Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Scottish Highlands, 1700s
Thunder bellowed through the stone hallways of Gibson Keep, lightning splintering the winter skies, as a furious wind screamed through every window.
Outside the walls of the keep, the sea thrashed and foamed, reflecting the lightning back toward the skies, while snow tumbled down. It was the strangest sight—snow and lightning together. A sight that Logan Anderson, the Laird of Gibson, had never seen in his two-and-thirty years.
“It’s goin’ to blow up the keep!” his sister, Moira, cried out beneath a mountain of blankets and furs.
“It isnae goin’ to blow up the keep,” Logan replied sharply, his puzzled gaze trained on the thick clouds, waiting for another fork of lightning to illuminate the world.
The lump of blankets trembled. “We must’ve done somethin’ to anger the heavens, Brother. It’s ‘cause I floated that candle out onto the water the other day—on that day—I ken it is!”
“It’s a storm. Storms happen,” he insisted, his tone impatient. “Ye’ve probably seen at least a hundred in yer twenty years.”
“Nae like this one. There’s somethin’… wrong about this one,” Moira replied.
She screamed as another growl of thunder quivered through the bedchamber. Logan could feel it in his chest, like the storm had somehow snuck in between his ribs.
Just then, the bedchamber door flew open, eliciting a blood-curdling shriek from Moira, who sought to bury herself even further beneath the pile of blankets and furs, as if the lightning had just struck through the window and would reach her at any moment. But it was only Logan’s man-at-arms, running in without knocking, looking pale and worried.
“For pity’s sake, Theo!” Logan grumbled. “This is me sister’s private chambers. Ye’re to put yer knuckles on the door before harin’ in like that! This isnae a mainland market on a Saturday afternoon, though it’s startin’ to feel that way.”
Theo bowed awkwardly toward the lump on the bed. “Apologies, m'lady.” He paused to catch his breath. “I went to yer chambers, m'laird, but one of the maids said ye’d come to watch over yer sister. I dinnae even think to knock. See, a lass was found on the beach, so that’s all I was thinkin’ of when I came runnin’. But aye, ye’re right, I should’ve knocked.”
“There’s a lass on the beach?” Logan furrowed his brow. “Shipwreck?”
Theo shook his head. “There’s been nay boat sighted, m'laird, so if it’s a wreck, it wrecked way out at sea and she’s been washed up.”
“Is she alive?”
Theo shrugged. “I daenae ken, m'laird. Jamie and Bruce went down to pull up the fishin’ boats, saw the lass, and Jamie came hurtlin’ to find me. I’m just passin’ the message to ye. But Jamie seemed… spooked. Said neither of ‘em wanted to touch her to check if she was breathin’. Wouldnae tell me why.”
Moira suddenly threw back her blankets, sitting among them with a sharp look on her face. “Well, what are the pair of ye doin’, still standin’ there like dryin’ bits of meat? If there’s a lass on the beach and she’s hurt, ye ought to be on yer way already to help her! If ye daenae, in this weather, she might die!”
“We are on our way,” Logan shot back, shaking his head. “I was listenin’ to the story first, nae to mention that ye said ye’d disown me as yer brother if I set so much as a toe outside this room while the storm is still ragin’.”
Moira pulled a face. “Aye, well, this lass clearly needs yer help more than me. Send Ma in, and I’ll be quite all—” Thunder boomed, and she retreated back into her fluffy cave, but not before yelling, “Get on with ye!”
Exasperated by his sister, and troubled by the fate of the girl washed up on the beach, Logan headed out at a brisk pace, with Theo hurrying breathlessly to stay at his side.
In truth, the last thing Logan wanted was anyone outside the stone walls of the keep, but if he just left this woman to die out in the storm, his people would lose faith in him, maybe even think that he was more like his father than he had led them to believe.
“Ye daenae think it could be… a message, do ye?” Theo asked as they prepared to step out in the ferocious winds, lashing snow, and angry lightning.
Logan paused. “What sort of message?”
“From yer enemies,” Theo replied quietly. “A Trojan horse.”
Logan cast his man-at-arms, and lifelong friend, a withering look. “I doubt even me enemies would dare to creep out in this weather, Theo. And I daenae have any that would think to attack. The only enemies we have now are those that quarrel with us over the cost of grain.” He clapped him on his solid back. “Ye’ve been listenin’ to too many of me ma’s evenin’ stories.”
“She tells ‘em so well, m'laird,” Theo protested. “Ye feel like ye’re there.”
“Aye, well, we’re nae in Ancient Greece.”
Logan grabbed the spare flap of plaid fabric that hung down the back of his kilt and draped it over his head like a hood, before surging out into the bitter, brutal storm. Had he been a lighter man, the first blast of wind might have knocked him off his feet.
It was a short run across a muddy field to reach the rocky slope that led down to the beach, and as he jumped down onto the wet sand, his eyes scoured the shore for the woman.
Two men waved their arms wildly, not far from where a ten-strong fleet of fishing boats had been hauled up onto the beach, to stop them from getting swept away.
“Where is she?” Logan demanded, approaching the two soldiers.
Jamie McGovern pointed gingerly to one of the fishing boats. “She’s down there, m'laird. Me heart almost jumped out of me chest when I saw her. Bruce here thought she was a seal.”
“Thought I was goin’ to get bit again, ‘cause I had fish for supper,” Bruce grumbled. “I swear, they can smell it on ye.”
Logan ignored their twittering and stepped between two of the fishing boats. There, curled up in the middle, protected from some of the buffeting winds, was… a black and white bear with the face and hands of a woman.
“Now, do ye see why we dinnae want to touch her?” Jamie asked, shuddering. “That’s an omen, that is.”
Bruce nodded sagely. “A woman slayin’ a bear and wearin’ its skin—might be best if ye left her out here. Nay good can come from allowin’ somethin’ like that into the keep.”
“It might’ve been a gift,” Logan said, crouching down beside the woman. “Somethin’ to keep her warm from someone dear to her.”
Curious, he pushed back the head of the bear, revealing more of the beautiful face beneath. She was as pale as the moonlight on a clear night, her plump cheeks dusted with freckles and snow. Small plumes of breath drifted from full, deeply bowed lips, confirming she was alive, just sleeping or unconscious. But even in her slumbering state, she seemed troubled, her eyelids fluttering, her mouth moving slightly, her hands twitching.
“I think ye should step away, m'laird,” Theo said suddenly, gesturing to the woman’s hair that had spilled out from the bear’s head. It was long and dark, the ends somehow tinged with a startling purple, visible in the low light of the lantern in Jamie’s hand.
Logan turned to the two men who had found her. “Both of ye, return to the keep and daenae say a word of what ye’ve seen to anyone. I willnae have ye worryin’ folks. She’ll be from an island clan in the far north or somethin’, and this is just their way of doin’ things. Same way people find us strange for paintin’ our faces with ash from burnin’ fish before we go out to sea, to bring us luck.”
“We willnae say a word,” Jamie promised, turning on his heel and dragging Bruce with him, likely to avoid Logan changing his mind and asking them to stay. They did not need to be told twice.
With them gone, Logan returned his attention to the young woman. “Have ye seen anythin’ like this before?” he asked, tracing a fingertip down the center of the bearskin. It seemed to be held together with a long row of small teeth, perfectly interlocked.
Ingenious, in truth, though he could not fathom how it was done.
“That’s a witch, m'laird,” Theo insisted, pulling a face. “She’ll curse ye twice over for touchin’ her. Either that, or she’s a selkie, wearin’ a bearskin instead of a sealskin. Or one of them other things yer maither told us about—them lasses with the fish tails. Sea-maidens or whatever they were called.”
Logan glared at his friend. “She isnae a mermaid or a witch. There are nay witches. I’ve told ye this.”
“Aye, ye’ve told me, but ye’ve yet to explain why there’s a curse upon us all if there’s nay such things as witches.” Theo folded his arms across his chest. “I reckon ye’re starin’ at the answer. She’s come to finish what she started, showin’ her face at last before she kills us all, so we’ll ken who it is that cursed us.”
Logan shrugged off his friend’s worrisome words and scooped the woman into his arms, lifting her easily despite the bearskin. The fur was softer than he had expected, more like velvet than the coarse pelt of a bear. And her hair, as the lightning ricocheted down from the heavens, almost touching the sea, shone a vivid purple once more. Just at the ends, blending out of the dark of the rest of her long, wavy locks.
“If that’s what people are goin’ to think, Theo, then she isnae safe here,” Logan told his friend. “Whatever she is, wherever she’s come from, it willnae do us any favors if we leave her out on the sand. Say ye’re right, say she is somethin’… unnatural—which I daenae believe, but I’m humorin’ ye—do ye think she’ll be less likely or more likely to fortify the curse if we daenae do anythin’? This could be a test as much as an omen.”
Theo arched a thoughtful eyebrow. “Och, well I hadnae thought of it like that.”
“Nay, I dinnae think ye would have,” Logan grumbled, carrying the mysterious woman toward the keep, her cheek cold against his chest, her eyelids still fluttering like she might awaken at any moment.
“But can I just say one more thing?” Theo asked as the pair reached the rocky slope up to the field.
Logan reached the grassy verge. “Aye, if ye must.”
“If she isnae somethin’ unnatural, if she’s just a lass that’s been dragged from a wreck by the tide,” Theo asked hesitantly, averting his gaze every time it settled on the woman, “then why is she nae wet?”
Logan frowned. “What do ye mean?”
“She’s bone dry, m'laird, aside from the snow on her,” Theo replied. “If she’s just an ordinary lass, washed up on the beach, why is she nae wet?”
For that, Logan had no answer. A prickle of unease ran down his spine as he realized his friend was right. She was not wet. Not even a little bit.
And as they were situated on an island, with water all around and no unfamiliar boats sighted, there was no way to reach the island without getting in the sea, one way or another.
He walked on in silence, hoping that when she woke up, she would be able to explain all this, making sense of the impossible.
But what if I’m wrong?
He clenched his jaw. He could not consider that, not even for a moment, for if he did, that meant he was about to carry certain danger into his keep. He looked down at her beautiful face, one question burning his mind. One he hoped she would answer soon.
Where did you come from?