The Scottish Selkie (19 page)

Bethoc’s pulse quickened. 

The amber glow and flickering light of the red candle flames fell upon the solid features of Malcolm's face. As melting wax ran down the sides of the thick cylinder candles, the arousing scent of burning wax danced in the air. Bethoc's gaze burned into Malcolm's, as her flesh prickled with need for his touch. 

She leaned closer, the hammering of his heart filled her ears. The tart yet musky scent of the sea still clung to Malcolm. Tilting her head upward, she tasted his salty lips in a wet, mindless kiss.
What was it she wanted to ask him?
“Oh, Malcolm?” 

Bethoc couldn't keep her hands off his shiny hair which felt even silkier than it looked. She'd pinned a lightweight bratt for warmth about her shoulders and Malcolm whirled his finger slowly, suggestively around the gold circular broach. Upon languidly pulling out the pin that held it, he tossed that and the broach over his shoulder. Wrapping his finger around the corner of her cloak, he pulled, slowly spinning her around in a seductive dance as the bratt unraveled from her shoulders. Malcolm let her bratt fall to the floor, a cloud of plaid at her bare feet. 

“Let us dance, M'lord?” Bethoc placed her hand on his firm, brawn shoulder. 

“Yes. Dance, my fair Bethoc.” Malcolm leaned down until their lips touched.

As his warm, moist lips melded with hers, a fiery shiver ran through her. Under the mastery of his kiss she parted her lips. He slipped his tongue in and stroked her mouth back and forth, filling her body with a flaming sensation. When he released the kiss, Bethoc’s wet lips still burned.

“But there is no music which to dance to,” Bethoc’s said in a voice breathy with desire. 

“I shall sing us a tune.” Malcolm lifted his long arm into the air and kicked up one foot as he danced a jig and sung, “Bethoc fair, warrior maid, come lay with me. Share my bed.” 

Bethoc held her hand over her mouth in a coy gesture, then held her palm up, gesturing him to halt. “Wait.” 

Malcolm stopped dancing as she reached down and pulled her skirts up, knotting them together so her legs were exposed. Then she put one hand on her hip and one in the air. “I am ready. Sing.” 

Malcolm flashed a wide grin, his white teeth gleamed. “Drink my sweet ale.” 

They both kicked up their feet, leaping up and down. 

“Bethoc Fair, warrior maid, come lay with me. My elixir of love.” 

As Malcolm danced his way behind her, Bethoc felt his hot breath on her neck as he sung, “I shall drink from your honey lips.” 

When she kicked her leg out and leapt, he nimbly caught her at the waist with one hand and cupped her crotch with the other when her feet touched the ground. She grabbed his shoulders with both hands and leaned her head back as he slipped his finger under the knotted fabric of her dress. 

Bethoc let out a whimper of raw need as he slid his long fingers to the nest of curls and slipped them between the moist folds and petals. His fingers danced within the creases and curves as he held her. Her heart pulsated at a trembling rate.

He sang, “Bethoc fair, warrior maid, come lay with me.” 

Bethoc was aflame. When he nudged his finger into her, a wave of pleasure washed over her. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders. He pumped his finger into her, pushing deeper with each stroke. Her pussy couldn’t get any wetter. Her muscles clenched around his finger and her breathing nothing more than a series of short, shallow gasps.

He withdrew his finger. 

“No,” she protested. 

“I have just begun.” He lifted her into his arms, carried her gently to the bed and set her down.

Bethoc rid herself of dress and underdress as Malcolm peeled off his tunic and braies. 

He pushed her down hard on the soft bed and straddled her. The lips of her throbbing entrance tingled at the pressure of the hard, hot head of his erection pressing against her flesh. She peered into the smoldering passion in the depths of his eyes. 

Malcolm dove inside her. A gale of heat blew in her, around her, out of her. He fit into her body so well it was as if he was one with her. 

Bethoc ran her fingers down his firm, soft back as he stuffed her with the sensation of surging swirls of heat amid the burn of ice. She was a flame and he was a flame. Together they flared into a blazing inferno which rose to the stars. 

The pumping of his body into hers and the huffing of his breath, sounded like waves crashing on rocks off shore. Waves slamming into and slapping against hard rocks, again and again.

On the brink of exploding, her muscles tightened and clamped down. Her mind went blank. Her entire body shuddered uncontrollably. She was going to explode into a million stars. Now.

Bethoc burst, releasing a high-pitched shriek. Malcolm climbed off her and fell onto the bed at her side. Drenched in sweat, his glistening body was wet to the touch. The tang of Malcolm's essence clung in the air. No exotic incense, nothing, smelled better than Malcolm's raw scent. 

When he pulled out of her, Bethoc’s erratic, racing pulse began to slow and she finally caught her breath. Slowly, she sat up and reached for the tray. She pinched a clam between her fingers and held it to Malcolm's mouth. He parted his lips and sucked the meat, pulling at it with his full lips in until the shell was dry. After he swallowed, he swirled his tongue across the smooth inner shell. 

Bethoc held a clam to her lips and drew in the succulent meat, sucking, then chewing down on the raw morsel. She rolled the tip of her tongue across her lips. Bethoc took a swig of ale from the beaker at her bedside table. Smooth and warm, the ale ran down her throat. 

She slithered across the bed in a reclining position until she lay prone at Malcolm's side. Sated in all ways, Bethoc drifted away like the mist she had become. She slept peacefully.

Chapter Fifteen

“M'lady, I did not mean to wake you,” Riona said, stooping down to pick up pieces of broken pottery, having dropped the laver bowl when she opened the door to the bower. 

Bethoc still lay in bed, nude under the covers, remembering the night before. “No, Riona. I need rise and begin the new day.” She eased into to a sitting position, clutching the plaid bratt to her for modesty. 

“You have a glow about you in truth.” After laying the broken shards on a tray, Riona walked over to the large chest and pulled out two of Bethoc's dresses. 

“Riona, I am so merry.” 

“Glad I am for you, m'lady.” With a checkered tunic dress still draped over her arm, she handed Bethoc a blue underdress. “I knew not how you would feel about Malcolm's secret.” 

“Oh, Malcolm's secret?” Bethoc's body tensed at those two words. Hastily, she dropped the spread and pulled the underdress over her head. 

“I ken you may need to vary your own wants and needs to love a dark one? A man of the fey.”
The Fey? Is Bethoc addled? Is she saying Malcolm comes from under hill? From the realm of the fair ones? No. It cannot be. 

When Riona turned toward her, Bethoc schooled her features to total calmness, to hide her confusion from Riona. She would uncover this secret, once and for all.

“It matters not. I love Malcolm.” Bethoc stood and pulled the dress down as she gazed at Riona, quietly waiting for the maid to disclose the truth. 

She handed Bethoc the yellow and red-checkered tunic dress. “Forsooth m'lady?” Riona smiled as Bethoc slipped the dress on. “You do not care that he is a—” Riona halted her tongue the moment she peered into Bethoc's eyes. 

“That he is what? Riona, what say you?” 

“Has he not yet spoken to you of it?” Riona wagged her head. “I can see he has not. “M'lady, you need speak with Malcolm, forthwith.” 

“Riona, I demand you to tell me this secret Malcolm keeps from me.”

“M'lady, it is not for me to say, yet you need to know.” 

“Riona, tell me anon.” Bethoc felt another's presence and turned. 

Malcolm walked in at that moment. “Bethoc, I am ready to tell you what you want to hear.” He turned his head toward Riona. “Leave us lass.” 

Riona nodded and left. 

He stepped up to Bethoc. “Mayhaps you should sit down.” 

She fixed her wide-eyed gaze on him as she sat on the pallet covered with animal pelts and a thick plaid bratt. 

Malcolm moved in beside her and took her hands in his. “I should have told you long ago of the plant which saved your life. For unlike everyone else, I knew the cure. It is Seafire. In seeking the plant, I dove to the depths of the ocean. Into a realm too dark and deep for men. A place humans cannot go.” 

Bethoc rolled her eyes. “What say you? Was it magic?” 

“Yes, but not as you think. I speak the truth, I swam to the depth of the dark icy sea. Any mortal man, no matter how strong or brave he might be, would have died trying to find Seafire.” 

“You speak in riddles, like a Saxon.” Her brows quirked as if she felt he was teasing her. “You say you brought seafire, the cure, to me. Yet, you say no mortal man could do so.” 

He gazed at her, unable to speak. His mind swam with warnings. He could not tell her, no matter what; his secret was better left unsaid. 

“It is the secret is it not? You mean to tell me at last.” Bethoc's brow creased, her face paled, and she gulped. 

Malcolm had the impression something in her mind had clicked. She'd figured it out. 

“A place with no women. A place with no women is a place with no men.” Bethoc cupped her face with both hands. 

“Yes. I was not a man when I sought the Seafire. I shape shifted into a seal so I could find the means to save your life.” 

Bethoc opened her mouth and laughed. The laughter grew louder, sounding strange, almost maddening.

Malcolm lowered his voice to a soothing tone, hoping to calm her. “Bethoc, what can I say? I'll start from the beginning. Six years ago, when Kenneth and I were but youths, we dared a great storm. While riding a coracle on the high waves for the thrill of it, the boat toppled over. Kenneth managed to get to shore and was saved. I was not so fortunate. I drowned. I was meant to die that day, but the selkies gave me a second chance at life, as one of them. It is how it all began.” 

“It cannot be. You are a man. We even lay together.” 

“I am as real as any man, but I am also a shape shifter. I know it is hard to believe, but I tell you the truth. I am a selkie.” 

Clutching her forehead, she stood. “I have never seen your skin. Where is your pelt?” 

“Kenneth took it from me. Both of my cousins stole my hide and hid it. To keep me here.” 

“Kenneth stole your pelt. But why?” 

“He wanted me to fight for him. I am his champion. He felt if he did not have me at his side, he could not take the Pict crown.” 

“So Kenneth and Donald kept you on land against your will?” 

“Yes.” 

“So all this time we have been wed, you have been looking for your pelt so you could go back to sea?” 

“It is so.”

“Not only did Kenneth force you to wed me, he forced you to be here. You wanted no part of any of this did you?” 

“I have grown to love you. You are part of the land and so now, I am also.” 

“No. It cannot be. I know the legends. You will return to the ocean. Selkies always return to the sea.” She paced across the floor, then turned abruptly. Tears clung to the corners of her eyes. “God's teeth. What if I am with child? Selkies come ashore to breed with human women then they take the babies.” 

He stepped forward. 

She stepped back and screamed, “Get away from me. I have to leave. I have to get away. Have to go.” Bethoc ran outside the chamber and slammed the door hard.

* * * *

As she made her way to Riona's chamber, a sharp pain pierced Bethoc's forehead. Terrible pressure squeezed her head. One thought penetrated her mind. True. It was all true. She couldn't speak or move, as if the breath had been sucked out of her. As if the floor fell out from beneath her feet and she fell fast, down a bottomless pit into total darkness. She didn't realize she was pounding on the door until Riona opened it. Only when she saw Riona's sweet face did she feel the sting of her knuckles.