Lord of the Deep (13 page)

“Sh!” Simeon warned under the umbrella of a sigh.

“Eh?” Seth grunted. “Hurry up, I say! Enough of that. Do her tips…”

It was all clear now. They had Simeon in chains, and Seth was making him ready her for sex. Water was a conduit for Simeon. She could feel the ripples of his tension flowing through the bathwater. His rage was like a living entity. It was almost as if it had its own corporeal substance. She could hear it in his breathing and feel it in his touch. It vibrated in the very air around her. Was he stalling in hopes Seth would succumb to the strong drink, biding his time for the right moment to carry out whatever she prayed he was planning? His touch was like a lightning strike then, and she could only pray whatever passion moved him now would not fall upon her later.

Meanwhile, his touch was arousing her. His deft fingers rubbing her nipples sent shock waves though her body that shot through her loins like liquid fire. She longed to hold his hands to her breasts, but she dared not. When Seth’s voice broke the awful silence again, she lurched as if she’d been struck.

“Enough! Do her down below!” he commanded.

Simeon’s hand glided between her legs, slathering her pubic curls with the soap. Meg spread her legs as wide as the tub would allow. The metal sides were cold against her skin. She scarcely felt it. Her heart was hammering so hard in her breast it made little ripples in the water. Simeon had brought her sex to life as only he could, and she bit into her lower lip until she drew blood rather than let Seth see it.

“Not like that,” the shaman drawled. “Stand her up so I can see. Or would you like me to help you?”

Simeon raised her to her feet so quickly water sloshed over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. She heard the chair Seth was sitting in creak with his weight as he left it, then heard it creak again, much to her relief, as he sank back into it.

“That’s better,” the shaman said. “Continue.”

Meg stood while Simeon soaped her. She felt the lather slide down her body, heard it drip into the water. Why was he using so much soap? The water was so slick with it she had all she could do to keep her footing in the tub as he continued to lather her, rubbing his hands over her body, over her breasts, her hips and thighs, and the V between. Parting her nether lips, he exposed her nub, scraping it on both sides with light, teasing strokes, while he continued to lather her with the other hand. His fingers spread her slit and inserted something inside her. It took her a moment to identify it. Lathering had reduced the soap to a cylinder, and he moved it in and out of her creating more lather.

Meg could stand no more. Waves of drenching heat ripped through her loins like firebrands. Her hips jerked forward, and he replaced the soap with his fingers, plunging deep into her as her sex grabbed them. In spite of herself, Meg groaned as the climax riddled her with wave upon wave of spine-tingling sensation.

“Stop!” Seth thundered. “You were not to make her come!”

The chair the shaman vacated tipped over as the lumbered toward the tub. Meg ripped off the blindfold just as Simeon lifted her out of the water and set her down behind him. “Stay back!” he commanded, waiting until Seth had staggered within range of his tether before upturning the tub in the shaman’s path.

Hot soapy water flooded the floor beneath the shaman’s bare feet. He was naked and aroused beneath the flowing black
cote-hardie,
just as he had been in the subterranean bath when Meg first set eyes upon him. Her suspicions were correct. The shaman’s
entertainment
had been to have Simeon bring her to the point of climax and then he would have his way with her.

The rage in Simeon’s eyes made her turn hers away as he hefted the tub and heaved it at Seth as he approached. It was a heavy brass and enamel piece. Where Simeon had summoned the strength from to lift it, Meg couldn’t fathom. She had heard selkies possessed superhuman strength, but she never imagined anything like this.

Seth was already floundering, slip-sliding in the lather underfoot when the tub hit him squarely in the chest. Simeon had waited until the shaman was close enough to seize. Fisting his hands in the shaman’s hair, he drove Seth’s head into the leg of the upturned tub until blood gushed from the wound and he’d rendered Seth unconscious. Then he threw the shaman down in the puddle of slippery water that had been the shaman’s undoing and turned to Meg.

“Quickly,” he said, “the key”—he rattled the chain fastened to an iron collar about his neck—“on his chatelaine—there, with his clothes on that bench by the door.
Now,
Megaleen, before someone comes. That racket may well have been heard.”

Meg sprang into action, skirting the sudsy water gingerly, and snatched the shaman’s chatelaine from the bench. Her hands trembled as she tried first one key and then another until she found the one that sprung the lock in the collar.

Simeon tore it off and took her in his arms. “Has he harmed you?” he said.

Meg couldn’t speak. She shook her head that he had not and clung to Simeon until he held her away. “He is unconscious, not dead,” Simeon said. “He will soon come ’round. We must put as much distance between us as possible before that occurs.” He nodded toward what looked like as trunk in the corner. “Put your frock on—hurry!” he charged.

The bottle-green gauze gown, her cloak, as well as the indigo frock Seth had provided lay draped across the trunk, and she wriggled into the latter, while Simeon hauled Seth’s hulking inert form alongside the tub and fastened the iron collar around the shaman’s bullish neck.

Seizing her arm, Simeon propelled her toward the door, but she hung back. “Wait!” she cried, “Your sealskin. It’s in the wardrobe, Simeon!”

He stared. “What wardrobe?” he said, clearly nonplused.

Meg spun around and pointed. “That wardrobe there—in the cor—”

But there was no wardrobe. The light was fading, and still dazed from the drugged wine, it wasn’t until that moment that she realized with sinking heart that they were in a different chamber.

“N
ever mind, we’ll find the skin,” Simeon said, leading Meg into the darkened corridor. “What ever possessed you to do this? It wasn’t me they wanted, it was
you,
and you played right into their hands.”

“But they had you and your sealskin,” Meg defended. “I thought as long as we—and it—were together, there would be hope of righting the wrong I’ve done you.”

“You’ve done me no wrong. I never should have left the skin behind. Enough! That’s done. What we need to do now is concentrate on getting the skin and getting out of here while Seth is…detained. He won’t stay that way for long. I’m counting on the solstice celebration to buy us some time. They’ve already lit the bonfire in the clearing. I can smell the smoke. They were building it when they brought me here earlier. There will be revelry, drinking, and dancing. Hopefully the others will be occupied at that long enough for us to be about our business undetected. They knew Seth meant to have you. I doubt they will disturb him for a while at least. Do you know the way back to the chamber where you saw that wardrobe?”

“It was in the round tower,” Meg said. “The second level, I think…or the third. I was so frightened for you…trying to see where they were taking you, I didn’t pay attention. I thought he would take me back to the subterranean chamber where I was held before, but he didn’t.”

“It seems we are at cross purposes then. Do you know how to get back to the round tower?”

Meg shook her head. “No,” she said, “they carried me here unconscious. Whatever was in that wine had its way with me.”

“Unless we find my sealskin, we will never get off the Mount,” Simeon said. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he needed to prepare her for what they were facing. “And we cannot count upon Gideon this time. He will not risk his wings near that fire. By the time it has burned out at dawn, they will have found Seth, and there aren’t many places on this accursed isle where we could hide.”

“Simeon…you cannot breathe under water without your sealskin, but you can breathe in the palace. It’s where you live in human form under the waves. Are there other ledges where air pockets exist that you might be safe until we solve this? Because there is a rock pool near the clearing, you could—”

“No,” he interrupted her. “I would have to leave you behind, and that I will not do. My breath in your nostrils will not protect you now, and you would never reach the palace without it…neither would I, as I am. We selkies are not nearly as skilled in the water without the protection of our skins as we are when in possession of them.”

“What about the Pavilion?”

He shook his head. They had reached a turn in the corridor and he flattened her against the wall in the shadows, making certain the hallway was empty before going farther. “It would be perfect, but it is much too far to go as we are,” he said, leading her along the corridor again. There was a bend approaching, and he slowed his pace. “We will never find your round tower from inside. This way leads to the courtyard. We will have to chance it. The sun has set. Pull that hood close about your face. If I can find a cloak or a domino to wear, like the others I’ve seen costumed for the festivities, we will be able to move among them…But first, the round tower.”

“Suppose it is locked,” Meg said.

Simeon laughed. “These rarely lock their doors. They are too complacent. They do not think anyone can storm their bastions. Was the tower door locked when Seth took you inside?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Chances are it won’t be locked now, either,” Simeon interrupted her. “Walk softly and stay behind me. I may have lost my sea powers, but my strength is still unaltered. Let us hope I do not have to use it, for it will deplete each time I do.”

There was no one in the halls. Presuming everyone to be outside for the celebration, Simeon moved Meg boldly through the shadows. How could he tell her he wasn’t going to leave the Mount without his sealskin? It was chillingly plain that she had to leave no matter what. Seth had nearly taken Meg down. They would make a whore of her if she remained on the Mount. He had seen the look in Seth’s eyes watching him bathe her. The shaman’s lust was obsessive. It went beyond desire. There was a fiendish shadow of vengeance in Seth’s bearing. Simeon shuddered to remember it. He would have been a captive audience to rape of the woman he loved—yes,
loved,
he finally admitted—but for quick thinking and the wine that Seth had drunk. No, she had to leave the Mount. If he knew nothing else, he knew that.

Another thought rushed at him as he traveled those dark empty halls. Had he lost his immortality when he lost his sealskin? He had no way of knowing. That he hadn’t lost his extraordinary strength was cause for hope that he hadn’t, and he had to cling to that. But deep down, as he looked into the soulful blue eyes that reverenced him, into the purity of her soul that lived for him alone, he knew no matter what occurred, he could not bear to lose her.

The moon shone down through scudding clouds that had all but swallowed the stars, when they stepped out into the courtyard. He’d read the weather signs at dawn, when the sun rose bloodred. A squall was on the way, but not the kind of storm the selkies could bring—the kind he needed. That sparked an idea, but first he needed to find the sealskin.

A stiff wind was on the rise, spreading the scent of burning wood from the bonfire in the clearing behind the fortress. Voices carried on it—laughter and music, flute, drums, and lyre, earthy and mysterious. The sound of it set his heart racing and sent hot blood surging to his temples. Not even the cool gusts could fan the fever that was rising in him, a virtual firestorm riveting his senses that only Meg possessed the power to quench.

Just as he predicted, the tower door was unlocked, and he whisked Meg inside and began to climb the narrow staircase hewn of the same stone as the structure itself. The walls were bleeding with rising damp. Cold, dank air drifted from them fanned by their motion. When they reached the second level, Meg held him back on the landing.

“It was here somewhere,” she said. “No, not that way…to the right…”

Simeon let her lead him then, and she flung open a door on the north side of the corridor and burst inside before he could warn her toward caution. He reached her in two strides. “You cannot go barging about,” he scolded her. “There is always an off chance that some might still linger here. We cannot afford to be found out now.”

“Look! There it is!” she cried, straining against his grip on her upper arms as if she hadn’t heard a word.

Simeon let her go and she ran to the wardrobe and tugged at the doors. “It’s locked!” she said.

“Stand back,” Simeon charged. Two lunges with his shoulder and the door panel splintered. No, he hadn’t lost his extraordinary strength. Grateful for that, he tossed the boards aside and groped inside, but it was empty except for several gowns. “It isn’t here,” he said.

“Let me see,” Meg said, rummaging through the wardrobe herself. “It has to be!”

“We’re wasting time,” Simeon said, turning her away. An elaborately carved chest in the corner caught his eye. The carvings were definitely mystical in origin with triangles and swirls and a very realistic eye decorated the lid. Simeon tried it. It was open, and he lifted the lid to forage inside. “Ah!” he blurted as his hand fisted in something opulent and black.

“You’ve found it?” Meg cried, hopeful.

“No,” he quickly said. “This is a vestments chest.” He pulled out a long, flowing
cote-hardie
. “This one is fitted with a cowl. It will do far better than going about as he was in this eel skin.” He shrugged it on and arranged the hood close about his face. “Pull your hood thus,” he instructed her, lending a hand to the chore. His fingers grazed the soft skin of her cheek. That was all it took to make his blood rise inside, to awaken the images of her lying naked in his arms, wet and warm and open to him. An unstoppable need was building in him, heightened by the danger and by the risk, for it was great. He wanted nothing more than to seize and ravish her right where they stood…but not yet. Those feelings would always be lurking just below the surface of his psyche. The longer he suppressed them, the greater the pleasure would be, though he would be tight against the seam until that moment came.

“You mentioned the scrying pool,” he said, leading her back into the deserted corridor. “Do you know how to find it again?”

Meg nodded. “There is a clearing behind the temple,” she said. “The rock pool I told you of lies at the edge of it. The scrying pool is raised, like a well at the far side of it, and a little copse on the other side of the clearing backs up to the wall that surrounds the isle. You can’t mean to attempt to look into the pool with all the revelers about? We would be walking right into them!”

“Dressed thus, and considering that they will all soon be in their cups, that is exactly what I mean to do,” he replied. “But there is something else I must do there….”

“You mean to leave me here and return to the sea through the rock pool!” she cried.

“Shh!” he warned her, clamping his hand over her mouth. Her hot breath puffing on his skin and raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. It was sweet and moist. How he wanted her! “I will never leave you, Megaleen. That pool feeds from the bay—whatever goes into it will reach the sea. A squall is coming, but not in time, and not nearly terrible enough for our needs. I have no doubt that Vega will raise an army of entities from the deep to come to our aid, but one drop of my blood in that water will bring a maelstrom of gargantuan proportions that will help us escape this place.”

Meg’s jaw sagged. “You mean to cut yourself?” She was incredulous.

“One drop of my blood—
selkie blood
—and a legion of avengers will stir the seas and bays with flesh-tearing winds that will flay the Mount into the bay and drive it down beneath the waves until it is no more. You have no inkling of the power I command as Lord of the Deep or of the loyalty of the subjects who attend me.”

Meg dug in her heels and faced him, arms akimbo. “And just how will that help us without your sealskin?”

“It won’t,” he responded, stopping short of saying that the rain and waves might just put the bonfire out so Gideon could lift her off the Mount like he had before. “But it might create enough of a diversion to keep these occupied while we find the skin,” he said instead. It was better if she didn’t know what he was planning.

The glow from the bonfire was visible before they’d even rounded the corner of the stronghold. It cast an eerie orange glow over the dark sky. The clearing was swarming with robed shamans and scantily clad temple whores engaged in all manner of ritualistic dancing. Wineskins were being upended. One of the revelers handed one to Simeon. He took a swallow then handed it back, and the young man reeled off and rejoined the throngs. The scene was not unlike that which had occurred on the night of the full moon, when he had come with his consorts and tempted Meg on the Isle of Mists.

His heart began to race. Could this be the same wine Seth had given Meg? He was fully aroused, his cock begging for release. He tugged at it through the tight-fitting eel skin with pinching fingers, but it would not go down. No. It wasn’t the wine. He scarcely needed inducement. He was hard before they had ever left the round tower. His need had manifested itself the minute he touched her skin—the instant he felt her warm, sweet breath on his hand.

The pool…He had to find the pool….

“There!” Meg said, as if she’d read his mind. “There is no one near it now.”

Simeon followed her nod toward the rock pool and the scrying pool alongside. “There’s a mist on it,” he observed, thinking out loud. “How is that possible with all this wind? And why is it avoided?”

“Aunt Adelia told me the shamans check the scrying pool at dawn and dusk each day. Since they can see the past, present, and future in it, they do not need to monitor it so frequently, I suppose. And Seth whisked the mist away with his hand when he made me look into it.”

“You looked into it?” Simeon whispered through clenched teeth as others danced by, in particular what appeared to be one of the shamans chasing a nearly naked temple whore. “What did you see?”

Silence.

“What did you see, Megaleen?” Simeon persisted.

Still she hesitated. “I saw you,” she said at last, “betraying me with your consorts. I didn’t recognize the place, but you were under the water, and your concubines had covered you like a quilt beneath some sort of net canopy. Seth said it was the present. Did it happen, Simeon, what I saw?”

Simeon felt the blood leave his scalp and drain from his face. He was hoping she would never have to know about that. “It happened,” he said, “but it was not what it seemed in that pool. I was set on leaving the Pavilion. What you saw was the reason the consorts are now banished to the barrier beach.”

“I saw you come, Simeon.”

The scrying pool’s accuracy was no longer in question, at least. “And I would have seen you come if Seth had gotten his hands upon you earlier. You would not have been able to help yourself. It would have meant nothing—just as what happened to me meant nothing. But this is neither the time nor place to discuss it. Come…and act natural. I must do this before Seth is found and he joins this lot because, while there’s hope to elude the others, he will know us despite our disguise.”

He steered her toward the scrying pool, swept the mist away, and gazed into it. At first the water was as black as midnight. Then the inky blackness dissolved and an image appeared. Simeon stared, not quite sure of what he was seeing until the image faded and then came clear again.

“What do you see?” Meg said, craning her neck to see also.

“I don’t quite know,” Simeon said. “There’s no time now to puzzle over it. Stay close beside me. I am not liking this. My instincts tell me all is not as it seems here.”

The words were scarcely out when a young shaman came running from the stronghold and spoke to two others. All three began to scan the celebration, craning their necks and whispering among themselves.

Simeon seized Meg and spun her around in his arms with her back to the nattering shamans so he could monitor them and stooped as if he meant to kiss her. “They’ve found him,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep your face covered and do not turn around…Pretend you’re making love with me, like the rest of these.”