“Come on. Yer shivering. We shall speak of this later,” Lachlan said, laying a hand on my arm and pulling me to my feet. I didn’t explain that it was the chill in my soul more than the one on my flesh that made me tremble. Though I was embarrassed, I turned my freezing cheeks against the heated flesh of his chest and allowed myself a moment to warm both skin and spirit.
Lachlan did not repulse me, and after a moment even stroked a hand over my fallen and now wild hair. “What a strange lass, ye are, and it’s mad I maun be. Yer tears have driven me here. I’d nae thought of this ever happening again.” I could not swear that he said this aloud, yet I heard him.
Behind us, the
gair na mara
—that mocking laughter of the sea reported by fishermen—bellowed loudly and then spat cold green water out of the chimney we had just climbed. I knew that, had Lachlan not found me, I would be dead, my lungs filled with green water and my body battered against the walls of the sea cave until it took me back out to the depths. The thought had me shuddering in spite of the immense comfort I found in his arms.
“Donnae think on it. I
was
there,” he said, and turned me toward the cottage. “Ye called tae me in time.”
Had I called to him? Surely not aloud, though he had been in my thoughts when I cried with despair.
However he had known of my predicament, I was grateful that he had come.
Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr’d, The bride at the altar.
—Sir Walter Scott,
“Gathering Song of Donald Dhu”
With food in my stomach and a glass of whisky in hand—I wanted brandy but wasn’t willing to drink anything in Fergus’s hidden room, since who knew what he had been doing with it—I was feeling much less undone. And a bath, once the water had finished heating, would conclude the repairs to the inner woman. The outer woman would have bruises for a few days.
Knowing it wouldn’t calm me but feeling compelled nonetheless, I picked up one of Fergus’s books and began reading where he had translated the text in the margins:
And she was delivered of a boy childe. Pushing the gamp [midwife] aside, the tall and ferocious man
who had paced at the bedside, his gown of blackest velvet which looked more like the fur of some beast, snatched up the infant and retired to the fire he had blazing in preparation. He threw the babe into the flames and crushed it with his bootheel until its body disappeared into the coals. When the gamp attempted to rescue the child, he choked the life from her. He said to the babe’s mother that he would have no selkie bastards in his house.
Nauseated, I put the book aside. Knowledge came at too high a price. I wasn’t ready to seek out any more answers.
“It wasnae Fergus’s ancestor wham did this. If ye care,” Lachlan said softly from over my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him reenter the cottage, but his presence didn’t surprise me. “It was the finman. And his ‘gown of velvet’ was a selkie skin—the wee murdered bairn’s father. The woman’s name was Heather Macbeth. She took her own life a few days later. This happened right afore the village was buried.”
I shook my head, unable to comprehend such evil.
“The Culbins were nae sae innocent themselves, though. Fergus Culbin’s father should hae been put tae the horn and hanged—and likely wadha been had the family been less feart in the village.”
I thought for an uncharitable moment about how much simpler my life would be if someone had wiped out the Culbins before Duncan had been born.
“I don’t know why, but I’ve been thinking of my husband today,” I answered, speaking the words aloud before I had time to consider the wisdom of inaugurating
another unpleasant and extremely personal subject. Some minds are backward-looking; mine is not usually so, and I had to consider why it was harkening consistently to the past when I prefer to face forward. Perhaps some part of me knew that answers to my current problem waited there.
“Aye?”
“I’m wondering—still—why he married me. The longer I consider the matter, the more I see that it was all very deliberate. He wooed me without love. With affection, perhaps, in the beginning, but not out of romantic attachment.”
“For protection mayhap,” Lachlan said.
“From what?” I hoped I didn’t look as stunned and stupid as I felt. Protection?
“Frae his family. Yer a MacCodrum, after all. They would have avoided ye. Or perhaps he feared the finman and hoped you would repel him as well. Yours is a race of olden renown, hunters and killers every one.”
I still felt stunned and stupid. My family was renowned? For being killers? Me? My mother? My granny? That might explain my father’s dislike of his in-laws, though.
“But why? And how? For heaven’s sakes, we had an ocean between us and Scotland. How could there have been any danger to Duncan from his family or the finman?” My questions were mostly voiced in a tone of denial rather than inquiry, but I knew Lachlan would answer.
“Normally an ocean wad be enough. But this situation is far frae normal. The finman is after something and he wants it verra badly. Perhaps badly enough tae
chase down your husband aen the other side of the warld.”
I thought of that letter from Scotland. Could Fergus have broken the news of the finman’s return? Had that sent Duncan into a depression or an orgy of fear, especially when he came to believe that I couldn’t do anything to help him after all? My ankle twinged and I realized that I was beginning to feel more myself again, both physically and mentally. I wasn’t sure it was an improvement. I don’t like being out of control, but for a time it had been nice to feel comfortably numb in both body and mind.
“Not that I would dream of complaining,” I said to Lachlan’s back as he poked at the fire. “But what exactly did you do to me in that cave? I’ve felt drugged and alienated from mind ever since.”
He paused to search for a word, I am sure, rather than to find a careful explanation for me. When he chose to answer my questions, he usually answered straightly. Finally he turned. He spoke in formal English, facing me. His switch in diction was odd, almost as though he were offering a quotation, and underlined that he was being especially serious.
“I anesthetized you. My saliva has certain properties, among them, the ability to block pain.”
Lachlan had a habit of saying things that no other person could or would. On another evening, this reply would have upset me. That night I was still too drugged, or too exhausted, to protest.
“Yes, indeed you did—and thank you. I couldn’t have walked so quickly without aid. I’m just grateful that the paranoia and mental deterioration that went
alongside were short-lived. I can’t say I enjoy being estranged from my…will, or seeing all those bizarre and frightening things.”
“Paranoia?” he asked interestedly, putting up the poker. “Did ye sense something in the cave?”
“Maybe that isn’t the best descriptor of my state. If I were more…” It was my turn to search for a word. “If I were of a fey turn, I would call what I felt out there the second sight.”
“Would ye now? And how so? Ye saw a vision?”
“No, but…Findloss is going to be buried again. Soon. Isn’t it? That’s why that corpse candle was so large. Something is going to happen.”
Lachlan’s eyes widened. “Now, that is a verra interesting question, lass. And that ye saw the candle is most odd.” But more than that about the subject he would not say. I was beginning to know him.
“The bite and salt I gave ye opens the doors of perception,” he pointed out.
“Opens them? For a moment I thought they’d come unhinged and I’d never be able to shut them again. Is there any way I can control what I see?”
He shook his head. “Nay. Ye see wha and wham ye see. That is the way of it.”
“Wonderful.” I sighed. “Is Gaelic your native language? You seem to use it when you are surprised.” Or annoyed.
He blinked. “Nay. ’Twas the first human language I learned and the one I’ve used the longest. It reminds me of happier but dead days when my wife still lived. She was human just as you are, a spaewife—a healer.”
I made an involuntary sound. “You were married?”
“It was long ago. There are twa worlds and I live in both as need be, but belong to neither anymore. I think my time is passing. Especially here. I shall not long be able to come and go among yer kind. The more industry ye have, the more dangerous ye become. The more ye poison the warld for my kind.” He smiled a bit, but not with humor. “Yer inkling hard, lass. What troubles ye? Surely nowt my marriage.”
I was troubled but would rather die than admit it. My eyes grew tired of looking at Lachlan, who was handsome but so very strange, now that my mind was clearing out its mental cobwebs and able to perceive his uncanny and inhuman stillness. Instead I looked at the dining room table squatting to the left of him and felt a stab of sharp disfavor. The entire room was being subordinated to the unattractive relic I loathed. It was suddenly important that I move it.
“Lachlan, are you very,
very
strong?” I asked.
“Aye.” He didn’t hesitate to answer, but I sensed no bragging in his reply. I knew he was watching me carefully but couldn’t think why he would be so intent. “Why dae ye ask this?”
“Might we move this table? Over there against the wall?” I would have shoved it out the door and over a cliff, but realized it wouldn’t fit through the opening. Which meant that the cottage had been constructed around it, hundreds of years ago. This thought, though only at the very back of my mind and not fully examined, made me shiver. Who builds a house around a piece of furniture? Only someone who is convinced the furniture is very important.
“Perhaps. Ye wish tae examine the floor beneath?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me, but once voiced I found that I did indeed wish to examine the floor. Though curiosity was mixed with a large helping of trepidation. If this was indeed some sort of altar, might there be something buried below? It suddenly seemed certain that there was, but I was not completely certain I wished to see whatever it hid.
“Unless you think this unwise,” I replied. “It has been here a long time. Perhaps we should leave it.” And let sleeping dogs—or demons—lie.
“Nay, I am now most curious tae see what may be hidden aen the floor.”
“Wait!” I begged, and Lachlan raised a brow. “Your bite and its properties. Would one of them be…presentiment?”
“Aye, in some it can bring future-as well as past-seeing.”
“And that is why you are still here? Because I’m seeing?” I was getting distracted, but I wanted an answer to this.
He nodded. “I wouldnae leave ye until ye are returned tae your own senses. Others could possibly take advantage of ye, perhaps influence or terrorize ye wi’ visions. Also, I wish to hear about your other…paranoid notions. They may be verra useful.”
“Let’s move the damn table,” I said, feeling annoyed and knowing it wasn’t fair. Lachlan had saved my life by biting me and numbing my pain; that there were consequences to how he did it was not really his fault. And I could hardly blame him for wanting to know what I was seeing, if there were any hope of finding the finman. I didn’t like that he was here solely
for this reason, though, being female enough to wish pursuit for my own lovely self and not because I was merely useful.
The table moved unwillingly at first, but move it eventually did. I made no effort to assist Lachlan, instead keeping my distance and enjoying the play of muscles as they bunched in his back. I had thought to offer one of Fergus’s shirts for his use, but he seemed undisturbed by his seminudity. Everyone else I had met in Scotland was reserved in thought and manner, prudish even. Lachlan, while remaining mysterious and stubbornly silent on some subjects, was quite uninhibited, at least in matters of dress—or undress, as the case more often was. It was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stultifying situation, and a long-buried part of me welcomed it.
As I had half expected, we found a trap door beneath one of the massive legs, a plug about eight inches by eight. I would have broken a nail prying the panel up, but Lachlan’s hand seemed to grow claws that curved into the floor’s joint, and he had the hidden space open in a trice.
“Well, now.” I leaned in closer and saw that in his hand was a small crystal casket about the size of a petite jewelry box. Inside was something the shade of liver, but which I knew was a heart. It was surrounded by something that looked like thin milk.
“Is it human?” I whispered.
“Nay.”
I was relieved, but then seeing Lachlan’s stillness I realized that I was being insensitive. After what I had
read about in that horrible book, I knew it might be something far worse.
“Is it selkie?” I asked, even more softly. I couldn’t bring myself to ask if it belonged to a child.
“Nay.” His eyes met mine and I couldn’t for the world guess what he was thinking. “I do believe it belongs tae the finman.”
I swallowed the sudden lump that appeared in my throat.
“It’s the finman’s heart?” I asked. He nodded once and waited until I said, “I guess we know what he’s looking for.” I swallowed again. “And I don’t suppose he’ll ever leave the village without it.”
“Nay, he willnae. And I should verra much like to know how it came tae be hidden in this floor. It would have taken a verra strong man tae have moved this table. Fergus Culbin’s father was a strong man, but old, so I doubt he could have moved this table aen his own. And certainly Fergus couldnae, his left arm being withered.” This was news to me, and I felt myself frown. Lachlan’s head tilted as he studied me. “Could your husband hae moved it? Perhaps if he had rubbed wax on the floor? Or if he had aid frae Fergus?”
Duncan had been strong, especially when drunk, as I had good cause to know, but I had no knowledge of whether or not he had ever been to this cottage. It was possible, though, and my gut said it was likely. I started to nod and then gasped and jumped backward and fell into a chair. The heart had twitched.
“It moved!”
Lachlan smiled grimly and put the casket on the
table. I watched carefully and saw the organ twitch again.
“Aye. The finman wouldnae have much use for a deid heart.” He looked at me, considering. “You’d be best pleased if I took this with me,” he suggested.
“Absolutely. Right now.” I recalled my manners. “Please.”
“And yet I am uncertain that it is wise. The heart has remained well hidden thus far. Perhaps it would be best to leave it in place while I consult with…others. I’ve nae clear notion as yet how tae put this thing tae rest.”
“Lachlan, no! I don’t want it here. It’s an abomination. I don’t care who stole it—I want it gone.”
But the casket was returned to its crypt and the table shoved back, though I flung myself on top in an effort to stop him.
“Sometimes you make it very hard to like you,” I snapped, sliding to the floor and pulling my skirt back into place.
Instead of laughing at me, as I expected him to do, Lachlan looked rather sad. “Aye. It is one of the hazards of being wha I am.”
“Just tell me this. What does the finman look like? Could he truly be mistaken for a human? Could I run into him and not know it? Could he knock on my door and trick me into letting him in?”
“Frae a distance mayhap he could fool ye. Close by, ye waud ken the difference. The finman can mask his character to a degree, but yer kind will always ken his true nature.”
My kind
. The MacCodrums, hunters and killers
every one. Familial rather than individual destiny. It was still strange for me to think of myself in any way that did not relate to my own behavior and failings. I was a MacCodrum just as I was a redhead, and had no say in either thing and did not see why it should dictate the parameters of my life. The thought that it could made me peevish.