Sins Against the Sea (15 page)

“Fuck you for scaring the shit out of me,” she said with vehemence.

His hand flew to the handprint on his cheek. “Why did you do that?”

“Why do you think? You tried to drown me, you big jerk.”

He looked dazed. “I was trying to save you, not drown you.”

“By holding my head under water?”

“By proving you were part merrow.”

“What if you’d been wrong?”

“But I wasn’t,” he said, blinking at her.

“And if you were, I’d be…dead.” Then, she remembered what he’d said while she was underwater. “What did you mean about having to kill me?”

“It is the law of my people. Any human who sees us with our tails must die. To protect us from being destroyed or imprisoned. You would not have drowned, because I was right. You are half merrow—and even half-bloods can breathe under water.”

She couldn’t decide whether to be pissed at him or grateful. What he said made sense, in a crazy, upside-down reality sort of way, and the world had turned on its axis in the past twenty-four hours. The creatures from her mother’s stories weren’t just real, she was wildly attracted to one of them. Or had been, anyway, until he’d held her head under water. Okay, to be honest, she was still hot for him, but too traumatized by what he’d done to think about having sex with him anytime soon.

“My God, Kew-in. What if I’d drowned?”

“I would have deeply regretted being wrong,” he said with sadness in his eyes.

“Well, that’s some comfort…but holy shit. Holding my head under water was a pretty extreme way to prove your theory.”

Gripping the sides of the tub, she pushed herself up and turned away from him, ready to flee the room. The cold air chilled her, raising goosebumps across her skin.

“I’m not sure how I feel about being in a bathtub with a guy who planned to hold my head under the water—just to see if I was more than human. Drowning was my greatest fear, Kew-in. You scared the hell out of me, and it’s going to take me awhile to feel good about you again.”

She struggled to her feet. He stood, too, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest. She stiffened in his embrace, but made no move to pull away. Though shaken by what he’d done, she still liked the smell of him and the feel of his arms around her.

“You need not fear drowning any longer”—he stroked her dripping hair—“and now that I know what you are, I would never harm you. Because I love you, Cordelia…and have from the moment you came to my aid.”

His declaration soothed her resentment some, but not completely. She cared for him, too, but what he’d done didn’t seem like the act of someone who cared about her. Rather, it seemed cold-hearted and calculating. Even if he was sure she was part merrow, he had frightened her, which wasn’t a very nice thing to do. Neither was killing her if he’d been wrong. She’d helped him and he’d tried to drown her for her trouble. The thought harpooned her heart, bringing tears to her eyes. She bit her lip and swallowed. When she tried to pull out of his arms, he held her fast.

“You claim to love me”—she forced the words through her constricted throat—“and yet you still would have drowned me if I wasn’t half merrow. What kind of person does something like that?”

“A warrior of Clan MacMuir”—he kissed the top of her head—“whose foremost obligation, irrespective of his feelings, is to protect the ocean and her children as well as his people.”

Corey let out a shuddering sigh. So muddled and conflicted was she by all that had happened, she didn’t know what to think or feel at the moment. Not being of her world, he had different values; values which, though primitive, might make sense if she was thinking more clearly. Given the unconscionable way humans treated the oceans—and the whole damn planet, for that matter—she could understand why storm kelpies viewed her kind with animosity.

Only humans weren’t “her kind” anymore, were they? Now, there was a mind-bending reality that would take more than ten minutes to absorb and accept. In time, she might teach him to be more compassionate toward humans…or, better yet, teach humans to be more respectful toward the ocean. Right now, however, she needed the time and space to get things straight in her head.

“I need to think all this through.” This time, when she tried to pull out of his arms, he let her go. She grabbed a fresh towel off the pile and started toward the door. “I also need to be alone right now. You don’t have to leave, but you will have to find another bedroom to sleep in tonight.”

Chapter Nine

In the darkness of this strange room, Cuan felt like an empty skiff drifting on the current. He also felt deeply ashamed of himself. Had he known Cordelia feared drowning, he would never have done what he did.

Would she forgive him? He believed she would after she’d had a good think. Aye, he’d held her head under water—which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the brightest idea—but, by doing so, he’d helped her conquer her fear of drowning
and
revealed the truth about her bloodline.

Though sorry for upsetting her, holding her head under water had accomplished his purpose. Well, one of his purposes, anyway. He still yearned to spawn with her, and to hold her afterward the way he used to hold Meredith. He’d never been as contented as he was at those times.

Unlike now, when he felt more forlorn than ever before.

Reaching to the bedside table, he switched on the lamp and blinked against the sudden brightness. He could see reasonably well in the dark, but not well enough to read. Before he’d put out the light, he’d been soaking up more of the English-Gaelic dictionary. While he’d absorbed many of the words the last time, there was still a goodly number he didn’t know.

Like
asshole
, which he’d overheard her call the man who’d come to the door. He’d heard everything they’d said to each other. Some of it, he didn’t understand; what he did understand, filled him with anguish. Like that the red-bearded captain of
Ketos
was telling people storm kelpies had attacked the tanker. He needed to warn his clan, but, having no boat, couldn’t think how to go about it until his tail regenerated. Not that, even if he could get there, he would be able to explain how he’d come by the information without risking punishment.

Picking up the dictionary, he looked for the word
asshole
, but found no entry. He flipped through the pages, drinking in many more words before returning the book to the table. How he wished he had his
cleasaiche
with him. Playing his harp always lifted him out of the doldrums. He could sing, he supposed, but doing so might disturb Cordelia, who was sleeping in the next room. Unless she, too, was lying awake, wishing they were together.

The urge to talk to her, to go to her, to hold her in his arms, shot up from his depths like water from a blowhole. He battled within himself to stopper the spout with rational thinking. She wanted time and space to think things through. That was what she’d asked for and, if he wanted to earn her forgiveness and return to her good graces, he needed to respect her wishes.

She would come around, and when she did, he could apologize to her and explain that what he’d done had relieved him of the duty to kill her—provided, of course, she promised not to breathe a word to anyone about what she knew. Would she make that promise? Would she keep it? He hoped to the gods she would. Elsewise, he was back where he’d started, lamenting the obligation to end her life to protect his people.

While alone in the bathtub, he’d decided to follow in the footsteps of Gille-Gorm Logan and leave the sea so they could be together always. He would miss life under the waves, but he was willing to make the sacrifice for Cordelia. First, however, he needed to warn his clansmen about the captain of
Ketos
and get his hands on the magic weed that would give him legs year round. He knew not where to find the herb; only that it was the same one that transformed Glauckos from a mortal fisherman into a sea god.

According to the story told by Seanchai the bard, Glauckos discovered the weed’s magical properties when the fish he’d dumped on an unusual patch of grass came back to life. He ate some of the herb to see what would happen, after which a fish’s tail covered his legs, forcing him to dwell forevermore in the sea.

In the story of Gille-Gorm, the weed had the reverse effect, giving the Glauckodai legs for the rest of his days. Unfortunately, those days turned out to be few in number. Gille-Gorm and his men were murdered on a lonely ridge by their enemies, the Frasers, who then took his pregnant wife prisoner. When she gave birth to Gille-Gorm’s son, the Frasers broke the babe’s back so he could never replace his father as chieftain of Clan Logan. In those days, as in these, only physically perfect men could become the chieftain of a clan.

Cuan shuddered at the reminder of the savage side of human nature. The husband of his mother, a Nic who’d foolishly married a mortal, had treated him no better when he was a pup—and killed his own wife in a jealous rage. If Cuan did find a way to leave the sea for Cordelia, he sincerely hoped they would fare better than had his mother and Gille-Gorm.

* * * *

Alone in bed the past few hours, Corey had grown more curious about her ancestry than angry with Kew-in for holding her head under water. The truth was, he’d been right. She was part merrow. The daughter of a mermaid, it would seem, and the more she thought about it, the more it explained. The recurring dream, for instance, and the feeling she could never shake that her mother was still alive, still out there somewhere.

Watery memories of the past rose to the surface of her mind. Her mother’s stories, the call of the sea, her disastrous love life. Despite her dressing as unprovocatively as possible, men still came on to her, just as MacInnes had done at the door last night. Had she been giving off some sort of mermaid sex attractant all this time unaware? She’d just thought they were all manipulative jerks who pretended to be crazy about her so they could get her into bed. Then, after she stupidly slept with them, they dumped her faster than she could say
Moby Dick
. Only Jared had stuck around long enough to get to know her better—and even he bailed on her after only a few months. Was it any wonder she’d all but given up on men?

Once upon a time, she’d entertained fantasies about finding perfect love. The kind that struck like lightning and turned the world upside down. Back in college, she’d devoured every romance novel she could get her hands on—the racier, the better. She soon discovered, to her great disappointment, that real men weren’t diamonds-in-the-rough just waiting for the right woman to polish them to brilliance. Rather, they were cloudy shards of glass with dangerously sharp edges.

Then, she met Jared, who swept her off her feet for a few glorious months before dropping her cold. Even though he’d hurt her, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She’d loved him in a pure, unpolluted way she’d never loved anyone before. She felt a similar connection with Kew-in. His soul spoke to her, called to her, just as the sea once had.

Poor Kew-in. He’d only done what he thought he must, upsetting as it was. She looked toward the wall separating their bedrooms. Was he awake in there? Was he thinking about her? Did he feel bad about what he’d done? How badly she wanted to go to him and tell him everything was okay, but she also wanted to stay here and read.

Having brought the book of island folklore to bed with her, she’d been reading the stories about the daughters of Finmen, who began life as creatures of incomparable beauty with shimmering silver-blue tails, flowing auburn tresses, and pearl-white skin. Only by marrying a mortal could these Finmaids keep their beauty, so they spent all their time trying to attract human husbands by any means possible, including luring them with their bewitching songs like the sirens of Greek mythology. If their efforts failed, they had to marry their own kind, after which their beauty would fade little by little until they became hideous hags known as Finwives.

In some of the tales, it was the men who captured the mermaids by stealing their mirrors or combs. One story,
The Mermaid Bride
, sounded uncannily similar to one her father had told her shortly after her mother’s disappearance. Corey summoned the memory into her mind. It was only a few nights after her mom had allegedly drowned. After waking from the dream that still haunted her, she’d been stricken by a harrowing feeling of loss. Her father must have heard her crying, because he came in, sat down on the edge of her bed, and told her his own version of
The Mermaid Bride
. Little did she know then, the story was more than a folktale.

Years ago, a man went to Orkney on business. One day, while working on some plans, he heard a lovely voice singing a haunting song. He was awestruck by the beauty of the sound, which seemed to be coming from the other side of a crag. When the man peered around it, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld sitting on a rock combing her auburn hair. A silvery skirt hung down from her waist to form a train that resembled the tail of a fish. He watched her, mesmerized, as she combed and sang her bewitching song, falling more in love with her with every passing moment.

She sat with her back to the sea, and, desperate for contact, he got down and crept quietly among the boulders to get between her and the water. Every glance he cast her way made him want her all the more. Stealthily he crept up until he was within a few feet of her. Still she combed and sang. Then the man sprang forward, threw his arms around her, and kissed her. She leaped to her feet and gave him a slap that knocked him on his keister. Then, draping her train over her arm, she ran down to the sea.