Chapter 6
All in seal form, Brodie and the male selkies followed Talnaroch's galleys, careful to avoid the oars. Using their telepathic abilities and sounds inaudible to humans, he communicated with his tribesmen, telling them to band together and overturn the galleys.
After the raiders hoisted the sails, the force of the wind carried the galleys faster across the sea.
We must catch them! They swam harder, gaining on the rear galley.
Swim under the left side and push it over, Brodie urged. Combining all their strength, the male selkies shoved their bodies up underneath the left side of a galley. The wood bruised Brodie's shoulders and back, but he continued leading them as if they were his own clan.
Again!
This time, the birlinn toppled over. The occupants cried out as they plunged into the sea.
Find the females and transport them to shore! Bound, they couldn't swim.
All was chaos and darkness, although Brodie's night vision was enhanced in seal form and his whiskers detected movements.
The females near him were already free and swimming, thank the saints.
How had they gotten loose? The males located one who was still tied up, chewed the ropes, and headed toward the island.
Could they catch the other galley in this fierce wind?
The human men from the capsized birlinn were yelling and swimming, trying to hoist themselves onto the hull.
Go after the other galley, Scarth commanded.
Aye, Brodie agreed, but when he lifted his head above the water, a female shriek echoed nearby. Had they missed one? He followed the sound.
Help! Her clothes are too heavy! I cannot hold her up! The telepathic communication hit Brodie like a blast.
Swimming forward, he found Arabella in human form, struggling to hold up another woman who was unmoving. Her wet hair hung over her face.
Is she human? Brodie swam closer to help support some of her weight. Her plaid arisaid, voluminous petticoats, and heavy woolen cloak threatened to drag her beneath the surface.
Aye, and she'd injured. She helped us! She cut the ropes binding us. I promised to help her reach the shore.
Saints, a human woman had helped them?
Using his sharp seal teeth, Brodie bit the tie of her heavy woolen cloak, releasing it into the water. She already felt lighter.
Unbuckle her belt and get the arisaid and extra petticoats off her, he told Arabella.
Once she had done as he'd asked, the woman only wore a lightweight white smock. I'll take her to Ròncreag Isle. You're free to go back to your island with the other females.
Arabella thanked him and swam away.
The human woman hadn't woken up, and she was sinking. Was she already dead?
He swam beneath her, positioned her face down on his back, and pushed her upward to the surface. Upon hearing no breathing, he sank again, then thumped his body up hard against her abdomen as he shoved her above the surface. She coughed water from her lungs and gasped for breath.
Thank the saints.
Rolling onto his back under the water, he grasped her waist with his fore flippers.
Keeping her head above the water, he folded his claws into the fabric of her thick smock so he could hold on to her without scratching her.
Using his hind flippers to propel them, he drew her toward Ròncreag Isle.
'Twas closer to Farspag than Rònmòrach. Since she was human, he would need to get her back to the mainland.
For now, he must remove her from the water before a shark or other predator scented the blood from her wounds.
She coughed once more but remained a dead weight. 'Twas unfortunate she hadn't woken up yet, but at least she was breathing.
Who was she, and why had she been on board the birlinn? Had she also been a captive?
He reached the shore of Ròncreag and left her in the shallow surf, nose above the water. Using his fore flippers and claws, he tugged at the tight magical sealskin. Pushing his head through a small opening at the top, he drew it down over his body as he transformed to human.
After throwing the garment over his shoulder, he turned to the unconscious woman, her white smock glowing in the moonlight and floating in the surf.
The saltwater had washed her hair away from her face... a familiar face.
"What the devil?" he growled. The earth shifted beneath his feet. Were his eyes deceiving him? A cloud blocked the moonlight for several moments, during which he couldn't breathe. She'd looked identical to Elsea MacAuley.
"Cannot be," he muttered.
The cloud drifted away, uncovering the moon again, and the light grew brighter.
Hell, she was Elsea. He muttered a string of Gaelic curses.
How? Why?
Forcing himself to move from his frozen position, he bent and picked her up. Her long, blond hair hung limp and wet over his arm. Thousands of questions crowded his head as he dashed toward the cave with her. Once she regained her wits, he would question her.
Refusing to allow himself to look at her beautiful face in the moonlight for more than an instant, he kept his attention on the cave's entrance and the firelight inside. He had to get her warm.
Margaret had recently added dry driftwood to the fire, and it was blazing high. He was glad for that, at least.
With careful movements, he placed Elsea next to the firepit, then took his plaid from the rock ledge and belted it into place.
Elsea shivered, her teeth chattering.
She needed to be out of that wet smock, but... he hesitated. Maybe the heat from the fire would dry it soon.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. She stopped shivering. He frowned, wondering why that had happened.
Elsea?
Damnation! He couldn't even say her name. 'Twas like heaven and hell clashing and churning inside him.
'Twas as if someone had slammed a fist into his abdomen, knocking the breath from him. When he stood to inhale deeply, she shivered again.
"Lass? Wake up," he murmured. He knelt above her head, parted her hair, and found a bloody gash on her scalp. Had this happened when he and the selkies had knocked over the galley? Mayhap he was to blame, but they'd had to do it.
"Who is she?" Margaret demanded as she emerged from the deeper back cave. A spiteful glare radiated from her narrowed onyx eyes. Her face turned ruddy, and her black brows lowered.
She had grown grouchier and more demanding of late. At first, she'd been mysterious and beautiful, and an exciting, adventurous tryst. But now, she was acting as if she owned him. No one did. Soon, he would transport her to the mainland and send her on her way.
Rising, Brodie stood to his full height. "She was drowning in the sea, and I rescued her."
Margaret moved closer and glowered down at Elsea, then at him. "Do you ken who she is?"
"Aye, she's a chief's sister."
"A lady, then." Margaret's calculating eyes narrowed. "'Haps you should've let her drown."
Brodie scowled. "You've become a vicious harpy."
Margaret swung an open palm toward his face, but he caught her wrist. "'Tis time for you to go," he said through clenched teeth. "You've overstayed your welcome, and I tire of your waspishness. Tell me which clan you're from, and I'll have you returned to them."
"Nay! I'm staying. I refuse to let you replace me with that whore."
Had he not called Elsea that insulting moniker for the way she'd run away with another man? Aye, more than once. But he wouldn't abide Margaret doing it.
"I want neither of you!" he yelled. "I'm sick to death of faithless females."
Margaret drew back, blinking. "I'm nay faithless," she said in a submissive tone, though her eyes still glinted with ire. "I'm devoted to you alone, my love. I'll do anything you command me to do." She glanced down over his bare chest.
Her manipulation was obvious. Sometimes he could ignore such annoying behavior, but not this time. He was done with her, but she didn't need to know the extent of his disdain. 'Twould only increase her surliness, and he would see no peace this night.
"Go to sleep, Margaret," he said. "I'm going to sit here and make sure the lass wakes up. Do nay fash. She has a severe head injury. I'll nay be seducing her."
Margaret narrowed her eyes and shuffled toward her pallet.
Why the devil did she wish to be here, anyway, in a primitive cave, instead of a fancy castle? She had the speech of a lady. With her beauty, she could hook a wealthy aristocrat as a benefactor. Of course, she knew he was the MacCain clan chief, so mayhap she hoped to become his wife. Never.
He would soon need a wife to bear an heir and a spare, but he wanted no emotional attachment. Not after the torment Elsea had put him through. He glared down at her, unable to believe she was truly here. If he ever married, 'twould be a mere political arrangement.
A wife would be hard for him to find. Any Highland lady who didn't already know about his curse would soon learn of it through vicious gossip. Some of the nearby chiefs already knew about his predicament and would not be offering their daughters. Nay, they likely considered him an evil sorcerer.
He didn't give a damn. He crouched on the opposite side of the firepit, studying Elsea. The wound she'd inflicted on his soul was still an open gash. Hell, he'd thought he was over her. Had hoped he was.
Though she'd left him raw and bleeding, he still wanted her to open her eyes. He'd never wished death upon her.
With that head injury, she might not survive.
He could've caused it by overturning the galley.
If she didn't wake by the morn, he would ask Finnian to come.
The physician would know what to do. Why had the old man chosen to stay the winter at Farspag?
Had he seen some kind of warning in the keek stane?
Brodie rose and paced. The thought she might not live bore down on him. Even though his soul was still battered and bruised, if she were to die right now in front of him... how would he feel?
He ground his teeth, his throat tightening. "'Slud!" Even after all the torment she'd unleashed on him, grief would still annihilate him if she died.