The Selkie Enchantress (25 page)

“Owen!” Kelsey yelled as the sound of glass shattering, of icicles breaking, skated into the night. “Stop!”

“It has to be down here!” The frozen rose toppled, falling to the earth. Three more petals snapped off, swirling into the puddle. Kelsey’s heart raced as she reached for it, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it!”

Owen reached down into the hole, struggling to wrench the object free. With one last tug, he fell back, breathing hard, clutching a dirt-covered chest in his hands.

Kelsey stared at the pale, knotted wood. “It’s… small.”

Owen’s eyes flickered up as he swiped at the mud, searching for the opening. “Too small?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “The last time the box was a lot bigger.”

Voices echoed over the bogs. The beam of a flashlight swept through the darkness. She heard footsteps, saw the outline of a handful of people running toward them. Kelsey shot to her feet. “Mum?”

“Kelsey!” Tara’s panicked voice cut through the rain.

Kelsey squeezed her eyes shut as the beam of the flashlight blazed into her eyes.

“Owen!” Caitlin cried, sprinting toward them. Rain kicked out from under her sneakers and she waved her arms frantically. “Stop! Don’t open that!”

Owen fumbled for the opening, lifting the top off the chest.

“No!” Caitlin sank to her knees. A cold winter blast shuddered over the bogs. The rain turned to sleet, spitting down pellets of ice. She grabbed the chest from Owen, all the color draining from her face when she looked inside.

“It’s not in there,” Owen cried, looking frantically up at Kelsey and then scrambling back over to the rose. “Maybe there’s another box buried under it!” He dipped both of his arms—black now from the mud and soil—back down, scraping the watery bottom.

“There’s nothing else down there,” Kelsey shouted over the howling wind, reaching for her father as he pushed through the crowd.

Dominic scooped her up and hugged her hard to his chest. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered brokenly.

“I won’t.” She clung to him, shivering as sleet bounced off her hood. She was right. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. “I promise.”

“Owen!” A cold female voice lashed out into the night.

Owen’s head snapped up. He spotted his mother and scrambled back against the wall of the cottage.

“What on
earth
were you thinking?” Nuala’s white cloak swept out around her as she stalked toward him, grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet. “Look at you! You’re filthy!”

“We can talk to them later,” Dominic’s voice bit out. “Together. This isn’t the time or the place.”

Kelsey reached for her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, mum.”

“It’s okay,” Tara murmured, smoothing Kelsey’s wet hair back from her muddy forehead. But her troubled gaze stayed on Nuala and Owen. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

Nuala brushed past them, pulling Owen with her.

Dominic turned. “Why don’t you come by the pub in an hour? We’ll get this sorted.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Mr. O’Sullivan,” she seethed. “I’ll sort out this particular matter on my own.”

Kelsey felt her father tense. “I think it might be best to discuss it together,” Dominic suggested.

Nuala’s arm curved around her son. “My son won’t be coming anywhere near your daughter, ever again.” She turned, yanking Owen’s hood up to cover his face. “Not after this ridiculous charade.”

Dominic’s arms tightened around Kelsey. “So this is all
my
daughter’s fault?”

“Dom,” Tara said, never taking her eyes off the woman and child. “Let it go. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I’m sorry,” Kelsey whispered. She felt so terrible for getting Owen in trouble. “It is my fault. I’m the one who planned this.” She saw Owen glance back over his shoulder and she mouthed,
I’m sorry
. But he didn’t see her. He was looking back at Caitlin, still kneeling in the mud, clutching the box to her chest.

Kelsey flinched when Owen tripped over a rock, his leg splashing into a pool of water. His mother caught his hand, pulling him through a narrow path in the stone walls. Kelsey buried her head in her dad’s shoulder, watching the seam of Nuala’s cloak split, floating out behind her like a shimmering white fan.

***

Rooted to the earth, Liam stared at Caitlin. The wind tore his hood back, but he didn’t bother to reach for it. Sleet pricked Caitlin’s pale face like falling thorns, but she didn’t even blink. Rainwater dripped from her curls, a tangled mess framing her stricken face.

She wasn’t wearing a raincoat. Mud streaked up the legs of her jeans. Her thick wool sweater was soaking wet and clinging to her, the hem fully submerged in the water. Numb, Liam stripped off his jacket, his boots squishing into the soggy patches of moss as he walked over to her, settling it around her shoulders.

She didn’t look up, didn’t even notice when he knelt down beside her. She was gripping the box so tightly her knuckles were white. He peered inside it, but all he caught was a flash of silver before the wind blew the lid shut with a sharp crack.

Caitlin clutched the box to her chest, staring at the rose. He heard a faint clicking, saw her shallow breath coming out in foggy puffs. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to warm her, stiffening when he realized her whole body was shaking.

“We need to get you home.” He started to help her to her feet, but she twisted out of his arms. She sheltered the box inside the jacket, her wide eyes staring at the pile of dirt and the fallen rose.

He followed her gaze, his heart rate kicking up a notch when he saw the broken glass. Or…  wait. What was that? He stood, walking over to the hole. Were those… roots? He stared at the web of white roots snaking into the earth, the glittering pieces floating in the rising water.

Tara’s voice drifted toward him. She was standing not too far away, talking to Dominic. “Why don’t you take Kelsey back to the pub? There’s still enough of a fire left to warm a pot of water. Let her soak in a hot bath for a while. I want to check on Caitlin first, make sure she’s okay after what happened earlier.”

After what happened earlier? What
did
happen earlier? The hair on the back of Liam’s neck stood up when he saw the circle of petals surrounding the fallen rose.

“It’s okay, Kelsey,” Tara cooed, soothing her daughter who still hadn’t lifted her head from her father’s shoulder. “No one’s blaming you for anything. Let your father fix you some tea and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Dominic asked.

Liam glanced up as Tara’s troubled gaze drifted over to Caitlin. “Yes. Just give me a minute.”

The last thing Liam remembered was walking into Caitlin’s cottage and kissing her. And now here they were in the middle of a storm, running after two kids trying to dig up a box under a rose?

What the hell was in that box? He glanced back at Caitlin. Whatever was in it, she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want anyone to know. But what could be inside that was so important? And why had she hid it all the way out here?

Liam looked back at his brother and saw that Dominic was watching him. There were questions in his eyes—questions, confusion and worry. He didn’t want to leave, but one of them needed to get Kelsey home where she could warm up before she caught a cold. Dominic reached out for Tara’s hand, squeezing it and then turned, carrying Kelsey back toward the village. His long, lumbering strides splashed through the puddles, the outline of them fading into the darkness.

Tara walked slowly over to Caitlin, crouching down beside her. “Caitlin,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”

Liam bent down, picking up the fallen rose, marveling at the sharp, jagged end of the silver stem. He turned it over in his hand, careful not to touch the thorns. There were only two petals left, clinging to the frozen bud, but they showed not the slightest bruise from the battering this flower had taken out in this weather. They were perfectly formed and hard as glass.

He glanced down as a fallen petal swirled toward him, as bone-white as the ones that still clung to the rose. He picked it up and it shimmered in his palm, like a pearl plucked from an oyster, like beauty trapped in a hollow hidden shell. A memory from the ferry ride floated back to him and his fingers closed over the petal.

“May I ask…” Nuala’s pale eyes lifted to his. “Why did you choose yellow?”

“It’s her favorite color.”

“But it’s also the color of friendship.”

“It is?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Do all women know that?”

“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.”

“That’s a powerful rose.”

“It is. What do you want this one to mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d have to think about that.”

“Is it new, then? This relationship with the woman you’re having dinner with tonight?”

“You could say that.”

“Then maybe it means new beginnings.”

“New beginnings. That sounds right.”

“New beginnings can be wonderful.”

Liam turned, walking over to Caitlin. He dropped to his knees and took her hand. He pried open her stiff fingers, turned her palm up and opened his, dropping the petal into her hand. It was a warm butter yellow now, glowing like a ray of sunlight in winter.

A flash of light in the distance had his gaze snapping up. A beam of white light bounced over the fields, heading toward them. He squinted through the rain, and could just make out the shadowy forms of two figures running—a man and a woman. When he saw it was Glenna and Sam, he curled Caitlin’s fingers over the petal. He started to rise when his hand met something hard and flat like a stone and he pulled it up, out of the mud.

He wiped the dirt off the top of the stone, revealing three letters engraved in careful script. They looked so familiar—these letters—like he’d seen them somewhere before. And the handwriting—the loopy
M
, the long dash in the
G
that almost met the inner curve, the elongated
O
—he’d know it anywhere. He looked down at Caitlin, still gripping the petal in her hand, still hugging the mysterious chest in her other arm. “What is this?”

The beam of light flashed over them, illuminating her face. Water dripped from her hair, into her eyes. Raindrops glistened on her lips, so cold now they were turning white around the edges.

“Caitlin,” Tara urged, laying a hand on her arm as Glenna and Sam ran up, breathless. “What’s going on?”

Liam traced his fingers over the initials. “What do these letters stand for?”

“Michael Grady O’Sullivan,” Caitlin whispered.

Liam took a step back. “But that…”

“I know.” She nodded. “I named him after your grandfather.”

Liam felt the earth give, like it was sinking away under his feet. “Named
who
?”

Caitlin lifted her eyes to Liam’s. “Our son.”

Son? Liam stared at her, frozen. No. It couldn’t be. She’d said it was a mistake. “I don’t understand.” He shook his head, refusing to believe. “You said it was a false alarm.”

“I lied.”

The wind ripped a patch of thatch from the roof. It landed in a wet splat in one of the puddles near his feet. “But… why?” Liam’s legs felt numb as he stepped over the rotted thatch. “Why would you lie?”

“I was sixteen. I made a choice—a decision based on what I thought was best for our child.”

A decision based on what
she
thought was best for their child? Which was… what? Not telling him? How could he not have known they had a child?

“I wasn’t going to keep it from you forever.” Caitlin lifted her eyes to his. “Just for a little while. Until we both got on our feet.”

Liam stared at her. “But I would have supported you. I would never have left you alone with this.”

“I know. But I didn’t want you to stay because I was pregnant. I didn’t want to marry someone out of honor and tradition. I wanted to marry for love.”

Liam closed the distance between them. “But I did love you.”

“It was one night, Liam. We were teenagers.”

“But what if I wanted the child?” Liam asked. “What if I wanted a life with you, here on the island? What if that’s all I’ve ever wanted?”

Caitlin shook her head. “We were too young. As much as I wanted that life with you, I knew how it could turn out. I grew up in a house with parents who married young because of children, with a father who resented his wife for holding him back. I wanted a different life for my child, and for me.”

“Your father resented your mother because he was an angry, bitter man,” Liam argued. “He was always trying to make everyone miserable. He might have taken care of you, managed to put a meal on the table each night, but he was drunk half the time. He might not have been mean with his fists, but he had a mean tongue. I thought you knew never to listen to him.”