Page 44 of Connal

When Meg climbed back down the water swirled around her knees instead of her ankles, giving her a moment of dread. She couldn’t swim, and if it got much higher she’d be trapped inside. Yet as she approached the mouth of the cave a blinding flash just outside, accompanied by thunder so loud it made her clap her hands over her ears.

I drown in here, or I’m roasted out there. Either way I’m dead.

Unable to decide which was the least painful end, she waded back to her buckets. Drowning might not be so bad. A year ago Joana Arasgain had killed herself by jumping into the sea, and the lady had been the finest, gentlest woman she’d ever known. Meg wondered if she would see her again once the ocean finally choked the life from her. She hoped so, for she had never cared for anyone, even her mam, as much as she had loved Joana.

You’re so angry, Meggie. ’Tis the past, and done. Seek peace.

Thanks to the spray hanging in the air Meg’s eyes began to sting, and she used a dry spot on her sleeve to blot the tears of pain from her lashes. “I’ve no belly for peace, my lady. Why didnae you take me with you? I vowed always serve you. I’d follow you anywhere, even into death.”

No answer came, even from her memories. Joana had never once spoken of planning to die, and would never again hear her whining.

A dark shape entered the cave, sending a splash of salt water in Meg’s face. Sputtering she slogged backward, shocked to discover the water had risen to her waist, and one of the Finfolk surfacing just in front of her. The memories of being trapped on the sinking ship that had cast her on Caladh made her draw her dagger and hold it ready.

“Get out, merrow,” she said in her loudest voice. “I’d cut my own throat before I’d mate with a fish beast.”

Merrick flung back his long golden hair and peered at her as if she’d sprouted scales. “Why do you drown yourself in a sea cave?”

“I didnae trap myself here. ’Twas the tide and the storm. I cannae swim, so I must…’tis naught of importance.” Gathering what remnants remained of her dignity she lowered her blade. “Leave me die, then, King of Fish. ’Tisnae your concern.”

“You’re the angriest mortal I’ve ever met.” Merrick waded toward her, removing the dagger from her hand so quickly it was in his fist before she could blink. “Put your arms round my neck, and hold your air.”

Meg looked down at the webbed hands he’d clamped around her waist. “I dinnae wish you– No.”

The Finfolk king dragged her beneath the water. The world became a confusion of bubbles, roiling waters and his broad bare chest in her face. She screamed, but only a distant sound came out of her, accompanied by a torrent of more bubbles. Then Merrick clamped his mouth over hers, kissing her.

When he forced a breath into her lungs, the sea blurred around them. He wasn’t kissing her, he was stopping her from drowning.

At least she’d had something like her first kiss before she drowned, Meg thought, suddenly and completely languid in the face of death rushing to seize her. The Finfolk king took her next exhale into his chest, and breathed his into her lungs. It grew oddly comforting for her, as if he were giving her consolation as well as air. Then his mouth moved on hers, his tongue gliding between her lips.

I want him do that between my legs. The notion shocked her.

That couldn’t be right, of course. No one but Lady Joana had ever looked after Meg. Even her da had sold her into servitude after her mam had bled to death birthing her twentieth bairn.

Sure and ’tis sad for me, Margret, but I need the coin more than five lassies to feed, Da had told her before handing over her and four of her sisters to the slaver. You dinnae wish your brothers and me starve, do you?

Water cascaded around her as Merrick dragged her to the surface, and stood holding her against him as she sputtered and coughed. When Meg blinked the sea water from her eyes she saw she was standing near the white-sanded beach of one of the small islets beyond the bay. This one lay so close to the wall of mist that hid the island that most of it disappeared into the white fog. Only a covered skiff sat tethered to a stake on the shore, promising without words that she could return to Dun Ard.

I dinnae wish to. That thought startled Meg more than being rescued by the fish king.

“’Tis a cottage here where you may wait out the storm,” Merrick said, taking hold of her hand as he walked out of the water with her. “When ’tis clear, take the boat back to Caladh. I shall send word to the MacMar so they dinnae search for you.”

As soon as she planted her feet on solid sand Meg jerked free of his hold and marched up toward a narrow path. She stopped and turned around to find the Finfolk king following her. He looked as arrogant as ever, but when she took a step toward him he stopped and looked wary.

“I owe you my life,” Meg told him. “I shall sing your praises to the laird. Indeed, I shall never again speak ill of you and your kind.” The last was a lie, but he would never know. “Anything more, I cannae give you.”

“Ah.” His gold and blue eyes shifted as he looked over her. “No.”

“No, you dinnae expect more, or no, you want more?” she demanded. “Speak plainly, for I’m but a poor simpleton you and yours regard ugly and unworthy. I couldnae save my sisters from drowning when our ship wrecked. I couldnae stop my mistress from ending herself. I’m despised by all for failing her.” Her voice rose to a shout as she flung out her arms. “I’m an eejit who can’t even swim.”

Merrick then came at her, and lifted her off her feet with one arm as he strode down the trail and kicked open the door to a shabby cottage. Inside he took her across a dark room and dropped her onto a bench before he stepped back and stared down at her.

“Sit there and hold your tongue, or I vow, I shall give you the thrashing you ever wish,” he warned.

Drained of rage, Meg watched him crouch in front of the hearth to start a fire. Had she yelled at the King of Fish in hopes of being punished for such? Since her lady had died she’d spent every day in a useless fury, unaware of what she had done to turn Joana away from her, and unable to make amends. Losing the only person who had truly cared for her since her mam had died had rendered her unwilling to seek any comfort. If she opened her heart again she would be crushed a second time, and that would surely end her.

Only here came Merrick, all tall and golden and glorious, his scales turned now to beautiful perfect flesh over sleek muscle, his odd Finfolk garment fitting him so closely she could behold every line of his body. His long arms and legs, his wide shoulders and broad, strong back seemed no different from any mortal man’s. Although she had accused him of stinking, he had no smell beyond a slight saltiness from the sea. If not for the slits on the sides of his neck, and the webs of skin between his fingers and toes, he could easily pass as human.

And he kissed me. Truly he did.