Fear the Drowning Deep(62)

Fynn drew out his chair and sat without so much as a glance at Mrs. Gill, but Da frowned at her. “That’s a mighty strong word to throw around without proof, especially at a wedding.”

She sniffed, looking suspiciously at Fynn. “I stand by it. I can’t recall a summer tourist ever staying as long as this lad. And until he turned up, our girls didn’t fear disappearing from their beds. It doesn’t take a law man to piece these things together.”

Da sat taller and narrowed his eyes. “If you have a problem with anyone at this table, there are plenty of seats elsewhere.”

“Your choice,” I added as I dropped into a seat and smiled sweetly at her.

Mrs. Gill rose stiffly from her chair. “Fine. Let’s go, Danell.” She tugged her husband’s arm. “We aren’t welcome here. The Corkills can enjoy their meal with the murderer and their witch-loving daughter without us.”

As they shuffled away, Da rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s behind us, where’s the first course?”

Broth arrived in wooden piggins, and hardly anyone spoke as we scraped the steaming liquid up with large mussel shells. Next came a platter of capons, followed by goose. Grayse’s mouth fell open as Da carved slivers of meat from a roasted hog. It was all more than we could afford, especially with fish still scarce, but friends and neighbors had pitched in to make the feast one to remember.

As I ate, my gaze traveled to Morag’s hill. Still, no hunched figure limped into view.

Perhaps she hadn’t understood that my invitation was sincere. Yet, she’d fixed me countless cups of tea, helped me begin to accept Fynn’s glashtyn side, and trusted me with the real story about her foot. In the space of a summer, she’d become like a grandmam to me. She had more than earned her place at our table.

Mam pushed back her chair. “I can’t eat another bite! Shall we dance as we used to, love?” She ushered Da from his seat as a group of musicians struck up a popular dance hall tune.

Someone tapped my shoulder. “Care to take a walk?” Fynn offered me his hand. “I’d ask you to dance, but I don’t know how.”

“All right.” I glanced around the square. Mally’s white dress and Artur’s dark suit stood out among the paltry crowd of revelers. Liss led Grayse and a few younger girls in a dizzying circle dance. Lugh spoke with Martyn while Thomase skulked nearby, kicking stones. There was no sign of the Gills.

Fynn shot me a hopeful look as I gripped his hand. “You’re not afraid to be alone with me, then?”

I shook my head. “Are your wounds healed enough for an uphill climb?”

“It’s not what I had in mind, but I think I can manage.” Fynn raised his brows. “Besides, it’s past time I met Port Coire’s famed witch.”

I shielded my eyes against the setting sun. “Aye. Help me find a plate, would you? Morag might like some supper.”

Slipping away wasn’t difficult, especially when drinks were flowing freely courtesy of Ms. Katleen. Balancing a napkin-covered plate of meat and rolls in one hand and holding Fynn’s arm with the other, I slid between the long shadows of the bakery and the tavern.

Strangely, even though his nearness made me picture the glashtyn again, I didn’t feel the slightest hint of nerves. That is, until I began thinking of what I was to do if he tried to kiss me again.

Fynn sang under his breath, seeming to gain confidence in the tune as the rush of ocean waves drowned the noise of the celebration.

“What’s that you’re singing?” I asked.

Fynn shrugged. “A chanty I picked up listening to sailors. I regret that the words aren’t very—” He frowned at something in the distance. A girl-shaped something, running toward us with alarming speed.

“Roseen!” I gasped.

When she reached us, Cat’s cousin doubled over panting. Her eyes were wide, her face red as a beet. “Catreena,” she wheezed, pointing back the way she’d come. “Catreena.”

My blood turned to ice. “What about her?”

Roseen gestured frantically toward the sea. “We were on the beach. She just—swam—wouldn’t answer me.” She shuddered. “You have to help her!”

Fynn disentangled his arm from mine and bolted toward the nearest strip of beach, casting off Da’s suit jacket as he ran. If anyone could get to Cat in time, it was he.

“Don’t just stand there! Go after him!” I shouted at Roseen, heart thudding in my ears. The plump girl looked about to keel over. “Hurry! Fynn might need—oh, just go!”

Roseen nodded, still breathing hard, and dashed off.

Satisfied she would at least try to help, I dropped Morag’s plate and sprinted back toward the party. The distance from the beach to the market had never seemed so great. I needed to find Da. He would find something sharp and fight the monster, for surely it was the fossegrim that had called my best friend into the sea.

“It’s Bridey!” someone called as I ran through the market. “How are the fish, Bry? Still whispering death threats from the waves?”

Shaking my head, I rushed to the nearest table, scattering napkins and plates in my search for anything metallic and sharp. There was a platter of leftover goose. Clumps of flowers. An empty bread basket. A hog’s rump with a carving knife stuck in the side. I pulled the steel blade out and hid it in the folds of my dress.