Chapter 24
Brodie awoke abruptly in his darkened chamber. The memory of Elsea in his bed and the passion they'd shared was like a Beltane bonfire. He reached out to see if she was still beside him. Nay. The sheets were cold. Yearning to draw her against him, he muttered a curse.
What the devil had possessed him? He'd been determined to resist her. Had he drunk too much?
Aye, most likely.
Energy spurring him, he sat up. He needed to move, to escape these walls.
He slid to the edge of the mattress, amazed his chest only felt a little sore, not painful.
He pressed his fingers against it, then stretched and moved his arms in all directions.
The shifting had helped him heal, but he needed the stitches removed.
He put on his shirt, plaid, and sporran containing his sealskin, and proceeded quietly to Finnian's chamber.
The old man normally rose early. Brodie tapped softly at the door.
A moment later, it opened. Finnian's eyes rounded on him. "Lad, are you well?"
Brodie entered and closed the door. "Aye, thanks to your exceptional skills, I'm healed."
Finnian scoffed softly. "'Twas nay my skills."
Brodie opened the front of his shirt. "I need the stitches removed, if you would be so kind."
Finnian drew him toward the candle and eyed the wound through his spectacles.
"Indeed, it does look healed." He opened a drawer, took out a small pair of seamstress scissors, then clipped a few stitches at one end of the cut.
When the wound stayed closed, he nodded his approval, clipped the rest of the stitches, and pulled them out.
"'Twill be tender for a while, no doubt."
"I'll be fine, and I thank you. I'll see you later." Brodie inclined his head, then quit the room. He must shift again. The sea always called to him early in the morning, but today it was shouting.
By the time he descended the front steps into the bailey, the barest hint of dawn light glowed on the eastern horizon.
Icy wind gusted off the sea, whipping his hair back, but he found it refreshing.
Liberating. He'd been cooped up in the castle too long and needed a swim.
He'd likely be back before Torr and Gavin rose and broke their fast.
"M'laird?" MacLaren stepped from the gatehouse as he approached. "Are you well enough to be out here?"
"Aye. I'm fine. I'm going out for a swim."
The guard's eyes rounded. "'Twas only a few nights ago I helped carry you inside."
"Selkies are fast healers," Brodie said, as he had so many times before. He unbuttoned the front of his shirt and opened it to show MacLaren his healed cut.
The man's eyes widened even further. "Och, 'tis a miracle."
"Indeed. You have nay reason to fash over me."
"As you wish, then, m'laird." MacLaren still appeared uneasy and hesitant. "Where are you off to?"
"Ròncreag."
"Should you take a bodyguard with you?"
"Nay, unless he can shift too." Brodie smirked.
"Ha." MacLaren was not amused. "You could be putting yourself in danger."
"Nonsense. Is Kenneth still at Rònmòrach?"
"Aye. He took thirteen guards with him."
Brodie nodded. "I may go check on them, too, depending on how I feel."
"We can take you out in a galley," MacLaren said, his words forceful. "That would be far safer."
"I'm well, as I said."
"What if you should grow exhausted before you return? I'm charged with keeping you safe, chief. I cannot do that if you'll nay allow me."
"If I'm nay back in three hours, send out some guards in a galley."
"I'll do that." MacLaren bowed and unlocked the smaller gate. "Please have a care."
"I thank you for your concern." Brodie strode through and toward the cliff. Stopping at the edge to observe the faint outlines of the isles in the distance through the mist, he inhaled deeply of the salt air. He had missed this, but... at the same time, he was alone. Isolated.
Shoving the feeling away, he descended the craggy cliff steps with nimble footwork. The men in the guardhouse emerged.
He waved them back. "As you were. I am well." He entered the small cave to undress. The memory of what he and Elsea had indulged in here imploded in his mind, sparking an echo of arousal in his body. He would never see this cave the same way again.
He threw his wadded plaid, shirt, boots, and sporran onto the rocky outcrop. Sealskin in hand, he strode outside into the cool surf and put it on.
As his body shifted into the seal form, the eerie sensation of being watched flooded him. Well, aye, his clansmen on shore were looking out the windows of the guardhouse, but the clifftop was empty.
The exuberance of freedom overcame him. Saints! He had missed this. He glided through the refreshing water, his hind flippers propelling him toward the island that had been his second home for a year and a half. Within a few minutes, he arrived on shore and proceeded across the wet sand.
He removed the sealskin and shifted to human. Squinting against the wind-whipped sand that stung his skin, he strode toward the cave.
Pausing just inside the quiet darkness, he dropped his sealskin to the sand. When he'd first found this place, it had been a protective haven. A place to escape the harsh wind and the chaotic human world. A place of solitude to shield his defeated heart.
It had been especially welcome in winter. Here, surrounded by water, he had indulged his irresistible craving for the sea, while being in a place he could build a fire and stay warm in human form.
Because of the witch, this place was bittersweet now. He no longer belonged here.
Elsea had said when she'd been in this cave, Wilona had used her powers to yank the knife from her hand. He glanced around the sandy floor of the cave, cluttered with shells and stones. Dawn light glinted off metal like a small spark. He strode toward it and bent to pick it up.
Aye, a wee sgian dubh. He stroked his thumb over the carved oak grip, far too small for his hand, but perfect for a woman's. How many times had Elsea held this and practiced with it?
At the cave's mouth, he tilted it to see the carvings on the grip. Elsea was much like the thistle flower etched into the wood—beautiful, beloved, but her prickles pierced, eliciting pain and drawing blood. But she was also gentle and caring. He didn't doubt her love anymore, for she exuded it.
When he'd been in seal form in his bedchamber, his rage had been stripped away. He could not read human minds, but he'd basked in the pureness of her heart as she'd stroked his head. She had not feared him nor called him evil.
The incredible power of their lovemaking burst into his mind.
He'd told her he forgave her. Had he told the truth? He closed his eyes, focusing on his heart, his soul. What did they tell him?
Aye, the tightness in his shoulders eased. The fractured wall crumbled. 'Twas almost as if he could float away on the salty breeze.
He could forgive, but could he trust?
As for love... hell, he had never stopped loving her, had he?
'Twas why the betrayal had stabbed and sliced at him so long and hard.
He had loved and hated simultaneously, opposite edges of the same sharp blade.
No matter how many years passed, he would never be free of her.
And he didn't want to be. Their souls and hearts were bonded.
Aye, she stirred up his entire being like the Corryvreckan whirlpool, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
When would he be able to take that last step and trust her again? He didn't know.
He wanted to spend a lot more time with her. But first, he must visit the selkies, Kenneth, and his guards, to see if the bastard earl had raided while Brodie had been absent. He glanced down to where he'd dropped his sealskin, but... it was gone.
Where was it?
He searched, inside the cave and outside. "What the hell?" he growled. Had it blown away?
Was the curse broken? Nay. He still craved the sea. He still felt warm enough, despite being naked in the chill wind.
Annoyed with himself, he scanned the ground again for the sealskin. Had he dropped it closer to the surf? Even if he had, the tide was going out, so it should still be here.
Nay, he remembered dropping it just as he was entering the cave, but 'twas nowhere to be found. Had a bird come by and stolen it?
He glanced around, his gaze searching not only the ground but also the cave's ceiling and up the cliff outside.
A dark sea eagle sailed from the crags over the cave, the long, black sealskin held firmly in its talon. The high-pitched screeches echoed as she flew over the sea toward the mainland.
Wilona MacRae!
"Bitch!" he roared at her.
Damn her. Now he was trapped here. Stranded, for he couldn't swim as a human back to Farspag, nor to Rònmòrach. 'Twas too far, and he wasn't daft enough to attempt it.
He paced, turmoil within him. Why the devil hadn't he kept his sealskin on his shoulder? He didn't even have a plaid now. Naught but the witch's blanket inside the cave. He cursed her dozens more times, calling her every vile name he could think of.
First, the hag had wanted him to be a selkie, and now she was stealing even that from him. Why didn't she come back here and face him?
Drained, he sat on the dry sand. The sun turned the clouds orange as it ascended in the sky, making him think of Elsea, for she would love it.
He wished she had slept beside him all night.
A short time later, two galleys approached, his clansmen rowing, the sails down. He rose, never so glad to see his own clan, along with Gavin and Torr. Brodie lifted a hand to them, then returned to the cave long enough to wrap the plaid blanket around his waist. He carried Elsea's sgian dubh.
He waded into the surf. One galley approached the island while the other remained offshore.
Gavin, Torr, and over a dozen more men were on board.
"What happened?" Gavin called from the galley as they beached.
"The damnable witch stole my sealskin and stranded me here. She shifted into a sea eagle and flew away with it. Hold this," Brodie held up the sgian dubh.
Gavin took it and examined the grip. "Who does this belong to?"
"The wee warrior." Using his arm to propel him upwards, Brodie leapt onto the galley, his chest unaffected by the effort.
"Saints, you healed quickly." Gavin eyed the pink scar on his chest.
"Aye."
"We brought your clothes from the mainland cave, just in case you need them," Torr said, handing him a sack of his belongings, including sheathed weapons.
"I thank you." He set about dressing. "Head out to Rònmòrach. I must check on the selkies, Kenneth, and the men. I have nay inkling if the bastard earl has attacked them in my absence."
"About that," Gavin said. "Finnian gave us a warning before we left Farspag."
A chill in his bones, Brodie frowned. "What sort of warning?"
"Using a mirror as a keek stane, he foresaw an impending selkie raid. We kept it a secret from the ladies since naught is certain."
Brodie growled a curse. "Row harder. We must hurry to Rònmòrach."