Page 45 of Connal

Meg had heard whispers from the maids who thrilled to his every appearance on the island, and whispered about the sort of lover he’d prove. He’d vowed never to take a mate, and since he and his sort could live forever like the clan he hardly needed to. She doubted he would trifle with any female on Caladh, but he’d been spotted occasionally with wenches who might welcome him as a lover. She listened to gossip about the pretty widow’s cottage he’d visited, and how he’d been seen speaking with a shepherdess near the loch, and imagined him with those women. She’d seen with her own eyes the king bringing a fresh catch to a farmer’s wife whose husband had become bedridden.

The king had ignored every flirtatious look from the eejits who dared draw close to him. Indeed, he’d never shown any particular attention to anyone before Valerie Baker had come to Caladh.

Did Merrick desire that bubble-haired wench from the future? The idea unsettled Meg. In truth she wanted the woman from the future gone from Dun Ard, so that the laird might return to properly mourning Lady Joana. Yet thinking of the fish king with that bold harridan made her stomach clench in an unpleasant manner.

After a few moments Merrick had a blaze going, and stepped back as the heat radiated in the cold air of the cottage. “’Tis why you tied yourself with rope at the fairy pool. How can you live on the island and no’ swim?”

Meg eyed him, her temper rising again. “I’m no’ a facking witch.”

“You ken that’s nonsense,” he chided. “I shall teach you.”

Dimly she remembered him the day the slaver’s boat had sunk. Merrick and his fish men had pulled all the bairns from the flooding hull. At first Meg had thought them the merrow, who were known among the Érieann to lure sailors to jump into the water. Every mortal who chased after those creatures had been caught and drowned by them in the sea. Meg had been one of the last to be rescued from the boat, as she had clung in terror to her younger sisters. She had not understood that they had already died, and fought wildly when dragged away from them.

“Well?” Merrick said, drawing her attention back to him.

“A king, teach a lady’s maid to swim?” Meg uttered a bitter laugh. “Aye, right. I cannae wait to return to that vat of fish piss you call your kingdom and crawl through the waves while your men laugh at my skinny arms and legs. ’Twill give me delight to paddle about in my sisters’ grave. Mayhap I’ll learn so well you may guide me to where their bones rest in that facking boat that sank.”

Merrick reached out to her, making her flinch, but all he did was push a wet lock out of her eyes. “We bring those that die in the wrecks to the clan. The MacMar buried your sisters in that place between the hills.”

She knew where the clan’s vassals were buried after they died, a vast valley pocked with slate stones carved with their names to mark their graves. She’d always wondered why so many of the markers had nothing chiseled on them. Under four of them lay her poor wee sisters.

“My thanks,” Meg said gruffly, meaning it this time. “For them and me.”

The king looked at her for a long time without speaking, and then he said, “I’ve no time to come and save you when you’re again foolish. Tomorrow go to the fairy pool at sunset, and dinnae bring rope.”

With that he left, and Meg watched through the window as he made his way back to the sea. He stopped and glanced back at her before he dove into the waves and vanished.

“Sunset, when none shall see you with the ugly red-haired wench,” she muttered under her breath, and yet again thought of his mouth on hers. “Aye, your majesty.”

Dawn brought clear skies and cold air that smelled so fresh Valerie did nothing but watch and breathe in the lovely scent from the open doorway. The sound of a blanket falling told her when Connal awoke, and a few moments later his arms came around her. She leaned back against him, glad of his warmth. Nearly every part of her body seemed different today, as if he’d somehow reshaped her. Her lips wouldn’t stop tingling, and her breasts had so many tender spots from his mouth and hands they still throbbed. She knew she needed to wash, but wearing his scent like some gossamer lingerie no one else could see, a secret only she knew, prolonged the delight of loving and being loved again.

She went still.

Is that really what this is? Love?

“You should come back to bed,” Connal murmured against her hair.

She smiled a little. “Then you’d have to carry me to Dun Ard, I think.” Her smile faded. “Do we need to talk about any of this before we go back?”

“’Tis a need for discussion?” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “We’re lovers. You’re beautiful, and generous, and all a man could dream. Come back to bed, and I’ll carry you round the whole island before we wed.”

And there it is. We’re lovers, but not in love. They’d been intimate, so he had to put a ring on her. She glanced down at her hand. He doesn’t even have to do that.

“’Tis growing cold,” Connal said as he tightened his arms around her. “Come and permit me warm you.”

She turned and looked up at him. “Last night was amazing, and I know I’ll never forget it, but I’m not marrying you.”

He looked as if she’d slapped him. “Why no’? You’ve done everything else with me.”

“We can have all the wild and wonderful sex you want, but it won’t change the fact that you’re still in love with your first wife,” she said, knowing it was cruel, but also sure it was necessary. “You’ve been grieving for a year because you can’t let Joana go.” When he would have replied she pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “I know because I’ve been doing the same for Dale.”

“Then that, ’tis why you willnae wed me,” he said flatly. “I’m willing and ready. You’re no’.”

“Just before I fell into the lake in my time, I finally said good-bye to my husband. I was ready to start my life over somewhere else.” She rubbed her thumb over the pretty green stone in the ring he’d made for another woman. “Maybe that’s why Joana’s ring brought me to Caladh.”

“So you’re free of him, but I’m yet trapped in my grief. I see.” He turned away, walking naked across the shelter to retrieve his trews and pull them on. “Shall I say thus to Merrick, and dare him invade Dun Ard to drag you to the bay? Shall the MacMar go to war with the Finfolk over you, Mistress?”

“The clan doesn’t have to die for me.” Valerie had expected this reaction, and knew only one solution to the problem. “You need to remove me from the equation. Take me to the mainland. Just don’t let Merrick erase my memories first.”