Under an Enchantment: A Novella (6 page)

And then he’d disappear, leaving the daughter of Finlay Wallace pregnant. There’d be gossip, of course. From what little he’d seen of Ailie, she’d probably scarcely notice her disgrace.

Perhaps Collis was right—it was a shameful thing to hurt an innocent like Ailie. But his dark revenge would be far sweeter than a dirk in the belly of Torquil Spens. She’d spent her life being prey to the whim of her menfolk. His use of her would be nothing new. And he had every intention of giving her pleasure as well as a bairn.

He glanced around him, surprised to notice he was now alone. Collis was moving around in some other part of the deserted cottage, and Malcolm could smell grilling fish. At least tonight he wouldn’t be expected to bite the head off a trout.

He could still feel the touch of her fingertips on his lips and her lips. He wanted more than the brush of her mouth against his. He wanted her body wrapped around him, her hair a plaid for them both. He never thought revenge would be near so sweet.

Deep in the forest that fanned out behind the village, covering half the tiny isle of St. Columba, lay a clearing. In that clearing stood a circle of stones, ancient, beyond time, towering above the ground. The villagers kept away from the spot, known as the Seal’s Dance. It was haunted, they said, a place for faeries and broonies and the like. It was Ailie’s favorite place in the world.

The old witch Morag was rumored to live there, though no one had ever actually admitted to seeing her but Ailie, and everyone knew the lass was mazed. The old woman was powerful nonetheless, and she was known to cast a spell on souls, a spell that rendered their fishing nets empty and their sheep dead. She’d put such a spell on Domnhall MacAlpin when he’d murdered Ailie’s cat, but the villagers didn’t consider it one of her happier acts. Domnhall had turned to seal hunting, and the good folk of St. Columba were waiting for the selkies to take their revenge.

It was the time for faeries, that endless twilight of the northern isles, and Ailie’s bare feet were light on the pathway. Even if they suspected where she was, no one would come after her. They were afraid of the Seal’s Dance, all of them, even Margery. They would wait till she came to them, secure in the knowledge that the spirit of old Morag would protect her.

They were the simple ones, Ailie thought with gentle derision. So busy looking just beyond the end of their noses that they could see no farther. They trusted only what they could see, smell, and touch. They were missing a world of glory.

“
There you are, lassie.” Morag’s voice came to her on the soft breeze, and she turned, gracefully, to see the bent-over old lady sitting on the ground by one of the stones. “I knew ye’d come to me this night.”

Ailie didn’t bother to ask how she knew. In her experience Morag was as wise and as old as time. She crossed the thick mossy grass and knelt beside the old woman. “Who is he?” she asked, knowing she need explain no further.

“
He comes from the sea,” Morag said. “Dinna ye ken his eyes? He comes from the seal people.”

“
So do half the people of St. Columba.”

“
Aye,” she said, as if that answered everything.

“
What does he want?”

Morag turned to look at her. Her eyes were milky, practically sightless, and yet she could see into Ailie’s heart more truly than any soul with perfect vision. “He means ye harm, mistress. He’ll change yer life, turn it upside down, and there’s no telling how it will end.”

“
Why would he wish to harm me?”

“
Not for your sake. For others’. It’s a blood vengeance, and you stand right in the midst of it. Keep away from him, mistress. I don’t want to lose ye.”

“
You won’t lose me,” Ailie said in a fierce, quiet voice that none of her kin would even recognize. “Haven’t you been more than a mother to me? I’ll keep away from the man.”

“
Ye don’t want to. I can hear it in your voice. He fascinates you.”

Ailie didn’t bother to deny it. “I’ve never known an enchanted creature before,” she said. “It’s little wonder I’m drawn to him. He’s bonnie enough to make even a lackwit take notice.”

“
And ye’re no lackwit, for all the pretense ye make of it,” Morag said.

“
I’m lackwit enough to come here tonight with no food for you,” she said wryly. “I’ll bring you a basket tomorrow.”

“
And ye’ll keep away from yon fine craiture?”

Ailie thought back to him. To the eyes the color of the sea, the tall, strong body, thin but powerful, the strong nose, and firm mouth. And she remembered the warmth of his mouth beneath her fingertips. Beneath her lips. Morag had never asked anything of her—she’d been a lap to weep into, a voice of wisdom, the keeper of the stories, and a source of magic. Ailie would do as she asked, without regret.

“
I’ll keep away from him,” she said firmly, meaning every word of it. But she hadn’t accounted for her dreams.

She slept soundly that night, in the high, soft bed in the dower house, at peace, knowing no one would come to her side, no one would insist on watching as she disrobed, his eyes bleary and hungry, his body aged and sick. She had no one to bother her, no one to question her, for at least the next few months. She could snuggle down in the feathery softness and know she would be blessedly, peacefully alone. Until she was forced to marry Torquil.

She was standing alone on a rocky stretch of beach, her bare feet on a boulder as the water swirled around her. There was a cool breeze, tossing her long skirts against her legs, spilling her hair around her face, but she stood there, shivering in the chill air, motionless, as she watched him emerge from the angry green depths of the sea.

His long black hair clung to his bare shoulders, beads of water glistened on his narrow, enigmatic face, his bronzed torso. He stood thigh-deep in the surf, and the icy sea swelled around his black pants.

He stared at her, silent, demanding. And then he held out a hand to her and beckoned her.

She shook her head. The water was too icy, she was too frightened, she who’d never been frightened of a man in her life. But then, he wasn’t a man beckoning to her, calling to her. He was an enchanted creature, one who would take her down, down into the frigid depths of the water to live among the seal folk.

He moved closer, so that the water only reached his strong calves, and beckoned to her again. Once more she shook her head, denying him, denying the yearning that surged in her heart. He would hurt her, Morag had warned her, and Morag was always right. If she stayed on the rock and didn’t touch the water, she’d be safe.

Finally he spoke, and his voice was low, musical. “Come away with me, lass.” And he moved to the rock where she stood, and held out his arms.

She could fight it no longer. She went to him, into his arms, and he scooped her up, holding her against the solid, silky warmth of his chest, as he started back into the sea.

She braced herself for the cold, but as the water lapped around her skirts it was warm, balmy, like a Sunday bath. He paused when the water reached his chest, covering most of her body, and looked at her.

“
Are you ready, lass?” he whispered, his mouth hovering near hers.

She no longer hesitated. If he meant her harm, then she wanted that harm, more than she wanted the stifling safety of her life, where everyone tried to order her and everyone failed. This would be her final triumph.

“
I’m ready,” she said. “But I cannot swim.”

“
I’ll show you.” And he dived beneath the warm water, taking her with him.

She held her breath at first, closed her eyes, as he loosed her, holding her hand as he pulled her through the sea. When it seemed as if her lungs would burst, she took a breath, certain she would drown. But life filled her lungs, rich warm life, surging through her, and she opened her eyes in surprise, looking around her as she glided through the depths of the North Sea.

The selkie was beside her. Malcolm, his long black hair trailing behind him, his limbs strong and graceful as he moved through the water. Surrounding them were a dozen seals, of varying colors, dark and golden, honey-colored and white, but the two of them still held their human shape. He came up to her, drawing her against his body, and she flowed against him, graceful, inevitable, wrapping her arms around him, her hair a cloud in the warm water, floating around them.

He kissed her then, breathing into her mouth, and she felt as if she would burst with pleasure as she drifted through the shimmering sea, at one with her selkie lover. This was what she had dreamed about, this was what she had longed for. Nothing else mattered but his mouth, wet and open against hers, taking her, down and down and down, into the murky, velvet depths of the Scottish sea.

Rough hands reached out, trying to pull her back, away from him, but she fought, struggling to hold on to him. His skin was smooth, slippery beneath her fingers, and she felt herself tom away, hauled toward the surface, and suddenly she could no longer breathe, the weight of the water pressing down around her, and it was icy, numbing. She opened her mouth to call to him, a cry of longing and despair, but the sea filled her mouth and throat, choking her, and she was drawn to the blinding glare of the surface without being able to make a sound of protest.

“
Mistress,” Margery said urgently, shaking her.

Ailie opened her eyes, reluctant, angry, and released the pent-up breath she’d been holding in her lungs. She was lying in her bed, warm, dry, and bereft. Her arms felt empty. “I was dreaming,” she said.

“
It’s late morning, mistress. I’ve never known you to sleep so late. I was afeart you might be sickening.”

“
No,” Ailie said. The dream was gone, there’d be no calling it back. The sunlight was bright outside the casement window, glistening through the changing color of the trees, and she knew she had to get up.

“
Your family’s here,” Margery said. “You brother and sister-in-law, and Mr. Spens.”

Ailie flopped back down in the bed and pulled the covers around her. “Tell them to go away.”

Margery pulled the covers back. “Ye’d best come down, mistress. I ken they won’t be leaving at all.”

Sudden alarm filled Ailie. “What do you mean?”

“
They came with baggage, and Lady Fiona’s maidservant, and the cook, and a case of French wine. They’ve come to stay, mistress.”

“
I won’t have them here.”

“
Didn’t I warn you? If you kept walking out with your clothes and hair all which way, people were bound to talk. That brother of yours has been looking for an excuse to put you under lock and key, and his wife hates you. They know they can’t take you back to their house without you screaming your head off, and the people of St. Columba wouldn’t let you be harmed. So they’re going to move in on you and watch over you here.”

“
Tell them to leave,” Ailie said furiously.

“
It won’t do any good. They’re here to stay. Best behave yourself and it’ll be easier for the both of us. To be truthful, I’d like a bit of company, and you’re a rare handful for me to watch over.”

“
I don’t need watching over, Margery. I can take care of myself.”

“
By going off to see the selkie at all hours of the night? They heard of it, mistress, and that decided them. This is all for the best. You’ll realize that, sooner or later.”

“
You told them to come.” Ailie scrambled from the bed, her long white nightrail trailing behind her as she headed for the door.

“
You can’t go downstairs like that!” Margery protested, scandalized.

“
Watch me.”

Angus and Fiona were ensconced in the tiny parlor, having made themselves at home. Fiona was sitting by the fire that was unneeded on a warm day, her hands clasped over her pregnant belly, a petulant expression on her perfect face.

“
I want you to leave,” Ailie said without preamble.

Her brother was already drinking wine, and he choked on his mouthful, spitting it on the floor as he glared at her. “Have you no sense of decency at all, missie?” he demanded.

“
This is my house. I’m a widow, with an inheritance and a jointure. I don’t want you here.”

“
Now, lass,” Angus said with a poor attempt at placating her. “You know you need the wise council of your family during your time of mourning. All this time alone hasn’t been good for you. Not when your mind is far from clear in the best of times. We’re here to watch over you, Fiona and I. You need rest and quiet.”

“
I need my freedom!” she cried.

She could have saved her breath. “You haven’t been able to look after yourself, and while Margery does her best, she’s not up to the rigors of watching over you. We’ll do that for you, lass. Keep you safe here in the house where you won’t be bothered by strangers during your time of mourning. There’ll be no visitors, saving for family.”

She fought the panic that surged up inside her. “You’re my only family on the island,” she said carefully.

“
And Torquil, of course. He’s your cousin by marriage, and hopes to be much more. But now isn’t the time to be discussing such things. Rest and quiet, Ailie. For the next few months.”

“
And if I don’t agree?”

“
Why shouldn’t you, lass? A sweet, cloth-headed girl like yourself? We’re just doing what’s best for you. It would grieve my heart to have to send you away.”