Farspag Tower, Scottish Highlands, September 1630

 

At his desk in the solar, Chief Brodie MacCain finished signing the marriage contract uniting his sister, Catriona, to one of his best friends, Torr MacElrath. Brodie had never expected the match, but he was glad for it. He knew Torr would treat Cat well and keep her out of trouble. After placing the quill into the inkwell, he sprinkled sand over the wet ink to speed the drying.

The acidic, metallic scent of the ink burning his nose, he rose and opened the windowpane for some fresh air, then resumed his seat.

"This Margaret who lives in the cave with you…." Chief Gavin MacTavish sprawled in the chair beside Torr's on the opposite side of the massive desk, his long black hair pulled back in a queue. "Is she human or a selkie?"

Brodie glared at his meddlesome foster brother. Why did Gavin care who Brodie dallied with?

In one way, he was still vexed at the two for retrieving him from Ròncreag Isle to sort out the tangle Cat had gotten herself into… or rather that his mother had dragged her into. But he was glad he could help Cat. Now, she was Torr's problem.

As for Margaret, she was a seductive young woman who had shown up in the cave on the island one night. She'd claimed to have fallen from a passing galley, but her hair had not been wet. Mayhap the fierce wind had dried it. She'd arrived without clothing, claiming she'd had to remove it to prevent herself from drowning. Her excuse had sounded plausible. He had not found a boat or galley beached anywhere, but someone could've brought her. She might be a pirate's daughter, for all he knew.

"She's only there temporarily." Brodie had no attachment to Margaret, and she could leave whenever she wanted.

Gavin's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Is she a selkie?"

"What does it matter?"

"Or is she a witch?" The white slash scar down the left side of Gavin's face was a vivid reminder of the ambush and the skirmish they had fought against Silas MacRae, Alpin MacTavish, and their men a year and a half earlier—the skirmish that had provoked the witch's curse against all three of them. Her vile son had been killed in the ambush he led, and she'd accused Brodie, Torr, and Gavin of his murder.

"She's nay Wilona MacRae, if 'tis what you're implying." The very thought repulsed Brodie.

Gavin raised a dark eyebrow. "Are you certain? If she can shapeshift into any animal, could she also shapeshift into a different-looking woman?"

Brodie shook his head, baffled by this logic. Not a chance in hell. "Margaret is mayhap twenty or twenty-five summers—half Lady MacRae's age. And her eyes are brown instead of green."

"Is she Scottish?" Gavin asked.

"Aye."

"How long has she been with you?" Torr asked, his eyes curious and concerned.

Not remembering exactly when she had appeared, Brodie shrugged. "Mankind is far more obsessed with clocks and calendars than selkies are."

"Do you love her?" Gavin inquired.

Hell, no, he wanted to say, but he was tired of answering their questions. "You both pry too much!" Ready to return to the sea, Brodie surged to his feet. The human world had become too complicated and irritating. He strode to the window and gazed out at the slate-gray sea and distant islands cloaked in mist. Aye, the water and the salty sea air tamed his ire.

"She is a fling, naught more," Brodie grumbled. "I'm sure I'll tire of her soon."

"Why did you leave with such haste last night?" Gavin asked.

Brodie turned and glowered. "Why are you two so nosy?"

"Part of the reason we're here is to help you vanquish the curse," Gavin stated firmly. "Are we wasting our time?"

Aye, they were. Brodie ground his teeth. After everything he'd lost, being a selkie was all he had. 'Twas a curse, true, but mayhap it had saved his sanity. He still had his clan, but they had little understanding of him and treated him like an outsider. His mother was highly disappointed in him, and he was certain his father would be, too, if he were alive.

"He loves the curse," Torr murmured aside.

Gavin blew out an impatient breath. "How is it nay torturous to you?"

Torr and Gavin no longer shifted. They had destroyed their curses by trusting and falling in love with their respective ladies, Cat and Dani.

Brodie was glad for them, but he had wasted all his love and trust on Lady Elsea MacAuley, a cold, deceptive woman whose betrayal had destroyed his soul. He had nothing left to give. Maybe his curse would remain forever.

Being a selkie was the only thing he enjoyed now. Could he make them understand?

"When I'm swimming in the ocean as a seal, I'm free. Unencumbered by… all of this." Brodie motioned at the desk, the hearth, and the thick stone walls. They were like a dry, overheated prison. His skin craved the feel of cool water sliding across it, so soothing.

"Are you part of the selkie society?" Torr's sympathetic gaze held no recrimination. Mayhap they were trying to grasp his reality. They were indeed the two men he trusted most in the world. He'd been close to them since they were lads, and even though they had experienced the curse together, it had not brought them closer. It had affected them in different ways. No doubt 'twas part of Wilona MacRae's plan to destroy their brotherhood and friendship. Her strategy hadn't worked, for they were growing close again.

Brodie reclaimed his seat at the desk. "Aye, they accept me as a newcomer. Each of the various tribes has its own leader. The tribe I'm a part of is having a problem of late with the female selkies disappearing."

Gavin frowned. "What's happening to them?"

"'Tis unknown whether they're being abducted by other selkie tribes for wives or by human pirates. Or mayhap even a local Highland clan. I'm trying to help them uncover the truth."

Torr sat forward, his green eyes troubled. "Can we help?"

"Nay. They mistrust humans. 'Twould only make matters worse. Also, keep this from the ladies, for they'll worry. Cat, in particular, would try to interfere."

"'Tis likely. Just as she tried to bring Elsea back for you," Torr said.

The mere sound of his former betrothed's name was like a punch to the face, a deep, thudding ache. "What? Saints!"

Torr nodded. "Aye, we went on quite an adventure, visiting the MacAuley clan."

"I'm glad you didn't bring that faithless wench here." Rising, Brodie growled a curse and strode to the window again. Elsea had been painfully beautiful with her long blond hair and perfect face the last time he'd seen her a year and a half ago. When he'd demanded to know why she'd betrayed him and destroyed their future, despite having tears in her dusky blue eyes, she'd given him no good reason. In that moment, he knew she had never loved him. All had been a lie. She'd destroyed his dream… and him.

If he didn't care one iota about her or who she bedded, why did visualizing her face still gore him? He had already cut her out of his heart, but the wound had not yet healed.

"We simply want you to be as happy as we are," Gavin said in a serious tone. "And out from under the control of a witch. In addition, 'twas my blade that killed her son in battle. So, I feel responsible for your predicament."

"There's nay need to fash over me. I'm well." 'Haps he'd said that in a tone that was far too bitter. His life was not as he'd hoped it would be, but he was doing the best he could under the circumstances. He would survive. 'Twas over with Elsea, and he would never wish to go back.

As for the selkies, he did not want to pull his foster brother and soon-to-be brother-in-law into these conflicts and problems. He wanted them to enjoy their newfound marital bliss and honeymoon phase.

Brodie did not expect or foresee such a pleasant fate for himself, but he was happy for Gavin and Torr.

He remembered the bottle of aged whisky in the bottom desk drawer and pulled it out. After finding three clean glasses on the nearby table, he splashed a dram into each. Inhaling the scent of strong whisky, he raised his glass. "To Torr and Cat, and to Gavin and Dani. May you be healthy and happy all your days… and busy raising bairns."

Gavin chuckled. "And to Brodie. May you become smitten with a lass who will love you enough to destroy your curse."

Brodie scowled.

"Aye." Torr grinned and clinked his glass to theirs. "Slàinte mhath!"

 

 

***

 

 

Scottish Highlands, October 1630

 

 

Lady Elsea MacAuley leaned forward over Freya's neck as the mare galloped across the moorland, hoofbeats hammering, sword thumping her leg. Her feet balanced in the stirrups, legs flexed, Elsea held her body above the saddle. Clutching the reins, she propped her fisted hands against the horse's neck.

Every day the weather allowed, Elsea and Freya thundered across the moors as if the devil himself chased after them. Was she searching for something… meaning? Purpose? For the last year and a half, this dark limbo had ensnared Elsea. She waited. For what?

Naught existed but emptiness.

The hellbent riding was the only thing that made Elsea feel alive. Thankfully, her four brothers did not prevent her frequent rides or try to steal her freedom. With her reputation destroyed, 'twas likely her eldest brother, William, the MacAuley chief, had no hope or intention of marrying her to anyone of prominence.

Like a chief.

Brodie's face, with his striking good looks, appeared in her mind for a moment. Mysterious obsidian eyes, black hair brushing his broad shoulders….

Nay. Wipe him from your mind.

'Twas daft to think of him or imagine him, for she would never see him again, and that crushed her like a boulder dropped on her chest. If she were to meet him again face to face—aye, she did dream of it—but looking into his eyes, glaring with hatred and fury would be hellish.

In truth, she deserved both.

When his sister had visited Kincreag Castle a couple of months ago, at first Elsea had thought Brodie might have come too. But nay. She had been glad, but also… disappointed. Since then, he'd lingered in her mind… too much. 'Twas madness.

I am dead to him. And I must forget him.

Defeat driving her down, she slowed Freya and headed back toward Kincreag. She stopped by the loch and allowed the mare to drink. The dark, peaty water reflected the golden light of sunset over the rugged mountains, a sharp contrast to her mood.

A quarter hour later, the sun slid beneath the vermilion horizon as she approached the gray granite stone curtain wall and rode through the iron portcullis.

Spent from the exertion but glad she'd reached home before gloaming, she drew up in front of the stables in the cobbled bailey. The portcullis clanged shut behind her. After she dismounted at the block, the stable lad took Freya into her stall while Elsea headed toward the kitchen for a treat.

Some might say 'twas not safe for a young lady to ride alone on the moors, but her clansmen patrolled the borders daily. Besides, she well knew how to defend herself. An outlaw had only attacked her once, and she'd left him bleeding from a sword strike just before he fled.

In the busy, sweltering kitchen, the cook yelled and the servants scurried about, the acrid scent of scorched scones filling the air. Elsea selected a large carrot from the basket near the door, then returned to the quiet, cool stables. She preferred it here, where the scents of horses, straw, and oats filled the air.

Nate had removed Freya's saddle and bridle. He knew Elsea liked to groom the mare herself. It soothed them both. After the tall, lean bay devoured the crispy carrot, Elsea retrieved a brush.

In the dimness of the stable corridor, a muffled footstep behind her was the only warning before someone strong grabbed her. Ice spiked along her nerve endings. Unable to free herself, she screamed and slammed her head backward, trying to crush his nose. But she missed. She withdrew the dirk from her belt sheath, lowered it, then stabbed up and backward toward his belly. Her blade met thick leather armor.

Yelling, she turned and launched her shin toward the man's groin. He twisted just in time to escape her attack, then leapt out of her reach and burst into laughter.

Her youngest brother? "Damn you, Kieran!" Relief weakened her knees.

Overcome with amusement, he supported himself against the stable wall.

"'Tis nay funny. I could've slain you, daft goat," she yelled, breathing hard. Her heart still thundered.

At nineteen summers, Kieran still behaved like a child, despite his impressive height. Corran, two years her senior, guffawed nearby as well.

"Bastards," she said between gritted teeth. "You near scared the life out of me."

"We trained you well." Finally able to speak, Kieran grinned broadly. "I thought you would murder me."

"I wanted to!"

"Da would be proud," Corran said. "You're ready for battle, wee lass. I dub thee queen of the dirk." He gave a deep, dramatic bow.

"Shut your gob!" The unexpected mention of their da being proud of her put a painful catch in her throat, but she turned away. Showing emotion around these two would only elicit more teasing.

"Why did you two hellions follow me out here?" She slid her dirk back into the sheath, lest she use it on them, then picked up the brush she'd dropped.

"We have news." Kieran shoved his long, blondish-brown hair off his face. "We wanted to warn you of something."

A chill passed over her. "Warn me? About what?"

"This morn, Will received a missive from the Earl of Talnaroch. He's on his way. In fact, he should've already been here."

"Nay!" Ice scraped through Elsea's veins, and the dark stone walls closed in on her. She would rather die than see that man again. He and the witch had destroyed her life a year and a half ago. "Why is the knave coming here?" Elsea demanded.

Kieran tilted his head and grinned. "I'm thinking you ken."

She scowled, queasiness welling. "He has nay interest in me." At least she hoped he didn't, for she had none in him. Her face burned. Everyone knew about the fling. She hadn't seen him since that fiasco.

"Aye, m'lady, future countess, he does." Kieran bowed. "He is coming to beg for your hand in marriage."

"'Tis madness! He would never do that." An icy chill passed over her. "Did he write that in the missive?"

"Will told me he did," Corran said.

"Why did Will nay tell me himself?" Betrayal lashed at her.

"He feared you would run away."

Indeed, she probably would have. Her thoughts spun, searching for logical objections. "Since he's an earl, he would nay wish to marry anyone below another earl's daughter."

"Ha. You're nay a hideous nobody. Your great beauty is known far and wide. Besides, you two already know each other." Kieran grinned.

"Do not speak of it! I hardly remember it anyway." Her memories of that night were choppy and indistinct. Had she drunk too much, or had the witch given her a potion? Her focus had been getting far away from Brodie, to keep the witch from murdering him. Fear for his life had almost driven Elsea insane. She frowned, trying to recall. 'Twas all mist and fog. The earl had given her sherry to drink at her cousin's wedding banquet. She remembered little after that. Somehow, she had ended up at his castle, not too far from where the wedding had taken place. Then she had woken up in his bed.

The earl had made himself scarce. The next day, his servants had put her into a fancy carriage and conveyed her back to Kincreag. Will had not challenged the earl, for she had told him she'd decided to go with him. Besides, a chief alone, without the backing of another earl or high-ranking aristocrat, did not challenge an earl unless he wished to lose everything.

"Well, the dashing earl must remember that night," Kieran said. "And wishes to make you an honest woman."

Elsea narrowed her eyes. She did not wish to see Talnaroch's smug face ever again, much less marry him. 'Twould be hell on earth.

Shouts echoed from the guard tower, followed by the clanging of the portcullis being raised.

"Sounds like he's here." Corran strode away, Kieran following.

She rushed after them toward the stable's entrance and peered out. 'Twas indeed Talnaroch with his stylish, cropped tawny hair and affluent Lowland clothing along with a large garrison, 'haps forty or fifty men. Her heart rate increased.

"Plague take the man," she muttered.