Page 16 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

During the first shifting, excruciating pain had exploded through him. Once that had drifted away, and he'd plunged into the water, an astonishing energy propelled him. He craved gliding through the refreshing ocean above all else. Since swimming was effortless, he traveled miles without tiring. The freedom was immeasurable.

After the MacCain clan had learned of his curse and his shapeshifting abilities, they feared him. At supper, though he was in human form, they kept their distance and stared at him as if he were a sorcerer or demon who might strike them down at any time. 'Twas when Elsea had betrayed him, breaking their betrothal and his heart. Farspag had become a prison where everyone shunned him, even the people he loved most.

He could not even visit Gavin and Torr, for he could not tolerate leaving the shore for any length of time. His craving of the sea was a madness.

Everyone misunderstood him and abandoned him until he'd found this tribe of selkies while swimming as a seal a few days after his first shift. He'd discovered by accident that he could communicate with them telepathically. Now, they were another clan he belonged to, and he cared about them like family.

Brodie and the MacCains had brought scores of swords, targes, and dirks to the island over a month ago. They'd bound the sharp blades in leather to prevent injuries during training.

"At night, have a care when you withdraw the blades from the leather wraps used in training. Most of them are sharp." Brodie pulled a foot-long Highland dirk from the leather and examined the nicked blade. "If the raiders show up, you'll be ready to defend your tribe."

"We hope we'll be able to. If our daughters and granddaughters keep disappearing, our kind will perish." Scarth, the selkie chief, was a mature male with silver-streaked black hair and a long, braided beard, but he was still hearty and strong. "Already, we have few children."

"The bastards abducted my wife during the last raid," Daavar, a young male with long dark warrior braids, said, his voice raw with anguish. "We have a wee daughter who needs her. And I need her."

"Of course. We'll find her once we know who the miscreants are." Brodie's heart ached for their losses. Ten females in total had been taken.

"How?" Harcus asked, his voice desperate and his lined face haggard. "We did not see who captured them." Two of this somber man's grown but unmated daughters had been abducted.

How could Brodie boost their morale? "You're learning to be skilled fighters, so you can guard the females well. You'll nay allow them to abduct more." He had no guarantees, but he would do all he could for them. He might even have to train the females in self-defense.

"Aye, but will we ever see the ones we lost again? Will I ever see Imogen again?" Near overcome with grief, Daavar shook his head.

Brodie could not answer that, in truth, but he would endeavor to find the females.

"We have no notion when the brutes will return," Ronin snarled, his scowl fearsome and his blue eyes dark.

"I still wonder if another selkie tribe abducted them for wives." After choosing a coarse gray schist whetstone from the wooden case, Brodie pressed the blade's edge against it, then moved it in a circular motion, creating a rasping sound.

"Nay, lad." Scarth shook his head emphatically, his silvery beard swaying. "We have gatherings every spring with the other selkie tribes from the islands, all the way to Shetland, and those without mates can find one. Among our kind, stealing a wife has always been grounds for war. And we have not had a war in centuries."

Brodie well knew they maintained an oral history passed down for many generations from the ancient past.

"We are normally peace loving," Harcus said, his voice deep and raspy. "But they are forcing us to take up arms!"

"I ken it." Once the nicks were out of the blade, Brodie used the fine white Scotch snakestone to smooth it. "But whoever is doing this is nay peace loving. They are vile devils."

They all nodded, grumbling their complaints.

"We've had to change all our customs and routines because of these outlaws." Ronin leapt up and paced. "We're getting little sleep."

"Staying in seal form for longer periods of time is stressful for the females. They need balance and rest, but they have been exhausted," Scarth said.

"Not to mention terrified," Ronin muttered.

Brodie used a leather strop to polish the blade he'd been sharpening. "You are all resilient. And I'm helping you to grow stronger and more cunning." Brodie rose and tied his long hair back with a leather strip. "Come. Grab a sword. We'll practice."

After picking up his sword, targe, and dirk, Brodie headed toward the cave's exit. A small brownish-black bird with a white rump flew out ahead of him. What was a storm petrel doing in the cave? Trying to snatch some fish scraps? The bird disappeared behind the massive black crags that protruded from the white sand beach. The sun glared off the azure water, near blinding him.

"I'm determined to thrash the bastards," Daavar growled.

"You're learning quickly, my friend." Brodie considered him one of the best fighters so far.

At the beginning of their training, he'd had the men practice their stances and footwork on the hard-packed wet sand at low tide. Now, 'twas time for something more difficult.

The sparkling dry sand squeaking under his feet, Brodie strode farther up the beach. When the raiders attacked, the selkies would need to fight on this unstable sand, so they'd best get used to it. Since selkies were always barefoot in human form, and they used their toes far better than humans wearing shoes or boots, they were fast mastering the footwork.

Selkie men were naturally muscular, especially the younger ones. But even the chief, the eldest of this tribe and equivalent to a human in his fifties, was practicing with them and growing more bulked up. They knew full well 'twas a life and death struggle they must all invest time and effort in.