The Scottish Selkie (20 page)

As Riona bid her enter all Bethoc could say was, “Help me.” 

“Yes M'lady.” Riona's voice was low and soothing. “I will help you. Whatever you wish.” She put her arms around Bethoc to comfort her and pulled her inside the chamber. “Come m'lady. You need sit down. Have a cup of ale.” 

“Yes I will.” Bethoc slunk down in a wooden chair on a soft cushion.

 “You know?” Riona’s brows arched. 

“Yes. I know. Malcolm is a selkie. I feel split in two, Riona. Malcolm
is split in two. He is a man and a beast. A fish-like creature that flaps around in the water hunting prey.” Bethoc took a cup of ale from Riona and had a sip of the warm, strong tasting drink. “What am I to do?” 

“You are but hand-fasted. You have not been married a year and a day. So, if you wish Malcolm to leave, he must go.” 

“I do not want Malcolm to leave. I just want him to be a man, not a selkie.” 

“But that you cannot change.” 

“He is a beast.” 

“No. He is a selkie. He saved your life.” 

“I cannot live with a beast.”

“He is the same man you fell in love with.” 

“He is no man. He's a seal.” 

“A selkie is much more than a seal. He is a man when on land.”

“You know the tales. Selkies do not stay on land. Never.”

“But Malcolm loves you. You know in your heart. Take a moment to think. Many a mortal man has drowned in the Erin Sea. Yet, few there are who are noble enough to be sought out by the fey and given life as a selkie. Only the best of men and women are chosen. It is a blessing to be a selkie. If he had drowned and never come back, you would never have met him. In truth, Kenneth may have had your head the very night you tried to slay him. Have you thought of that?” 

“So you think it is a good thing.”

 “I ken it is good you both love each other. You would not be so upset if you did not love him.” 

“Mayhaps you are right.” Bethoc downed the cup of ale and Riona handed her another. She shut her eyes and let the warmth flow through her. Her breathing slowed. She willed her muscles to relax and forced herself to calm down. 

Leaning back in the chair, Bethoc pondered over what she knew of selkies.
They are called the dark ones. They live apart from people, only coming ashore at night, to slake their lust on beautiful human women. Then they return to the sea, with no thought of the deflowered maidens they leave behind. Selkies do not have cousins. They do not serve kings or country. Selkies do not risk their lives for humans. 

In truth, what did she know but Selkie or not, Malcolm was still the same man she fell in love with? Nothing had changed. He loved her and she loved him. Human or selkie it mattered not. 

Bethoc took a third cup of ale from Riona and poured the golden brew down her throat. Closing her eyes once more, she immediately drifted to sleep, exhausted from the emotion of the last days.

* * * *

Malcolm paced the hall. The end had come. It was time to go. He wanted to scream Bethoc's name over and over again, but before he could, the priest walked up to him. 

“Father Degnan, it is glad I am to see you. I am ready to seek out the seafire you need.” 

“Do you mean to go forthwith?”

 “Yes. I should be back in time for the coronation. Will you tell Kenneth and Bethoc?” 

“Yes, Lord Malcolm. I shall tell them of your quest of Seafire for the warriors of Alba. I am grateful to you.” 

“I am glad for the task, father. I need to take my mind off my troubles.” Malcolm could see Bethoc as if she stood before him. He could even feel the heat of her touch. 

“I ken it is a dangerous quest you undertake for the people of Alba and I pray you fare well.”

Malcolm nodded. “Yes, father Degnan. Watch over Bethoc for me.” Then Malcolm walked briskly down the hall to his wife's room.

* * * *

He blinked at the bright ray of sunlight streaming through the high window in the chamber he and Bethoc shared last night. His heart fell when he saw she wasn't there. He had hoped to speak to her before leaving on his quest. 

Malcolm knelt down and stuck his head beneath her bed, searching for his pelt. He pulled out the dark hide and held it to his chest. 

He walked briskly with a purpose out of the palace and down to the stables. After saddling his horse, he kneed it into a gallop and rode toward the seashore.

 Upon nearing the roaring waves, he reined the horse in. Once he leapt off the steed, he slapped its haunches and it trotted back toward Scone. Malcolm stood alone on the sandy shore, scattered with dark rocks. He gazed transfixed at the roll and sway of the white foamed waves. 

The soft breeze laden with the scent of fish and sea wet his senses. He could not wait to climb into his sealskin. To run into the wilds of the sea and dive into the water's depths. To swim freely in the vast endless ocean. 

Still, he would give it all up for Bethoc. Howbeit, she did not want him. The harsh reality was becoming obvious to him. The Pict princess had no need of a selkie husband.

Malcolm was on a mission greater than the quest for Seafire. He deemed the deep, dark, silent waters would offer him the peace needed to put aside all thoughts and dreams of Bethoc and return wholeheartedly to the sea. 

His muscles tightened with anger knowing he was not what Bethoc wanted. She already thought him less than a man for being a Scot. And now that she knew he was a selkie, she’d turned away from him. Well he did not need her. 

But, he couldn't lie to himself, as a warrior, a strategist, a skilled fighter, he wanted to battle for Bethoc's love. He was the king's champion. He could win any fight. He could even win this one. 

Standing on shore, Malcolm pulled off his tunic, unfastened his belt, and removed his braies and boots. He set the pile of clothes on the sand, out of the tides reach. Drawing his sword from its sheath, he laid the bronze case on top of his clothes. 

Nude except for the pouch he held, Malcolm gazed at the endless sea and the rising waves. Reaching into the pouch, he pulled out the gold chalice. The stem and bowl of the gleaming chalice were smooth and flawless in their craftsmanship. Manannan Mac Lir would be pleased. 

With the chalice in one hand and his sword in the other, Malcolm raised both his arms and called out, “Manannan Mac Lir, God of the Sea, I invoke your power. Watch over my path as I seek the healing Seafire.”

He dropped his arms to his side, then tossed the gold chalice into the wind, and with both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, he lifted his blade into the air and whacked the golden goblet above his head. Severed in two pieces, both halves fell to the sand. Slain by Malcolm's blade, now marked as a gift to the God of the Sea, the chalice no longer belonged to mankind. He picked up the two halves of the chalice, one in each hand, and with a flick of both wrists tossed them to the rolling waves. 

“God of the sea, I thank you.” 

Having fulfilled the sacrifice to the old god, he picked his sheath off the sand and pushed his sword into it. Then he laid it on top his clothes and scooped up a handful of white sand to cover the garments. He set a black rock on top as a marker. 

Malcolm took a deep breath of salt air, filling his lungs. It was time. He unfolded his sealskin and slipped it over his human body. With his head held high, he shut his eyes and began transforming. From the nettle prick sensation in his fingers and toes, to the hot boiling feeling in his blood, his body, from muscles to bones, shifted as he changed from man to seal. 

A selkie with both flippers on the sand and his nose in the air, he barked to the whistling gale and the roaring waves. On webbed flippers, he slunk over to the pile of discarded clothes, picked up the pouch in his teeth, and pushed his head through the strap. Then he flexed his flippers, waddled into the sea, and swam into the water and the wild. 

With a splash, he cut through the white foamed waves and shot through the shallows and into the unfathomable depths of the dark sea. Fear for Bethoc's life was not on his mind as before for now she was safe. 

He knew somehow in his bones, as a selkie and as a man, she was his. As a sea bull in the water and a Scot warrior on land, he wanted her. What chance did Bethoc have? He would win her. 

The water was as cold as ice, but he loved it. He freely curled up, turning somersaults and back flips. Blowing bubbles. He would miss the sea. But he needed Bethoc so much more. She belonged with him and him with her. 

Malcolm glided past creatures who looked like mushrooms. Stems pushed up their domes then pulled back like the rods of butter churns. With numerous tentacles, they roped tiny creatures, pulled them in and devoured them. They had ravenous appetites. They never got full. Malcolm would never get enough of Bethoc. He would hunger for her forever. 

He glanced at the silver beaker-type creatures glowing in the water like stars twinkling the midnight sky. White sparkly sea bugs darted about. Malcolm noticed another shiny creature, so long and thin it looked like a bow. Quill like junctions ran down its entire length, tentacles to rope its prey. He swam on, past quaint, overly long and extremely thin fish.

Malcolm came here for Father Degnan, to collect the seafire. Father Degnan would help him. He would tell Bethoc she should stay married to Malcolm. Yes, the priest would aid him. 

Malcolm passed gray porpoises and a shark, but no killer whales, thank the gods. He flapped his fins up and down and sped through the water past a school of fat striped fish. 

His thoughts returned to Bethoc, such a stubborn woman when she wanted to be, he began to lose his confidence in winning her back. She wouldn’t stay with him because a priest told her to or because he wanted it. If she had made up her mind to cast him aside then no one could change her mind. So be it. 

Diving deeper and deeper, he spotted a sea glade. Crabs ran across the sea floor even at this depth. Malcolm's chest tingled. He saw it. Once more luck was with him; he had found the rare purple crustacean. 

Placing his flippers on either side, he concentrated on his task. When flipping over the purple sea creature, he could so easily hit a poisonous spike. Malcolm could die without Bethoc even knowing what happened to him. 

He stared at the purple crustacean and turned it over. Upon placing the magic plant safely in his pouch, Malcolm sliced through the water as fast as he could travel, gliding upwards to the surface. Once again he had avoided the poisonous spikes of the seafire. Yet he had to deal with his torn heart. 

Malcolm anguished as he glided beside long, silver porpoises. He didn’t feel the chill of the water as humans did but a numbing ache filled him at the thought of loosing Bethoc. He wanted to stay in the ocean to swim freely and try to forget her. But he promised to bring the plant back to Father Degnan. For one last time, he would transform into a man. But when he changed back into a seal, he would stay a seal and live in the water away from mankind. Away from women. Away from Bethoc. 

He flapped his flippers up and down, shooting though the water until his slick, dark head broke through the surface. He swam to shore and slinked (from front-flippers to belly to back-flippers) across the sand. He barked as loudly as he could as rolling waves splashed against the large rock near the shore. White foam spray rose into the air. 

Malcolm closed his large, dark eyes and let the change overtake him. As if struck by lightning, a bolt of energy coursed through him. He shook with spasms as his entire being tingled with surging warmth. His muscles pulled and stretched. A jolt of pain shot thorough him as his seal skin split open and he stepped out of it.

Tall, nude, and fully human once more. He gathered his clothes, dressed, slid the pouch on over his head, and carefully folded his sealskin. Holding it tightly against his chest, Malcolm took one last look at the sea. Then he turned and ran back toward Scone.

Chapter Sixteen

The wood plank floor was cold against Bethoc's bare feet as she walked in wide sure steps down the long feasting hall. The familiar sounds of the crackling hearth fire and clanking tankards slammed on the feasting board filled the air along with strong scents of smoke and ale. Bethoc's mouth wasn't clogged with the taste of thick gray smoke here, as it had been in the round hall in Dalriada. The hearth wasn't built in the center where fumes slowly seeped out of a small hole in the thatch, instead, with a large stone hearth built onto the wall the vapory smoke floated up and out through a stone chimney.