Sins Against the Sea

They only harm those who sin against the sea…

Cordelia Parker, an oil company spokeswoman, has never believed in magic, despite her late mother’s fanciful stories. Then, during an oil spill in Scotland’s mysterious Minch, her reality is shattered when she stumbles upon a merman in a hidden cave. Even more shocking, she feels the same soul-level connection to him she felt for the ocean before it claimed both her parents.

A fish out of water in his sexist culture, Cuan feels a powerful attraction to Cordelia, but, because she knows what he is, he is duty-bound to kill her. If humankind discovers the Blue Men of the Minch are real, they will destroy them the way they destroy the ocean, whose abundance belongs at once to all and none. Thus, the only way he can have a life with her is to prove she is more than she appears, trust her with his secrets, and give up his undersea world.

With so many obstacles to overcome, they will need a miracle to be together…or maybe just a splash of ancient island magic.

http://ninamasonauthor.com/

Books by Nina Mason

Royal Pains

Devil in Duke’s Clothing

The Duke’s Bedeviled Bride

The Devil’s Masquerade

The Devils Who Would Be King (coming in May)

Knights of the Tarot

(Revision and re-release of Knights of Avalon)

Knight of Wands

Knight of Cups

Knight of Pentacles (coming in August)

Knight of Swords (coming in 2017)

Out of Print

The Queen of Swords

The Tin Man

Starry Knight

Dark and Stormy Knight

Sins Against the Sea

Nina Mason

Copyright © 2016 Nina Mason

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Prologue

Off the west coast of Scotland

Ten years ago

When Brian Parker saw the face in the water, his blood turned as cold as the brisk ocean wind stinging his cheeks. Gripping the rail, he leaned over the side, straining for a better look. He tightened his hold when, under his shaking landlubber legs, the deck bucked like an unbroken mustang.

Good God.

There it was again. A man’s face, only not.

The complexion was an otherworldly bluish gray and the eyes were slightly too large and set far apart, lending the small features a childlike appearance. It was not, however, a child. Or even human.

Brian stared in wonder, struggling to make sense of what he saw. The icy water might explain the cyanotic complexion. Perhaps the man had fallen overboard and had been drifting for a while. The hair, which looked to be swimming on the current, might be an illusion caused by clinging seaweed, especially since the Minch boasted some of the deepest kelp forests in the whole United Kingdom.

A dead body might easily become entangled as it drifted.

Straightening his posture, Brian looked around. He was alone on the deck, his co-workers and the crew all being in the galley, playing poker and drinking good Highland single-malt. The room had grown thick with smoke and tension, so he’d popped out for some peace and fresh air.

Should he go back inside and tell them? If he did, what the devil would he say? That he’d seen a blue man with seaweed hair off the port side of the stern? That would be rich. He suddenly felt like William Shatner’s character in that episode of
Twilight Zone
—the one where the airplane passenger saw a goblin on the wing tampering with the engines. Everybody thought the man had lost his mind until the plane went down.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brian let out a sigh. There was little point in telling the others. If the man was dead already, there wasn’t much they could do for him beyond alerting the coastguard when they landed at Stornoway. It wasn’t as if a bunch of oil company scientists were going to fish a body out of the ocean.

Unless the man wasn’t dead. Filling his lungs with freezing sea air, he peered over the rail again, seeing only black water. He blinked hard and looked again, still seeing nothing.

Perhaps it had only been a dolphin with a bit of seaweed caught around its beak. He let out his breath in a cloud of white vapor. Yes, of course. That was the only logical explanation. A pod of them had been swimming alongside the yacht all day. They must still be out there, invisible in the darkness, though still following.

Hearing a splash, he looked down. Something silver flashed just below the water’s inky surface. Yes, that was it. He’d seen a dolphin. Nothing more than a stupid dolphin.

He rubbed his eyes and inflated his lungs with damp, salty air. He was tired. Bone tired. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Believing he’d seen a face had probably been nothing but a momentary hallucination, fueled by the tales of the locals, who called this stretch of water
Sruth nam Fear Gorm.

Stream of the Blue Men.

Even as he threw off his concerns, Brian could hear the fisherman’s salty warning playing inside his memory like an old phonograph record. “Pray the Blue Men sleep when ye pass through the Minch, for, if roused, they’ll summon storms to wreck yer vessel and drown all aboard—unless, of course, you’re clever enough to answer them in rhyme.”

They’d met the old fisherman—Jimmy Bell was his name—at the Polly, the only pub on Eriskay, the tiny island they’d set sail from just before sunset.

According to Bell, these blue-gray storm kelpies were demi-gods who dwelled in an otherworldly land known as
Tír fo Thuinn
, which translated as “Land Under Waves.” The entrance was hidden deep inside a sea cave beneath the Shiant Islands, the small cluster of privately owned outcrops now slumbering on the northern horizon like great black beasts.

Bell’s description—of phosphorescent coral castles, golden sand littered with pearls, and tables overflowing with salmon, lobster, crab, cockles, and scallops—reminded Brian of his late wife’s stories of Finfolkaheem, the home of the Finfolk of Orkney.

He’d met Aerwyna there while working on the design for an offshore drilling platform. He’d come across her sitting alone on a pile of rocks, gazing out to sea as she combed her long red hair. For one crazy moment, he thought he’d come upon a mermaid, but what looked like a tail turned out to be nothing more than a shimmering skirt spread out behind her.

He shook his head, smiling at his momentary foolishness, then and now. The idea that half-fish demigods dwelled in the Minch was about as plausible as a plesiosaurus trolling the depths of Loch Ness.

The Scots certainly had vivid imaginations. He’d give them that.

Now convinced he’d imagined the face, Brian peered over the rail once more. Aside from the bobbing lifesaver, there was only black water shot through with white foam. Blinking hard, he looked again, just to be sure. Still nothing. He let out his breath in a burst of white vapor and rubbed his eyes.

Footsteps behind him turned him toward the helm. His stomach clenched when he saw Peter Blackwell, senior vice president for exploration, standing just behind him, looking put out.

“Oh, there you are,” Blackwell said in an Orkney burr. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“I was just enjoying the sea air,” Brian replied, making himself smile.

“I expect you’re eager to see your daughter.”

“I am indeed. Very eager.”

Corey would be waiting for him on the pier at Stornoway. She was on spring break from UCLA, where she was majoring in marine biology. They’d be staying on in the islands for the next couple of weeks to explore the sites and do some whale watching. He’d love to get some fishing in, too, but Corey, like her late mother, was vehemently opposed to killing animals for sport; even fish, which nobody in their right mind gave a damn about.

“Enjoy your time off, but I’ll expect you to hit the ground running the moment you’re back.”

Brian, cringing at the reminder of the project he so desperately wanted to quit, opened his mouth, but practicality stopped him from saying the words that would set him free. Freedom came at a price, after all. If he lost his only source of income, he could not pay his bills, support his daughter in the style to which she was accustomed, or continue to pay for her education. To realize her dream of becoming a marine biologist, she’d need at least a master’s degree, and he didn’t want her to have to work her way through college the way he had.

Blackwell walked away. Forgetting him, Brian looked up at the moon. Even through the thickening fog, he could make out the shadows of landforms and craters. He wondered if the flag Neil Armstrong planted back in 1969 was still up there, frozen in zero gravity. He still recalled the night of the landing, how he and his folks huddled around the black-and-white Zenith while his father snapped pictures of the television screen with his Polaroid camera.

That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

Back then, like so many other American boys, Brian had dreamed of becoming an astronaut. He’d gone on to earn degrees in rocket science and space station technology, and even worked on Skylab before the government pulled the rug out from under the space program.

Vintage resentments speared his heart. America turned her back on the mysteries of the universe, walked away from her shot at glory, and for what? To feed her huddled masses? Hell, no. The government abandoned the space program to fight an unwinnable war on communism.

At his clever wife’s urging, he’d retooled for submarines and underwater explorers. Then, Conch Oil recruited him for a top-secret venture, which seemed like a godsend until he learned what they’d hired him to design. Poor Aerwyna. If she really had drowned, she’d be rolling in her watery grave right now.

A sudden icy gust snapped Brian’s attention back to the deck. Shivering, he zipped his parka, turned up his collar, and hurried below. Inside the cabin, he stretched out on his berth, telling himself he’d only rest his eyes for a few moments.

Sometime later, he came awake with a jolt when the yacht pitched under him. Another violent lurch threw him to the floor. The whole vessel shook as the bone-chilling screech of scraping metal resounded through the cabin.

Panic stormed his system, sharpening his senses. As he scrambled out of the berth, the boat lurched again, knocking him to his knees. He crawled to the door, got hold of the knob, and yanked it open. The sea poured in, bombarding him with ice-cold saltwater. Shivering and soaked to the skin, he waded into the corridor.

“What’s happening?” he called out, but got no answer.

The water was rising fast. Struggling to stand, he sloshed toward the stairs, fighting the rushing current. Up above, wind howled and waves thundered, rocking the yacht like a giant cradle.

Up above, he could hear screaming wind and thundering waves. The boat was tossing wildly. Gripping the iron banister, he hauled himself toward the deck. The lighthouse at the mouth of Stornoway Harbor towered over the starboard side. The beam flashed in his eyes, blinding him. A wave crashed nearby, spraying his wet clothes with icy seawater shrapnel. He groped his way amidships, where the life vests were stowed. There was a blast and a red flare shot up over the bow. He pushed toward it. Through the spray, he saw the captain on the bridge, pistol in hand.

“What’s happened?” Brian shouted over the wind.

“We’ve hit the Beasts,” the captain bellowed back, looking defeated. “We’re going down. It’s every man for himself.”

The others were scurrying about like frightened rats. Some were trying to launch a bright orange dingy over the side. None wore a life vest. As the raft went over, he rushed to the rail, planning to jump. There was no room. A wave crashed, sinking the dingy. It did not resurface. Neither did any of his co-workers.

Heart hammering inside his chest, Brian spun around. That was when he spotted Blackwell clutching a dozen or so life vests.

“Peter,” he bellowed over the booming wind. “What the devil are you doing?”

“The plans,” Blackwell returned with a desperate gaze. “Where are they?”

It took Brian a moment to realize his boss meant the blueprints he’d mailed home from Skye the day before. As he began to answer, a wave smashed over the bow. He hunkered down, watching in bewilderment, as Blackwell staggered to the rail and tossed the vests overboard.