Page 16 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

When the first creel surfaced Rory leant over to grab it.

Then, once safely on deck, he reached inside the cage and pulled each creature out one by one.

He turned them over, checking their bodies for who knew what from every angle, before placing them carefully in a large open container.

The examination was far gentler than Fionn had expected.

Rory seemed to work with quiet focus, something that Fionn could relate to.

At one point, Rory dropped a crab back into the sea.

‘What was wrong with that one?’ Fionn asked.

‘Too young.’

‘Ah. You want the bigger catch for more meat.’

‘To give them chance to breed,’ Rory replied distractedly.

Fionn thought that was a strange thing to be concerned with. Were humans particularly interested in the mating rituals of spider crabs? Before he could ask, Rory was back to hauling on the rope. This time, Fionn stepped in to pull the creel from the water.

‘Get off that,’ Rory snapped at him.

‘Show me what you’re looking for. I will help you.’

Rory groaned. ‘I just want to get the work done and go home. Is that too much to ask?’

‘I’m a fast learner,’ Fionn argued. ‘I can help you get it done thrice as fast.’

Rory’s expression told Fionn that he was very doubtful. But he took the creel from Fionn’s hand and opened the latch anyway.

‘This one’s good, mature, healthy. That one’s too small…’

In a somewhat gruff, halting manner, Rory talked Fionn through the logic behind what went into his catch and what got thrown back in the sea. ‘Bycatch’ was the word he used for creatures caught in the trap that he wasn’t fishing for, and they got released straight away.

They moved onto the next creel and this time Rory stood aside for Fionn to haul it up.

‘Go on then, if you’re so keen,’ he muttered, handing Fionn the rope.

Fionn did so with pride. He took the opportunity to show off his superior strength, dragging up the line far faster than Rory had. To his chagrin, Rory gave a shout when the creel pot flew out of the water and bounced against the hull.

‘Bloody careful!’ Rory snatched the rope back off him.

Reluctantly, Rory allowed Fionn to have a go at sorting the catch from this pot. But he grabbed Fionn’s wrist just as he was about to put a fat female lobster into the tub.

‘What’s wrong now?’ Fionn all but whined, fed up with being derailed.

Rory gently prised the lobster from his fingers and lifted her tail. ‘She’s berried, see?’ Thousands of black, pinhead-sized eggs covered her abdomen.

Fionn’s brow creased. Didn’t Rory know what they were? ‘Those are her eggs, not berries. They are her spawn. She carries them until—’

Rory burst out laughing. ‘You’re not trying to teach me, are you? I know what they are, you feckin’ idiot. Jesus.’

With care, Rory dropped the female lobster back into the Minch. ‘We don’t pick the berried ones.’

‘Why not? The eggs are very nutritious. I’ve recently learned about some good recipes—’

Rory cut him off with a Look. ‘You eat them, do you? Good for you. And what are you and all the other mermen doing for the sustainability of lobster populations in these parts?’

‘The what?’ The clay tablets hadn’t mentioned anything about that, and Fionn hated to admit when he didn’t know something. So he didn’t. ‘Actually, we do a great deal.’

‘Oh, yeah? Like what?’

Suddenly on the spot, Fionn grasped for anything substantial from the cloud of trivia he’d learned the day before. ‘We farm them.’

‘Great. So what you’re saying is that us lot fishing up here are competing with you lot for supply? How many years before we’ve wiped them out then, d’you reckon?’ Rory’s tone was sardonic, but some underlying bitterness shone through.

Fionn cast around the deck of this tiny fishing vessel and tried his very hardest to put himself in Rory’s human shoes. ‘Do you worry that one day you will be unable to make a living this way?’

‘Ha.’ It wasn’t really a laugh. More like Rory was reacting to a snide remark. ‘Sure. But that’s the way of it. Business is shit. Humans, too.’

He moved to the rope and began hauling the next creel.

Fionn sidled round to peer at him more closely.

He wished Rory had tattoos that he could read.

It would be so much simpler if humans detailed their experiences on their skin like Minchmen.

So much easier to strike up a conversation if he knew from the outset they had something in common—like with Neacel and his victory over the kelpie.

How tiresome to have to pay so much attention all the time.

Rory stopped in the middle of tugging the rope. He’d spotted something on the waves.

‘What are you staring at?’ Fionn asked.

The closest thing Fionn had seen to a smile curved Rory’s mouth. ‘We have a visitor.’

Fionn squinted, his eyes not so sharp in the bright sunlight. A soft grey head bobbed a few metres away.

‘Acha!’ Fionn exclaimed happily. He beckoned her over. She barked a response and swam closer.

Rory gave him a look of disbelief. ‘You’re friends with this seal?’

‘Of course.’ Fionn swung himself off the boat, landing with a splash.

He glided through the water to meet Acha and enveloped her in a hug.

She thrashed her flippers playfully and nuzzled her whiskers into his throat.

‘Where have you been, you silly creature? I don’t like when you are away for so long. ’

Rory gaped at them. Fionn realised he must look like a childish fool, frolicking with Acha so freely. He pushed her gently away and tried to regain his composure. ‘She is a very loyal friend,’ he said tartly.

By now Rory had tied off his rope and was leaning on the rail with both arms, himself looking rather like an excited child. ‘Would she like a crab?’

Fionn glanced at Acha. ‘They’re not her favourite, but she will certainly take one.’

Rory disappeared briefly, then came back with a large spider crab. He tossed it to the side of Acha and she dove gleefully to catch it.

‘Amazing,’ Rory said.

‘You do not mind seals, then,’ Fionn observed, with some surprise. ‘I have known other human fishermen to spurn them. Hurt them, even. As competition to their catch.’

Rory shrugged, watching Acha as she rolled to show off her belly. He seemed amused by her antics. ‘Some do. Many won’t. Depends which fisherman.’ He produced another crab and tossed it over the rail.

‘You know, Acha here would be just as likely to destroy your creels as I would.’

‘I bet. But she’s only looking for a meal.’ Rory’s eyes flashed to Fionn. ‘Not like it’s personal.’

Fionn caught Acha as she flopped into his side, seeking to start a game. ‘It is my understanding that many humans would not share such a charitable opinion.’

‘Ha.’ Again, that not-quite laugh. ‘I won’t argue on that.’

Rory watched for another minute as Fionn threw a stick from his belt for Acha to catch. She gleefully caught it mid-air and returned it for him to throw again.

‘She’s like a puppy,’ Rory commented.

‘I found her as a pup.’ Fionn stroked a hand over Acha’s sleek head. She nuzzled her nose into his palm in response. ‘She was tangled up in a mess of abandoned fishing nets. She would have died if I hadn’t cut her out.’

Rory made a sound of violent disgust and scowled. ‘Folks should know better than to leave their shit in the ocean.’

‘And yet, many do.’ Fionn beckoned Acha to roll onto her back, exposing a long scar around her throat. ‘This is where the net bit into her. It was so tight.’

‘I’m sorry. Humans are fucking awful.’ The half-smile dropped from Rory’s face and was replaced by a rather moodier expression. The hard set of his brow drew deeper shadows under his eyes, speaking to a world-weariness he otherwise seemed too young to possess.

Indeed, from the identification in his wallet Fionn knew that Rory was technically the younger of them at twenty-nine years of age and Fionn at thirty.

But Bluefolk lived slightly longer lives than humans, so where Rory was perhaps a third of the way through his lifespan, Fionn was a quarter of the way through his.

Age aside, it was dawning on Fionn that his life had been even more sheltered than he’d perceived. And part of it was due to his own self-absorption. He’d never considered the complexity of human problems in addition to those faced by Bluefolk.

‘There used to be many more fishermen along this shore,’ he said, speaking his thoughts unintentionally. ‘The Minch was crowded with their boats. It made things very difficult for us.’

Fionn felt Rory’s attention pulled back onto him. It felt rather like making himself a target.

‘I bet we were too much competition, right?’ Rory said, holding Fionn on the end of an impassive stare. ‘You must be happy there are fewer of us here now.’ Then he muttered to himself, tearing his gaze away, ‘Can’t say I blame you.’

Fionn stroked Acha’s freckled head, considering the right response. Rory seemed to dislike his own kind for the same reasons Fionn had disliked them.

Fionn’s grandfather had seen the first steamboats cross this strait, followed by tremendous cargo vessels the like of which had never been seen before.

More terrifying had been the new warships of the modern age and their submarines which occasionally navigated the Minch.

The Redfolk’s magic played an ever-increasing role in the kingdom’s safety.

Fionn’s lip curled at the unpleasant reminder.

‘It was not always this way,’ Fionn said, in part answering Rory and in part answering himself. ‘There once was a time when Bluefolk and humans mixed freely on land and in water.’

Rory’s retort was sceptical. ‘How did that work, then? I’m pretty sure we’d have stories about it too if there were mermen walking around up here once upon a time…’ His eyebrows scrunched together. ‘Come to think of it, maybe we do.’

‘We were often called the Tattooed People. Picts was another word. Though there were many different tribes before we united under one king.’

Rory dropped another crustacean over the side for Acha and asked, overly nonchalantly, ‘Those tattoos of yours a cultural thing, are they?’

Fionn nodded. ‘They record our great deeds.’

‘What do yours say?’

Fionn’s chest swelled. Rory wanted to hear about his great achievements. Rory was inviting him to declare his worthiness. He glanced at Acha and marvelled at the effect she’d had on their conversation.

Not wishing to waste it, Fionn hauled himself onto the boat—Rory jumped back—and flexed his muscles to better show off his tattoos as his skin shimmered from blue to pale pink. Rory’s eyes seemed to momentarily glaze over.

Fionn pointed at his markings one by one. ‘This set record my name and lineage, that I am the eldest prince of King Aonghas, ruler and protector of the Bluefolk of the Minch. This string here record my victories in combat against other skilled Minchmen.’

‘Like in battles?’ Rory craned forward, though it looked like he was trying not to.

‘In tournaments. Tests of skill. This symbol here is for my proficiency with the spear. This group,’ Fionn’s finger trailed along his torso while Rory’s gaze followed magnetically, ‘detail a number of hunts I have completed to fill our food stores. Here is a recent one that I earned for bringing a murderer to justice. And this one is for the pod of orca I have slain. To protect our people,’ Fionn hurriedly added, unsure where the pinch of guilt in his voice had come from.

‘They had been hovering around one of our nurseries for some time. They attacked me first…’

To his surprise, Rory seemed empathetic. ‘Must be a brutal world down there. For all species.’ He sighed, digging his fists into his armpits and effectively closing himself off again.

Acha keened loudly, seeking Fionn’s presence. And probably another spider crab. Fionn called down to her, ‘We shall play later, Acha. Right now I am spending time with my mate.’

Rory’s face contorted. ‘Your what?’

Surely he had not forgotten? Fionn gestured to his chest, where the soul bond’s current washed in and out of him. ‘Our bond. You are my—’

‘Don’t call me your mate.’

Rory’s snappish reaction shook Fionn like a riptide. Hadn’t they just been getting on well together? Why did he have to be as volatile as the tide?

‘You would not be my first choice either, Rory Douglas!’ Fionn replied hotly. Foolishly. He should never have admitted to that.

But, to his constant, ever-changing surprise, it got a snort of laughter out of Rory. ‘You don’t fuckin’ say? Jesus, I don’t get it. I wouldn’t go for you and you sure as hell wouldn’t go for the likes of me. A prince and a fisherman, right? Why?’

A human and a merman, Fionn’s own thoughts echoed.

‘I agree we are a strange match,’ he said quietly, thinking over words that had come from Neacel. ‘But would you consider that perhaps fate has more in store for you than you know, Rory Douglas? Perhaps you could open your heart to the mere possibility. For now, that is all I ask.’

Was Fionn imagining it, or had Rory’s breathing hitched a little? He certainly seemed unable to meet Fionn’s gaze.

‘R-right.’ Rory coughed, turning away to pick up some rope that Fionn was sure was attached to nothing. ‘I’ve got work to do. Maybe you should spend some time with your seal. She can have another crab if she wants.’

It was practically a warm farewell compared to their previous ones. Fionn discovered a jittery kind of excitement bubbling up in his chest. He was making progress. For all his denouncements, Rory seemed interested in him. Even now, the way his eyes darted back to Fionn’s tattoos…

Caught off-guard, a blush of light blue rippled over Fionn’s skin. Rory’s eyes widened and Fionn hastily made up an excuse. ‘It does that sometimes,’ he garbled. ‘The weather, you know. Humidity. I shall leave you to your work.’

He dived overboard, burning from embarrassment with the feeling of Rory’s stare penetrating the water. Acha raced him into the depths.

What in the deeps was that about? He’d never had such an urge to run away before. As though compelled to hide from the interest in Rory’s gaze.

To shy away, in case Rory realised conclusively that there was nothing about Fionn truly worthy of being interested in.

Fionn scrunched up the thought and buried it.