Free Under an Enchantment: A Novella by Anne Stuart Page A

that.
    He was leaving. She knew that as well, knew in her blood and bones. He was leaving, and if she didn’t go to him, he’d leave her behind.
    It was time, past time, for her final reckless act. She dropped the last few feet to the ground, leaning for a moment against the thick stone of the dower house. She had loved St. Columba, the hills, the oceans, old Morag, and the mystery of the Seal Dance. She had even loved her family, and had a sneaking fondness for Torquil.
    But she wanted to dance with the faeries. Swim with the seals. To live a life she’d never lived before. And she was ready to take any risk to claim it.
    She knew where she’d find him. In the midst of the enchanted faerie circle, where she’d last seen him. He’d come back there, through the mist-shrouded moonlight; he would come to her, wait for her, through the long night. And if she failed him, he would walk into the ocean without her, leaving her to harsh mortal hands.
    She wanted immortality. She wanted freedom and beauty and glory and dreams.
    But most of all, she wanted Malcolm.
    There was no sign of Morag’s spirit when she reached the enchanted knoll. No sign of Malcolm as well. The moss-covered hillock within the circle of stones was deserted, silent, bewitched. She sank down on the softness, her white nightrail flowing around her, feeling the damp of the mist settle on her skin. She would look like a ghost. Perhaps she already was one. Perhaps she’d followed him into the sea and drowned there, as poor Catriona MacDugald had more than thirty years ago, and she was doomed to wander the hills of St. Columba, looking for the demon lover who lured her to her doom.
    She considered the notion, well pleased with the high-flown romance of it. She considered summoning forth a few tragic tears, then thought better of it. She wasn’t cold, but the dampness reached into her bones, and she shivered. Wanting a shawl to wrap around her, wanting a blanket to lie on. Wanting a demon lover to come to her.
    She heard him in the forest, moving closer. She knew his footsteps, sure enough on land, even though he must be unused to walking on solid ground. He was coming to her, though he wouldn’t know she was waiting.
    She saw him on the edge of the clearing, wreathed in mist. His long black hair flowed loose around his shoulders, his eyes were dark and intent, but when he saw her in the midst of the stones, he stopped, coming no farther.
    “ You’re not afraid of the stones, are you, selkie?” she asked, her voice light and carrying on the mist. “You should recognize them. They were seal people, frozen into stone in the midst of a dance. They mean us no harm.”
    Still he didn’t move, and she had the sudden fear that he would turn and leave her. She could feel the warring in his soul, the fight that she didn’t want him to win. She rose to her knees, wraithlike in the swirling fog, and held out her hands to him.
    “ Come to me, selkie,” she whispered, so softly he wouldn’t be able to hear.
    But he moved, slowly forward, as if impelled by a force outside himself. He moved through the circle of stone; moved to stand in front of her, and he was immensely tall and dark, a danger to her heart and soul.
    “ Go home, Ailie,” he said in a rough voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “ You came for me,” she said. “You called me. Why else would we both be here?”
    “ Go home, Ailie,” he said again. “You were right, I mean you harm. For blood vengeance, for no fault of yours. Run away from me, m’eudail”
    “ M’eudail,” she breathed. “You love me.” She took his hands in hers. “Make me a selkie, beloved. Enchant me.” And she pressed his hand against her breast, feeling his start of shock. His hand cupped her, he sank down to his knees in front of her, and the faerie mist settled down around them like a fleecy blanket, a bridal veil, a benediction.
    And Ailie knew that she would finally know true magic this night. And madness as