Seaborne

by Katherine Irons

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

When she is spirited away to a fantastic underwater world with Prince Morgan, who has risen from the waves to save her, Claire Bishop finds herself in the middle of a war between clans, but refuses to return to her crippling life on earth. Original. A first novel.

Release date: April 1, 2011

Publisher: Brava

Print pages: 368

Sample

The Maine Coast—July

The summer storm swept in without warning. Black clouds rolled across a lightning-streaked sky sending fishermen and tourists racing for snug harbors. Sheets of rain fell, and thunder boomed as waves and wind churned the scenic coastal waters into a deadly maelstrom.

One aging forty-footer with a crew of three—father, son, and grandson, didn’t join the other boats in flight. Instead, the vessel foundered in the rock-studded waters as waves crashed over the pitching deck and gusts ripped at the open cabin and dislodged stacks of lobster traps in the stern. Aboard the old boat, one man struggled with a sputtering engine while the gray-haired captain fought the wheel, attempting to steer the foundering craft away from a looming island.

Hidden from sight by a rocky outcrop, Morgan watched the human drama unfold with mixed feelings. These fishermen were his mortal enemies. Their kind was responsible for the thousands of wire cages littering the ocean floor, ghost traps that caused the senseless death of too many living creatures to count.

Lost nets, tangles of rope, rusting hooks, and wires snagged fish, whales, dolphins, sea birds, and turtles, speeding the destruction of an abundance of sea life that had thrived for eons. Humans polluted the oceans with their trash and chemicals and spilled oil, and they decimated whole species of fish and shellfish.

Morgan knew he should hate these men, and he would have despised them if he didn’t pity them for their ignorance. They didn’t seem to understand that instead of destroying food sources, they should be protecting them, an act that might keep millions of humans from starvation someday.

Once, these men who breathed air and walked the earth had been brothers and sisters of his race, but no more. In their quest to leave the sea and conquer the land, humans had lost wisdom and a compassion for all living things. If these men were dashed on the rocks in their puny lobster boat, if they drowned, what was it to him? He wasn’t one of them.

With a shrug, Morgan started to turn away and leave the fishermen to their fate, but before he could slip back under the blue-green water, the engine roared to life, and a third member of the crew appeared on the deck.

“Dad’s got it running!” This wasn’t a man, but a boy. Morgan caught a glimpse of wide blue eyes and a pale freckled face, just before a giant wave swept over the deck, knocking the child overboard.

The gray-haired captain saw him and shouted, “Joe!”

The mechanic who’d been working on the engine charged up the stairs onto the deck. Ripping off his rain gear, he leaped into the water after the boy. The old man steering the boat secured the wheel long enough to snatch a life ring off the gunnel and toss it over the side.

“Evan! Evan!” Joe swam strongly despite the force of the waves, but there was no sign of the boy’s head above water. Morgan knew the hungry tide had claimed him, and his death was certain.

Unless . . .

Cursing his gentle heart, Morgan plunged into the maelstrom and dove deep under the water. The tide was strong, but he’d learned to swim in storm surges. He blinked to clear his vision and swam under the boat to the spot where the child had gone down. Above, Morgan could just make out the thrashing shadow of the man, but below there was only sand-tossed bottom. A few powerful strokes carried him in the direction the tide was flowing. On land, he was as clumsy and weak as a human, but in the water he could swim as swiftly as a shark.

Even for him, the churning waves made it almost impossible to see more than a few yards, but he calculated the direction and speed of the tide and drove on. There! Something was there, just ahead of him, not swimming, but tumbling helplessly in the current. Morgan kicked hard and let the water’s force carry him. In seconds, he reached the drowning boy and seized him. For an instant, the human child opened his eyes and stared directly into his own, but then he went limp. Quickly, Morgan swam to the surface with him in his arms.

Casting a net of hypnotic illusion around himself for protection, he pushed the half-conscious child into the father’s grasp. He already held the life ring, and the older man on the boat was able to pull them both in.

Morgan lingered in the water, just out of sight beneath the boat, using his superior hearing to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Did you see that?” Joe sputtered as he shoved the choking child up onto the boat. “Did you see what that dolphin did, Pop? He saved Evan. The dolphin saved him.”

Morgan heard the boy cough and spew up a bellyful of water, before beginning to cry.

“That’s it, get it out of you,” the grandfather urged. “Did you see it, Evan? Did you see the dolphin? Big one, it was.”

“No,” the boy protested weakly. “It was a man.”

“A man?” his father scoffed. “It was a dolphin, son. I wasn’t three feet away from it.”

“A man,” the boy repeated groggily. “A blue man. He came up out of the dark.”

“Hush, now, save your strength for breathing,” his father said.

“Don’t know what he’s saying,” the captain said. “We nearly lost him. No wonder he’s talking foolish like.”

Smiling, Morgan spread his arms wide and sank into icy depths. Human adults were easy to deceive, but human children were different. They saw and heard things that adults had forgotten. He’d been lucky. No one would believe the boy’s story. He’d never attempted to use mind control on more than two at a time and never on a child. Had his spell cracked, one of the men might have seen him for what he actually was, and that would be dangerous. The security of his kingdom, of his race, depended on keeping the land dwellers ignorant of the world beneath the sea.

As he swam into deeper water, out beyond the island, Morgan almost convinced himself that he’d skirted the law and gotten away with it. . . . Until he noticed a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Going somewhere, Brother?”

Morgan turned to face him, wishing he was armed with something more than a short sword. He and Caddoc were never on the best of terms, and his half-brother had tried to kill him on more than one occasion over the years.

“I saw you.”

Morgan didn’t answer. Had Caddoc witnessed the incident with the lobster boat or had he seen him watching the woman?

“You’re a fool. You of all people should know the penalty for breaking the law.”

Morgan shrugged. “You’re free to make a report to the council.”

“Oh, I will. You can count on it.”

Caddoc favored their father in appearance. Dark haired like his mother instead of blond, but the proud features, the high cheek bones, the broad forehead, and the square chin were identical to that of the king.

Caddoc rarely traveled alone, and Morgan wasn’t surprised when two of Caddoc’s cronies appeared out of the murky darkness. If an accident occurred here, no one would ever know what had happened to him, and his half-brother would be one step closer to the throne he coveted so badly.

“You’ll stand trial,” Caddoc warned. “Crown prince or not, you’re not above the law.”

Morgan waited, unwilling to provoke a confrontation, but prepared to fight if pushed into it. Three to one was not the best of odds. Caddoc was better armed, and he was known for his skill with a trident. Perhaps his half-brother was right. Maybe he was a fool to risk being seen to save a human child from drowning, but he’d make the same decision again, given the circumstances. If there were consequences, he was prepared to face them, beginning with Caddoc.

Even as the three closed in on him, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman and wondering why he’d been so drawn to her. Small hairs on the back of his neck tingled as he placed a hand lightly on his sword hilt. “Well, big brother,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Put down your weapon, Morgan. I’m placing you under arrest.” Caddoc raised his trident to shoulder height. The three razor-sharp prongs gleamed in the half-light that filtered down from the surface.

Morgan smiled and drew his sword.



Claire Bishop sat at the bay window and stared out at the rain. Wind lashed at the house and bent the tree branches, knocking limbs against the house and sending them tumbling across the wide expanse of lawn. Pitchforks of jagged lightning illuminated the sky, and the rumble of thunder echoed through the house.

“Come away from that window,” Mrs. Godwin urged. “My sister knew of a woman who was struck dead as a doornail by lightning while standing at her own bedroom window.”

“Dead as a doornail,” Claire murmured. “I’ve always wondered how a doornail could be dead when they aren’t alive to begin with.”

“You know what I mean,” the housekeeper fussed. “It isn’t safe.” Her Maine accent was as thick as the carpet underfoot, but Claire had been coming to Seaborne since she was a child, and neither Mrs. Godwin nor her peculiar dialect intimidated her.

“It’s time for your medication.”

“Leave it on the table,” Claire said.

“You need to take it regularly. Once the pain gets hold of you—”

“It’s not bad today.” The pain in her neck was always there, waiting to grab her in its sharp teeth and shake her like a terrier would a rat, but today she felt a more dull, grinding ache rather than an all-consuming fire. “Just leave it. I’ll take it in a few minutes,” she said.

“You’d better. You’ve got to take better care of yourself.”

Claire forced a smile. “You worry too much.”

“Someone has to.” The housekeeper brought the small paper cup with the pills and a glass of water to the side table on Claire’s left. “Land sakes, but you’ll catch a chill. It’s like a grave in here.” She picked up a sweater from the rocking chair and draped it around Claire’s shoulders. “Come to the dining room and have something to eat. I’ve made a clam chowder to die for. Your spirits will pick up if you have something hot in your stomach.”

Claire grimaced. “If your clam chowder would cure my woes, I’d gladly bathe in it. But I’m not hungry. And I’m content where I am.”

“At least turn on some lights. This storm is so wicked you can hardly see your hand in front of your face.” Mrs. Godwin went to the wall switch and flicked on several lamps. “I’ve got biscuits in the oven. Are you certain—”

“At supper, I’ll make a pig of myself,” Claire replied. “I’ll slather your biscuits with butter and honey and dunk them in a wash basin of chowder. But for now . . .” She met the housekeeper’s gaze solidly. “For now, I prefer to be left alone.”

Claire turned her attention to the falling rain. Still mumbling, Mrs. Godwin hustled out of the room, leaving her blessedly alone again. The woman meant well, but she hovered over her like a mother hen.

It was raining so hard now that the large drops created a steady drumming against the windowpanes. It would probably rain all night. She hoped the storm would pass by morning. She hated the days when bad weather kept her from the beach. She was always happiest near the water.

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and held down the button until the phone powered down. As much as she loved her father, she’d already spoken to him twice today. There was nothing more to be said and no reason to start the argument up again. Richard Bishop didn’t want her here at the Maine house. He wanted her back in New York with him. He simply couldn’t understand why she felt that she had to get away from doctors, hospitals, and his constant worrying.

But, he couldn’t force her to return to the city. Seaborne was hers. Her grandmother had left it to her, along with a trust fund that insured the taxes were paid and the property was kept up for decades. Not that she needed the money, but Grandmother was nothing if not efficient. She’d loved the big rambling house and she’d known that Richard, her only son and Claire’s father, hated it. He would have sold the family estate within weeks of her death. Claire had been pleased to inherit Seaborne, but she’d never realized what a refuge it would become.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, and Claire glanced at it. Above the clock hung an oil of Claire and her favorite gelding, Gold Dust. She wondered how he was getting on with his new owner. She’d sold him to a promising young rider when she’d given up the sport.

She wished Richard hadn’t asked Mrs. Godwin to hang the painting in here. Tomorrow, she’d ask her to put it in the attic, along with the boxes of trophies and plaques that she’d acquired in her years on the international riding circuit. She didn’t want to look at them anymore. All that was in the past.

Two years ago, at twenty-seven, she had every reason to expect a bright future. She had health, brains, and ambition, and she’d earned a coveted spot on the American Olympic riding team. Now, she had nothing to look forward to but a day on the beach, staring at the waves. And today, even that was ruined by the rain.

Was this a preview of the rest of her life? Years of sitting at a glass window and staring out at the world? Was she such a coward that she couldn’t face the truth? What was the use of living like this?

She wasn’t a quitter. When her marriage to Justin had crashed and burned, she’d acted like an adult and divorced him. Then, she’d concentrated on her riding career and made a whole new life for herself. She’d always gone into any effort wholeheartedly, full force, and taken no prisoners.

She couldn’t do it again. She didn’t have the strength.

Medical science had done all for her that money could buy. She’d never ride in competition again, never dance or walk . . . never be able to conceive and carry a child. The accident had left her with such unexplained gaps of memory and mental confusion that she wasn’t able to safely drive a motor vehicle. In spite of all the money the jury had awarded her, she’d be confined to this wheelchair as long as she lived.

She’d never find romance again, never feel the heat of a man’s mouth on hers, never make love to him, or feel the exquisite thrill of an orgasm. She rubbed her lifeless legs, unable to feel the caress of her own fingers. She, who enjoyed sex so much, would never know physical love again, never marry again, never have a reason to exist. Was it any wonder that she was depressed?

Claire buried her face in her hands and wished she had the nerve to wheel the chair out of the house, down the walk to the cliff edge, and off into nothingness. If only . . .

But she knew she wasn’t that brave. All she could do . . . all she would ever do was sit here and think about what might have been.

Morgan put a seaweed-coated boulder at his back and stood ready, sword in hand, watching his half-brother and his two comrades. The storm raging above the surface had little affect here below, other than reduced visibility. Strong currents off the coast of New England were a mild inconvenience compared to undersea. It was something Morgan had learned to deal with centuries ago.

Caddoc advanced until he was just out of reach of Morgan’s weapon and took a threatening stance. He was a big man, tall and broad with powerful shoulders. Again, their father’s heritage. It was too bad that he’d gotten his morals and disposition from his mother.

Morgan guessed that Caddoc outweighed him by two stone. He was a solid block of a man and what little neck he possessed was wrapped in layers of muscle. His dark hair was cut straight to fall at his shoulders, held in place with a thin gold headband. Pearls were twisted in the thin braids on either side of his face. As always, Caddoc was garbed as befitted a prince of the realm, albeit a minor one. In contrast to his own sharkskin kilt and chest bands, his half-brother’s garments were embroidered with gold. Even Caddoc’s sandals were set with precious stones, more suited for palace wear than the open ocean. Caddoc’s eyes were small and dark with the clear and merciless gaze of a killer whale. When they were children, Caddoc’s bulk and expressionless eyes had frightened Morgan.

No more.

Tora, the big Samoan, moved to guard Caddoc’s right. The Pacific-born mercenary was thick and compact, hair cropped short, and hands as wide as shovels with stubby fingers. His front teeth had been sharpened to points and his wide ruin of a nose was flattened and cleaved in two grotesque halves by an ugly scar. Tora’s weapon of choice was a massive coral war club, the head carved into the face of a Polynesian deity. He was equally handy with a long slashing knife, set with shark’s teeth in place of a blade, that he wore on a sheath across his chest.

Tora shadowed Caddoc’s every move day and night, and court gossip was that they were lovers. Caddoc, it was said was oversexed, even for an Atlantean, and would swive any creature, male or female, that possessed an orifice of a convenient size.

The ugly Samoan had been driven from his own underwater kingdom by a rebellion, and he had sought refuge bearing terrible wounds, including the loss of his tongue. Caddoc had befriended him, earning the man’s loyalty, but for selfish reasons rather than altruistic ones. Caddoc enjoyed the contrast that they made in public, and he enjoyed controlling such power with a word or a glance.

The third member of the trio was Jason, Caddoc’s cousin on his mother’s side. Jason was close to Morgan’s age, but they’d never been friendly. Jason, slim and sinewy as an eel, was armed with a sling and a broadsword. Jason’s skin had a golden tint, and his eyes were large and colorless.

Caddoc motioned to his cousin, and Jason stepped left and unwound his sling. Morgan was more concerned with the sling than he was with Tora’s club. Jason’s missiles were deadly at twenty yards, and the Samoan had to close in to strike a blow.

Caddoc jutted his chin. His eyes clouded with arrogance. “You look pale, Brother.”

Morgan tried to assume a bored expression. “You’re bluffing.”

“Why shouldn’t I end this now? Once you’re reduced to chum, our fishy friends will make certain no one ever finds a trace of you.”

“Point,” Morgan conceded, tamping down his temper. If he was to get out of this alive, it was his wits that would save him, not the strength of his sword arm. Some claimed the Atlanteans were immortal. Not quite true. Compared to humans, they were; but injured badly enough, he could die as surely as any land dweller.

“Are you afraid to die?” Caddoc taunted.

Heat flashed under Morgan’s skin. Rarely had he ever been angry enough to want to kill one of his own kind, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness. If he did, they would close in. Morgan suspected that the only reason they hadn’t taken advantage of the situation was that Caddoc wasn’t certain he could come through the encounter without injury. His half-brother would go to any length to avoid the slightest pain.

“The three of you could probably kill me,” Morgan said nonchalantly. “It’s not certain, but the odds are in your favor. But you know I won’t go down without a fight. You could die or you could lose a limb. And chances are, I’ll kill at least one of you in the struggle.” Morgan spread his legs and took a defensive stance. “And if it’s not you, Caddoc, you and I both know that you’ll then have to finish off whichever of your buddies survives the fight.”

Jason cut his gaze at Tora uneasily. Jason wasn’t fool enough to completely trust his cousin. Tora might appear stupid, but Morgan knew that he possessed more intelligence than Caddoc gave him credit for.

“And why would I do that?” Caddoc demanded. His face flushed. He didn’t look as sure of himself as he had a minute ago.

“You couldn’t leave a witness, of course,” Morgan said. “You kill me, and so long as these two are alive, they’ll be a danger to you and to your hope for the crown. They could blackmail you any time they wanted something from you, or they could turn you in just to see you imprisoned for eternity when they tire of your nonsense.”

His half-brother scowled. “That’s crap.”

Morgan raised one eyebrow. “Is it?” He glanced at Tora. “Are you so certain that Caddoc wouldn’t protect his own ass? Remember what happened to Deepak?”

“That was an accident,” Jason said.

Morgan shrugged. “So the court decided. But some wondered. You probably wondered, Jason, especially since Caddoc took your friend’s wife to his bed so soon after that.”

Tora lowered his club and looked from one to the other. His lopsided grin wouldn’t have convinced a child.

Jason nodded and took a step back.

Caddoc laughed. “We had you there, for a minute, didn’t we, Morgan? Any longer and you’d be shitting down your legs.” He turned away and signaled for his friends to follow. “Running you through would be too easy. Once the court gets through with you on the charges I’m going to file against you after what I’ve seen today, you’ll wish we had.”

Morgan watched through narrowed eyes as they swam swiftly away. He exhaled slowly, as his heartbeat slowed and his muscles gradually relaxed. They’d meant to kill him, all right. Sooner or later, he’d have to settle with Caddoc.

He knew sooner would be better. He might not be so lucky next time. He gazed upward toward the surface. He should return to Atlantis immediately and answer the charges Caddoc would make against him, but the pull of the human woman was too great. There would be time enough to explain his actions to his father and to the High Council. For now, he would return to the beach where he’d seen her.

He’d seen beautiful human women before, but he’d never found them sexually attractive. They were too weak, too fragile. But this woman on the beach was different. She possessed a strength that called to him with an irresistible lure, and he could not shake off her spell until he’d solved the mystery. He had to discover what magic she possessed that could draw him from the sea time and time again.

Cursing his own foolishness, he turned back toward the mainland. When she returned to the beach, he would be waiting.



The morning after the storm dawned bright, and by eleven Claire was able to return to her beloved spot on the beach. The house sat high above the shoreline well back from the cliff face, and the only way down was a narrow flight of stairs and the elevator Claire had ordered installed for her wheelchair. At the base of the bluff, a six-foot-wide cement walk ran almost to the water’s edge, ending in a partially roofed pavilion complete with safety rails, table and chairs, and lounge where she could nap comfortably.

After many mishaps, Claire had perfected her technique and was able to reach her oasis without assistance. Once on the pavilion, she would ease herself inch by inch out of the wheelchair and into a cushioned deck chair. Or if she preferred, the concrete pathway ran down the beach parallel to the high-tide mark so she could use the chair to “walk” the beach when she wanted. Her father had been dismayed by the cost, but she would gladly have spent ten times over to have a place that was hers alone to retreat to.

This morning, the beach was alive with all manner of wildlife. Sandpipers and fiddler crabs scurried about, squabbling with seagulls and willets, and the occasional saucy common tern. The waves that had crashed and boomed against rock and shore the previous day now ebbed and flowed with a kind of orchestrated music. The air smelled of salt and wet sand and sea. The sun felt warm on her face, making her feel alive with each breath.

Claire should have been content today, now that she was on the beach again, but she wasn’t. If anything, her despair was worse than yesterday’s. Shortly after nine, she’d received a phone call from the private detective agency she’d engaged to search for her biological mother. When she saw the number come up on caller ID, she’d hoped that Robert Kelly had real news for her, but instead, he’d once again dashed her hopes.

Essentially, what Robert had conveyed in his brusque Brooklyn twang was a reluctance to continue the investigation at all, unless her father could provide more information on the woman who’d given her up for private adoption. Claire had always known that Richard wasn’t her birth father. He’d even insisted she call him by his name, rather than “Daddy,” but she’d never doubted his devotion. The only thing he’d ever told her about her mother was that she was young, gifted musically, and very, very beautiful.

Everything about her birth seemed to be cloaked in mystery or untruth and there seemed to be nowhere to find information. Her birth certificate listed her birthplace as Seaborne, and her parents as Richard and Elaine Bishop. The attending doctor had died of a heart attack when Claire was a child, and the live-in English nurse who’d cared for her as an infant had seemingly vanished after she left Richard’s employment. And Richard had been no help at all. From the beginning, her father had been against her search for her birth mother. He’d refused to provide any assistance, claiming that the woman had insisted that Claire make no attempt to contact her. He told her that going against her birth mother’s wishes would only bring heartbreak.

Richard’s wife, Elaine, had never been a real mother to Claire, and Claire suspected that she’d only agreed to the adoption to please Richard. They had divorced when Claire was six, and Elaine, now remarried, lived in Brazil with her fourth husband, a man even better off financially than Richard. Claire had written to Elaine twice begging for information on her adoption, but she’d never bothered to reply.

Since the accident that had destroyed her life, Claire had been obsessed with finding the truth about her birth. As a child, she’d secretly dreamed of finding her birth parents, but she’d never felt the need for a mother’s love more than she did now. Robert Kelly had a reputation for being the best. With his decision to suspend the investigation, Claire’s dream of reuniting with her birth mother seemed as hopeless as everything else.

Today, the sea provided none of the peace Claire sought so desperately. Hours passed, her solitude broken only by Mrs. Godwin’s appearance with a lunch tray and a second intrusion when she returned with a pitcher of lemonade and the mail.

“You haven’t eaten a bite,” the housekeeper observed. “If you keep losing weight, none of your clothes will fit you.”

“Does it matter?” Claire picked at the fruit salad to please her. She wasn’t hungry. She was rarely hungry. Eating had once been a joy, and she’d been blessed with a metabolism that kept her from becoming a blimp, no matter how much pasta, chocolate, or ice cream she devoured. Now, food had no taste and eating seemed like one more unpleasant task she had to perform to keep herself alive.

On the tray was the usual container of pain medication. So far today, she’d resisted the allure of numbing her senses, despite the incessant pain in her neck. Sometimes she wished she could drown her agony in alcohol, but even when she was a teenager, she hadn’t been able to stand the taste of it.

“It’s warm out here,” Mrs. Godwin said. “Would you like me to help you back to the house?” She shook out a beach towel and spread it over Claire’s useless legs. “You wouldn’t want to get a sunburn.”

Claire shook her head. “No, I suppose not.” It was easier to agree than to argue. She wanted only to be left alone, and the sooner Mrs. Godwin was appeased, the sooner she’d leave. “I’ll be up later.”

“You should lie down and take your afternoon nap.” The older woman was tall and sturdy with a no-nonsense helmet of salt-and-pepper hair twisted into a fat bun at the back of her neck.

Mrs. Godwin never wore makeup, except on Sundays when she attended church. Then she exchanged her blue uniform skirt and white blouse for a navy dress with a white collar and stained her full lips and plump cheeks with a pink lipstick that Claire always thought of as the exact shade of bubble gum. Mrs. Godwin’s shoes were her only weakness. Imported from Italy and hand-stitched, the low pumps with one-inch heels were expensive, comfortable, and long lasting. She polished them every evening and replaced each pair every five years on her birthday.

Claire liked to think that Mrs. Godwin had a special affection for her that went beyond the employer-employee relationship, but she wasn’t convinced. And she suspected that Mrs. Godwin enhanced her salary by taking additional money from Claire’s father, both to spy on her and to make certain that his rules were followed. On more than one occasion, Cl. . .