Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Secret of the Seal skin ❯ Chapter four: Hot Soup and Old Tales ( Chapter 4 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The Secret of the Seal Skin

What would happen if an old myth, a fairytale often told by the fire, came true? After times full of misery Rowan returns to the Orkney Islands after the death
of her father, in hope to find peace for something she thinks she could not be forgiven for. In the end however, she finds quite something else in a mysterious man,
passionated by the sea, and by her?

DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this story are mine, and mine completly, meaning that I was the one who created them.
They are my property and cannot be used in other stories with my consent.

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In the words of an old Orcadian author:

"bonfires are the very blood of Orcadians.
The ritual bonfire goes back to the very beginnings of
our history and even before."

A perfect description.

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for those who love the northern folklore of Orkney:
www.orkneyjar.com

I luv this site. :)

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Thanks everyone for the reviews! I really enjoy that you are enjoying my story, I needed that little boost to be honest.
I'm not at all confident about my writing style, so you guys really cheer me up.

Dream Toxin: They may be alone in a blizzard... she may be in the company of a naked man... hmmn *thinks*... but that doesn't mean anything! HENTAI!!! :P

neilfatea: That's why it's called a story, and not a one-shot. I don't like those little... 'stories' either.. There may be some banging, but not in the first chapter. :)

Sonyasha: I'm writing... writing... actually I wrote something at school but the computer gave up on me before I could save... -_-'

Wandering Thought: I enjoy that you enjoy my little story. ^^

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Chapter four: Hot soup and old tales


"What in the world were you doing out there anyway?" She asked, still not understanding why the man, who had said his name was Cian, would ever venture out
in the kind of weather the Orkney islands were suffering. The storm hadn't weakened, the wind was still howling, the rain still crashing against her window with
a verocity she did not like at all. It made her uncomfortable and nervous, but turning her attention to her strange visitor did help to ignore the raging weather.
She helped him pull the thick woolen jumper over his head, as he seemed practically frozen. His movements were slow and unprecise, so she tugged at the sleeve,
pulling the thick material straight before she allowed him to sit back in the chair again.
She had dragged the heavy chair to the fireplace, so he could sit near the flames, and wondered why she hadn't come up with the same idea. The left side of
the chair was blackened, so she presumed her father had done it many a time before. She had just hadn't thought about it, she guessed.

"You didn't go out swimming in this kind of weather did you?" She asked him, pulling one of the green towels of the shelf near the tiny, little room where her father
had once build a real shower for her. It did not work anymore, since she had not visited the little house since many a year before, and her father had always preferred
washing himself in a tub with heated water, saying boiled water was still better than the drained water she used to wash her hair with.
In some ways she thought he had been right, but she never had the patience to wait for the boiled water to cool down.
She dropped the old green towel uncermoniously on his head, and dried off his hair without much sympathy, trying to find a normal, and not insane reason why
he could have ever wandered out in the rain and the straining wind, without clothes.
"I mean, how else can you walk around in this kind of weather, naked?" She wondered out loud, making sure she did not miss one strand of the thick brown hair
he had. It came past his shoulders, a thick mass of wavy curls if it would ever dry. She had never seen hair like that, and it just made her fairly certain he wasn't a foreigner.
Guys in London would die to have hair like that, she wondered silently, ruffling through his hair as if she was his mother, instead of his host.
"I do like to swim," Came the muffled answer, he didn't say no, he didn't say yes. It had been so with every question she had asked him. Yes and no at the same time.
She sighed a frustrated sigh. She had not expected him to be a party animal when she had seen him on her doorstep, but he had been so timid that it partially scared her.

She stopped drying his hair, throwing the moist towel on the little table besides her. If he did not want to answer her question in a reasonable manner, she would simply
try again. She grabbed one of the thick woolen blankets, pulling it from the bed before she draped it carefully around his shoulders.
"There, it shouldn't take too long before you're warm again." She said, smiling at him as he pulled the blanket closer around him. He glanced at her with the
big brown eyes he had. It seemed to her that they were almost liquid, shiny as they were, and a gratitude lie in their depth showing his thanks more than any 'thank you'
could ever have done. His eyes were.. unique, she had to admit. She had never seen such eyes in her life, the deepest maroon, reminding her of puppydog eyes.
She smiled back at him, assuring him that it was allright. Dressed in those clothes, sitting in that chair, she couldn't help but thinking of a time years ago, when her father hat sat there;
probably working on a damaged fishnet, or reading a book in the faint light of the fireplace.
She would not say it out loud, but it was somehow... good, to have someone around, while the storm was raging. Even if it was a complete stranger, she felt less alone,
and the little house suddenly seemed so much warmer.

"I could make you some soup? Would you like that?" Soup always warmed anyone up, even if they were half frozen to death. He lit up for a moment,
nodding his ever so slightly before he softly answered. "If you have any, yes I would like that."
She nodded, opening one of the little kabinets which served as a kitchen, eyeing two cans. "I have tomato, and fish soup. Which one do you want?"
He blinked, creating an utter surprised look on his face as if he had not thought about the possibilty of choosing at all. "Fish," He stated immediatly, as if even bringing up
the idea of tomato soup was an odd thing. "Please," He added quickly, realising his error.
"Don't be so formal, I asked you the question." She said, opening the can with some difficulty. He wasn't the only one who would like some soup, she was
cold to the bone. Not frozen, but the cold had spreaded from her feet to her upper body, and if she didn't eat something warm or hot soon, she too would crawl
underneath the blanket if it meant warmth. Stranger or not.

She glanced back at him, while she tried to find a suitable pan for the soup. She could try to heat it in the can, but generally she preffered pots and pan for cooking.
He was staring into the fire, an absent look in his eyes, as if he was lost in a memory. The look in his eyes was so sad, that she felt her heart twitch for just a moment,
making her wonder what he was thinking about.
But before she had the chance to ask, he suddenly blinked, and softly said.
"If you would've used heather instead of charcoal, the fire would've been warmer.."
It got her by surprise a little, the first words he had spoken that did not count as an answer to one of her question, and she followed his gaze into the fire. Her father had
always used heather to get the fire going. She had never asked how he did it, somehow she always did it wrong.
"I don't know how to burn heather," She replied. "Well, properly I mean."
He nodded, looking at her for a moment before he glanced back at the fire , almost as if he was pondering about something. She let him ponder, turning her attention back
to the little cooker, and soup slowly warming to a nice temprature. She held her hands above the little pan, warming her hands above the little cooker.
"You're cold." He stated, turning the big brown orbs of his back to her, almost with a worried look in his eyes.
"This is not exactly my favorite kind of weather," She replied. "I miss my central heating."
He said nothing, a small frown appearing on his forehead. Central heating was a luxery item, only some houses in Eday had it. Her father had tried to get central heating
to their little home, but it seemed virtually impossible. So her father had always used the hearth instead. She had to admit, it was cosy, but on nights like these is didn't
heat the house as much as she would've liked.

"Ah," She heard him say, but she missed the expression on his face. She had decided that the soup was hot enough, and picked up two soup plates from
the shelf. She felt her stomach rumbling, she hadn't realised how hungry she was. Of course, it was one o'clock in the morning, but she had stayed awake all day. She
decided she deserved a late night snack.
"Here, watch it, it's hot." She said, as she carefully gave him the plate with the soup. He smiled at her gratefully, and raised his hands to take the plate from her.
It was then that she realised something odd about his hands, which she had not noticed before. She could have been mistaken, he took the plate and the spoon from her
quickly, but she had been fairly certain that his hands were... webbed?
In a glimpse she had seen thin skin, forming a web between the fingers, like those of a seal, or an aquatic man.

He did not look at her, as he blew at his soup, trying to cool it down. He did see her staring for a moment, staring at his hands, where she could easily see the membrane
between his fingers. They were the same color like his hands, perhaps that was the reason why she had seen them before.
Perhaps he didn't realise that she could see them.
She had heard, and read enough fairy tales. Her father had told them more than once, sitting by the same fireplace as he, Cian, was sitting now. Telling her about the
finfolk, the hill and fairy folk, brownies and trows. She had been enchanted by them, enjoyed to read about the many folklorish tales Orkney had.
But they were tales, fairytales of times long past, told by adults to entertain their children while it was raining outside.
They weren't real.

She shook her head, taking her place on the bed, placing the hot plate on her lap. The rich aroma of the fishsoup filled her nostrils, and she knew she would have no
patience this time. She had no idea she had been that hungry.
She took a peek at her unexpected visitor, who was already enjoying his soup. She wondered whether he had a mouth made of steel, but refrained herself to ask whether
the soup was not too hot to eat already.
"I don't want to be rude," Cian suddenly said, breaking the silence which had fallen between the two of them. "But may I ask where Leod is? I haven't been
around for a long time, but when I last visited Leod still lived here." He glanced at her, quickly, as if to make sure she wasn't offended by the question.

She wasn't at all. It surprised her that he knew her father, but that she did not know him. She had an excelleten memory, and knew most people living on the island.
She would've remembered Cian if she had ever seen him. But she couldn't recall one single occasion that they might have met.
"I'm sorry to say, but Leod died last summer." She said softly. Apparently he had not known, which proved that he was not from around Eday. At least, it
seemed to be so. He frowned, seemingly taken aback by the news, and waited for a moment before he asked;
"This was Leod's home, have you bought it?" It was carefully asked, as if he was afraid to step on her toes. She would be too, eyeing the weather outside
she would not want to be kicked out now.
"No, I haven't bought it. It was given to me. I only live here for a while, I had to straighten some things out." She said truthfully. It was the truth, she was here
to clear her mind. To think about her father's death, and hopefully give it a place in time. The house had been given to her, and it was a nice place to think about
times long gone, to relive old memories, but she wasn't sure what to do with it. She had no intention to live here, in Orkney. She enjoyed her life in London too much,
she wasn't going to live here all by herself, in the middle of nowhere.

"So... You're his mate? The woman from overseas?" The question made her chuckle. She wasn't quite sure how old he thought she was, but she certainly
did not have the age of her mother, and if she had to say it herself, didn't look like her mother either. Her mother was a typical american. Classy, loud-mouthed, and blonde.
She was frail, soft-spoken, and a real redhead. No, she was not the woman from overseas. She sighed, deciding to tell him a little more about herself.
He was a complete stranger, but currently the only stranger that was with her at the very moment. What would it hurt to trust him a little.
"My mother returned to the United States, she would never come back here even if someone threatened to kill her. Leod was my father, he gave the house
to me after he died." She told him, looking at him to see his reaction. Perhaps he had never heard about her, but he had known her father. That did make her curious.
"I am sorry, I did not know." He hastily said, looking at her with new interest, as if she was the princes of a long forgotten land, or perhaps the main character
of an old story. It made her uncomfortable, the intense gaze he unleashed upon her, a strange light shining in his eyes as he sught her eyes. "Last time I saw Leod's Daughter,
she was but a little girl." He said softly. "Her hair was a fiery red, and she had the broadest grin I had ever seen. Little red-head, Rowan, carrying the heather for her father."
He looked back at his soup, seemingly ashamed of his mistake. "I should have recognised you, I'm sorry I didn't."

She stared at him, stunned by the fact that he had known her as a little girl. It had been two decades since anyone had seen her as a little girl, and Cian did not.. quite, look
that old. There was simply no way, he could be older than fourty. He just didn't look like someone in his forties.
"It's quite alright." She quickly said, noticing the rather awkward silence. "I don't know who you are either, so we're even."
"No we're not," He said, shaking his head. "I should have known, the woman he once loved was blond, and her voice was harsh enough to make anyone deaf."
Rowan smiled, that was quite true. Her mother had a rather loud way of letting others know she was there.
"But how did you know my father? I don't remember him saying anything about you." She quickly said, wanting to grab at least that little piece of information
as his gaze already drifted away. He had done that twice already that evening, and during the ten minutes he was 'away' she could yell all she wanted, but he simply
wouldn't respond.
"Leod and I were old friend, we knew each other for a very long time," Came the answer, "If I had known he would die, I would've visited him sooner."
For a moment Rowan was struck by the sadness that sounded in his voice, and she nodded. "Yeah," She said. "Me too."
She had been too late all her life, she had always thought that it had all been about her. She had always thought her father would wait for her, and in the end, and too late
she had realised that he could've never waited for her. No one could make Death wait, she thought bitterly.

She got up, taking her empty plate to the old sink. She had no interest whatsoever to feel the cold water on her hands, so she just lay the spoon and plate in the sink,
turning back to Cian to take his plate too. She would do the dishes in the morning, if she had time to heat the water properly. Everything was so old in the little house,
but then again, it was probably the very thing that made the little house charming as it was.
She let out a sigh, before she yawned an awful long yawn. The soup had done it's job well. She could slowly feel her limbs warming, some feeling returning to the
tips of her fingers.
"You're tired Rowan," She nearly jumped at hearing his voice, turning to look at him. He was looked at her with a strange glance in his eyes, a warm look
which portrayed his concern. He got up from the chair with an easyness as if he had never been half frozen to death, and lay the blanket back on the low bed in the
corner, patting on the matress. "You should sleep."

A perfect stranger was telling her to sleep in her own house. If she had been in London she would've called the police rightaway, the things he could do while she
was asleep! But this was Orkney, she corrected herself, and Orkney wasn't filled with criminals. She had often thought that Orkney was a home to the most honest
of people in the entire world, but she of course did not know Cian at all.
"Yes," she said. "I must say I'm a little tired.."
"Then sleep," He stated, turning those brown eyes at her again.
"What will you do if I sleep?" She carefully asked, not quite sure what to think of his sudden paternal behaviour towards her. Only minutes ago she had been
the one caring for him, and he had not said a word unless spoken too.
"I will sleep too," He said, raising his eyebrows as if she had asked a dumb question.
"There's only one bed," she said, nodding her head at the bed, looking so comfortable and soft. But she was not going to lay in the tiny little bed, together with
a man she had saved from her doorstep only an hour ago. A guy who had been frozen, and seemed warm enough already.
"I know," His eyes were as innocent as those of a baby as he said those words, "I will not do anything Rowan, if you do wish me too." He said it with such
honesty that she almost believed him. However, he was a man, so she just had to make sure.
"Fine, we'll sleep." She said the word sleep a bit more powerful than she had intended too, "But if you try anything, pain will be the consequence."
She had learned how to defend herself, she had forced herself to take a course when she decided to live in London. It had saved her life, or perhaps her purse, once
already. She knew what to do with greedy little men. Although she doubted that he was... little.

She shrugged as casually as she could, kicking her boots off her feet before she walked to the bed, straight past his nose. She had no intention in taking anything off,
she would sleep with her trousers and jumper on, or not at all.
She lay down on the bed, instantly claiming the pillow for her own use as she settled underneath the thick woolen blankets. She couldn't help but tense a little as she felt
his weight upon the bed, but held still, trying to act as if she did this every night, allowing strange men to sleep besides her in her own bed.
He payed no attention to her stiffness, as he pulled at the blankets, covering himself as well as he could. She relaxed a little as she felt him relax too, but tensed
immediatly as she suddenly felt his arm around her wait, his chest settling against her back.
"Cian.." She said warningly, but he cut her off effectivly.
"I'm sorry Rowan, but this bed isn't exactly the broadest bed the world has ever known." He murmered against her back, and she to admit that he was right.
The wall was awfully close to her nose too. She decided to ignore the arm around her waist, and shifted a little, finding a comfortable position to sleep.
Only to find out that he had not had the same idea in mind as she, and that he had taken off his jumper. Not his trousers, and she thanked god for that, but she could
practically feel his naked chest around her back.
Mentally cursing herself, for bringing herself into this, she lay still; listening to his breathing, the howling of the wind, and the crashing of the rain. She sincerely hoped
the weather would turn out allright in the morning, all of a sudden she did not trust herself anymore, all alone in a tiny little house, together with a man, in one bed.

tbc.