wanting to hear any more.
“It is.”
“Then you can’t go. You haven’t even gotyour skin. Selkies need their skins. Don’t they? How could you manage this journey?”
“I shall have it aen the morrow or the day after. That is what the MacKenzie’s widow said, is it not?”
Hexy dropped her gaze while she wondered wildly about intercepting Jillian’s package and hiding Rory’s fur from him. Not that she believed that he would put on the coat and become a seal, but…
“Lass.” Rory tucked a hand beneath her chin and urged her to look up. He stared into her eyes and then shook his head, smiling slightly. “Ye lie horribly, and plot even more ill. Yer of the MacNicol blood. I feel it. Ye cannae lie tae me.”
“I can lie if I want to,” she objected, but without force. It was hard to utter the words with Rory staring down at her. “And I’m not a Macni-Col or whatever you said.”
“Ye are a MacNicol and ye cannae lie. Not tae me. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me.” He shook her once. “Our kind hae always found each other, lass. Think now! Ye’ve awakened. Ye cannae bear the scent or touch of yew. The land salt is now poison tae ye. Hexy, accept this. ’Twill be easier for ye if ye dae not fight me all the way.”
“I can’t think about this now.” Hexy put a hand to her head where her temples had begunto pound. “Let’s stay with the problem of the missing John. It is the most urgent. If you go off to hunt him, then I want to come with you.”
“Nay. ’Tis dangerous. Yer nae ready yet,” he argued immediately. “The oceans would freeze yer fair skin. Those northern rocks would score yer flesh and break yer bones when the waves battered ye against them.” He went on before she could speak: “I am touched that ye wish tae help us, lass, and I tell ye true that I value yer kind heart more than gold or gems, but it is tae dangerous a quest for ye. For any woman.”
He didn’t add that he could not risk having the finmen steal her soul as well, but it was understood.
But whatever the risks she could not let him go there alone. “But Rory—”
“Yer tae important tae the People,” he said with finality. “Yer the first MacNicol female tae be seen in a hundred of yer years. Ye cannae be risked in this endeavor.”
“But—” she tried again.
He leaned down, touching his lips to her mouth, nose resting against nose where he could inhale her breath. His kiss felt natural but exotic and foreign. And it was beguiling. Much of her alarm faded away under its influence.
Hexy slowly lifted her hands and touched Rory’s arms. The musculature beneath her fingerswas different, stronger and more flexible than a normal man’s would be.
And he felt that way because he was strong, she reminded herself, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to his warmth. “You are a stubborn, gallant idiot,” she murmured, not worrying about wounding his feelings. Her dream man had a robust ego and was probably insane. He would recover from anything she said.
“Aye, but ye love me anyway.” He shivered as she caressed his nape.
Love him? Did she?
Hexy didn’t answer with words since she did not know what to say. Instead she kissed him again, absorbing more of the enchanting narcotic that he offered.
Rory allowed her to tempt him, but finally broke the kiss when his body began to be aroused. He buried his face in her hair. His hands were gentle as they traced down her back, kneading as they traveled.
“Come away, Hexy lass.” Rory’s voice was thick. “We’ll take yer feast tae another isle and have a lay down in the sun. If yer a good lass, mayhap I’ll sing ye a song about yer ancestors.”
Hexy was more than amenable to this suggestion, but first there was something she needed to do. It was rank superstition, but somehow it felt right. She picked up a straystick and wrote in the crusted sand: DCLXVI.
“What does this mean?” Rory asked, frowning at the Roman
“It is.”
“Then you can’t go. You haven’t even gotyour skin. Selkies need their skins. Don’t they? How could you manage this journey?”
“I shall have it aen the morrow or the day after. That is what the MacKenzie’s widow said, is it not?”
Hexy dropped her gaze while she wondered wildly about intercepting Jillian’s package and hiding Rory’s fur from him. Not that she believed that he would put on the coat and become a seal, but…
“Lass.” Rory tucked a hand beneath her chin and urged her to look up. He stared into her eyes and then shook his head, smiling slightly. “Ye lie horribly, and plot even more ill. Yer of the MacNicol blood. I feel it. Ye cannae lie tae me.”
“I can lie if I want to,” she objected, but without force. It was hard to utter the words with Rory staring down at her. “And I’m not a Macni-Col or whatever you said.”
“Ye are a MacNicol and ye cannae lie. Not tae me. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me.” He shook her once. “Our kind hae always found each other, lass. Think now! Ye’ve awakened. Ye cannae bear the scent or touch of yew. The land salt is now poison tae ye. Hexy, accept this. ’Twill be easier for ye if ye dae not fight me all the way.”
“I can’t think about this now.” Hexy put a hand to her head where her temples had begunto pound. “Let’s stay with the problem of the missing John. It is the most urgent. If you go off to hunt him, then I want to come with you.”
“Nay. ’Tis dangerous. Yer nae ready yet,” he argued immediately. “The oceans would freeze yer fair skin. Those northern rocks would score yer flesh and break yer bones when the waves battered ye against them.” He went on before she could speak: “I am touched that ye wish tae help us, lass, and I tell ye true that I value yer kind heart more than gold or gems, but it is tae dangerous a quest for ye. For any woman.”
He didn’t add that he could not risk having the finmen steal her soul as well, but it was understood.
But whatever the risks she could not let him go there alone. “But Rory—”
“Yer tae important tae the People,” he said with finality. “Yer the first MacNicol female tae be seen in a hundred of yer years. Ye cannae be risked in this endeavor.”
“But—” she tried again.
He leaned down, touching his lips to her mouth, nose resting against nose where he could inhale her breath. His kiss felt natural but exotic and foreign. And it was beguiling. Much of her alarm faded away under its influence.
Hexy slowly lifted her hands and touched Rory’s arms. The musculature beneath her fingerswas different, stronger and more flexible than a normal man’s would be.
And he felt that way because he was strong, she reminded herself, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to his warmth. “You are a stubborn, gallant idiot,” she murmured, not worrying about wounding his feelings. Her dream man had a robust ego and was probably insane. He would recover from anything she said.
“Aye, but ye love me anyway.” He shivered as she caressed his nape.
Love him? Did she?
Hexy didn’t answer with words since she did not know what to say. Instead she kissed him again, absorbing more of the enchanting narcotic that he offered.
Rory allowed her to tempt him, but finally broke the kiss when his body began to be aroused. He buried his face in her hair. His hands were gentle as they traced down her back, kneading as they traveled.
“Come away, Hexy lass.” Rory’s voice was thick. “We’ll take yer feast tae another isle and have a lay down in the sun. If yer a good lass, mayhap I’ll sing ye a song about yer ancestors.”
Hexy was more than amenable to this suggestion, but first there was something she needed to do. It was rank superstition, but somehow it felt right. She picked up a straystick and wrote in the crusted sand: DCLXVI.
“What does this mean?” Rory asked, frowning at the Roman
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