Sins Against the Sea (10 page)

The older woman took the mug to the window over the sink, gave it a good shake, and then tilted it to catch the light. She studied the tea-leaf remnants for some time, squinting in deep concentration.

“I see a heart,” she said at last, “suggesting a romance may be on the horizon…but there’s also a snake, which represents enmity or falsehood. Though, as I said, Earl Grey can be tricky.”

“Your husband tells me you’re something of an expert on the local lore,” Corey said, figuring now was as good a time as any to ask about the storm kelpies.

“My husband says a great many things,” Mrs. MacLeod returned with a playful wink, “and only some of them are true.”

As a bemused smile broke across her lips, Corey said, “What can you tell me about the mermen who live in the Minch?”

“What would you care to know?” Still studying Corey’s cup, she didn’t look up.

“Anything and everything.”

Mrs. MacLeod, apparently finished with the reading, turned to the sink and rinsed Corey’s cup. “Would you like another?”

“Please.”

While switching on the electric kettle, she said, “As for the Blue Men, I can tell you that they are not, as some folks are in the habit of claiming, fallen angels. Nor are they ordinary folk who’ve been put under a spell.”

Corey’s curiosity was definitely piqued. “So, what are they, then?”

“Some folks call them storm kelpies, but their real name is Glauckodai. The largest population of their kind lives here in the Hebrides, where Glauckos, the Greek god who fathered their race, came to live after leaving the Mediterranean.”

Though Corey had studied classical mythology in high school and college, she couldn’t recall learning anything about the god she’d mentioned. “Was Glauckos one of the Olympians?”

“He was, and the only one among them who started life as a human.”

The kettle began to whistle. Mrs. MacLeod shut it off and poured a little boiling water into the pot. She took a moment to swirl the hot water around inside the pot before dumping it into the sink. She then added two scoops of fresh loose tea to the pot.

Corey observed this little ritual in silence before asking, “How did he become a god?”

Mrs. MacLeod filled the pot with boiling water. “Some say as a lad he drowned in a vat of mead and was brought back to life by a sorcerer; while others say he ate a special grass he found on an island where men had never set foot.”

Corey told Mrs. MacLeod what she’d read about the songs and verse and how the Blue Men attacked ships and drowned everyone aboard.

“Glauckodais only harm those who sin against the sea and her creatures.” She put the lid on the pot before turning back to Corey, leaving the tea to steep. “Like that awful tanker out there right now, bleeding into the harbor like a great wounded beast.”

Holy shit. Might Mrs. MacLeod suspect, as Corey was beginning to, that the Blue Men might have had something to do with the accident?

“So…you believe in these blue mermen, then?” Corey did her best to sound like a landlubbing skeptic to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Of course I do. It would be impossible not to when their blood flows in many an islander’s veins.”

Corey nearly choked. To her, Kew-in had been no more than a wounded sea creature. A mind-bending, reality-busting sea creature, but still a
creature
. Yet, she couldn’t deny there had been something between them. That uncanny sense that a bond was forming. That disconcerting spark each time she met his gaze. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.

“Are you telling me they…
mate
with humans?”

“Oh, aye,” Mrs. MacLeod said, now pouring. The spicy scent of the tea filled the room. “In the breeding season, they sprout legs and come out of the sea. Lasses in want of a lover will sometimes go down to meet them—and, mind you, not just the single ones. One of these days, if you like, I’ll tell you the story of Kerling and Gille-Gorm, the only Glauckodai to ever give up his life in the sea to be with the woman he loved.”

“I’d really like that,” Corey told her, meaning it. “When does the breeding season start?”

“On Ostara. The vernal equinox.”

Worry tightened Corey’s chest. The first day of spring was the day after tomorrow, which meant that, if what Mrs. MacLeod said was correct, Kew-in was about to sprout legs and start shopping for a mate.

“Are there any females of the species? Or do they only breed with humans?”

“Oh, there are females all right,” Mrs. MacLeod told her, “though they don’t live in the sea. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to pick one out of a crowd of human lasses. Except for the webbed fingers, of course.”

Corey swallowed hard. “Have you ever seen one of the Blue Men yourself?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be standing here now,” she said.

Concern pulsed in Corey’s gut. “What do you mean?”

“Any who claim to have seen a Glauckodai either die or disappear soon thereafter.”

Corey shuddered and glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove, suddenly anxious about the time. Lachlan MacInnes would no doubt be looking for her down by the wreck, and she still needed to call Peter to get the journalist the answers he wanted. Time to hurry things along. “Do you happen to know what language they speak?”

“Of course I do. They speak the language of the islands.”

Assuming she meant Gaelic, Corey harkened back to the night before, trying to recall any of the words Kew-in had spoken. Coming up with one, she said, “Just out of curiosity, what does the word
fan
mean? In Gaelic, I mean.”

“Fan? Why, it means
stay
.”

Strangled by sudden guilt, Corey swallowed hard. Last night, he’d begged her not to leave him! The poor creature. She’d better get back up there a.s.a.p. to check on him—and take him that fish.

“Thank you, Mrs. MacLeod.” Corey set her cup in the sink. “For everything. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Ishēh-do-veh-a,” the woman replied, which Corey could only assume was Gaelic for “You’re welcome.”

She repeated the word quietly to herself as she crossed the living room to look out the front window. Relief washed over her when she saw men in bright yellow coveralls laying down booms and towels. Maybe the arrival of the clean-up crews would keep MacInnes at bay long enough for her to deliver the salmon, brush Kew-in’s hair, and call Peter, assuming she could get a strong enough signal.

The moment the door closed behind Mrs. MacLeod, Corey grabbed the bundle of salmon and her hairbrush—the sturdy wooden kind with natural boar bristles—and headed back up to the cave.

Kew-in was sitting up when she entered. His complexion looked pinker than the night before, which she took as a sign of improving health. His face brightened when he saw her, which warmed her insides. He did not look the least bit threatening, so maybe it was just a coincidence that the people who had seen storm kelpies died or disappeared shortly thereafter.

Approaching him gingerly, she held out the salmon with an uncertain smile. He took the package from her hand and sniffed the wrapper before tearing into it. As he ate the raw vermillion filets, she studied his face, trying to imagine him as a prospective lover. Not for herself, of course; just in a general, scientific sense.

Beneath the blue-green cast to his complexion, he was incredibly handsome. Greek-god handsome, which, given his heritage, was hardly surprising. His cheekbones were high, his jaw square, and his nose long and straight. His large, wide-set eyes, as fluid and changeable as the sea, were framed by sweeping black lashes.

His tangled hair—long, thick, and black—was ornamented with bits of shell, natural pearls, and wire. A strong yearning to touch it welled inside her. Resisting the desire, she fingered the hairbrush, wondering how best to attack the job.

As he licked the salmon flavor from his long, webbed fingers, his gaze flicked over her cheeks, eyes, and lips, before moving down her body in a way that made it hard to see him as anything but a man—and a handsome one at that, with broad, well-developed shoulders, pronounced pecs, rippled abs, and a trim waist. The scales of his tail encircled his narrow hips like low-slung jeans. Yes, okay. He had no legs, but according to Mrs. MacLeod, he would sprout a pair soon enough.

“
Ha oo boy-ach, Cordelia
.”

The softness of his voice and the admiring gleam in his eyes told her he’d paid her a compliment. When their gazes met, her face got hot. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but not knowing quite what. Still unsure how to go about brushing his hair, she moved around behind him and kneeled down on the hard, moist floor of the cave. She decided not to remove the adornments, worried she might hurt him or ruin them. With trembling fingers, she stroked his hair, which felt as soft as angora. She combed through the long strands with her fingers to remove as many tangles as she could. Then, she began to brush in long, careful strokes, gradually working her way from his scalp to the ends.

He had nice hair. Pulse racing, she ran her other hand down its full silken length. Her pulse was racing, but not from fear. Why then? She went on brushing while resting her free hand on his well-developed shoulder. His flesh felt warm, smooth, and remarkably human. He smelled strongly of the ocean and dish-washing liquid. With each stroke of the brush, she fought to keep herself under control. How badly she wanted to touch his chest, his tail, and his face. She wanted to taste his lips, too, and entangle her fingers in his beautiful hair.

Time passed—she couldn’t say how much. As she continued brushing, she began to feel a strange sense of euphoria. Was it a side-effect of exhaustion? Probably, given all she’d endured. She couldn’t believe it was only yesterday she’d spilled the coffee down the front of her blouse on the way to work. No wonder her emotions were so off kilter.

Oddly, she felt more than disorientation; she also felt aroused, as if she was high on aphrodisiacs.
What are you doing to me?

He started to sit up, to move his face toward hers. In spite of her fears, she looked into his eyes, which smoldered with blue-green fire. The urge to kiss him washed through her, rinsing away her reason.

As their lips brushed, sparks sizzled through her bloodstream. He tasted of the ocean. Salty and primordial. Sudden, piercing guilt made her pull away. This was wrong on so many levels. He wasn’t human, and she wasn’t on the island to hook up—especially with a merman.

A loud bang outside the cave reminded her why she
was
on Ronay. It also chased away the animal lust the creature’s magnetism had called to the fore.

Partially restored to her senses, she stood on rubbery legs and coughed nervously into her hand. “I have to go now”—she stumbled backward toward the exit—“but, I’ll be back. Soon. I promise.”

He called after her. “
Tapeh leev, Cordelia
.”

“You’re welcome, Kew-in.” She did not look back as she left the cave.

Outside, she drew in a deep breath of ocean air to steady her nerves and cool her desire. What was that storm kelpie doing to her? It had to be chemical. That was the only logical explanation. It was close to their breeding season, so maybe he was giving off some kind of super-charged sexual attractant. Sea urchins did, so the possibility that mermen might, too, didn’t seem all that far-fetched.

Either that, or the stress of her job was driving her around the bend. Speaking of which, she’d better get her head out of her ass and call Peter. Moving away from the cave, she withdrew her phone from the pocket of her jeans, and checked the signal. Two bars. Not great, but not terrible, either. She punched the speed-dial button for Peter, who, to her relief, answered before the third ring.

After she’d briefed him about MacInnes and his questions, Peter said, “You’re to tell him nothing beyond the statement and the updates you receive from the on-site commander. Are we clear on that?”

Corey stiffened. She didn’t like the order or his sharp tone, but could hardly refuse and expect to keep her job. Though it galled her to turn her back on her ethics and what she knew to be a better strategy, she swallowed her resistance like a bitter pill. “You’re the boss.”

“I’m glad you’re clear on that,” he said, and then hung up.

Suspicion and indignation roiled inside Corey. Was Peter just adhering to his usual “artful dodger” strategy? Or was he hiding something from her and the media?

Chapter Six

Humping toward the entrance of the cave, Cuan scanned the ruined beach for the woman called Cordelia. The heaviness in his heart confused him. She was his enemy, so why did he feel so conflicted about killing her?

Perhaps she wasn’t completely human. Her being of the sea, even in part, would explain his powerful attraction to her. It also would provide the excuse he wanted to allow her to live.

First, however, he must confirm her heritage beyond a shadow of a doubt. Stuck here with nothing to do except ruminate, he’d come up with a way to test his theory. Unfortunately, the herb he needed to reveal her true form only grew on St. Kilda.

Hopes sinking, he looked down at his tail, which itched something awful and had grown dull and cloudy—sure signs he was in the process of molting. It was only a matter of hours until his legs emerged, making the long journey impossible.