Page 47 of Shaw

Down by the bay, where the stink of the sea would fill her nostrils, Meg thought, and she would appear in sight of the Selseus underwater settlement. Doubtless Merrick would recognize her the moment he saw the ugly copper shine of her red hair in the sun. Returning to her former home might be unpleasant, but straying within reach of the Finfolk king was pure madness.

“Of course, my lady,” Meg said, feigning serenity when all she wished do was scream and run across the island.

From the back gate she escorted the laird’s wife to the cliffs and down the stone steps to the curving shore, where the midday light sparkled on the lovely turquoise water of the shallows. Some local fishermen had sailed out to skirt the mist barrier, where they cast their nets and lines, and she could see Caroline Parish wading out of the water onto the sand of the little islet where she lived, her gathering bag bulging with abalone. For a brief moment she wished she could love such a vision as the bay provided, but when she saw the sea she only recalled the white, still faces of her wee drowned sisters.

Keeping back from the foam-edged waves, Meg regarded Valerie. “How may I serve then, my lady?”

“Have you seen Chieftain Shaw over the last two days?” When she shook her head the laird’s wife’s lips thinned for a moment. “What about a very tall blonde woman? Her name is Julianne Scott, and she came to Caladh from the future.”

“Naught of either, nor heard any word of them.” She took the older woman’s cold hands between hers. “You ken Shaw oft goes wandering, my lady. Mayhap ’tis what he’s done again, and taken the lady with him.”

“Something’s wrong this time. I know it in my bones,” Valerie said. “Julianne, the woman who just arrived–”

Before she could finish what she was saying, a strange splashing sound came from the water, and Meg turned her head to see several large, long fish jumping up into the air as if trying to leap onto the sand where they stood. All the hair on her neck stood up when she saw they had the faces of mortal bairns, and then they opened their mouths and began screeching as human arms and legs sprouted from their fish bodies.

“Run, my lady,” she said as she drew her dagger and stepped between the laird’s wife and the bizarre creatures. “Send your guards down. Hurry, now.”

The first creature to reach her, a mortal-faced fish the length of her forearm, tried to climb up her skirts and snapped at the sleeve of her bodice with sharp, jagged teeth. She used her blade to skewer it in the belly. It fell to the sand and flopped feebly before it went still. The other altered fish stopped, standing in the surf as they stared at the one Meg had slain.

If they came at me as one, they shall tear me apart.

Something larger came through the shallows, but as Meg planted her heels and readied herself for a second attack she saw the golden hair and broad shoulders of a Finfolk male. Then Merrick surfaced, and used a curved blade to slice through half of the murderous creatures. A pool of their blood bloomed on the surf, turning the froth pink, and those that remained alive turned and lunged for the king.

“Run for the stronghold, you eejit wench,” Merrick shouted at her as he fought off the altered fish.

Meg waded into the water and used her blade to stab the creatures from behind as the Finfolk king hacked them apart from the front. Caught between their blades, the altered fish tried to jump clear, only to fall in pieces as Merrick swung his blade with swift, lethal precision. After a few minutes all that remained of the creatures floated lifeless on the waves.

The king seized her, his hands cruelly tight as he dragged her from the shallows and shoved her onto the sand. Meg managed to stay on her feet by tottering away, and sheathed her dagger before she took hold of her skirts to wring the sea water out of them.

“You despise me so much you’d feed those abominations your flesh?” the king demanded as he loomed over her.

So that she wouldn’t be tempted to draw her dagger again and bury it in his cold heart, Meg turned and walked up toward the dunes, only to be yanked back and spun around to face the one she loved. He appeared ready to use his sword on her, so he still cared. She wondered if it would have been less painful simply to let those grotesque bairn-faced fish devour her.

“Perhaps the next time, Fish King.” She glanced over at the cliff stairs, where a dozen heavily-armed MacMar were descending. “Forgive me, but I’m wanted by Lady Valerie.”

“Fack the lady and her husband and their clan.” Merrick picked her up off her feet and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of oats.

From the bay shore he stalked up the trail toward the pool where Nyall MacMar and Jamaran sometimes met. When he reached it he dumped her on the embankment and dove into the cool, shaded waters.

With trembling hands Meg gathered her hair, which had come loose from the tidy braid she’d woven before setting off this morning. For a moment she began weaving it again before she stopped and shook the rest of it out so that it curtained her shoulders. Merrick hated the sight of it, as his fish people believed red-haired females to be bad luck or cursed or some such. Flaunting what kept them apart seemed spiteful, but she was in no mood to indulge his preferences.

The king surfaced, flinging back his golden hair before hoisting himself out of the pool and sitting on the mossy bank beside her. He wouldn’t look at her, and she refused to ogle him, so they sat there for a long time watching the undulating waters.

“I missed you, Margret,” he finally said.

Meg let herself smirk; he never could hold out for long. “So you did. What call you those horrid things that attacked me and our lady?”

“I dinnae ken. Never I’ve seen such in our waters.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Their blood didnae taste of transformation, so no Selseus made them.”

Meg had some idea of what he meant. The Finfolk could use their magic to change mortals into their own kind, but they only used it on adult females capable of bearing bairns. “Can your people change mortals into fish now?”

He shook his head. “Something spawned those creatures. Something that possesses the power of transformation, but no’ like ours, and they’re no’ fish. They’re shark pups.” He stood and reached down to help her to her feet.

She should never have touched him, Meg thought as she rose and allowed him to gather her closer, his strong arms folding around her thin frame as if she were some missing part of his body and he meant to press her back in place. Against her skirts pressed the long ridge of his shaft, thick and hard for her. Imagining what he would do to her with it thrilled her; she wanted to caress it with her fingers and lips and tongue. If only he would put it inside her where the awful, endless ache for him continued to pulse, and fill that emptiness until she overflowed with him.

“Dinnae,” she murmured as he bent his head to hers. “If you kiss me again I’ll put my dagger in your heart.”

“If I dinnae kiss you, I’ll die,” he muttered as he jerked up her chin and looked into her eyes. “If you dinnae come to me, I’ll die. If you dinnae permit me change you, I’ll die. If you dinnae love me, I’ll die.” He touched his brow to hers. “Since you left I’ve no more reason for living, Margret. I cannae bear the loneliness.”