The Selkie Enchantress Read online

  “I respect that,” Glenna called after her. “But you’re going about it all wrong.”

  “Oh, really?” Caitlin spun around, her eyes narrowing. “How should I be going about it?”

  Glenna took in Caitlin’s oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. She shook her head, clucking her tongue against her cheek. “You’re never going to get Liam back looking like that.”

  Caitlin’s hands balled at her sides. “I’m done with Liam O’Sullivan.”

  “Really?” Glenna raised a brow. “I’ve never known you to be someone who gives up so easily.”

  “There’s nothing to give up,” Caitlin retorted. “He was never mine in the first place.”

  “He’s always been yours, Caitlin. He’s just… distracted at the moment.”

  “Distracted?” Caitlin echoed. “Sure, Glenna, he’s distracted.” She turned, starting back on her run. “I’d like to know what you’d do if the love of your life got distracted?”

  “I know I wouldn’t be running around this island in ugly sweats feeling sorry for myself,” Glenna shouted after her. “I’d be fighting to win him back.”

  ***

  What did Glenna know? She wouldn’t go out on more than three dates with a man for fear of getting attached and, God forbid, falling in love. She probably didn’t even know what love felt like. Caitlin’s calf muscles burned, but she kept running, putting more distance between her and the village.

  She ran until her lungs ached and she had to slow to a walk, clutching at the sudden cramp in her side. Dominic’s words floated back to her. ‘Tara’s going to talk Liam into seeing a specialist. She thinks there’s something wrong with his memory.’

  There wasn’t anything wrong with Liam’s memory. He remembered everything else about the day—driving to Sheridan, chatting with Finn, meeting Nuala, even helping the captain with the lines before the accident. He remembered everything but their date.

  A mare raised her head from a neighboring pasture and Caitlin reached out, brushing a hand over the horse’s soft whiskered muzzle. But then how did that explain their kiss at Tara and Dominic’s wedding? It was an epic kiss—the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your arms tingle.

  Surely the kiss had meant something to him, too. But if it had, then what changed? She let her arm fall back to her side, circling back on the single road leading north to the bogs. Was there a shift in their conversations she hadn’t picked up on? Or was Tara’s concern justified? Was it possible a head injury could erase only a single strand of memories?

  Icy winds whipped over the barren landscape, cutting through her sweaty shirtsleeves. No. That was ridiculous. Memories could be lost over a block of time—a day, a week, even a month before an accident. But not memories of a single person.

  She picked her way over the stone-and-boulder footpath, pausing when she spied a fresh set of footprints in the grass. They were small, belonging to a child. Curious, she followed them along the edge of the bogs until she spotted a boy kneeling alone outside the crumbling ruins of a stone cottage. His back was to her and he was studying something on the ground.

  Caitlin shaded her eyes from the sun. “Hello, there.”

  The child shot to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “It’s okay,” Caitlin said. A pair of ocean blue eyes stared back at her warily. She recognized him from last night; he’d ridden the ferry in with Liam. “No one lives here.” She glanced around for the child’s mother—the absolute last person she wanted to see. “You can poke around all you want.”

  The boy stepped back from the cottage as she came closer, but his gaze drifted back to the spot on the ground where he’d been kneeling.

  Caitlin’s gaze fell to where a single white rose had bloomed overnight in the dead of winter, ice water dripping from its frozen petals.

  Chapter 4

  Tara popped the stethoscope out of her ears. “Everything seems fine.” She used a penlight to follow the movements of Liam’s eyes. “How does your head feel?”

  “I’ve a headache, but nothing a bit of whiskey can’t cure.” He smiled devilishly up at Tara and she shook her head, popping the penlight back in her pocket. Liam and Dominic were so different in personality, but when he smiled like that it was hard not to recognize that impossible-to-resist O’Sullivan charm.

  Liam scooped his glasses off the night table and slipped them on. Tara noted the scratches in the glass, the bent frames. His raven black hair was still mussed from sleep and he had ink all over his fingers. She glanced down at the sheets. Sure enough, there were blue ink stains all over the pillows.

  She shook her head. Absent-minded, yes, but he still had the same long lean muscles as his older brother. And when you combined a brilliant imagination and sharp mind with that hard Irish body tucked into a simple white T-shirt and jeans, it was easy to see why women sometimes got tongue-tied around him.

  “Keep me posted on how you feel throughout the day,” she said, slipping supplies back into her medical kit. “I want to know if anything changes.”

  He caught her hand before she turned. “I could use your help with something else.”

  Tara paused. The scent of boiled ham and roasted tomatoes drifted up from the kitchen where Fiona was preparing breakfast for a small group of regulars. “What is it?”

  “Do I owe Caitlin an apology?”

  A murmur of voices floated up from the barroom. The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor, being pulled out from tables as neighbors and friends called out a morning greeting to each other. Tara bit her lip. He seemed so innocent, looking up at her with those troubled eyes. “I think she’s confused.”

  “Because she thought we had a date?”

  Tara slid a hip back onto the bed. The mattress squeaked under her weight. “From what I heard, you did.”

  “What exactly did you hear?”

  “That you two were talking on the phone several times a week. That you were taking things slowly, but things were certainly… progressing.”

  Liam stared at her for a long moment. “Caitlin and I were talking on the phone several times a week?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Liam shook his head. “What were we talking about?”

  Tara started to zip up her bag. “I think you better ask Caitlin that.”

  Pressing his palms to his eyes, Liam leaned his head back. “What else?”

  “What else what?”

  “What else am I not remembering?” He opened his eyes, the worry in them stilling Tara’s hands. “Is there… more?”

  Tara felt a pang of sympathy for Liam. If there was one thing Liam couldn’t afford to lose, it was his mind. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Caitlin doesn’t tell me everything. She’s kept most of this to herself, but I did stop by one night when she was on the phone with you and she told me you two had been talking. That something happened at the wedding.” She put her hand on his. “I examined your vitals and you seem perfectly fine. You’re telling me you feel okay. But I’m worried that you don’t remember this. I really think you should consider seeing a specialist. Sooner rather than later.”

  “What kind of… specialist?”

  “A neurologist. I can recommend someone in Galway.”

  “No.” Liam shook his head. “No. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll go talk to Caitlin and straighten this out.” He stood, and Tara frowned when she saw him shift unsteadily.

  “Will you at least give it some thought?”

  Liam crossed the room to the window, his hands resting on the edge of an aged walnut bookshelf overflowing with volumes of Irish folklore and worn university textbooks. Paperbacks were stacked beside it, teetering in knee-high piles. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Wondering if she should push harder, Tara lingered, watching his gaze focus on something outside in the street. Straightening, Liam turned away from the window. “I think I’ll have a word with Caitlin now.”

  “Good.” Tara stood. “I
think that’s best.” She watched him turn, pull on the wool sweater from the day before and run a hand through his unruly black hair.

  He smiled at her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  He breezed past her, trotting down the steps two at a time. Wasn’t that supposed to be her line? Tara heard him shout, ‘good morning’ to Dominic and the squeak of the heavy oak door as it opened and slammed shut behind him. He was in far too good spirits all of a sudden. Suspicious, she walked to the window and looked out into the street.

  The woman from last night was down there. Nuala. The one who saved his life. She was turning at the sound of Liam’s greeting behind her. She paused, waiting for him to catch up to her, and they smiled at each other for a long moment before they began to walk, side-by-side, right past Caitlin’s cottage and up toward the cliffs.

  Frustrated, Tara started to turn away from the window. But a shimmer of pale silver drew her eye back out to the street. Nuala’s long cloak rippled in the wind, billowing out behind her and Tara blinked when a faint ice-blue shimmer skimmed down the fabric like waves. Rubbing her eyes, she waited for them to refocus, but the last thing she saw was the blinding white tail of Nuala’s cloak as the pair turned, disappearing behind a stone wall.

  ***

  Caitlin took a step closer to the rose and the child edged away. The wind whistled through the cracks in the crumbling stone cottage. The sweet fragrance of the flower, its fragile stem clinging to the frozen earth, tangled with the raw scent of the sea and the bogs.

  “Why is there only one of them?” the child asked.

  “I don’t know.” Caitlin shook her head slowly. The last time wild roses grew out of season on this island, it was a sign of trouble to come. But this rose didn’t look foreboding. Not like the blood red roses climbing up the walls of Tara’s cottage earlier this year. This one just looked lonely. “I’ve never seen a rose bloom here before.”

  The child hunched his shoulders against the bitter winds. “What’s that underneath it?”

  Caitlin’s gaze fell to the moss-covered stone under the rose bush. “It’s a memorial.”

  The child took a tentative step closer. “What do those markings mean?”

  The wind tugged a curl from Caitlin’s ponytail. It whipped into her eyes and she pushed it away. How many times had she come here to escape to the isolation of the bogs and trace the faint engravings on that stone, wishing things hadn’t turned out the way they did? “They’re initials,” she explained quietly. “The first letters of someone’s name.”

  “Who?”

  The waves rolled over the northern shore, playing their solemn melody. “Someone who passed away a long time ago.”

  The child took another step closer. “Maybe the rose grew for her.”

  “Him,” Caitlin murmured, tucking the memories back where they belonged.

  Kneeling, the child reached out to touch one of the petals. “It’s cold,” he whispered. “Like it froze that way.”

  Caitlin saw the tips of the child’s exposed fingers turning blue. “Like you will if you stay out here much longer.” She turned her back on the rose, facing the child. “What are you doing out here alone anyway? Where is your mother?”

  The child lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Don’t know.”

  “Won’t she be looking for you?”

  “No.”

  “She lets you wander off like this?”

  He nodded.

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” Caitlin murmured, but she really didn’t want to be discussing the woman who saved Liam’s life right now. She turned her attention back to the child, noting there were circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept well. “How are you settling into the cottage?”

  “It’s nice.” The child slipped his hands back in the pockets of his sweatshirts. “I like the seashells.”

  “The seashells?”

  “The ones in the bowls.”

  “Oh, right.” Caitlin scrubbed her hands up the sides of her arms to warm them. He was probably just having trouble adjusting. Lots of kids had trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places. “On the window ledge.”

  He nodded, pulling a handful of the pretty polished shells from his pocket. “Where did you find them?”

  Caitlin stared at the shells. He was carrying them around with him? “On the beach.”

  “The beach,” he repeated, moving his fingers so they caught the sunlight sparkling over their shiny surfaces. “Will you show me?”

  “Right now?”

  He nodded, and Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest. “How about if we find your mother first, and the three of us go?” Yeah, that’s exactly how she wanted to spend the rest of her morning.

  “No,” he said quickly, slipping the seashell back in his pocket. “Never mind.”

  Caitlin narrowed her eyes. Why didn’t he want to find his mother? “I don’t think I caught your name last night…?”

  “It’s Owen.”

  “I’m Caitlin.” She held out her hand and he stared at it, finally putting his hand in hers and shaking it stiffly, like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Where are you from, Owen?”

  He looked down, avoiding her eyes.

  “Dublin?”

  He scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the earth, scrubbing it back and forth.

  “Galway?”

  He lifted a shoulder, still refusing to look at her. Puzzled, Caitlin thought back to his mother’s words the night before when Tara asked why she hadn’t thought to book a room on the island ahead of time. ‘It was a spur of the moment trip. We didn’t have much time for planning.’

  What were they trying to get away from in such a hurry? Caitlin peered down at his worn sneakers, noting for the first time they were soaking wet. The hem of his pants was drenched, too, like he’d been out wading in the surf. “Have you been down to the beach already this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did your clothes get all wet?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t know? The hood of his sweatshirt was still pulled up over his face, but the black curls that peeked out were damp and his hollow cheeks were far too thin for a child’s. “Owen,” Caitlin asked slowly, “have you had breakfast?”

  He shook his head, still avoiding her eyes.

  “Fiona O’Sullivan makes the best porridge in Ireland.” She nodded toward the pub, where smoke curled invitingly from the squat chimney. “It’s piping hot and full of brown sugar.” She smiled. “How about it? Want to join me?”

  His wary gaze flickered up to hers.

  “If we ask nicely,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows. “She might add a swirl of cinnamon.”

  Owen’s stomach growled and he looked back down at the ground and nodded.

  “Come on, then,” Caitlin said, turning toward the path leading back to the pub. But she took one last glance over her shoulder at the rose, shimmering in the bright sunlight, its petals coated in ice.

  ***

  “I found a neurologist in Galway,” Tara said without looking up from the computer screen. “He wasn’t taking any new patients, but I convinced him to squeeze Liam in tomorrow.” She glanced up when Caitlin cleared her throat. “Caitlin!” She rose, snapping the laptop shut guiltily. “I thought you were Dominic.”

  Caitlin’s eyes filled with worry. “You think Liam needs to see a neurologist?”

  Tara crossed the room quickly to her friend. She took Caitlin’s cold hands in hers. “It’s just a precaution.”

  “But… something must be really wrong if you’re sending him to a specialist.”

  “I just want him to have a few tests done.” She squeezed Caitlin’s hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll feel better after I see the results.”

  Caitlin searched Tara’s face. “You promise?”

  Tara took a deep breath. From the corner of her eye, she could see her daughter, Kelsey, watching her. She lowered her voice
. “Okay, I admit. I’m worried.” How could she not be worried after examining Liam this morning? How could he forget this one thing, but remember everything else? “But I’m not jumping to any conclusions until I have the data to back it up. Now come inside and warm up by the fire. Your hands are freezing.”

  Tara ushered Caitlin into the room, pausing when she spotted the child lingering in the doorway. Wasn’t that Nuala’s child?

  His gray-blue eyes lifted and Tara took a step back. Why did those eyes look so familiar? “Are you Fiona O’Sullivan?”

  Tara shook her head. “She’s in the kitchen. Do you want me to get her?”

  “It’s okay,” Caitlin said, pushing the child’s hood back from his face and ruffling his hair. “You can ask Tara.”

  He looked down at the ground, shifting from one foot to another. “May I please have a bowl of porridge with extra brown sugar and cinnamon?”

  Tara looked down at the child, then back at Caitlin. What was Caitlin doing with Nuala’s son?

  “I’ll have one, too,” Caitlin said, pulling off her damp sweatshirt and hanging it over the back of a chair.

  “Of course,” Tara said slowly. Walking around the bar and popping her head into the kitchen, she put in the order with Dominic’s grandmother and then came back out, smiling down at the child. “Why don’t you join my daughter by the fire and warm up while you wait.”

  He looked uncertainly at the blonde curled up on a blanket reading a book. Kelsey scooted over, patting the blanket beside her. “Do you like fairy tales?”

  “I guess,” he said, shuffling over to her and lowering himself to the very edge of the blanket.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Tara turned to Caitlin. “Where’s his mother, Caitlin?”

  “I don’t know,” Caitlin admitted, walking with Tara over to the bar. “I found him wandering alone by the bogs. His clothes were wet like he’d been wading in the surf.”

  “I saw her walk by earlier—Nuala, I mean,” Tara said, leaving out the part about Liam following her out into the street. She felt a new stab of frustration with Liam. And what kind of mother let her child wander around a strange island alone in the middle of winter in wet clothes?