Burning Up

movements as carefully controlled as his voice. “To me.”
    He was jealous. Her heart jolted with pleasure and annoyance. Did he believe because he had been inside her body that he owned her?
    “I am flattered.” She smiled, showing the edges of her teeth. “Or I would be if you had any right to an opinion.”
    His eyes were grave and steady on hers. “Is it the money? I can pay you.”
    She was not offended. She knew humans equated value with gold. “I do not want your money,” she said. “I laid with you for my pleasure. Now it is time for you to go.”
    “Come with me.”
    Her mouth dropped open. She had not expected that response.
    “You don’t have to live like this,” he continued in his deep, earnest voice. “The hall is open again. I will speak to Watts, my butler. If you won’t take money from me, there must be some work you can do.”
    He wanted to hire her as some kind of . . . servant? The idea amused and appalled her.
    “I do not want to work at your hall.”
    “Come anyway,” he urged.
    The mad thing was, for a moment she was tempted. He was so very appealing, big and dark, stiff with honor and frustration.
    She shook her head. “As what?” Over the past decade or so, she had learned enough about human affairs to know what he proposed was impossible. For both of them. “As your wife? Your mistress?”
    He did not answer.
    She took pity on him. “I am content as I am,” she told him gently. “I will not give up my freedom. But I thank you for your offer.”
    He drew a short, sharp breath. For a moment she feared that he would argue or worse, try to force her.
    He nodded once. “Then may I come to you here?”
    She smiled at him in relief and approval. “You may.”
    Whether he would find her was another matter.
    She followed him out of the cottage, watching as he climbed stiffly onto his horse and rode away without another word.
    She was not disappointed.
    Merely a little letdown.
    She had not thought he would give up so easily.
    She stood a long time staring out at the bright and restless sea, its surface scrolled by the wind.
    A plume of vapor. There.
    A round black swell broke the uneven water, its huge dark fin cutting the air like a sail.
    Orcas did not swim alone, but she wasted no time searching for the rest of the pod. This was no ordinary whale.
    It scythed through the water, too fast, too close, as if it would beach itself on the rocks. Her heart beat faster as the sleek black shape barreled toward the shore, its outlines blurring beneath the water. A wave crested and crashed. Spray shot skyward. Sunlight broke and glittered in a thousand dazzling drops, veiling the barrier between land and sea. The air shimmered.
    Morwenna blinked.
    A man rose hip deep from the water, tall and leanly muscled, his hair silver white as foam, his pale skin shining from the sea. Water streamed from his shoulders and wrapped his legs, forming itself into the black and silver garments of the finfolk. His chest was bare except for the silver chain and medallion of his office. Tossing back his dripping hair, he waded toward her.
    Pale gold eyes met hers.
    Morgan, lord of the finfolk and warden of the northern deeps.
    Her brother.
    Her twin.
    “Sister,” he said in greeting. “You called.”

TWO
    T he next bright morning was market day in the village of Farness. The wind chased the clouds across the sky and harried the sparkling breakers of the bay toward the long stone jetty. A shepherd urged his flock of fat, baaing sheep along the narrow street between whitewashed cottages. Giggling children chased a lamb between the market stalls.
    It was only up close that Jack could see the thatch on the cottages needed patching and the villagers lost their smiles at his approach.
    His steward, Edwin Sloat, had urged him not to come.
    “They’re a surly lot, these Scots,” he’d said, smoothing a hand over his thinning hair. “Liars and cheats, most of them. Let Cook do the shopping. Or the housekeeper, Mrs. Pratt.”
    But Jack was determined to gain a better understanding of this place and his new responsibilities. To do his duty, he must get to know his dependents.
    So here they were, he and Sloat, stopping by a fish stall to survey the day’s catch. The fisherman stood back, his gaze fixed on his cracked boots.
    “Fine catch,” Jack remarked pleasantly.
    The man did not answer.
    Sloat considered the gleaming row of fish. “That big one would do for our dinner. Send it to Cook in the