The Scottish Selkie (17 page)

Drifting in a wound fever dream, she stood on a white, vapory cloud gazing at Drostan as he walked toward her on one side and her father on the other. They stepped one by one on lithe swirls of vapory fluff and floss to reach her. 

Drostan held out his arms, and in a loud jovial voice he greeted her, “Bethoc you have come to me. We shall be wed as promised.” 

Her father's brown eyes widened as he gazed at her. “Do not listen to him, Bethoc. It is not your time. Leave this place so you may live a long life and be free.” Bethoc's sire tenderly took her hand in his. “Follow your heart, daughter mine.” 

With those words, she floated up, up, up, high above her father and Drostan. Weightless, she drifted through the azure sky until she landed on a moon-toned bridge of feathery, abstract shaped columns. Bethoc ran down the billowy pass of clouds until she reached a tunnel. It wasn't dark as tunnels usually are, nor was it underground. The transparent passageway was filled with radiant white light. 

As she stooped to crawl into the opening, a great wind picked her up off her feet. With a loud whooshing sound, the gale pulled her through to the other side. She found nothing at the end of the tunnel and when Bethoc looked down, she lost her footing and tumbled off the edge. She drifted through the air in a floating motion, like a leaf in the wind, until she fell through the roof of the castle at Scone. 

Landing soft as a bubble, she came to rest on a plush pallet in a roomy chamber, lighted by rows of burning candles, arranged on a large wooden chest by the bed. Malcolm stood at the foot of her bed, smiling. Bethoc couldn't move or speak, yet felt safe and loved, like a soft bratt was snugly wrapped around her, keeping her warm.

* * * *

Malcolm placed his four flippers firmly on the rocky shore and peered up at the sky.
Land is such a different world than sea.
He gazed up at the heavens filled with so many dark clouds, the sun could barely peak through them. The fresh, cool drizzle in the air showered the salt off his seal body. The fishy odor drifted on the refreshing breeze, which blew softly against his skin, invigorating him even more. The taste of sea-salt lingered on his tongue.

He drowned out the cawing of the gulls and the barking of a true seal by focusing his entire being on changing. Rather than becoming distracted, he told himself every sound brought him to a deeper and deeper focus on shifting his shape back to human form. Magical energy radiated from the core of his soul. He yielded to the shuddering spasm of shape changing. His
blood, bones, and muscles burned and shook with a turbulent explosion until his sleek dark sealskin burst from his body. 

After shedding the seal pelt, he stood whole, nude, and human. His muscles burned and his flesh tingled from the wrenching experience. Too drained to move, he took a deep breath and willed his newly changed body to relax.

Now centered and grounded, he grabbed the pouch holding the treasured Seafire, and looped it over his shoulder. Then he picked up his tunic and braies where he had left them on the shore. After brushing off the wet sand and muck as best he could, Malcolm slipped his clothes on. He had to get to Bethoc in time to save her.

His feet beat with energy as he dashed down the shore toward Scone. In his head he saw the creamy tone of Bethoc's skin. He sniffed the air as if smelling the heather scent of her hair and his fingers tingled as if stroking the long, silky strands. Mostly, he thought of her spirit. Free and strong like a selkie.

Once Malcolm saved his Pict princess, he would tell her he loved her. Then he would tell her the truth. Tell her he was a selkie. Malcolm ran far, across lush green land on which the Tay River flowed. He panted as he clutched the pouch in his fist. Soon he would be at Bethoc's side. 

As he neared Scone, he could see the wall of the city. Passing fields of shaggy cattle and longhaired sheep, he nodded greetings to townsfolk going about their chores. As it was daylight, the gates were open. He ran inside the city and past the hill where Kenneth would soon be crowned.

Once he reached the palace, he banged on the heavy hillfort door and
yelled at the porter. “It is I, Malcolm of Dalriada, come to save my lady wife, Bethoc.” 

The porter opened the large creaky, oaken door. “Malcolm, where have you been?” 

“I have no time to speak to you. Bethoc needs me. Where is she?” 

“Her chamber is thither.” The porter pointed down the long hall. 

From iron sconces on the walls, burning firebrands cast a golden glow, filling the drafty corridor with warmth as Malcolm ran toward the bedchambers. Upon spotting Riona, he called from the other end of the long hallway. “Where is Bethoc?” 

“Malcolm. You have returned, at last.” Riona's look of surprise changed to a scowl. “I should not be speaking to you. How dare you run off with your lady on her death bed.” 

At a brisk pace, he walked toward Riona. “What say you? She is not—” 

“Dead? No. No thanks to you. But the priest and healers do not think she will recover.”

“I have no time. Tell me where Bethoc is. I must hasten if I'm to save my wife.” 

Riona looked at him as if he was half crazed then waved her hand airily. “But five chambers down the hall.” 

Malcolm sped off in that direction and rushed into the fifth doorway down, to a roomy antechamber filled with lighted candles. Malcolm's throat tightened the moment he stepped into the chamber and saw Bethoc, still as death, on the high, narrow bed.

He approached slowly and quietly. Her body was wrapped in a green and yellow plaid bratt, bond around her like a cocoon. Malcolm stood there gazing open-mouthed at her while he caught his breath. He couldn't move.
She may be dead.
His heart thumped like the hooves of a galloping steed.
If she yet lives, I am the only one who can save her. She needs me. I cannot fail her now. 

Pushing aside his fear, he forced his feet forward. Ever so slowly, he reached out his hand until his fingers were closer and closer to her face. He touched her cheek. Her skin was warm. His body was like a leather thong which had been stretched as far as could be, then was suddenly released. His shoulders relaxed as he let out a loud sigh.

“You are alive.” A wave of laugher shot through him. He was overcome with rapt glee. Carefully, as to not jiggle her still body, he sat down on the pallet. “Bethoc, you are my life. I will not let you die.” He opened the pouch. “I have the cure.” 

Holding her jaw, he forced her mouth open and pulled out a wad of sea fire. Seawater spilled out with it and wet the bratt, leaving a fishy smell. “It is a magical plant from the sea, a cure.” Malcolm shoved a piece of seafire in her mouth then closed her lips. Lifting her head, he tilted it back, forcing her to swallow. 

The woman, who had burned with so much fire, appeared cold and lifeless, as stiff and still as a log. Her skin was pale, drained of color. The deep shadows under her eyes gave her face a hollow look. The Seafire had to work.

Upon hearing a pattering of footsteps, Malcolm gently lay her head back down on the bed and scanned the room for a place to hide his skin. He slid the pelt under the bed before Riona rushed in followed by Kenneth and Donald. 

Riona's nose wiggled. “It smells like fish.” Her brows pulled in with a scowl. 

“I spilled some seawater on the bed.” Malcolm waved his hand toward the damp spot. 

Riona ran her hands over the sodden bratt. “Malcolm, she is soaked with the stuff. Bethoc is ill and must be kept dry.” Her vexation was evident in her curt tone and the way her lips pressed together, tightly.

“Hasten then and wrap a clean bratt around her. I am not leaving her side. Not you nor anyone else will keep me from my wife when she needs me.” Glaring at Riona, Malcolm stood, and took one step back. 

Riona fussed with the wet tartans and furs. Changing them as best she could with Bethoc still laying on them. Malcolm grimaced when Riona jostled Bethoc's still form while she changed the bedding. But his gaze was torn away from Bethoc when Kenneth grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Malcolm met the hostile glare in the king's green eyes. 

“You kept yourself from her well enough, cousin.” Kenneth clenched his teeth, the muscle at his jaw flicked angrily.

“Malcolm, why did you leave your wife? Where have you been?” Donald asked curtly. 

“He has been to the sea. Can you not smell the brine?” Releasing his hold on Malcolm, Kenneth waved both his hands in the air. 

“Seawater spilled from the pouch.” Malcolm held up the leather bag.

“What have you, thither?” Donald stepped forward to look.

 “Seafire. It is a cure for Bethoc.” Malcolm was too tired to answer their questions. He didn't want to talk to anyone except his wife. 

“What is Seafire?” Donald's dark red brows arched. 

“The plant which will save my lady wife.” Malcolm bent down and brushed his hand across Bethoc's forehead. 

Kenneth lay his hand gently on Malcolm’s shoulder. “The priest and healers say there is naught which can be done. It is too late for a cure.” 

Those words ignited a sudden inferno in Malcolm, like a fire-breathing dragon, he unleashed his deadly flames. Grabbing Kenneth's arm, Malcolm flung him off his shoulder and back against the wall of the chamber. “You have no right to pass a death sentence on Bethoc. The healer has no right nor does the priest. I say Bethoc shall not die. And she shall not. I have the cure. I fed seafire to her with my own hand. Bethoc shall live. No one can say naught of it. Do you hear me?” 

“Malcolm. I know naught of seafire. If you say it is the cure, then so be it. I have but cared for your lady wife as if she was my own sister. For these many days you have been gone, Riona has never once left your lady's side. We are all weary from sleepless nights worrying about her and wondering where you took off to. Temper your anger Malcolm. You have no cause to battle with me.” 

“We knew not what to ken, the way you left,” Donald said, stepping in as peacemaker. “All of us would give our own lives to see Bethoc well. But we do not want you to believe in false hope.” 

Malcolm shook the leather pouch in his cousins’ faces. “Seafire is a powerful cure.” 

“It is as you say.” Kenneth kept his voice calm. “She will live. You gave her the seafire.”

“Yes. I put it in her mouth and forced her to swallow before you entered the chamber. It is why the bed was soaked. Seawater spilled out of the pouch.” Malcolm's pulse slowed and he began breathing at a normal rate, his anger abating.

“In truth?” Donald's eyes widened. “You have a cure for wound fever?”

“Yes. For Bethoc.” 

“Let me look upon this magic plant.” Donald nearly grabbed the pouch from his cousin's hand. 

Malcolm didn't care if Donald looked at the Seafire or not. He gazed at his wife's still body as Riona finished tucking a fresh, dry bratt around her. 

“I hope this seafire is as potent as you say.” Kenneth nodded to Malcolm. 

“Yes, it is.” Malcolm's gaze was riveted on Bethoc's pale face as he silently willed her to awaken. “Her fever should break at any moment.” 

In that instant, Bethoc's long lashes fluttered open. Malcolm realized he had never in his life seen anything, on land or sea, as lovely as Bethoc's emerald eyes. But before he could speak, she let out a little moan and stirred. 

Kenneth and Donald's mouths dropped open. 

“Bless the heavens. I am back in the light. I have been in the darkness. Did the fey curse me?” Bethoc moaned. 

“It was no curse of the fey but a Viking sword. You lay on your deathbed with wound fever.” Malcolm was so jubilant, he could barely stand still. He wanted to bark and turn flips. “Ah, Bethoc, you are healed. Thank the god of the sea, you are well.”

“By Saint Columba, it worked. Your seafire cured her.” Kenneth clapped Malcolm hard on the back. 

Riona lifted her eyes upward as if saying a silent prayer of thanks. Speechless, Donald gaped at Bethoc as he clutched Malcolm's pouch in his hands.

* * * *

She felt like she had been shot out of one world and into another. She had been in total blackness. No thoughts. No sounds. Now she was in a world of light and people. But who was she? Where was she?

When she glanced around, everything was distorted, the chairs, chest, and beaker of ale were all a jumble. Even the ceiling and the floor were mixed up. It looked like a broken roman mosaic with pieces glued back in the wrong place.