Sins Against the Sea (21 page)

One of the protesters—a young man with hair as red as the fire in his eyes—charged up the center aisle. Stopping halfway, he spun around and began to shout: “We told them this would happen. Decades ago. But did they listen? Of course not. The Minches are home to a rich and unique diversity of marine life. Continuing to allow tankers of any size to pass through these waters is not only unconscionable, it’s bloody outrageous.

He paused briefly for a breath before continuing his impassioned tirade. “We oppose it. Greenpeace opposes it. The Western Isles and Highland Councils oppose it. The local communities, many of which depend on fishing and tourism to survive—industries that would be severely compromised by an oil spill of any size—oppose it. So why do Parliament, the EU, and the International Maritime Organization go on ignoring our petitions to make the Minches a no-go area for tankers? I’ll tell you why. Because they’re all in the pockets of greedy oil companies like Conch.

“Now look what’s happened! But then, who gives a rat’s arse about protecting the environment when there’s money to be made? Not Parliament. Not the EU Assembly, not the International Maritime Association, and certainly not the greedy oil companies…”

Corey just stood there, flabbergasted, as he ranted on.

“They claim the deep-water route around St. Kilda takes them farther from rescue facilities—if an accident should occur. The straits are safer, they like to insist. Yet, the waters of the Minch are notoriously treacherous and sudden, violent storms are common occurrences. Given that the vast majority of accidents involving the release of oil occur when tankers run aground or hit the rocks, I hardly see the logic in keeping them closer to the shore. Do you?”

When he stopped talking, there was a momentary silence before bedlam erupted all around her. Questions flew at her like machine-gun fire. Miraculously, she managed to answer them all—mostly by being vague and evasive, despising herself all the while.

Had she been in a position to speak the truth, she would have told them she agreed with everything the young man from Ocean Watch had said. Oil companies like Conch would never show respect for the planet unless forced to do so. To hell with the environment, global warming, the ozone layer, and endangered species, they cared only about the bottom line.

When it was over, she felt so dizzy, nauseated, and shaken, she was sure she was going to throw up or pass out. Ducking into the lobby restroom, she locked herself inside one of the beige metal stalls, sat down hard on the toilet seat, and began to hyperventilate. She’d had enough. Working for Conch was slowly murdering her soul, which she now understood belonged to the sea. As soon as she could expose their malfeasance to the media, she was going to tell Peter Blackwell what he could do with her job in no uncertain terms.

* * * *

Three hours later, Corey was on the deck of MacInnes’s boat, savoring the feel of the brisk but refreshing wind in her hair. Above her, the early-morning sky was silver-blue and empty, apart from the gulls circling the boat, screeching and scavenging for scraps. Below her, the boat named
Cearban—
the Gaelic word for shark—rocked gently on the current.

After searching high and low for Peter at the command center, she’d returned to Ronay and, as promised, collected Kew-in from the cave. After meeting MacInnes on his boat at the appointed time, they’d motored to Lochmaddy. The trip had been short and uneventful, apart from the sighting of the spaniel-shaped rock formation that lent the bay its name. They’d dropped anchor more than an hour ago, after which Kew-in swam ashore after removing his shoes.

MacInnes had gone below to tinker with the engine, which had begun to make a funny sputtering noise just before he shut it off. She preferred to be up on deck, enjoying the fresh air and keeping an eye out for trouble.

Not that she expected any. Ronay had been quiet when they set sail and she’d seen no sign of Finlay Trowbridge or Peter Blackwell, for that matter, who she now strongly suspected might be a Finman as well. Peter hailed from Orkney, after all, and was tall and dark like his pal Trowbridge.

When she’d offered to stay on deck and keep watch, MacInnes had laughed and said, “Seems to me there’s not much point in looking out for a man who can make himself invisible.”

Even if he was right, she felt better standing guard. She had set up her look-out on the back end of the boat—the stern, she believed it was called. The cardiologist had owned a small sailboat he kept docked up in Ventura. The one time he took her sailing, he’d told her the names of all the parts, but she’d been too terrified of falling overboard to retain much of the lesson.

She was just as terrified now. Despite the life vest and being able to breathe under water. Phobias weren’t rational, after all. The squeak of a shoe on the deck boards behind her jolted her heart and made her prickle with alarm. Please, let it be MacInnes…or, better yet, Kew-in back from the cove.

Slowly, she turned to see who was there. The blood in her face rushed to her stomach when she saw Finlay Trowbridge standing there. His eyes were dark, menacing, and trained on her. So was the gun in his hand.

“You couldn’t just do as you were told and stay out of it, could you? I told Peter not to trust a woman. Women are always sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”

Corey wrapped her arms around herself as she cast about for something to use to defend herself. To her distress, there was nowhere to go and nothing to grab. Not that it would help if there were. Trowbridge was strong, magical, and armed.

She licked her top lip, tasting the sweat beading just above. “W-what are you g-going to do to me?”

“Kill you if I have to.” His scowl deepened, further distorting his apelike features. “But I’d rather take you someplace you can’t make any more trouble.”

The deck rail pressed into her backside as she stepped away from him on wobbly legs. “Where would that be?”

“Hether Blether, and then, Finfolkaheem.”

Kew-in. Help me!

She didn’t know if he could hear her at this distance, but it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try. She could not let Trowbridge take her to Finfolkaheem. She’d be his prisoner, his slave, for the rest of her life. Worse yet, he might marry her and turn her into a hideous Finwife. She didn’t know what happened to half-blood Finmaids who married mermen, and it didn’t look as though she’d ever find out. If Trowbridge took her, Kew-in would never find her and might never even know what had happened to her.

Her hope buoyed when Lachlan MacInnes appeared behind Trowbridge. She held her breath as the reporter crept up from behind. He had a wrench, which he appeared ready to bring down on Trowbridge’s head. Just as the journalist got within striking range, Trowbridge turned and fired. MacInnes staggered backward, clutching his chest.

Heart hammering, Corey spun round and grabbed the rail with white-knuckled fingers. Her instincts told her to jump, but fear kept her on the deck. Though her body was frozen, her mind was racing and her chest was in a vise. It took every ounce of courage she could muster to force herself to put her feet on the rail. As soon as she had, something hit the back of her head, knocking her forward. Losing her footing, she fell over the side. The sudden, engulfing cold shocked her senseless as she hit the water and plunged downward.

Kew-in! Help me!

Breathe, Cordelia. Breathe.

Hope blossomed inside her like a red tide as her gills ripped open. It was Kew-in. He’d heard her. But would he reach her in time? She didn’t have to wait long for her answer. Someone plunged into the water beside her, but who? Kew-in, MacInnes, or Trowbridge? As she waited for the bubbles surrounding his body to clear, she forgot about breathing, forgot about propelling herself toward the surface. She even forgot about trying to escape.

The man, his identity still shrouded in silvery bubbles, swam toward her and put his arm around her neck. As he towed her toward the surface, he tightened his grip on her throat, blocking her gills.

Dark spots mottled her vision. Her head was spinning and her limbs were growing numb. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and couldn’t take in air. He was strangling her. Stealing her life.

By the time they broke the surface, she was hanging onto consciousness by an unraveling thread. He pulled her a short distance and climbed out of the water, leaving her adrift. She couldn’t see the boat he’d boarded, but the sound of slapping water told her it was there. Hands hooked her armpits and pulled her up. As he deposited her on the invisible deck, a lightning bolt of pain cracked across her skull just before everything went black.

Chapter Thirteen

Eager to reach Cordelia, Cuan propelled his body through the lagoon’s crystalline water.
Cearban
was still there, still anchored. So, why had she called to him for help?

Cordelia, are you all right? Please, answer me.

She didn’t answer, increasing his distress? At least when he could hear her, he knew she was still alive. He swam as fast as he could; cursing his uncooperative appendages with every arrested stroke he took. Humans may have crawled out of the ocean once upon a time, but they were no longer engineered to move effortlessly through the water. If he still had his tail, he could cross the distance to the boat in less than half the time.

Robharta had not come, but Corey’s distress call took precedence over everything. What could be wrong? He could think of only two possibilities, neither of which relieved his anxiety. Either MacInnes had gotten fresh with her or Trowbridge had appeared. Cuan hadn’t seen the Finman trailing after them from Ronay, but that did not mean he’d not been doing so. Finfolk vanishing magic made it possible for the menacing creatures to appear as if from out of nowhere.

Cuan’s heart nearly exploded when something bumped against him. So intent was he on reaching the boat, he’d not seen the dolphin come alongside. It was Delphine, his dolphin friend.

Come play, Cuan. Come chase me through the reef.

I cannot, Delphine. Someone I care for is in trouble—and I must get to her as soon as I’m able.

If you are talking about the red-haired lass, you will not find her on the boat.

Why not? Where did she go?

A Finman took her. I followed him here through the strait from Uist. Though I could see neither him nor his boat, I could see the wake it left in the water.

This dolphin’s tale distressed Cuan, but also triggered an idea.

Perhaps we could play a game after all. How would you like to follow the Finman’s boat? Let us see how fast you can swim while towing me along.

That sounds like fun. How far do you wish to follow him?

As far as he is going.

Cuan grabbed hold of Delphine’s dorsal fin and held tight as they plowed through the icy water. When they reached the Minch, the sea was so choppy they could not differentiate the wake of the Finman’s boat from the rest of the surface activity.

I’m sorry, Cuan.

Do not be, Delphine. I have a reasonably good idea where the Finman is taking her.

Where?

Hether Blether, the last invisible isle of Orkney.

But, I do not know where Hether Blether can be found.

Nor do I…though I have been told it lies near Eynhallow. So let us first go there.

Robharta had told him all about the islands there. Eynhallow, a tiny isle wedged between mainland Orkney and Rousay, was surrounded by ferocious tides she called “roosts.”

While people no longer lived on Eynhallow, they still visited the island. According to the selkie, the ruins of an old kirk, among other crumbling dwellings, could be found on the island and humans, for reasons that escaped him, delighted in paying homage to the vestiges of their abandoned civilizations.

Cuan still wore the clothes he’d put on that morning. Jeans and a T-shirt, now sodden with seawater. As much of a drag as the wet denim was proving to be, he did not relish the idea of confronting a Finman or anyone else he might meet in the buff. For one, he felt vulnerable in his breeding form. For another, his unclad body would give him away as something other than human.

By the time he and Delphine reached the outskirts of Eynhallow, Cuan’s arms ached with fatigue. The dolphin left him there and, after fighting his way through the shoals and brutal eddies protecting the island, he crawled out of the surf and stayed on all fours on the black-sand beach while he recovered his breath and strength.

When he felt more himself, he got to his feet, wiped the sand from his hands onto his seawater-soaked jeans, and took in his surroundings. The island was only about a quarter-mile long and, from where he stood, he could see all the way across the flat green expanse to the stretch of sea separating Eynhallow from the mainland. Gulls wheeled on the strong, brisk wind overhead. Clearly unaccustomed to two-legged company, they raised a ruckus when they sighted him.

He decided to walk the island’s perimeter. He did not know in which direction Hether Blether lay, nor what sort of land mass to look for, but he was nevertheless determined to search for it.

Apart from the roar of the sea and the shrieking birds, the island was blissfully quiet. When he was nearly back where he’d started, he found himself atop a bluff overlooking a pretty cove. As he began to climb down, he saw something that set his pulse to racing. There was a woman in the cove. A woman who looked exactly like Cordelia. She was sitting on the beach, gazing out to sea. From the waist down, she appeared to have a tail.