Page 38 of Fletcher

“My name’s Meg, and I’ve told you all. I shall go, then.” She got to her feet and tried to go around him. When he blocked her path, she pressed a hand to her brow. “Must I shout for help?”

“Seneschal claims I’ve driven you from Dun Ard,” Merrick said, leaning down to look into her eyes. “How should I do such? I’ve only ever shown you kindness.”

“Kindness?” she echoed, almost screeching the word. “Ever you say I’m unworthy, ugly, and none of your kind wants me. I’m a maid, I’ve no family or dowry, so aye, I’m little more than a beggar in your eyes. Only you…” She stopped and turned away from him. “You’ve plagued me long enough. Go now, before I spoil that pretty face of yours.”

“How could I make you suffer?” He made her face him. “I saved you from drowning in the wreck, the sea cave, and the bay. ’Tis all I do, saving you. How can you name me the villain of your life?”

“You kissed me as if ’twere naught.” She ducked her head. “’Twas my first kiss. That belonged to my sweetheart, or my husband. No’ the likes of you.”

Merrick could not believe she was telling him such a thing. When she had been a wee lass it had been simple to ignore her; the clan had kept her away from the bay. Nor would he ever think of touching a child. Yet now that she had grown into a woman, he couldn’t keep himself from her. He watched for her every time he drew near the shore. He haunted the fairy pool where she bathed. He dreamed of her sharing his palace, sleeping in his arms, both of them embraced by the sea.

He also knew he could never offer her anything but heartache and regret.

“When the Norse punished Jamaran for releasing me from enslavement, they sailed out to the depths and tossed him into the sea,” Merrick said. “I reached him only after water had filled his chest, and stilled his heart. I couldnae bear that brave lad dying for me, so I used my power to change him as I would a female I wished take as my mate.”

“All ken such,” Meg muttered. “I wish you joy of him.”

“Our laws state we may change a mortal only once.” As she stared at him in shock he nodded. “’Tis why the Selseus mate for life. Some who lose their mate may pair with another already transformed, but ’tisnae the same closeness we share with the one we choose.”

“That, ’tis why you’ve ever claimed you’d no’ take a wife, nor sire a son?” she demanded. “You cannae?”

He tipped up her chin and looked into her furious eyes. Yet she hid more than anger from him now; the air between them tasted of the salt of tears, and her lips trembled.

“I might convince another to change you, or do so in secret myself, but the Selseus should never accept a red-haired female as their queen.” He ran his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip, stroking that delicate softness. “I am a king and you a maid. You’ve no place at my side, nor I at yours. Go, and find yourself a husband who shall kiss you and make you happy. I wish you many bairns you may love along with him.”

Meg slapped him with all her strength, and then he lifted her off her feet and pinned her to the nearest wall as he kissed her. She bit his lower lip and tongue, struggling fiercely to free herself, and he wanted to put her on the floor and bury himself inside her. Instead he kissed her cheek and chin and throat, tasting the honey from the salve on her jaw, and the sweet salt of her angry tears. He kissed her for all the times he’d been unable to even touch her, watching from afar, driving himself mad with wanting her. Her pounding fists became stroking fingers, and a husky sound came from her throat that nearly drove Merrick to his knees.

With her he would never be a king, only a man.

Drawing back from her, he brushed a tangle of hair away from her bruised face. She looked at him with so much longing and regret he wanted to kiss her again. He also knew if he did he would not stop there. No Selseus had ever taken a mortal female before transforming her, but he imagined he could sire a son on her even if she remained unchanged.

“Still you treat me as if I’m yours.” She sounded tired now. “Gods, that I should love a fiend as heartless as you.”

He nodded. “You do the same, Margret. You ken ’tis truth.” Then, because he wanted her to know, he added, “Never shall any other take your place at my side.”

“I’ll go soon.” That she said flatly, as if making a pledge. “You’ll keep away from me until I do. Then you’ll keep away for good.”

“Aye.” He’d always hated her a little for being so hard-headed and practical, but now he knew it was because she had the strength he lacked. “Dinnae stray near the shores. If I see you again–”

She stopped his words with her fingers. “You’ll keep away from me, King of Eejits.” She released a long, weary sigh. “My thanks for your truth. Now go before Fletcher returns and loses his temper.”

Merrick left her without looking back.

Fletcher watched from the trail to assure the king and the maid parted ways without killing each other before he walked up the slope toward the stronghold. None could claim a more ill-fated love than Meg and Merrick, and it made him grateful for his own solution to his curse. Indeed, Lark had proven the perfect woman for him. She had a passionate, joyous nature in bed, but would never expect his affection or show him her own beyond that. Together they would live on happily for many years.

Until she dies, and leaves me alone.

He pushed away the wrenching sadness that thought brought over him as he walked through the barn yard. Immortality could be a curse of its own, as he well knew. For now he would enjoy being with someone who would never be tempted to love him.

“Grab her bridle,” a young voice called out from the other side of the barn.

“She’s too frightened,” another answered.

Fletcher came around the corner to see two stable lads struggling with a young mare tangled in a poorly-strapped cart harness. From the looks of it they’d done something to spook her. He went to help them calm the frightened animal, gesturing them to move away as he reached for the flopping reins.

“’Twas an owl came down from the beams,” one of the boys told him. “It flew just by her face, and she bolted before we could tether her.”

“Ever calm the horse first,” he told them, struggling to get a good grip on the loose tack. “’Twill do no good, confining her when she wishes run.”