The Selkie Bride (19 page)

The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow’ d and so gracious is that time.’

—William Shakespeare,
Hamlet

Niall McLaughlin’s cottage was on the way to the faerie mound. I had never noticed it. It was a black house, barely a hovel, with no windows and only a door that stood open. It was located in the shadow of a cliff and the twilight gloom was dark enough to pass for early evening. As we drew closer, the beater and gaff began to burn against my skin. This was an evil place.

A shape appeared in the doorway: the likely ensorcelled fisherman. He proved to be a lean scarecrow of a figure, and it wasn’t until he spoke and revealed his stutter that I realized we had met once before, though
not for some time. I didn’t say anything about his drastic weight loss or silvered hair, and even if some of the shock showed on my face, the poor man never noticed. Perhaps he was distracted by Lachlan’s nudity and my state of half undress. Or maybe the cataract wrapping his eyes completely blinded him. Herman would not come inside and I did not try to coax him. It was all I could do to cross the threshold myself. I had to leave my weapons outside.

Niall paced in front of the badly sooted hearth, which had not known a fire in days. This was an unfavorable sign for the fisherman, suggesting that he had so withdrawn from the normal world that he no longer was aware of the cold or the need to combat it. Where he would end, I could not guess; there was only a distant and irrational hope that he and his missing brother might finish their lives in some happy manner. I hated the smell of the cold damp ashes—yew, I sensed—but had no inclination to kindle a new fire, since all he had on hand was more of the same, and I found that the wood of my weapon had begun to make my hands sting. So had the iron shackles. I was becoming more sensitive with every hour and a fire would not deter the finman.

As Lachlan and the fisherman talked in some dialect of Gaelic that was too accented for me to follow, I wandered about the cottage. Near the front door were some drawings done in ash. The creature these depicted could only be the finman, though with an undamaged chest. The main picture was bordered with peculiar decorations that were similar and yet distinctly different from illuminations of the kind seen in
The Book of the Kells
. Instead of the usual Celtic knots, however, there were complex twinings of sea grasses and mythical creatures, like a half-snake woman wreathed in seaweed until it almost disguised the undulations of her coiled and scaled lower body. The pictures were familiar, both from the books I had been reading and my own cottage hearth. The same artistic impulse had been at work here.

I turned to say something to Lachlan and found him holding the fisherman upright, his long fingers clasped around Niall’s skull. The grip was not brutal. The fisherman did not fight, and he seemed to be answering Lachlan’s questions.

Finally, the fisherman’s cloudy gaze showed some awareness, and he looked directly into Lachlan’s face. “…the isle of the chapel of the fisherman. I’ve told ye all I ken. Kill me noo,” he begged in Scots, raising a hand badly knotted with arthritis that had not been there weeks before. “Please. I’m deid already.”

“Gae hame tae yer God,” Lachlan said—and then with a quick twist, he broke the fisherman’s neck. I stood there too stunned to move, comprehending what had happened but distantly horrified. One instant the fisherman had been alive; the next he was dead.

Lachlan lowered the body to the floor and then looked at me. His voice was gentle.

“His soul was taken; his body was rotting wi’out it. The man waud hae taken his own life but the finman bespelled him, saving the puir bastard so he could take his heart later. We may yet find his soul and free it.”

I nodded numbly, holding Eonan and Lachlan’s skins close. I had heard the fisherman ask Lachlan to take his life; it was just that I hadn’t actually expected Lachlan to do it. Somehow I had hoped that we would find a way to put his soul back.

As I watched, Lachlan removed Niall’s tartan and wrapped it about himself. I wasn’t sure that this was actually looting the dead, but it somehow underlined how matter-of-fact and callous Lachlan could be. Next he went to the table and selected a needle from the jumble of dusty nets that someone had been repairing. I did not ask him why, fearing that I might not like the answer.

“We’d best be off ,” he said. “The mound has a way of slowing time for those it shelters. It is why Eonan has gone there, but it cannae keep him alive forever. It is nowt the refuge of sea creatures.”

“Yes, let’s go,” I agreed, finding the cottage suddenly intolerable. It occurred to me that if I survived the coming hours I might need a head doctor. But then so would everyone else in the village, if they had fallen under the finman’s infl uence.

Of course, to consult anyone about what we had seen would be to invite a stay in an asylum. As always, the evil attacking Findloss would stay in Findloss.

Tell me where is fancy bred, In the heart or in the head?

—William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice

The narrow strip of sand that should have been submerged at that hour of the day remained clear, and Lachlan and I were able to hasten toward the mound. The ground was wrack strewn and stony, worse than on my previous visit, but Lachlan was able to traverse it without difficulty, and with his aid I was able to follow without injury or the indignity of falling into the water. I accepted his help, but every time his hands touched me I saw them breaking that poor wretch of a fisherman’s neck. I was not repulsed, exactly, but I had trouble shaking off the vision and with every step I felt that I was losing control of myself and coming closer to being lost in some silent hysteria.

Birds followed us part of the way, their cries of warning shrill and grating to the nerves, and it was not as if I were unaware that we were courting danger. I didn’t mean to whimper, but the small sound escaped before I could throttle it. Lachlan stopped immediately and
looked me over. Not saying anything, he bent down and bit me on the shoulder. He immediately laved the skin and I felt the familiar narcotic surge through my blood.

I do not often care to surrender my will, but in that moment I was grateful to feel cold and worry recede from my body and mind. I pulled Eonan’s skin closer and huddled in his fur, which was as warm as the cat. A part of me wished that I was naked and could just wear the skin.

Another part of me—doubtless an insane part—wanted to stop and make love to Lachlan, despite knowing Eonan was in danger and the finman nearby. The feeling was stronger than what I had known before, yet not unfamiliar. The salt, as Eonan called it, made me libidinous.

We soon passed the familiar miniature quagmire of moss and bog myrtle, now a somber brown as it huddled in the tiny and cold oasis of fresh water in the sand. Next came the curved beaches where the cliffs had been carved out into a disordered succession of arches and caves. Most were shallow, but a few seemed deeper and more ominous than I remembered. I was not tempted to explore them now that I knew for certain that the finman was close, probably ahead of us. And if not ahead, then not far behind.

I didn’t carry Herman but kept a close eye upon him, both to warn us if the finman neared but also to see that he was not surprised by any stray waves. Perhaps he could swim, but Herman had no liking for the water.

We passed a group of seals and Lachlan went to
speak with them. What he said I do not know, but they turned as a group and waded into the surf, swimming in formation until they disappeared.

A moment later we rounded the headland and came face to cliff face with the
Sithean Mor
. Drugged as I was, the sight still shook me all the way to my quaking bones and caused my nerves to shrill with awed alarm. Of the corpse candle there was no sign, but an opening had appeared in the side of the mound, a mansized hole seemingly cut right into the giant stone.

My feet stopped moving, but Lachlan had other ideas and since he had taken my arm, I accompanied him willy-nilly. Herman followed, his steps cautious but steady. Though it seemed impossible and I dismissed it as a trick of the light, he appeared to have gotten a bit larger and was now the size of small dog.

The interior of the mound was not what I expected. I had anticipated some sort of crypt, a cold tomb. But such was not the case. To begin with, the inside appeared immensely larger than the exterior suggested. The floor was glassy, a sort of aurora borealis of colors where the sunlight struck it. The light traveled through the crystalline ground and glowed a soft amber. There was a shallow pool of water in the distance and a fountain of fire-colored water rose up out of it, twirling gaily like a harmless garden cyclone, though this had no leaves or grass in it. Somewhere, perhaps below the level of normal hearing, there was the sound of inhuman but contagious laughter. I wanted to wade out into the water and let it caress my skin.

“I shall hunt for Eonan,” Lachlan said. “You maun stitch up his skin.”

“What?” My voice was blank, but I believe I had cause. “Can I do that? Just sew it up?”

“Aye. If ye’ve feelings enough for him.”

“Feelings?” I said the word slowly, testing it for meaning. “What sort of feelings are you talking about?”

“Ye care for Eonan?” Lachlan asked.

“Well, yes, of course. But I don’t…I’m not in love with him, if that is what you mean by ‘having feelings.’ ” I could feel a flush mount in my cheeks. I was not comfortable talking about my emotions, which were in turmoil. A week ago I would have sworn that I would never again care for anyone, that Duncan had left me too badly damaged.

“But ye care enough to endanger yer own life by hunting the finman. Ye’ve shed tears on his fur.”

This sounded like something very intimate in the selkie world, and I felt myself blushing more, as if caught doing something intimate and inappropriate with Lachlan’s cousin. “Yes,” I said, trying to think of a way to explain. “I like him a lot. But it is mainly guilt that brought me out. I was worried about you and I asked him to go out searching for—”

He waved a hand. “Yer in love wi’ me then?” Lachlan asked, leaning down slightly, peering at me through my tangled hair. “Ye want me?”

I stared up at him, indignant that he should ask me this when I’d had little time to examine my feelings and no word from him to indicate his own emotional state. Also, some thoughts are as intimate and personal as the act of making love, and should be kept just as private. In that moment, Lachlan was a stranger to me, and I was unable to answer him straight.

There was also the matter of defining the word
want
. I wanted him for sexual purposes. Was that what he was asking? Or did he mean that I wanted him in my life forever? The answer, I thought, was yes. To both.

Lachlan stared at me. “Think on it, and on if ye have feelings fer me. If ye love me and can love my kin, then take a strand of yer hair and this needle and sew up Eonan’s skin. He’ll die wi’out it,” Lachlan added, “and only a woman who loves may close the wound. This is a magical wound, lass. Only magic may close it.” He straightened. “I’m sae sorry to lay this burden upon ye, but yer sewing will determine the scars he bears for the rest of his life—or if he shall even have one at all.”

This felt like more than a mere challenge to do my best. I’d known too many people who were generous with their criticism; there had been an overabundance in my life and I wanted no more, especially not then and not from the man with whom I was having a child.

But when I looked into Lachlan’s eyes, I saw no censure there. He was stating a fact. If I loved Lachlan enough to encompass his kin in those feelings—or could love Eonan himself—then Eonan would live. I also knew that if I could not do it, he wouldn’t blame me. Probably he would blame himself for not being more lovable, for not having enthralled me sufficiently when he could have overcome my will. He was alien to me, but only in his kindness.

I accepted the needle without a word and sank down on the floor, which I found to be pleasantly warm. I didn’t watch Lachlan as he moved deeper
into the mound. The cave was lovely but so alien, and looking into its shadows made me slightly dizzy. Instead I stared at Eonan’s skin and tried to sort through my emotions, fearing that if I touched the skin in the improper frame of mind, I might actually do more harm than good.

Lachlan’s voice floated back to me. “Ye needna fear the finman here. He may not enter, for the verra earth and stone of this place finds him abhorrent.”

“That’s awfully sensible for something made of dirt and rocks,” I muttered, and thought I heard Lachlan chuckle. The sound relaxed me. Maybe things were not so dire if he could still laugh.

Exhaling, I took emotional stock. The inventory was bizarre. I had passed into the realm of fairy tales, and like any stupid heroine of fiction I had blundered into something strange and wonderful and probably dangerous, but undoubtedly where a whole new set of rules applied. I had also fallen in love. What remained to be seen was whether Lachlan was a monster or a prince, the hero or the beast. My last visit to this insane state had been with a man I hadn’t known well and whom I had soon liked only well enough to be tolerant of his company—when he was sober—and eventually disliked enough to be heartily glad when he was gone. Death had kindly intervened, saving me from my initial bad judgment, but my nerves had been tormented for months afterward and I had sworn never again to love anyone on earth. This wasn’t an oath I had made lightly.

Of course, Lachlan wasn’t exactly of the earth. He was a creature of the sea. I was not sure that this technicality
released me, however, and now I was being asked to look about at a strange new world and admit, at least to myself, that my vow had been made hollow and that I was indeed again smitten—at the very least physically—with a man I did not know well. I had once said that Duncan was inhuman and meant it. The same could be said of Lachlan, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. I couldn’t remember if things had worked out for Beauty and her beast. Th ere never seemed to be a happy ending to any of the selkie stories I’d read. That made me stupid as well as an oathbreaker, didn’t it, for I had known what he was from the beginning?

I exhaled a long low breath. My thoughts were tumultuous and the day’s events disturbing, but the sound of the dancing waters was soothing and I soon felt the last of the anger and fear die away and I calmed enough to consider the next matter at hand without bringing all my past expectations and guilt to bear. The question was a fairly simple one, stripped of all the rest of my thoughts and memories and expectations: Did I care for Eonan? Of course I did. I liked him a lot. In many ways he felt like what I imagined a brother to be. But was that lesser love—this brotherly love—enough to close a wound inflicted by an evil wizard?

Herman came and sat beside me. He meowed softly.

“I love
you,
Herman,” I said, slightly surprised when I voiced this thought. The chamber brightened, as though happy with these words, and the floor danced with light that resembled fire laced through with
lightning. The nearby water grew luminescent and wildly swirled, reaching higher into the chamber whose ceiling now seemed very far away and lit by strange stars.

My heart would never be as wide open as it had been when I was younger and innocent, but never again would it be entirely closed against the idea of passionate love. If Lachlan, a man who was not really a man, could make me—even against my will—rethink this moral certitude, then I could never say with complete certainty that I could not or would not find abiding love with another. Perhaps this was not an entirely bad thing. Why live if there is no hope of love? Perhaps that is enough for plants or fish, but I was human and required more than mere survival. The question was, would it be with Lachlan?

I thought then about my feelings for Lachlan—and my desire. And for the babe I carried. There were so many kinds of love, and many of them confusing and not easy to categorize. The honesty of the pro cess left me naked in my heart, but I did not flinch from it and kept on until I had my answers laid out methodically and in full view. Romantic love, physical love, brotherly love—I had it all sorted. Then, at last feeling peaceful and focused, I accepted my task and my responsibility for saving Eonan’s life. I chose to love him as best I could. Perhaps it would not be enough in the end, but either way he would not die because I was too much of an emotional coward to make the attempt.

Herman stayed beside me, a warm and comforting weight pressed against my leg, letting me love him as
well. The hole was small but I sewed for what seemed an eternity, pausing in my careful stitches only to pluck another hair from my head when the previous one ran out. My eyes shed a few tears, protesting the strain of work that I did by the honeyed light of the phosphorescent water and fl ickering floor. But I did not stop working, even after I considered the effect my still-falling tears and lingering arousal might have on the skin I stitched so diligently. Now open to my feelings, my heart ached when I thought of a world without Eonan. How much poorer the world would be. I could no longer imagine such a thing, and I felt his pain as if it were my own, which allowed me to stitch hope for all of us into the fur I mended. Tears were part of it: a part of life. So was desire, requited or not. If I could stand this, so could he. So could Lachlan, though I hoped he would not be jealous of the memories of our shared passion that I lent to Eonan as I closed this wound so tightly that no water or blood would ever leak through.

When Lachlan returned with Eonan’s pale and limp body, which must have been retrieved from the water since both he and Lachlan were wet, I had his skin ready. Using gentle hands, I helped Lachlan dress Eonan in his skin and marveled at the transformation: He went silently from man to beast.

“Yer stitches are holding. Ye feel something,” Lachlan said. There was relief and a good measure of satisfaction in his voice. “The lad shall live.”

I nodded but was unable to speak. Though I had admitted my feelings to myself, I was not ready to tell either Lachlan or Eonan what was in my stupid,
stupid heart. I suspected though that Eonan would know. He would feel my love for Lachlan and my fear that it would never be entirely returned.

Though I was not ready to speak of my thoughts, I did not care for the careworn look on Lachlan’s face and hoped that talking of something else might alleviate some of his pain. “Things are well with your family? You enjoyed your visit?” I asked tentatively. I had no idea what to expect. This seemed a safe question, but with Lachlan’s strange situation it was hard to know what was normal.

“Enjoyed? Hardly. This isnae something you enjoy.” Lachlan paused and then added: “My heart is gladdened that they are weel and sae many of them live yet.”

I nodded. His feelings were roughly my own when it came to seeing my kin. Except my relations didn’t make my heart glad and I could not have cared any less if they were well or even still walking on the planet. My true family was now the cat and the two men with me in this magic cave. Duty would never again take me back to my aunt and uncle.