Page 33 of Nyall

“Halo, Meggie.” Ceardach, the youngest of the unmarried Mackay sons, trotted down to meet her. He slipped a little and wheeled his arms to remain upright, and then behaved as if he hadn’t just come close to planting his face in the sand. “Why didnae you come share the evening meal with us?”

“I ate early with the other maids.” She forced a smile for the lad, who at fifteen stood a head taller but had yet to put much muscle on his long limbs. He’d been plaguing her for weeks now, but every time she saw his sweet, beardless face she hadn’t the heart to set him down. “You should head back, for your da shall need your help with setting the pans.”

“’Tis Dashel’s turn in the creamery.” He grinned and spread his arms wide. “I may walk with you, far as you wish.”

Meg looked into his sweet eyes, which glowed with so much affection and hope they hurt her heart. Because his family’s farm occupied a remote part of the island, there weren’t many maidens his age nearby. Those he knew from the nearest farms and crofts shared the Mackay bloodlines, and so could not marry into his family. For those reasons it seemed she would have to be more direct.

“I’m too old for walking anywhere with you, lad,” she told him. “When ’tis time for me find a beau, I shallnae choose you. You dinnae even ken what you should do with a woman. I need wed a man, no’ a bairn.”

“I’ll be sixteen in summer, and you may teach me what you wish,” Ceardach said, his voice shifting unevenly in pitch. “Da shall surely give me leave offer for you.”

“Your da shall beat me bloody for tempting you before he sends me away. I want this work, but no’ some wee lad as a husband.” She turned from him. “Now go back before I fetch your da and tell him all.”

The boy fled without another word, and from the muffled sound she heard he would doubtless sob all the way home. He’d hate her for a time, perhaps until he reached manhood, when he’d realize her cruelty had in truth been but kindness.

“Do I spend the rest of my days denying myself?” Meg murmured.

Perhaps she should consider looking beyond the Mackay’s farm for a suitor. A fishing village nearby offered the best prospects, but she had no desire to spend her life mending nets and cleaning and salting the catches brought in by the boats. A glimmer of gold and the sound of something slogging through the dark waves made her stiffen. She spun around, afraid to see what was coming for her.

He wouldnae act so foolish. He’s a king.

“You yet seduce those you cannae wed?” a beautiful voice asked. “Shall a clutch of spurned lads watch us from the dunes? We should proper entertain them. Come here, woman.”

“Every facking man I dinnae want plagues me,” she muttered.

Two webbed hands curled over her shoulders, and drew her back against a tall, hard body. A lean cheek rubbed across the top of her head, and a sigh stirred her hair. In that moment the teeth of her loneliness took a huge bite of her heart, judging by the stabbing pain in her chest. At the same time every bone in her body turned to pudding. This was the man she wanted, this thing that only looked like a man.

Merrick ducked his head to press his cheek to hers. “Do you miss me, Margret?”

“No’ in the slightest, fish king.” She would not weep in front of him again, nor laugh with him, nor do anything that would haunt her dreams for weeks. “Surely you’ve guessed as much. I’ve put the island between us, and I’m happy now. I search for a man I may wed. Indeed, I expect I shall marry by summer’s end. Go away.”

“You’re a wretched liar,” Merrick murmured, sliding his hands down her arms to encircle her wrists. “You walk the shores here every night and look for sign of me. I ken, for every night I come here and watch you, Margret. I ache and long for you, and curse myself a fool a thousand times over. I only came closer when I saw that lad, and thought him your swain. End my suffering and yours, and come away with me.”

Now this. Did he imagine her made of stone? “No.”

“I shall name my heir, and surrender the throne to him. I shall find an island where you may live and I may dwell in the waters.” The king turned her around to face him. “For I reckon I shall soon go mad without you.”

Meg wanted to slap him, but seeing his face again kept her riveted. No man on Caladh looked as handsome or noble as Merrick. She had imagined seeing him again every night since leaving the stronghold; indeed, she had yearned for this encounter. Now she quailed before his bejeweled blue and gold eyes, for he seemed a hundred times more stunning than her memories. The closeness of his body, still dripping with sea water, made her wish she could press herself close and have all his lovely bulging muscles against her own thin frame.

“’Tis the same for you, aye?” He pressed his mouth to her brow. “Let us torment each other no more, Margret.”

“You’ll want me, aye? As a man does his lady love, then. Doubtless you’ve planted your seed in many young fish wenches without worry. Yet when my belly swells, for surely ’twill before the snows come, shall you ken our son’s fate?” She poked his chest. “Can a lad we birth together even draw breath with a Selseus sire and a yet-mortal màthair?”

“Join me in the sea once I name Jamaran king,” he suggested. “We shall find a place far from here where we may abide together forever. Then our son shall come as all Selseus do.”

“You speak of the sea, that choked the life from my sisters,” she reminded him. “The sea I’ve ever hated, and spit in, and sometimes used as my privy, every day since I came to Caladh. The sea that near drowned me but a few weeks past. The sea that could I boil the whole away and make the world a salt flat, I surely would. That sea.”

“I’ve missed you, my stubborn wench.” His mouth curved into a stunning smile. “Very well, find a method that shall make me a landwalker.”

“Dinnae you hear yourself speak?” She would have smacked him in the head, but if she touched him willingly she’d soon be kissing every beautiful, hateful part of him. “Why came you here? The truth now.”

“If you refuse me as husband, then return to Dun Ard.” Before she replied he pressed a finger to her lips. “If I cannae wed you, at least permit me look upon you.”

Meg wanted to agree, rather more than she thought she would. At least when she had served at the stronghold there had always been a chance—a very small one—that she would see Merrick. Even when he remained away, she took comfort from knowing he abided so close to her. Yet she also knew if she returned then he would ask more and more of her, and wear her down, and convince her that her love for him far outweighed her hatred of his world.

And that, Meg suspected, would be the death of her.

“Never.” She stepped back until his arms fell to his sides. “You shallnae ask me thus again, or come here after tonight.”