The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (2 page)

Tara had managed to defeat her husband, and Sam had switched sides at the last minute to help her, but he’d come far too close to getting her killed. Sam rolled his neck, working out the kinks. He’d fallen asleep at his desk the night before, as he did most nights now. He glanced at the captain, eyeing the sheen of sweat on the elderly man’s forehead. “It’s rather warm for January.”

“Aye.” Finn spoke out of one side of his mouth, a pipe dangling from his cracked lips. “But it’s been good for the cleanup.” He rested his leathery hand on the wheel. “The village is almost back to the way it was before the storm.”

Sam nodded. When he’d left the island in November, it had been to the sound of hammers patching broken shutters and splintered fences, the bark of sheepdogs herding animals from flooded pastures to the highest fields.

Now, he took in the cluster of white-washed cottages dotting the sunlit hillside. Stone walls crisscrossed the blankets of moss leading up to the soaring limestone cliffs. The deep blue waters around the island were calm and surprisingly deserted.

“It’s a nice enough day for fishing,” Sam remarked. “How come we’re the only boat out on the water?”

Finn puffed on his wooden pipe, and the sweet scent of tobacco floated into the salty air. “Haven’t seen a fish in these waters for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Sam picked up the paper cup he’d set down when he’d taken off his jacket, eyeing the instant coffee grounds lying on the bottom. He was starting to get used to the coffee in Ireland. It was the only thing keeping him awake at this point. “I thought the waters around these islands were some of the best fishing on the west coast?”

“They are.” Finn steered them toward the quiet harbor, where the crumbling ruins of an ancient stronghold dipped into the sea. “At least, they used to be.”

Sam knocked back the rest of the coffee. “Until what?”

Finn sent him a sideways glance. “You don’t know?”

Sam shook his head slowly.

Seagulls alighted from a thin sliver of white beach, their cries echoing over the water. Finn glanced up, following the path of the birds. “It’s fallout from the white selkie curse.”

Sam lowered the cup. Last fall, when Liam had uncovered an ancient Irish fairy tale, it had trapped him in a dangerous enchantment. The white selkie, who was every bit as real as the pages in that tale, had chosen Liam as her mate. She had come on land for three days to tempt him into following her back into the sea. It had been a very close call, but in the end they
had
managed to save him. “I thought we broke that curse?”

“We thought so, too,” Finn admitted. “Turns out, it’s not that simple.” The motor propelled them through the water, the wake fanning out behind them the only ripple in the glassy surface. “When Nuala failed to bring a suitable land-man into the sea, the selkies lost their ruler.”

“What about Liam’s grandmother?” Sam turned to face Finn. “I thought she held the throne until the next white selkie came?”

“She passed.”

“When?”

“About six weeks ago.” Finn shifted gears, slowing the ferry. The ocean churned beneath them. “The white selkie and her land-man have kept the peace between these islands and the sea for thousands of years. Without them, everything falls out of balance.”

“What about the king?”

Finn shook his head. “The selkies need a queen.”

Sam’s gaze shifted back to the island. Long strands of kelp curled on the sand, cooking in the sun. The stench of dried seaweed floated over the sea and he noticed for the first time how low the tide was.

A lone seal bobbed in the water at the edge of the shallow harbor. She dove, disappearing from sight, but when she resurfaced several meters behind the boat, she bobbed in the water until their eyes met.

Sam took a step back. He would recognize those pale eyes anywhere. But what the hell was Nuala doing here, so close to the island?

The sound of laughter drifted down from the village and Nuala slid underwater, her sleek black shadow darting away toward the deeper waters.

Sam turned to see if Finn had seen her, but the captain’s filmy eyes were gazing up at the village, at the woman walking out of
O’Sullivan’s
pub.

“Glenna’s doing well,” Finn said over the hum of the motor. “Almost fully recovered.”

Glenna.
The coffee grounds in Sam’s throat turned to dust. The mere mention of that woman’s name could spark every nerve-ending inside him until all he could hear was the pop and sizzle of his own flesh burning with need.

“I thought she might have mentioned something to you,” Finn said, glancing back at Sam, “about the curse.”

Sam pushed back from the railing, crumpling the paper cup in his hand. “I haven’t spoken with Glenna since I left.”

GLENNA MCCLURE STOOD
outside
O’Sullivan’s
pub in the village, watching the ferry motor up to the pier. She knew Sam would be on it. She’d prepared herself for this moment. But she hadn’t expected the wave of emotions that would sweep through her at the first sight of him in two months—like a thousand moonflowers unfurling at dusk.

Her fingers closed around the fire agate pendant hanging from a long silver chain around her neck. She breathed in the calming energy of the stone and let its protective powers ground her. The last thing she needed right now was a distraction. She couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Behind her, the door to the pub was propped open. Dominic was writing up the day’s specials on a chalkboard. A handful of children chased a soccer ball through the streets, their cheerful shouts echoing over the water.

From the outside eye, it would appear things had gone back to normal on Seal Island. The villagers had spent weeks cleaning up the island and riding out the aftershocks of the storm in November. But that storm was only the beginning of what the people on this island were going to have to face.

Glenna watched Sam step off the ferry, his long purposeful strides carrying him toward the one road leading up to the village. She heard Kelsey O’Sullivan’s excited squeal when she spotted him and Sam’s deep gravelly laugh as the children ran down to meet him.

She gripped the pendant tighter, her knuckles turning white around the fiery red stone. The man was trouble. He’d brought nothing but trouble since the moment he’d set foot on this island last summer. The sooner he left, the better it would be for all of them.

The children’s chatter grew louder as they climbed the hill, surrounding Sam. And then there he was, not twenty feet away from her, batting the ball back and forth with the kids, without a care in the world.

Ronan O’Shea let out a triumphant cheer as he knocked the ball free from under Sam’s foot. It rolled down the rutted street toward Glenna. She released the stone, lowering her hand to her side and lifting the toe of her heeled boot to stop the ball.

Sam’s eyes followed the path of the ball, then cruised up the front of her, wandering up every inch of her body. He lowered his glasses from his face and those tawny eyes—the same eyes that had haunted her dreams for weeks now—met hers. She felt a punch of heat swim all the way through her. “Sam.”

“Glenna.” She expected him to say something witty, something clever to break the ice. But she saw only raw concern and something else—something she couldn’t place—in his eyes. “You look well.”

Glenna nodded. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d stayed with her every night until she recovered, how he hadn’t left her side until she was strong enough to walk back and forth to the pub on her own.

Sam kept his eyes on hers as he walked slowly toward her, easing the ball free. With a twitch of his boot, it sailed lightly up into the air and he caught it, tucking it under his arm.

Glenna lifted a brow. “I didn’t know you could play football.”

Sam leaned in so she could catch his scent—earthy with a touch of wood smoke. “I bet there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Desire pooled inside her, but she could see the fatigue in his eyes now that he was so close. He hadn’t shaved in days and his thick blond hair, tousled from the ferry ride, had grown even longer.

The case was wearing at him. She could sense the tension in his muscles, the frustration building inside him. Good. She wanted him tense. Frustrated. On edge.

He was more likely to make mistakes that way.

They both glanced up as Dominic O’Sullivan walked out of the pub. He slipped his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, leaning against the doorway. He didn’t offer Sam even a hint of a smile. “We thought we’d hear from you. A call. Something.”

Sam hooked his sunglasses in the neck of his shirt. “That’s not the way I work.”

No, Glenna thought. It wasn’t. Sam didn’t waste time with phone calls to update his clients when he could be working. He wouldn’t stop until he got his answers, until he found out the truth. She knew how hard he’d been working.

Because she’d been working just as hard to stop him.

“Do you have any news?” Dominic asked.

Sam nodded, peeling back the flap of his tattered satchel. He walked over to Dominic, pulling out a bulky object. “I thought you should have this.”

Dominic breathed out a curse when Sam unfolded the battered seal-skin.

THEY WAITED UNTIL
everyone was gathered at the pub. Sam helped Dominic and Glenna pull up enough seats for Tara O’Sullivan, Dominic’s wife; Liam O’Sullivan, Dominic’s younger brother; and Caitlin Conner, Liam’s fiancée. Fiona O’Sullivan, Dominic and Liam’s grandmother, coaxed the children back out into the street to play. As soon as Fiona closed the door behind them, Sam laid the pelt on the table.

Tara gasped at the burn marks singed into the leather. There were cracks along the creases where it had been folded for so long, and teeth marks where rats had nibbled at the edges.

“Where did you find it?” Dominic asked.

“Inside your old house,” Sam replied. “The one where you grew up.”

“Was anyone living there?”

Sam shook his head. “The neighbors said a building down the block caught fire several years ago and it spread to the rest of the houses. Yours was right on the edge of the worst of the damage, but the city condemned them all. They haven’t gotten around to rebuilding.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dominic murmured. “It wasn’t the best section of town.”

No, Sam thought. It wasn’t. It was about as bad as it gets.

Tara reached out, brushing the tips of her fingers over the pelt. It crackled when she touched it. She jerked her hand back as a moldy dust puffed up from the table.

Caitlin looked at Sam. “If it was boarded up, how did you get in?”

Dominic pushed away from the table and walked to the open window. “I’m sure Sam has his ways.”

A balmy breeze blew into the room, ruffling a stack of cocktail napkins on the bar. A few fluttered to the floor. No one bothered to pick them up.

Liam pulled out the chair beside Caitlin. He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “What else did you find?”

“Not much,” Sam admitted. “I searched the place twice, but something kept nagging at me to go back. I found a tear in the ceiling of one of the bedrooms last night. I thought it was water damage, but when I touched it, it fell away. The pelt was hidden inside, behind about three layers of insulation.”