Burning Up

  "We do not need to swim," she said.

  He unbuttoned his breeches. He was already half aroused, dusky and thick. "It will be fun."

  She did not need fun. She needed . . . She was no longer sure what she needed.

  "The water will be cold," she warned.

  Jack glanced down at his erection. "That's probably a good thing."

  She smiled in acknowledgment, reaching slowly for the front closure of her dress.

  "I can do that." His hands were there, between her breasts, slipping the delicate buttons from their holes. "Let me."

  His breath was warm against her face, his expression intent.

  She trembled, undone by more than his hands. "I can manage."

  "You can do anything," he murmured. Her bodice sagged open. Her breath caught. "But let me."

  He cupped the soft weight of her breasts, his thumbs skating over her nipples. "Let me take care of you, Morwenna."

  Desire clenched her insides. An unfamiliar ache lodged in her throat. No one in her life had ever wanted to take care of her. Even Morgan knew better than to try.

  Jack's fingers brushed her throat, traced her collarbone, found her wildly beating pulse in the hollow below her jaw. Sliding the pins from her hair, he combed the smooth strands over her shoulders, arranging them over her breasts, caressing her through the long curtain of her hair. His touch made her feel attended. Cherished.

  Loved.

  He nudged her dress from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet.

  They stood together in the sunlight like the first man and the first woman, naked and unashamed. His arousal brushed her stomach, silky and hot. She flushed with anticipation, her skin blooming.

  He laced his fingers with hers. "Take me swimming with you."

  Her heart hammered. She glanced down at the blanket, sideways at him. "Don't you want to . . ."

  His smile lit his serious eyes. "There will be time later. Time for everything."

  The memory of her own words haunted her. Their lives will be short and hard enough. They should love each other while they can.

  How could she refuse him this? How could she refuse him anything?

  She would not Change in front of him. But she could give him this much of herself.

  "All right," she said.

  They walked hand in hand to the water's edge, the boundary of her world.

  Jack grimaced. "Damn, that's cold."

  She laughed. "Better to go in all at once."

  She ran forward, kicking up spray, and dived into the cold salt sea.

  Joy.

  The force, the shock, nearly forced her Change. Water enveloped her, embraced her, slid over her limbs, flowed through her hair.

  She dived, free from gravity and the planes of earth, dizzy with freedom, feeling the magic bubble through her veins, wrap her sinews, stretch her flesh, soften her bones. Her thighs fused. Her toes spread. She opened her mouth to drink, to inhale, intoxicating briny gulps.

  In the sea, she was free, she could be . . . anything. Anything at all.

  "Morwenna!" A voice, louder than the cry of the gulls or the pounding of her heart or the rush of water in her ears. Jack's voice, calling her back to shore.

  Disoriented, she drifted, caught between Change and thought.

  Jack.

  Her hair floated around her in a cloud. She righted herself, found her feet and the direction of the light. The surface. There. She kicked, feeling her legs, bone and muscle, respond.

  Sunlight and air broke on her face.

  She forced herself to breathe. To be. To be human.

  She turned, blinking the water from her eyes. Jack stood waist deep in the cold water, his wet hair molded to his skull. Water ran down his chest, emphasizing the masculine shape of him, the sleek, hard muscles, the tension of his broad shoulders.

  The tension evaporated when he saw her. His face relaxed. "You were under a long time."

  Time. They had so little time.

  She glided back to him. "I am here now."

  Let it be enough, she prayed. Let me be enough for him.

  They played together like otters or children, bobbing, laughing, splashing in the water. He chased her, shrieking, diving, until she let herself be caught. Breathless, she floated in his arms, twined around him like kelp. Her hands drifted over him, enjoying the textures of him, rough and smooth, under the water. In that moment she had everything she wanted, Jack and the sea. Inside she was melting, flowing, brimming with love.

  He trapped her hands; held them. "Come with me."

  "Yes."

  "Lie with me."

  Oh, yes.

  They waded dripping from the water and lay side by side on the blanket, lacing their fingers together. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. His skin was cool and tasted of salt.

  "You are cold."

  He shrugged. "The sun will dry me quickly enough."

  She rolled to face him, smiling, draping her leg over his hip. "I can warm you."

  "Better than the sun." He turned on his side toward her, combing her damp hair from her face with his fingers. His brown eyes were steady on hers. "My light. My love."

  He covered her mouth with his. Soft and quiet, wooing her. Her heart lurched and then raced. He touched her gently and with purpose until she trembled in his arms.

  He smiled. "Cold?"

  "No."

  Her skin flushed as he continued to touch her, to taste, trailing his fingers from throat to breast, from hip to thigh and everywhere in between. His hands left fires in their wake, a bone-deep glow, flash points of pleasure.

  "Jack."

  He gathered her close, body to body, skin to skin, heat to heat. Their mouths met and explored before he grasped her hips and nudged forward. She gasped, her fingers biting into his shoulders. He thrust.

  Ah. She shuddered, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. "Again."

  He paused. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  She wriggled. "Which will get you to do what I want?"

  "Either," he admitted frankly. His neck arched, the cords straining as she touched him. "Oh, God, Morwenna."

  She melted against him. "Please. Do it. Now."

  He surged.

  She cried out in passion, in possession, in joy. He was in her, part of her, as she clenched around him and made him hers, as he thrust inside her and made her his, all their boundaries blurring, all their divisions melting away. They moved together, flowed together, fused together by sweat and heat and need.

  One.

  Tenderness cracked her heart.

  "You are the first," she told him.

  He focused on her face, his pupils wide and wild. "What?"

  She touched his cheek. "My first love."

  Her last.

  Her only.

  "Good," he said with masculine satisfaction and sank into her again.

  The ripples began inside her. He held himself deep and still as she shuddered, as she shattered, feeling him everywhere inside her, surging inside her, in her blood and in her loins and in her heart. She wrapped her arms around him to hold him closer, wrapped her legs around him to bring him deeper, felt him push into her, pound into her, until he plunged with her into the heart of the whirlpool and they both were swept away.

  They floated, drifting in each other's arms. The sun was warm on her naked hip, golden behind her eyelids.

  He raised his head and kissed her so sweetly she shivered again in longing and delight.

  "I am a plain man with ordinary needs. I want to give you my life and my love. To share a home and children with you. Marry me, Morwenna."

  She felt the prick of real tears, hard, human tears in her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  But his emotions ran too deep for teasing. His gaze was straight and serious. "Which will get you to do what I want?"

  "Either," she answered honestly. "I love you."

  His hands tightened. His eyes blazed.
"Yes?" he demanded. "Say yes."

  "Yes!"

  Neither spoke again for a long while.

  SIX

  The sun slid toward the sea. Pink and purple clouds fled across the sky, herded like sheep by the wind. The tide rolled in, long, flat breakers edged with dirty lace.

  Morwenna sat in the prow as Jack rowed the heavy wooden boat back to the mainland.

  She loved.

  And was loved.

  The knowledge was a warm glow in her chest, radiating outward to her fingers and toes like the rays of the afternoon sun.

  Jack hauled on the oars, his lean brown face open and relaxed despite the restive sea. She had done that for him, she thought smugly. She had erased the lines from his face and put that lazy, satisfied glint in his eyes.

  She smiled.

  "Wind's picking up," he remarked.

  She could feel a shimmer of vapor in the air, a powerful current flowing from the west. "It must rain sometime," she said apologetically.

  "We'll be home before then," he assured her.

  Home. Such a round, firm, settled word. The warmth inside her grew.

  "I want to go to Arden," she said.

  He nodded. "I told Cook to prepare a special dinner for us."

  She was touched by his thoughtfulness; amused by his appetite. "After that lunch?"

  The empty picnic basket rested between the seats. She nudged it with her foot out of the water that had collected in the bottom of the boat.

  "We should celebrate. I have something to give you," Jack said.

  She looked at him, instantly diverted from the puddle at her feet. "What?"

  "My mother's ring. A cabochon sapphire." He cleared his throat. "Of course you might prefer a different stone. Or a larger one."

  She did not care about the size or the stone. The look in his eyes meant everything. "I would love to wear your mother's ring."

  Pleasure shone in his dark eyes, but he only said, "Wait until you see it."

  "Tonight."

  "Actually, I have it in my pocket. I still haven't proposed to you properly."

  She arched her eyebrows. "There is a proper way to propose?"

  "Generally the man goes down upon one knee."

  "I think I might quite like you on your knees. Just think of all you could do . . . down there. But the way you proposed was better."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Without ceremony?"

  "Naked," she explained. "And inside me."

  His gaze kindled. "Most improper. But since it persuaded you to say yes . . ."

  A pop.

  A lurch.

  A rush.

  Morwenna stared, bewildered, as a black rag washed between the seats. The bow dipped suddenly beneath Jack's weight. "What . . . ?"

  Water gurgled in the bottom of the boat. The picnic basket listed on its side in a rapidly growing pool of water.

  "Jack?"

  A wave washed over the side. Her seat slanted under her.

  "We've sprung a leak." His voice was calm and sharp. "Stay with the boat."

  The water gushed to his boots. There was a hole, she realized. Under his seat. She was not frightened, only bewildered and annoyed.

  "Hold on to the boat," Jack ordered. "The hull will float if--"

  Another wave rushed the boat. He dropped the oars and grabbed for her.

  She reached for his hands as the world went suddenly, wildly awry. The boat pitched, the bow plunged. The sudden weight of the water flipped the solid hull, throwing her into the cold salt sea. Brine filled her mouth, blurred her eyes . . . She heard a splash, a thunk, as her head bobbed under the surface. Sputtering, she raised her face, raking streamers of wet hair from her eyes. Her skirts mushroomed, billowing around her. And Jack . . .

  Her heart clenched like a fist.

  "Jack!"

  He floated a few yards away, arms thrashing feebly. His eyes were open. Dazed. A great bloody gash streaked his forehead.

  He was hurt. In danger. Something--the hard wooden edge of the hull as it flipped or the end of an oar--must have struck him when they capsized.

  She kicked toward him, hampered by her skirts. Her legs were tangled, heavy, her half boots full of water.

  He groaned. "Morwenna."

  "I'm here," she called frantically. "It's all right. I am--"

  Terrified.

  His eyes rolled back in his skull. His head dropped forward.

  He slid beneath the water.

  "No!"

  She lunged for him, reaching, reaching . . . Her fingers brushed something. His hair. His sleeve. She gripped tight and tugged, hauling him to the surface, turning his face to the sky. Was he breathing? His face was pale, his lips slack.

  A wave smacked into the hull and broke over them. They both went under. Morwenna kicked her sodden skirts, struggled to support Jack's head. Her breath burst from her lips in an absurd staccato rhythm like a song or a prayer: Please, please, please.

  Water was her element. But she was trapped by her clothes. Trapped in this body. Jack was easily twice her size and weighted by his boots. The gash on his forehead was red, wet, and open like a mouth. Her heart drummed in panic. She could call the seals. She did not have the strength to save him.

  Or time to wait.

  "Jack." She spoke sharply, urgently, into his ear, willing him to respond. "Hold me."

  His lids lifted. His bleary eyes slid over her.

  "Do you hear me?" She shook him. "Hold on. Hold on to me."

  "No," he slurred. "Drag you . . . down."

  "You won't."

  Not if she Changed. Now. Quickly.

  "You must hold on," she said fiercely.

  His gaze found hers. "Love . . . you. Save . . . yourself."

  He sagged.

  Sank.

  With a little cry, she seized his hand and pressed it to her shoulder. Please. His fingers fumbled. Squeezed. Her relief rose like a sob.

  She had never attempted to Change like this, with clothes plastered to her body and shoes on her feet. With urgency beating in her blood and panic squeezing her heart. No plunge, no dive, no wild surge of spirit becoming one with the sea. She gritted her teeth, wrenching power from her uncooperative flesh, forcing magic along constricted veins and sinews.

  It hurt.

  Pain lanced through her, unexpected, shocking. She spasmed, writhing like a fish out of water. Jack drifted beside her--breathing?--his touch a brand, an anchor on her flesh. Quickly. Now.

  Her blood drummed in her ears as she Changed, as her muscles rippled and popped and her bones erupted and dissolved. Seams popped. Fabric tore.

  Jack.

  She nudged against him, glided under him, felt his hands slide and grip, felt his weight shift and roll.

  Hold on, she said or thought or sang and carried him safely to shore.

  He could not breathe. He was drowning. Dreaming. Delirious.

  His head was on fire and his chest burned and his limbs were cold, at once heavy and weightless. His blood rushed in his ears.

  Hold on, someone said, as they'd said in the surgeons' tent when they'd placed the pad between his teeth and probed his wounds for bits of bone and shrapnel. The world whirled as it had then, and the pain shot through his head.

  They were taking him somewhere, carrying him swiftly, away from the battlefield.

  Hold on.

  So he did, clinging grimly to life. There was something he had to do, someone he had to see, some . . .

  Morwenna.

  The sea gushed and bubbled around him. The world fractured in a blaze of light, a blast of sound, a burst of agony. Air knifed his lungs. He gasped and choked. On blood? Or brine?

  He felt a nudge, a shove, as he lay like a felled log in the surf, cold, hard sand under his cheek, water running through his fingers.

  Morwenna. He turned his head to find her, struggled to push to his knees.

  She was there--and not there--in the shallow water.

  He closed his eyes. Opened them again. There
was a dolphin. He saw it, the sleek barrel shape, the distinctive fin.

  And there was Morwenna, shining like the mist, insubstantial as the foam, her wet hair around her shoulders . . .

  A wave rattled in and drained away, taking the last vestige of the dolphin with it.

  But the double image, Morwenna's face superimposed on the fin, the tail, seared the back of his eyes.

  Better if he had not seen her at all.

  She rose from the water and ran to him, her dress clinging to her in rags.

  His heart pounded. She was safe. He was relieved. He was . . . He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

  He tried again. "I didn't see you out there. In the water. I thought you were dead."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Hallucinating," he explained.

  She kneeled beside him, her face inhuman in its perfection, beautiful in its concern.

  He could not breathe. He could not think. His brain was on fire. "Are you . . ."

  "I am fine."

  "Morwenna?"

  "Yes. Let me help you to the cart." She reached for him and he saw--he saw--the faint iridescent webbing between her fingers. Even as he watched, it faded, it melted away.

  Turning his head, he threw up onto the sand.

  He lay there a long time, his face pressed to the ground, listening to nothing but the rasp of his breathing and the water running over the rocks.

  He raised his head, bile bitter in his mouth. "What are you?" he asked hoarsely.

  Morwenna flinched. He was afraid. Disgusted. Disbelieving.

  Or perhaps he had simply swallowed too much seawater after a bump on the head.

  But the wary, searching look in his eyes, the memory of Morgan's words, quickly disabused her of that hope. Humans fear what they do not understand. And what they fear, they hate.

  She sat back on her heels and folded her hands, no longer trying to touch him. "What do you think I am?"

  He shook his head. Winced as the movement jarred his wound. "You don't want to know."

  His rejection jabbed like a sea urchin's barb. He was hurt, she reminded herself, the gash on his forehead still bleeding. Hurt and confused. "Let me help you," she said again gently.

  "You helped me . . ." His eyes focused as he struggled to remember. "That was you in the water, carrying me."

  She sighed. "Yes. Come now." She slid an arm around him, urged him to his feet. "We need to get you home."

  He weighed on her, his arm heavy and damp around her shoulders, his body shaking as if with fever. "You're a mermaid."

  She arched her eyebrows, injecting what she hoped was the right amount of amusement in her voice. "Half woman, half fish? There is no such thing."