Page 92 of Under Gorse and Stone

She looks suddenly anxious. “Can you not talk for him instead of him going there?”

“Nay,” he says sternly. “He must choose for himself, and you know this. No attempt can be made to sway his mind.”

“Over what?” I ask curiously.

He smiles at me. “He must choose whether it is the sea or the land for him.”

“You mean he’d have to live at sea?”

“They are what you’d call a package deal. Together, or not at all. She must make her choice, and he must make his own.”

“Can’t they have both land and sea?”

“Sometimes, but that is not foretold. I have known it happen once in the past, but that mermaid was very powerful.”

He smiles and I know he’s talking about Morveren.

“I do have a very powerful will,” Melusine muses.

He chuckles. “Well do I know it. Go now, child. I will send word when you are to appear at court.”

“And you won’t tell my parents?” she checks.

He hesitates. “I do not like keeping secrets, but I will keep your location to myself for now. I will tell them that you are safe, though. I shall have to give my word that you will appear. Do not make me a liar, child.”

“Thank you.” She turns, and I gasp as she hugs me. “Thank you,” she shouts exuberantly.

I pat her shoulder. “I’m not sure what for.”

She gets to her feet. “You are here with Sigurd. He has always been so alone, and now he isn’t. Goodbye.”

She rushes off, her coat kicking up and her hair dancing in the strong sea breeze. Within seconds, she’s disappeared down a little path between two cottages.

We watch her go, and I ball up our rubbish and toss it into a nearby bin. Then Sigurd pulls me close, and we sit in silence for a while. Finally, he stirs. “Good grief, Cary. The Mer are tiring.”

I smile up at him, feeling tiredness tug at my bones. “That was a good job done, though,” I say, the satisfaction in my voice slightly marred by my huge yawn.

He chuckles. “For shame, Cary. The Mer do not need to conjure up a vortex when you are at hand.”

I nudge him, laughing, and then fall willingly into his arms. He turns me so my back is to him, his arms cradling me and his chin resting on my head. We sit for a moment watching the morning sky over the harbour. Lemon and red streak the horizon, and one by one the Christmas lights blink out, leaving us in the cold light. His cheekbones are tinged with a hint of red, and his face is shadowed.

“Let us go home. I would sleep for an age,” Sigurd says, nudging me with his nose and dropping a kiss on my cheek.

Home?

Yes. That sounds right. His home is my home. More so than anywhere I haveeverlived.

The thought is so sudden and shocking that I stiffen. How can that be? I’ve known this man for only a few days. How is it that his home is mine?

“Cary?” he says, yawning. “Are you well?”

I reach up and squeeze his hand. “I am the best I have ever been,” I say, and he’s quiet for a second.

“You have always been the best,” he says simply, and I feel tears in my eyes at the conviction in his lovely voice. And that’s when I realise it.

His house isn’t my home.Heis.

I haven’t got far into the house when Sigurd tackles me. He shoves me into the door, putting up his hand, so I don’t hurt my face, and I feel his hot breath on my neck before he starts to lay a string of stinging kisses on my skin, sucking and biting.