Sins Against the Sea (2 page)

Another wave slammed down beside Brian, cracking the boards. As the deck reared, he grabbed hold of a davit and hung on for dear life. Over the noise, a distant bell tolled. A death knell, he thought with a shudder.

A wave crashed over him. Too weak to hold on, he let it take him. As he plunged into the sea, he saw the merman, his shimmering fish-tail swishing and his long black hair swimming around his head like Medusa’s snakes.

“Help me,” Brian pleaded in a flurry of bubbles. “For my daughter, Corey. I’m all she’s got.”

The merman made no move to assist him. He simply glared at Brian with hate in his wide-set blue-green eyes. Jimmy Bell said the Blue Men of the Minch only harmed those who sinned against the sea and now, too late, Brian Parker believed.

Chapter One

The Minch, Modern Day

With a thrust of his hips and a flick of his tail, Cuan pushed through the murky depths of the strait dividing mainland Scotia from the chain of islands comprising the Outer Hebrides. Though it was dark this far beneath the water’s surface, he could see well enough with his large eyes and natural night vision. Just ahead were the fuzzy green peaks of an undersea mountain range, a favorite feeding ground of pilot whales and white-beaked dolphins. Off to the left, a glint of silver caught his eye—a school of minnows darting in perfect unison. Down below, the sea floor was a swaying drab-green carpet of toothed wrack and bull kelp.

Tightening his grip on his gold-stringed harp, he torpedoed toward his destination—a hidden cove near Lochmaddy on North Uist.
Loch nam Madadh
, in his native tongue. Loch of the Hounds, named for the spaniel-shaped rock formation at the mouth of the harbor.

Regret stabbed his heart when the algae-flocked skeleton of a yacht came into view. The words of the man he’d let drown still haunted:
Help me. For my daughter, Corey. I’m all she’s got.

Cuan could not understand why he still lamented letting the man die. Humans were no friends of Oceanus and Tethys, the sea gods his race worshipped and served. Humans plundered their watery dominion, thoughtless of those whose survival depended upon what they stole and destroyed. Even now, the water tasted of the bitter residue of human selfishness and greed—a foul flavor that grew more potent by the month.

Sometimes, on sleepless nights, he wondered what had become of the man’s daughter. He, too, was an orphan. His mother had been murdered by her human husband the day he was born and his father, the clan’s best hunter, had been killed by a Great White when Cuan was only ten.

Did Corey, wherever she might be, sometimes feel, as he did, like a storm-tossed ship without a captain?

The sight of a shark emerging from the shadows triggered Cuan’s internal alarm, rinsing away all thought of the humans. Sharks were dangerous, and to be avoided when alone and unarmed.

Cursing himself for failing to bring his trident along, Cuan dove deeper and took shelter within a reef. Encrusted in algae the color of heather, the coral barrier squirmed with life: urchins, starfish, crabs, and polyps. Luminous white anemone waved on the current like tiny palm trees, reminding him of an incident from his youth. Shan, the chieftain’s son and his best friend, had dared him to touch one, knowing the wee creature would sting like a jellyfish.

The betrayal still bothered Cuan. Shan, the closet thing he had to a brother, was supposed to look out for him, not make him the dupe of cruel pranks.

As the predator swam past, relief washed through Cuan. The shark was only a filter feeder. Huge and menacing in appearance, but harmless to his kind. Of late, he’d seen more of them in the Minch than ever before.

Meredith, the female he’d mated with last springtide, said it was because the strait was changing due to something called “global warming.” Basking sharks fed on plankton, she’d explained, and plankton was more abundant in warmer waters. Thus, as the water temperature rose, the plankton population increased, attracting more basking sharks to the Minch.

Humans were to blame for that, too. Just as they were to blame for the rape of the sea floor, the dwindling populations of fish, the toxic dead spots where not even algae would grow, and the terrible cairns of debris and savaged ocean life dumped everywhere by their dredgers.

“Humans are even more despicable than sharks, sea monsters, and Finmen,” he’d told Meredith in response to her explanation.

“Only because humans have lost their connection to the sacred in the natural world,” she’d insisted. “Instead of hating them, you should look for ways to help them reconnect.”

He scoffed through his gills at the memory of her statement. What did
she
know? She was only a Nic, and Nics served no purpose beyond bearing young. Macs, the males of the species, defended the seven seas. Macs were superior to Nics in every way. That was the reason Poseidon took Pelops to Mount Olympus and taught him to drive his winged chariot over the waves; the reason Zeus abducted Ganymede, the handsome shepherd prince; and why Achilles grieved so violently after Patroclus fell in battle that Thetis, his sea-goddess mother, filled the ocean with tears in sympathy for the loss. Even Cuchulainn, the great hero of Ireland, made one bed and slept one sleep with his fellow warriors.

Or so Cuan had been told by the elders of his clan all the thirty-one years he’d existed in his present incarnation. Even so, for reasons he failed to comprehend, he took more pleasure in soft curves and supple swellings than flat chests and firm muscles—a discovery he’d made quite by accident one afternoon while out exploring the coastline on his own. He happened upon a group of sea nymphs and, as he’d watched them frolicking naked in the surf, his curiosity soon gave way to arousal.

Cuan bit his lip as grief and guilt wrapped their tentacles around his heart. He had enjoyed his time with Meredith so much it hurt his heart to leave her when the breeding season ended. Why, though, when she was inferior to his fellows?

He blinked the dangerous question away and redirected his thoughts to his destination. At the cove, he could soak up the sun while playing his harp—a
cleasaiche
with solid-gold strings—for the birds and the seals. Maybe, if the gods felt generous, Robharta the selkie would appear and extend to him once again the friendship of her thighs. What firm, lovely thighs they were, too, especially when she parted them to reveal the tantalizing pink anemone dwelling in between. The thought sent a thrill swimming through him, making his mating organ eager to protract.

In the distance, through a murky screen of aquamarine, he spotted the base of the dog-shaped rock guarding the ocean loch. Swimming around the mass, he soon reached the windswept cove. As he dragged himself out of the surf, he grimaced under the swift-yet-painful shift from gills to lungs. A sizeable herd of sunbathing seals occupied the rocky beach’s largest boulders. A variety of seabirds—stormy petrels, fulmars, shags, gulls, and puffins—crowded the surrounding cliffs. Overhead, a golden eagle wheeled lazily on the wind while hunting for his next meal.

Cuan humped up the beach, found a spot on a warm rock, and looked about for Robharta. Seeing no sign of the selkie, he began to play his
cleasaiche
, coaxing from the golden strings a haunting lilt Meredith had taught him.

“There was no music in my harp,

My fingers knew naught but pain,

Then your kiss, that wondrous barb,

Brought song to my life again.

“Vair me oro van o

Vair me oro van ee

Vair me oru o ho

Sad am I without thee.”

The seals and seabirds quieted to listen to his song. He was only too happy to serenade his fellow creatures—and to have the chance to play the songs of his heart. He also was glad for the solitude of the island, the warmth of the sun on his skin and scales, the soft touch of the breeze in his heavy hair, and the sigh of the sea in his ears.

Under the waves, the rattle and hum of trawlers, tankers, and dredgers destroyed the quiet. Thankfully, there were no Thunder Isles in Clan MacMuir territory.

Not yet, anyway. But, knowing humans, it was only a matter of time before they built their awful drilling platforms in the Minch as well.

Having finished the song, Cuan set down his harp and stretched out on the sun-warmed rock. He would not be sorry to remain where he was for the rest of his days, reveling in that glorious sense of freedom he only experienced on dry land. As he soaked up the sunshine, his heart felt as light as the clouds drifting across the vivid blue sky. Though he was only a short swim from
Tír fo Thuinn
, the underwater dwelling place of his clan, this peaceful cove felt like a whole other world—a world where there was no need to pretend he was not like the others.

Had he legs, he would scale the cliffs and race across the miles of purple heather to the island’s northern edge. He loved to run, loved the feeling of power and control dashing across solid ground afforded. Regrettably, he only sprouted legs at springtide—the breeding season, which was fast approaching.

The thought brought Meredith to mind again with a painful pang. He could talk to her and be natural with her. In their three months together, she’d taught him the English alphabet and how to read, among other things. He’d told her he had no use for such knowledge, since written words served no purpose under the waves, but she would not be deterred. She said he was like a sponge when it came to languages, which he’d taken as an insult—sponges were stupid creatures, after all—until she’d explained herself.

“I simply meant you
absorb
your lessons more quickly than most.”

The memory warmed his heart and brought a smile to his wide mouth. The smile broadened when he saw Robharta the selkie flopping toward him over the rocks. She came up beside him, plopped down, and fixed him with her soulful brown gaze. “I was hoping I might find you here, friend Cuan.”

“I had the same hope, friend Robharta.”

A bonny nymph with milky skin, luscious breasts, and hair as thick and black as his own emerged from the seal’s leathery pelt like a babe from its mother. As desire shuddered through him, he extended his erection. Wearing a seductive smile, she sat astride him, taking his organ into hers. After they’d both achieved release, she climbed off him and stretched out at his side. As his euphoria retreated, guilt began to prey on his insides like round worms. If his comrades learned he’d coupled with a selkie for pleasure, they’d shun him—a fate worse than death. For in death, at least, there was honor and the promise of rebirth. Being ostracized brought only loneliness and shame.

Robharta must have sensed his unease because she pushed up on one elbow, set her webbed hand on his chest, and looked into his eyes. “What troubles you, friend Cuan?”

“Laying with a female for pleasure is wrong.”

Her dark brows drew together over her soulful brown eyes. “According to whom?”

“Arbach the druid and the elders of my clan.”

She looked around. “I do not see them hereabouts. I see no one here apart from gulls and seals and puffins. I shouldn’t think they would tell your elders—or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Be that as it may...” He looked away from her gaze. “Doing so goes against the creed I have—”

“Cuan! Where in the name of Hades are you?”

The voice calling to him from the lapping surf belonged to Shan. Alarmed, Cuan said to the selkie, “Hide yourself. If he finds us together, it will bring me trouble.”

Robharta snatched up her pelt and ran toward the cliffs. Just as she disappeared from view, Shan’s head rose above the top of the rocks lining the shore. Water logged black hair framed his chiseled features and muscular shoulders.

“I should have known I’d find you here.” Shan sounded winded and slightly exasperated.

Cuan sat up straighter. His best friend, the only one who knew of his solitary sojourns, would not have sought him out on a lark. “Why have you come? Is something amiss?”

“You could say that,” he replied. “My father has called a council of war.”

Worry quickened Cuan’s pulse. The chieftain only called such meetings when something endangered the clan or its territory. “Why? What has happened?”

“That, I do not know,” Shan replied. “I only know we must get back right away in case he calls upon the fiana to deal with the threat, whatever it might be.”

The fiana was the clan’s fighting unit, to which Cuan and Shan belonged. Forgetting the selkie, Cuan hauled himself over the rocks to where his friend treaded in place and slid into the sea, enduring the transition from lungs to gills. The water felt cold against his sun-warmed flesh.

Saying no more to each other, they swam as swiftly as they could back to
Tír fo Thuinn
, arriving at the central castle just as the other warriors were assembling for a briefing.

Luckily, they’d not been missed. Warriors were forbidden to leave the cave except to hunt, lest they be needed for battle. Exploring on their own also increased the risk of being seen by the humans who dwelled on the nearby islands. Stories of the Blue Men of the Minch abounded, but, as yet, no proof of their existence had been found, and Chief Murtagh was determined to keep it that way. If humans learned blue-gray mermen really lived beneath the Charmed Isles, they’d only kill them like they killed each other. Or worse, lock them up in one of those awful prisons they called aquariums.