of cavern walls beyond the net. Then he heard someone coming.
Quickly, he lowered himself into the chair by the table and picked up a wrought iron fork with a twisted ribbon handle. The hair on the back of his head tingled with awareness until he heard the tinkling of the shells embedded in the net. Slowly, he turned to see who entered, then let his breath out in one long sigh. He hadn't realized he'd held his breath until he saw he again.
This time her gown was a deeper green, like a forest of pines, and styled like the eighteenth century gowns of his mother's youth.
She smiled shyly. "Ah, it is as I would think. You wake."
He nodded. The sight of her filled his senses and sent his awareness keening. Nonetheless, though his heart and soul spoke differently, this time he would not let her leave him with questions unanswered.
"Where am I?" he asked again.
She smiled sadly. "Where I would not have you be."
"So you said before." His brows drew together as he twirled the fork between his fingers. "Why am I here?" he asked instead.
"To see if Margareen lives. You hurt her with your thunder and pain."
"Thunder and pain?"
She nodded, her hair rippling. "You have a small one. The ships, theirs roar out like the earth up heaving and leave death behind."
"Death? Ships cannons? Ah, my pistol! The way the water deflects, I did not think I would hit the beast, only scare it."
Her head tilted, her expression quizzical. "Beast? Margareen is Merfolk!" Her lips twisted upward.
She was laughing at him!
"Me, I think you are blind. Land, and sea, and air, all around, and you are blind. I've tried to open your eyes."
He raised one cynical eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"In your dreams."
The hair on the back of the Andrew's neck tingled again.
"I've shown you the sea. Another, what? World? No. It is all the same."
He didn't understand what she was talking about, and wasn't sure he wanted to either. That might demand more of himself than he could give. "I take it you rescued me from my boat after I knocked myself unconscious. Thank you for your aid, but now I must get back to the estate. They'll be wondering where I am," he formally stated. He rose from the chair, ignoring the twinge in his temple.
She put out a hand. "No."
Her touch made his breath catch in his throat. He took her hand between both of his, determined to regain control of his senses and himself. Her hand felt small and delicate. "I must. I have responsibilities," he said softly, bestowing on her the gentle sincerity smile he reserved for skittish virgins.
"Yes. To Margareen," she replied.
He frowned. She was not reacting properly. "I don't know any Margareen," he snapped, dropping her hands. "You'll have to try another tack."
"You only live now because of my call."
He laughed harshly and pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger. "Not good enough."
"It was my fault you visited that cove." She hung her head. "I was selfish."
"That's your problem, my pretty." He walked toward the draped opening, then looked back. "I hope you have some sane relations to take care of you."
"I have no one."
He snorted. "That I don't believe. What about this Margareen?" Despite his intentions, he found himself lingering by the net. She looked vulnerable and lost.
She turned away. "Margareen is not family. Loud thunder killed my father. Mother swims in the west, away from memories."
He shook his head. He pushed aside the net curtain. The shells rang against each other.
She spun about and grabbed his arm. "No! It is safe here! Unless Margareen dies. And I am afraid. It is all my fault!"
"What in bloody hell are you talking about?"
"Margareen is dying! When she dies, so do you."
"That's excessively medieval, my dear, to say nothing of being stage dramatics."
Her fingernails dug into his arm. "You do not understand! She bleeds! It does not stop. The sharks...." She shuddered. "We have barred their way to these caverns, and the dolphins guard the coral gate, but her blood
Quickly, he lowered himself into the chair by the table and picked up a wrought iron fork with a twisted ribbon handle. The hair on the back of his head tingled with awareness until he heard the tinkling of the shells embedded in the net. Slowly, he turned to see who entered, then let his breath out in one long sigh. He hadn't realized he'd held his breath until he saw he again.
This time her gown was a deeper green, like a forest of pines, and styled like the eighteenth century gowns of his mother's youth.
She smiled shyly. "Ah, it is as I would think. You wake."
He nodded. The sight of her filled his senses and sent his awareness keening. Nonetheless, though his heart and soul spoke differently, this time he would not let her leave him with questions unanswered.
"Where am I?" he asked again.
She smiled sadly. "Where I would not have you be."
"So you said before." His brows drew together as he twirled the fork between his fingers. "Why am I here?" he asked instead.
"To see if Margareen lives. You hurt her with your thunder and pain."
"Thunder and pain?"
She nodded, her hair rippling. "You have a small one. The ships, theirs roar out like the earth up heaving and leave death behind."
"Death? Ships cannons? Ah, my pistol! The way the water deflects, I did not think I would hit the beast, only scare it."
Her head tilted, her expression quizzical. "Beast? Margareen is Merfolk!" Her lips twisted upward.
She was laughing at him!
"Me, I think you are blind. Land, and sea, and air, all around, and you are blind. I've tried to open your eyes."
He raised one cynical eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"In your dreams."
The hair on the back of the Andrew's neck tingled again.
"I've shown you the sea. Another, what? World? No. It is all the same."
He didn't understand what she was talking about, and wasn't sure he wanted to either. That might demand more of himself than he could give. "I take it you rescued me from my boat after I knocked myself unconscious. Thank you for your aid, but now I must get back to the estate. They'll be wondering where I am," he formally stated. He rose from the chair, ignoring the twinge in his temple.
She put out a hand. "No."
Her touch made his breath catch in his throat. He took her hand between both of his, determined to regain control of his senses and himself. Her hand felt small and delicate. "I must. I have responsibilities," he said softly, bestowing on her the gentle sincerity smile he reserved for skittish virgins.
"Yes. To Margareen," she replied.
He frowned. She was not reacting properly. "I don't know any Margareen," he snapped, dropping her hands. "You'll have to try another tack."
"You only live now because of my call."
He laughed harshly and pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger. "Not good enough."
"It was my fault you visited that cove." She hung her head. "I was selfish."
"That's your problem, my pretty." He walked toward the draped opening, then looked back. "I hope you have some sane relations to take care of you."
"I have no one."
He snorted. "That I don't believe. What about this Margareen?" Despite his intentions, he found himself lingering by the net. She looked vulnerable and lost.
She turned away. "Margareen is not family. Loud thunder killed my father. Mother swims in the west, away from memories."
He shook his head. He pushed aside the net curtain. The shells rang against each other.
She spun about and grabbed his arm. "No! It is safe here! Unless Margareen dies. And I am afraid. It is all my fault!"
"What in bloody hell are you talking about?"
"Margareen is dying! When she dies, so do you."
"That's excessively medieval, my dear, to say nothing of being stage dramatics."
Her fingernails dug into his arm. "You do not understand! She bleeds! It does not stop. The sharks...." She shuddered. "We have barred their way to these caverns, and the dolphins guard the coral gate, but her blood
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