather jacket. Formfitting blue jeans. Another concert T-shirt peeking out from under his jacket, this one dark green with an AC/DC logo. And there was a rosy tinge to his flawless cheeks, as if he’d been standing in the cold for a while. Had he?

Stop looking at his perfect skin
.
So it radiates health and … incredible stamina. So what?

Once again Mack had come to her rescue, this time with his flashy car. She’d never driven in anything quite so decadent. It purred under her as he ripped up the pavement with ease. The rumbling of the engine set off a chain reaction of sensation that culminated in a quivering between her thighs. Uncomfortable, she squeezed her legs together. She wasn’t used to feeling anything lately, other than blinding pain, and wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. It must be the effects of the ibuprofen the nurse had given her for her headache. “You drive a fancy car.”

Mack laughed. “This thing? Not mine.”

“Did you steal it?” she couldn’t help teasing, her face deadpan.

He turned to face her, a look of surprise on his face, as if he hadn’t expected her to make a joke and liked it. “No, madam. It belongs to my father. My ride isn’t suitable for transporting patients.”

“Your ride?”

“I have a Harley. All my brothers do too. I guess you could say we’re bike fanatics, the whole lot of us.” He considered her face, his brows twitching in concentration. “I’ll give you a ride on it when … you’re up to it.”

Beth said nothing to that. It wasn’t true anyway. He would drop her off at home and she’d never see him again. He was just being polite, for some warped reason she hadn’t discovered yet. Misplaced concern, she supposed. She shouldn’t have even let him take her home. Still, the thought of walking into that empty house alone one more time was enough to make her sick. She couldn’t pretend having Mack with her, or anyone, wouldn’t be a relief.

After a quiet ride, they arrived at the house she’d shared with Frank and Luke. It was a small cottage, cozy for three. She’d fallen in love with its old wooden beams and stucco exterior the first time she’d seen it, just as she’d fallen swiftly in love with Frank Pedersen. The TV antiques appraiser from
What’s In Your Attic?
had bowled her over with his wit and charm and boyish good looks. His show had traveled to Florida for a special American taping, and she’d been there in the audience, hoping to get her mother’s watch appraised. He’d smiled at her and she’d fallen. After a whirlwind courtship, she’d married him and moved to Orkney, his home base. Life with Frank had been good, even if she always felt a little out of place in Scotland. But when Luke had been born, their mutual happiness had overridden any concerns.

As she got out of the car, she took note of the daisies Frank had planted last year. They were dried-up stalks now. She should have pulled them. She should have done a lot of things, like convince him not to go out that day with Lukey.

A fierce jolt of disgust shot through her. Oh, would it ever stop hurting? With automatic swiftness, she forced the hurt back down into her stomach.
Swallow, swallow
.

She must have been staring into space because Mack moved toward her. He put a hand on her cheek, but she pulled away. There was something about this man that felt too good, too tempting. She didn’t deserve to feel good.

“Are you well, Beth?”

She didn’t answer, simply moved past him toward the door. She reached into her purse and retrieved her keys and unlocked the door to the building, which didn’t quite feel like home anymore. She walked in and Mack followed.

Once over the threshold, he exclaimed, “Crikey! This place is crammed with antiques.”

Beth stared into the packed front room with little interest. Her gaze traveled along the edges of embellished sideboards, up the length of tall cabinets, and back down toward several expensive rugs on the floor. “Frank was a TV appraiser but also had an antiques business on the side. He was an avid collector and sold a lot all over Britain. It was his passion.”

Mack took up a spot at her side, holding the strange pelt blanket she’d found in her hospital room. He rested the pelt on her couch. “But it’s not yours?”

“I barely know a sideboard from a wardrobe. I’m a music teacher. I know pianos.” She looked around the room as tightness gripped her chest. “With Frank gone, I figured I should sell all this stuff and go back home. I just haven’t been able to make a start.”

“To Florida?” Mack arched an eyebrow at her while frowning with the other brow, giving his face an almost comical slant.

“Yeah. My parents and sisters are there. There’s nothing for me here.”

He frowned harder at her but said nothing.

She continued, suddenly willing to open up to him a bit more. “I’ve inherited Frank’s business, but don’t have the first clue what to do with it. If he were here, he’d be able to tell me who the reputable dealers are, who to approach for a sale, but I don’t know where to begin. I just want to liquidate everything and go. I can’t be here in this house anymore, surrounded by his things. And Luke’s things. I suppose I could give those to charity, but I just can’t let them go…”

Mack grabbed her hand. The intricate webbing teased her fingers, and she bit back a gasp because it felt sinful and luxurious on her skin, like a kiss from silky lips.

“Beth, you don’t have to make any decisions right now. There’s no deadline. And no one would blame you for keeping your son’s things.”

She let out a half laugh. “My sister Connie does. ‘Get rid of everything,’ she says. ‘Start fresh.’ She has three kids. I can’t imagine her
starting fresh
if anything happened to one of them. I know she’s trying to help, though.”

Mack offered her a grin that was so gentle and kind it made her stomach twist and turn at the attention. “I mean no disrespect to your sister, but bugger Connie.”

A strange quiver erupted under Beth’s ribs, one that tickled her. It danced up her chest and spilled from her, catching her off guard. For the first time in a year, Beth had let out a real laugh. Not a fake one, not a bitter one. A real burst of amusement. And Mack seemed just as shocked as she was. His dark eyes widened, and his smile was so wide it grazed his ears. She gawked at him, her cheeks hurting from smiling. They hurt a lot. She’d forgotten what it was like to smile. It was a good pain.

He’d made her laugh. Astonishing.

She glanced down at his hand, the one she was still holding. “You have very unusual hands.”

His nostrils flared and he averted his eyes. “I’m a very unusual man.” He cleared his throat and let her hand go. “Listen. As it happens, I’m somewhat of an antique expert…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. There was a loud knock on the door. Before she could walk over to open it, it cracked open of its own accord and Gerald Finnegan eased in, bearing a large CorningWare dish. Beth rushed over. “Gerald, I wasn’t expecting you.”

The redheaded man grinned at her, his gold tooth glinting. He then noticed Mack glaring a few feet away, and his smile flopped on his face like a captured cod on a fisherman’s boat deck. He nodded curtly at the other man. “I was watching to see when you were coming home. I made you a stew.” He held up the large dish.

Beth lifted the lid off the CorningWare, sniffing it, and then replaced the lid. “That’s so sweet.” She looked over at Mack. “Isn’t that nice, Mack?”

Mack kept his eye on Gerald. “Incredibly nice. Do I smell fish?”

Gerald walked into the kitchen and set the dish in Beth’s refrigerator. “It’s a fish stew,” he announced. “I’m a fisherman. I like to bring Beth the nicer bits and bobs from my catches.”