in the corner, shocked, immobile, but still unharmed.
He slammed his fist against the man’s face, again and again, feeling the skin of his knuckles split as Domnhall groaned. And then Domnhall surged up, taking Malcolm with him, knocking him against the wall, and Malcolm could feel the cold steel of the knife at the base of his belly.
He went very still, waiting for his chance.
“ Shall I spill your guts for yon lass?” Domnhall said in a thick, panting voice. “Do you have the heart of a seal, or a man? I’d like well to know.” The knife pressed hard against him, and it wouldn’t take much for the seal hunter to split him, stem to stern.
Oddly enough Malcolm felt no fear. Merely an odd, disembodied regret, that Ailie should have to see it. It would turn her truly mad.
“ Selkie.” Her voice was cool and eerie, halting Domnhall’s stroke. “You need your pelt. Domnhall must have taken it, or you would have been back in the sea already. Which is his pelt, Domnhall? Ye must give it back to him, or his soul will haunt you.”
“ Get away from me,” Domnhall snarled. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. He’s a man, no more no less...”
“ It’s black, you told me,” Ailie said in that dreamy voice, and Malcolm heard her move closer. “Like your hair, black and silky and very soft. I like your hair, did I tell you that, selkie? I don’t want him to kill you.”
“ Get away from me,” Domnhall snarled, momentarily distracted as he turned to kick her away.
It was all the advantage Malcolm needed. In a flash he came up under Domnhall’s burly arm, taking it and twisting it back, so that the knife fell with a thud on the dirt-packed floor, and the two of them were locked together in a deathly embrace, rolling onto the ground, over onto the pile of soft skins, rolling back to thud against the side of the small building, until the rotting wood splintered and they crashed out into the gathering daylight.
Domnhall had him pinned on the ground, and he grinned at him in evil triumph. “I don’t believe in selkies, or ghosts. I’ll kill you while the lassie watches, and that’ll be the end to it.”
Malcolm stared up at him, panting, filled with an icy calm. “Will it? Look at my face, seal hunter. Have you seen it before?”
Domnhall’s thick, cruel countenance grew still as his eyes narrowed. “You’re a stranger,” he said, but he sounded suddenly uneasy.
“ Am I? Or do I look like another lass you killed, years ago, and threw into the sea? She didn’t die, Domnhall. She joined the seals, and sent me here to claim her vengeance.” Domnhall released him, staggering to his feet as superstitious horror swept over his face. “Catriona,” he gasped. “You’ve the look of her.”
“ She sent me after you, Domnhall,” Malcolm said, coming to his feet, moving after him. “I’m just one of many. We’ll all come for you, we’ll haunt your days and nights, until you give yourself to us. We’ll eat your flesh, seal hunter, as you ate ours, and your soul will rot in hell.”
He’d pushed him too far. Domnhall let out a low, keening sound, more mazed than Ailie could ever fabricate, and he turned and scooped up the knife that had fallen. “You have her eyes,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll cut them out!” He lurched back toward him, murder in his face, as Ailie screamed in terror.
The pile of sealskins, still bloody, couldn’t have moved, Malcolm told himself afterward. Domnhall was too blinded with murderous rage, and as he lunged for Malcolm, knife held at the ready, he stumbled, sprawling across the pile of skins, and lay still, as blood pooled underneath him.
“ Ailie!” It wasn’t his voice calling to her, it was Torquil Spens’s rich, panicked tones as he rounded the corner, winded, his moon face crimson from exertion. Collis was close behind him, and Malcolm flashed him a bitter, reproachful look.
Ailie stood in the middle of the shanty, her face in darkness, and Domnhall’s
He slammed his fist against the man’s face, again and again, feeling the skin of his knuckles split as Domnhall groaned. And then Domnhall surged up, taking Malcolm with him, knocking him against the wall, and Malcolm could feel the cold steel of the knife at the base of his belly.
He went very still, waiting for his chance.
“ Shall I spill your guts for yon lass?” Domnhall said in a thick, panting voice. “Do you have the heart of a seal, or a man? I’d like well to know.” The knife pressed hard against him, and it wouldn’t take much for the seal hunter to split him, stem to stern.
Oddly enough Malcolm felt no fear. Merely an odd, disembodied regret, that Ailie should have to see it. It would turn her truly mad.
“ Selkie.” Her voice was cool and eerie, halting Domnhall’s stroke. “You need your pelt. Domnhall must have taken it, or you would have been back in the sea already. Which is his pelt, Domnhall? Ye must give it back to him, or his soul will haunt you.”
“ Get away from me,” Domnhall snarled. “I’m not afraid of ghosts. He’s a man, no more no less...”
“ It’s black, you told me,” Ailie said in that dreamy voice, and Malcolm heard her move closer. “Like your hair, black and silky and very soft. I like your hair, did I tell you that, selkie? I don’t want him to kill you.”
“ Get away from me,” Domnhall snarled, momentarily distracted as he turned to kick her away.
It was all the advantage Malcolm needed. In a flash he came up under Domnhall’s burly arm, taking it and twisting it back, so that the knife fell with a thud on the dirt-packed floor, and the two of them were locked together in a deathly embrace, rolling onto the ground, over onto the pile of soft skins, rolling back to thud against the side of the small building, until the rotting wood splintered and they crashed out into the gathering daylight.
Domnhall had him pinned on the ground, and he grinned at him in evil triumph. “I don’t believe in selkies, or ghosts. I’ll kill you while the lassie watches, and that’ll be the end to it.”
Malcolm stared up at him, panting, filled with an icy calm. “Will it? Look at my face, seal hunter. Have you seen it before?”
Domnhall’s thick, cruel countenance grew still as his eyes narrowed. “You’re a stranger,” he said, but he sounded suddenly uneasy.
“ Am I? Or do I look like another lass you killed, years ago, and threw into the sea? She didn’t die, Domnhall. She joined the seals, and sent me here to claim her vengeance.” Domnhall released him, staggering to his feet as superstitious horror swept over his face. “Catriona,” he gasped. “You’ve the look of her.”
“ She sent me after you, Domnhall,” Malcolm said, coming to his feet, moving after him. “I’m just one of many. We’ll all come for you, we’ll haunt your days and nights, until you give yourself to us. We’ll eat your flesh, seal hunter, as you ate ours, and your soul will rot in hell.”
He’d pushed him too far. Domnhall let out a low, keening sound, more mazed than Ailie could ever fabricate, and he turned and scooped up the knife that had fallen. “You have her eyes,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll cut them out!” He lurched back toward him, murder in his face, as Ailie screamed in terror.
The pile of sealskins, still bloody, couldn’t have moved, Malcolm told himself afterward. Domnhall was too blinded with murderous rage, and as he lunged for Malcolm, knife held at the ready, he stumbled, sprawling across the pile of skins, and lay still, as blood pooled underneath him.
“ Ailie!” It wasn’t his voice calling to her, it was Torquil Spens’s rich, panicked tones as he rounded the corner, winded, his moon face crimson from exertion. Collis was close behind him, and Malcolm flashed him a bitter, reproachful look.
Ailie stood in the middle of the shanty, her face in darkness, and Domnhall’s
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