Under an Enchantment: A Novella by Anne Stuart Page A

this had taken his love, putting his filthy, murderous hands on her, and every moment she was with him would be torment for her airy, gentle soul.
    He ran through the mist and the gradually lightening day, past sleeping houses and silent fields, the smell of the sea in the air. He knew where to find her, not with his mind but with his heart and soul. With the help of the spaewife echoing in his ears.
    The storehouse was at the far end of the village, set off from the other buildings, sagging into the ground, a dark, dour place. Not even grass grew nearby, and Malcolm could see why the people of St. Columba would consider it haunted. The thought of his gentle lass trapped inside there at the bloody hands of a murderer sent his own murderous rage sweeping over him.
    The voice came to him again, on the mist, on the wind, a keening, warning voice. “Mind the front door, MacLaren. He’s waiting for you.”
    He didn’t stop to question that voice, or the warning; he simply heeded it, moving to skirt the edge of the building. There were no windows, and the stench of death and sea was strong and gagging in his nostrils. The smell of dead seals. MacLaren, the voice had called him. The voice knew who he was, better than he knew himself. He was a MacLaren, if not by blood, by heart and soul. By all that mattered.
    He put his ear against the damp, rotting wood of the old shack, listening, but only silence issued forth. If Domnhall had touched her, he’d kill him, but he’d cut his balls off first and feed them to the gentle seals while the seal hunter watched.
    And then he heard her voice, calm, steady, and he knew she was still safe. “He won’t come, Domnhall. He’s a selkie, he knows when he’s in danger. He’s not going to walk into your trap.”
    “ You misjudge your charms, mistress. If he’s a selkie, then he came to St. Columba for you, and he willna leave you in my hands without a fight.”
    “ If he’s not a selkie, why would you want to harm him?” She sounded a far cry from his deliberately daft lady, Malcolm thought. He could almost smile at the practical note in her voice, if he weren’t so terrified of the danger she ran.
    “ Because he’s had you, mistress. And yon Torquil won’t like that one wee bit. He’ll be best pleased if I rid him of the competition, and give him a taste of revenge in the bargain. Torquil’s a shy man when it comes to blood and violence, but he’s more than happy to have me take care of things for him.”
    “ He won’t be happy to hear you’ve touched me.”
    “ Torquil can’t have everything. I hate this island, and the people here. They think you’re their sweet, daft lass. They all love you. How will they feel when they find you’re a whore? That you rutted with the selkie, and then gave yourself to me hours later.”
    “ I’d never give myself to you,” she said flatly.
    “ Nay, mistress. But they’ll not believe you, will they? Your family will lock you away, Torquil and Angus will split your inheritance, and I’ll be well paid. And you, poor lady, will spend your days locked away, mourning your dead selkie.”
    “ I’d rather die myself.” Malcolm could hear the first trembling traces of emotion in her voice.
    “ Mayhap I’ll oblige you. After I finish with the selkie.” There was an ominous silence. “In the meantime, lay back and lift yer skirts, yer Ladyship. I’d like to see if you’re equipped any differently than the trulls in Inverness.”
    There was a backdoor to the shanty, half in the cold gray water of the sea. Malcolm slammed through it, using his shoulder, rolling to the ground as he went. He had no knife, no weapon at all, and he could wait no longer.
    He had the element of surprise, and that was all, and he used it, coming in low and knocking the huge form of the seal hunter onto the ground as well. The stench of the place, of the man, was awful. The sealskins were piled high all around in the murky darkness, and he could sense Ailie