Sins Against the Sea Page 13

  “If you do stay on land with me, how will you tell your people you’re not coming back?”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “I haven’t thought quite that far ahead yet.”

  She wanted to ask about the place his clan dwelled, but there was something more pressing she wished to know. “Did you have anything to do with what happened to Ketos?”

  “The tanker should not have been in the Minch.”

  His answer, though vague, told her what she needed to know. “So, you did have something to do with the accident…”

  “We believed her hull to be empty,” he told her, “or we would not have risked what occurred.”

  The tanker’s hull had been mostly empty—the reason the spill was not as devastating as it might have been. “Was the tanker’s size the reason you did what you did?”

  “Partly, but there were other reasons, too.”

  Corey’s pulse quickened. Did he know the answers she sought about Conch? “What were they?”

  “I only know what Shan told me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That your company is in cahoots with the Finfolk of the Vanishing Isles.”

  * * * *

  Cuan was almost sure he knew how Conch was hiding whatever nefarious activity the oil company was engaged in. He had figured it out while she’d had her mouth on his bod. Not that he’d been focused on the problem at the time. On the contrary, he’d been completely immersed in the pleasurable sensations swimming through his body. Sometimes, however, the subconscious mind did its best work when the conscious mind was preoccupied with another matter.

  While coming here earlier in the evening, he’d seen someone he was almost sure was a Finman on the beach—a tall, dour-looking man with thinning hair and a clipboard.

  Most Fins led a nomadic life, spending the long Orkney winters in the luxury of Finfolkaheem, a majestic city inside an underwater cave, and the summers on the island of Hether Blether, which they hid from human senses using their vanishing magic.

  “Who is the man in charge of the clean-up operation?”

  “Do you mean Finlay Trowbridge?” she asked, brow furrowed.

  The name confirmed his suspicions. “He’s a Finman. Do you know what that is?”

  She nodded. “My mom used to tell me stories about them. I just never believed they were real.”

  “They are as real as you and I, and extremely powerful and dangerous.” As he spoke, he wrapped the towel around his waist and watched as she dried her hair.

  “How do you think Mr. Trowbridge is hiding what Conch is doing in the strait?”

  “Vanishing magic,” he said. “If the Finfolk can hide real islands, why not a Thunder Isle?”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “What’s a Thunder Isle?”

  “The manmade islands that harvest the oil from below the seafloor,” he explained. “We call them Thunder Isles because of the deafening noise they make, which damages the hearing of many sea creatures, making them more vulnerable to predators and—”

  “Oh, my God,” she cried, cutting him off. “I know what they’re hiding. My father sent the blueprints home from Skye ten years ago. A self-contained underwater drilling platform—a sort of submarine space station, if you will. That’s why it made me think of Jules Verne!”

  Unfamiliar with the name, he furrowed his brow. “Who is Jules Verne?”

  “An author. Though dead now, he wrote a very famous book titled Twenty-Thousand Leagues under the Sea.”

  The title piqued his interest. “It sounds well worth reading.”

  Looking up from the task of drying herself, she blinked at him in obvious surprise. “Do you read fiction?”

  “Only during breeding season.” he said, letting the slur pass. “As you might imagine, books don’t hold up all that well underwater.”

  A smile spread across her pretty face. “I wouldn’t think so—or that a Kindle would do much to solve the problem.”

  Incomprehension drew his eyebrows together. “What’s a Kindle?—and, more importantly, what in the name of Hades is a space station?”

  “I’ll explain later,” she told him, wrapping herself in the towel before heading into the bedroom. “Right now, though, I want to hear more about this vanishing magic. How does it work and, more importantly, is there a way to break the spell?”

  He followed her, staying close enough to converse. “The Fins use an ancient incantation to raise a wall of mist from the sea, which makes the object behind the mist invisible to the eye. If there is a counter spell, I’ve never heard of it—but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” After a moment’s reflection, he added, “Perhaps Robharta, being from Orkney, might know a way to break the enchantment.”

  She sat on the edge of a very large bed with a quilted cover. “Who’s Robharta?”

  “A selkie I know.” He drew closer and looked down at her.

  Lifting her gaze to his, she arched an eyebrow. “Know in the biblical sense?”

  He furrowed his brow, assuming “the biblical sense” meant enmity, as the bible, he’d oft been told, was the foundation of many human conflicts. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  She gave him a small smile and blushed a little. “To know someone in the biblical sense is to have sex with them.”

  “Aye, well.” Now, it was his turn to blush. “In that case…”

  Her eyes narrowed peevishly. “What other sorts of creatures have you put your dick into?”

  For some reason, his mind jumped back to the prank Shan had played on him as a pup. “Not a real anemone, I can tell you that much.”

  She laughed, which eased the tension some. He’d forgotten what jealous creatures mermaids could be. He’d have to tread carefully with this one.

  “Where and how might we find this selkie friend of yours?”

  Tired of standing, he sat beside her. “Sometimes, I meet her in a hidden cove near Lochmaddy…and sometimes, she simply appears out of nowhere.”

  “How far is Lochmaddy from here?”

  “Too far to swim with legs.”

  “Maybe we can borrow a boat from someone.” She gave him a kiss he was glad of. “I also want to go with you. In case you need help resisting Robharta’s charms. According to my mom’s stories, selkies, both male and female, are irresistibly beautiful and seductive.”

  Chapter Ten

  Corey opened her eyes to find the bedroom filled with the soft gray light of morning. She was still tired—hardly surprising, given that she and Kew-in had been awake into the wee hours, debating which task to attempt first: borrowing a boat to take them to Lochmaddy to find the selkie or speaking to Mrs. MacLeod about the magic herb to help him leave the sea.

  While finding the selkie seemed more urgent, since he would keep his legs for another three months, the herb might give both of them tails, eliminating the need for a boat. It was a conundrum of the chicken-and-egg variety. Which to attempt first? Both also carried risks. They would have to tell Mrs. MacLeod why they wanted the herb, which meant trusting her with Kew-in’s secret.

  As for the boat, Corey knew only one person she could ask: MacInnes, who wasn’t likely to give up his vessel without asking a lot of prying questions. Should she tell him they suspected Conch was hiding an underwater drilling platform using Finfolk vanishing magic? Would he think she’d lost her mind if she did? Maybe not, since he’d insinuated a belief in storm kelpies. Still, the reporter was a loose cannon she couldn’t completely trust, meaning there was no way in hell they were telling him the truth about Kew-in. Revealing their secret to a spae-woman was taking a calculated risk; confiding in a pushy journalist, on the other hand, was downright reckless.

  It was too big a story to keep a lid on and, if the truth about Kew-in and his kind got out, it would ruin more than their future plans of living happily ever after in a cottage by the sea. The storm kelpies would be hunted, captured, and put in tanks for scientific study, which would be much worse than letting Conch get away wi
th drilling in illegal waters.

  Finally, after hours of see-sawing, they’d agreed to let the fates make the decision for them. If Mrs. MacLeod came by in the morning, they would ask about the herb. If she did not appear, they ask to borrow MacInnes’ boat.

  Once the issue was settled, they made love again, more gently this time, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Kew-in was still asleep beside her—not snoring, thank God. She was a light sleeper and couldn’t abide a partner who snored.

  She looked at him and smiled. He looked so peaceful—and so adorable. She still had trouble believing he was real…or that Finfolk and mermaids existed as well. She found it even harder to believe she was part merrow herself, or that her mother was more than likely still alive.

  If I went to Eynhallow, would I find her? Do I want to?

  Part of her did, but part of her didn’t. If she did find her mom, what would she say to her except the obvious? Why did you leave me? She already knew the answer. Her mother loved the sea and her freedom more than she loved her human husband and half-human daughter. So why go there and suffer more hurt than she already felt?

  Corey threw a glance toward the bedside clock. It was almost seven. If Mrs. MacLeod was coming, she would show up around now. She listened for any sounds downstairs, but all she heard were the noises of the clean-up crews on the beach. Speaking of which…she ought to get up and check on things. She also needed to quit her job. Or, maybe she should wait. Terminating her employment would only take her farther out of the loop than she already was.

  Being careful not to wake Kew-in, she slid out of bed and put on jeans, a sweater, and a pair of sneakers before venturing downstairs. The cottage was empty, but not quiet, thanks to the activity outside. She put on the kettle and stuck some bread in the toaster. If Mrs. MacLeod didn’t appear by the time she finished her tea and toast, she’d go out and look for MacInnes.

  Time dragged as she brewed her tea and buttered her toast. She took her time eating, but there was still no sign of Mrs. MacLeod. Worry began to gnaw. What if the old lady came after she’d gone and found Kew-in sleeping upstairs? Would there be trouble? Should she leave a note on the door? Maybe. Probably. Oh!̶but what if Finlay Trowbridge found it? Would he make trouble for her with Peter?

  She clenched her jaw at the thought. Of course he would. She had no doubt he’d do anything and everything in his power to sabotage her. He was a Finman, after all, and Finmen were even more evil than humans, which was saying a lot.

  She bit her lip between sips of tea and nibbles of toast. What to do? Maybe she could talk to MacInnes and get back before Kew-in awoke. Then, if Mrs. MacLeod stopped by, she might still be here.

  Deciding that was the best way to proceed, Corey finished her breakfast and put her dishes in the sink. Time was of the essence. She could wash them later. Hurrying back upstairs, she washed her face and brushed her teeth and hair before checking on Kew-in. She was happy to find he was still sleeping soundly and, with any luck, wouldn’t rouse before she returned.

  She put on her coat and went outside. From the porch, she surveyed the beach. Her stomach knotted when she saw Finlay Trowbridge talking to a member of the clean-up crew. Luckily, he didn’t see her. MacInnes was down by the water, taking pictures. She watched him for several moments, weighing whether or not to share the things she and Kew-in suspected about Conch. Seeing no harm in being upfront, she made her way to the rocks.

  “MacInnes, I need to talk to you.”

  “If you’ve come to feed me the party line, you can save your breath.”

  “I haven’t,” she told him. “I’ve come to ask to borrow your boat. We think Conch is using vanishing magic to cover up an illegal drilling platform here in the Minch.”

  Interest lit up his eyes. “Is that so? Well, well. I knew the greedy bastards were up to something…though, admittedly, I never dreamed it was anything quite that diabolical.”

  “It is, believe me, and I have good reason to suspect Peter Blackwell, the president of Conch, is behind the whole scheme.”

  “Oh, aye? Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. But what makes you think so?”

  “Lots of things…starting with him being the only survivor of a shipwreck that killed my father, an engineer for Conch. The day before my dad died, he mailed home the blueprints for a self-contained drilling platform he’d designed—a sort of underwater space station. A few weeks later, Peter offered me a job at Conch when I finished my master’s degree. Right after I started working for him, he asked for the blueprints back.”

  “Did you give them to him?”

  “I didn’t feel I had a choice,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nor did I think much of it at the time.”

  “So, you think they built this space-age platform here in the Minch, and are hiding it with Finfolk magic?” He laughed. “That’s a pretty far-fetched supposition, lass. How do you intend to prove it?”

  “By breaking the enchantment and exposing the platform. First, however, we have to find someone who knows the counter-spell. Kew-in, my boyfriend, knows someone he thinks might know—but we need a boat to get to her.” She took a breath and looked into his eyes. “Would you be willing to loan us yours? It should only take a few hours to get there and back—and just think of the incredible story you’ll have if we succeed!”

  He stroked his chin and looked thoughtful for a few moments before he said, “I might let you use my boat—if you agree to my terms.”

  When he didn’t go on she prodded him. “Which are…?”

  “The first is that you give me an exclusive on the story.”

  “Done…and the other?”

  “That you take me with you.”

  Corey had to think carefully about his second request. If he went with them, he might see the selkie or figure out that Kew-in was more than human. Yes, the risks were relatively small, but she’d still rather she and Kew-in went alone. At the same time, they needed a boat, and the only others anchored in the bay belonged to the coastguard or the members of the clean-up crew. She could hardly canvass their owners without arousing Trowbridge’s suspicions, and if he found out they were onto his little scheme, well…she’d rather not think about what he might do to them. According to her mother’s stories, Finmen were evil, ruthless creatures who thought nothing of killing the humans who got in their way.

  “I can live with you coming along, but the decision’s not mine alone to make,” she said at last. “The person we’re going to see is Kew-in’s friend, so I’ll have to ask him if he’s okay with it before I can give you an answer.”

  “Fine,” the reporter said. “Then hurry on back to the cottage and ask your boyfriend’s permission, while I take more pictures of the devastation.”

  Though his tone and the implication she was some witless woman who couldn’t make a move without consulting a man offended her deeply, she let the goad pass. She would not be pressured into making a decision that wasn’t hers to make. Leaving MacInnes, she dashed back to the cottage to find Kew-in was no longer in bed.

  She found him in the room in which he’d spent the first part of the night. Dressed in jeans with frayed tears at the knees and a tight gray T-shirt that accentuated his athletic upper body, he was sitting in a chair, reading the English-Gaelic dictionary. His long hair spilled over his shoulders in a way she found incredibly sexy.

  In fact, he looked as hot in clothes as he did without them.

  She hovered in the doorway, admiring him from a distance. If she got too close, she might not get back to MacInnes anytime soon.

  “Where’d you get the clothes?”

  Kew-in looked up from the book and met her gaze. “I found them in a bag in one of the closets. Where have you been?”

  “To see a man about a boat.”

  His brow furrowed. “The reporter?”

  She nodded and explained MacInnes’ demands.

  When she’d finished, Kew-in shrugged one of his powerful shoulders. “As I will go ashore alone, I do not
see where it will make much difference where Robharta is concerned—and, as far as you are concerned, I will feel better knowing you are not on your own. Provided he is honorable, of course.”

  While she did not completely trust the reporter to behave like a gentleman, neither did she believe he’d force himself on her. “He knows you’re my boyfriend.”

  She regretted the remark as soon as it slipped from her lips. For one thing, “boyfriend” seemed like such a juvenile term. For another, they had reached no firm agreement on the status of their relationship.

  He smiled and a playful gleam came into his eyes. “Am I your boyfriend, Cordelia?”

  A rush of hot blood heated her face. “Do you want to be?”

  “Aye,” he said, grinning like a love struck schoolboy, “and so much more.”

  Too embarrassed to keep standing there, she started to go, but he brought her back to the doorway with a telepathic, Wait, I’m not finished.

  “Tell the reporter I agree to his terms, provided he agrees to mine.” Her expectant gaze met his. “He will remain aboard the boat with you…and behave himself while I speak to the selkie, if and when she should appear. He also is to ask me no questions about the meeting. While selkies are not quite as cautious about their human interactions as are my people, it would still be wrong of me to bring trouble to her door. Especially when seeking a favor.”

  Corey understood and agreed. “I will tell him your terms and see what he says.”

  “Also find out which boat is his and let him know we will meet him there at first light.” He gave her a devastating smile. “Then get rid of him so we can get back to what we were doing last night.”

  A quiver of desire went through Corey as she bounded back down the stairs and out the front door. She hurried back to the shore and, after communicating Kew-in’s terms, MacInnes readily agreed—a little too readily for comfort. As soon as she could, she returned to the cottage.