Page 73 of The Secret of Drulea Cottage
“If the others could only see the signs…”
“You never have believed in fairy tales!”
Briony gasped.Maybe I am a selkie and Mr. McLaren knows it. Was he trying to tell me all along?
If he knew all this time and never told anyone, then perhaps he can be trusted.
Briony got ready as quickly as she could and tore out the door.Surely I’ll have enough time before Santiago comes to see me.
There weren’t many people on the street that morning, but Briony figured they were sleeping off their drunken stupors from Johnsmas. She didn’t spot any Portuguese sailors either, but then, they had been just as excited to indulge in the alcohol as the locals.
And no Niall.Even though part of her wanted to talk to him, another part of her was petrified at the thought of facing him again.To possess that much power…
She shuddered, glad she was almost to Vincent McLaren’s stall already.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one there. The Olivers were in the midst of an argument with the mad fisherman as Briony walked up.
“What do you mean, ‘you don’ have any fish’? I can’ survive without my trout!” Lady Oliver whined. She wrung her hands as her husband stood beside her, both glaring at Mr. McLaren.
The mad fisherman, on the other hand, was shrugging his shoulders with his hands open. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Lady Oliver. I asked around, and none o’ the other fishermen caught a thing either! And Ialwaysget at least a couple o’ fish. I don’ mean to brag, but I doubt anyone here or on the Mainland could match my skills. Except fer maybeyou, Mistress Fairborn.”
Briony blushed. She’d thought the man hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Yer simply after more o’ my money, aren’ you?” Laird Oliver jabbed the man in the chest with his finger.
Mr. McLaren dropped his hands and shook his head vehemently. “Nay, sir! Ask any o’ the other fishermen and they shall tell you the same!”
Laird Oliver smirked. “Oh, I shall. And if I find out you’ve been less than truthful with me, let’s just say that things won’ go well fer you. Come along, wife.”
Laird Oliver snatched his wife’s hand and spun around, almost walking straight into Briony in the process.
Lady Oliver snarled at the younger woman. “Good morneen, Fairborn wench. Or should I say, witch? Did you come to see yer handiwork?”
“I have no idea what yer talking about,” Briony said, trying to skirt around the couple.I have more important things to do right now than listen to this.
Lady Oliver blocked Briony’s path as she continued, “If this is some sort o’ fish shortage, then ’twould na be hard to figure out who’s behind it! ’Twould be just like you to do this out o’ spite! Do you na think we’ve suffered enough just by having you in town? And then with that storm last night? Must you make it worse? Yer presence here is a curse on all o’ us!”
“I—”
“Mistress Fairborn, I need to speak with you! ’Tis most urgent!” Vincent McLaren exclaimed as he stepped out from behind his stall.
He grabbed Briony’s wrist. “Please excuse us.”
Lady Oliver frowned. “Wait—”
“Sorry, sorry! No time, I fear!” Mr. McLaren said in a singsong voice and pulled Briony down the street, not stopping until they’d left the market square and were in an out-of-sight spot between two houses.
“Mr. McLaren, what are you doing?”
The fisherman released her wrist and took a step back. “Now you can tell me why you came to see me. ’Tis na yer usual day to buy fish.”
Briony’s brow furrowed. “Then were you lying when you said you needed to talk to me?”
Mr. McLaren smiled, displaying the gaps between his teeth without shame. It was a crazy sort of smile, one that would have made most people cringe, but Briony only felt affection upon seeing it. “Well, I could na just let them attack you like that. Na when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
Briony smiled at the man’s kindness. “Thank you, Mr. McLaren. And yer right, I do need to talk to you.”
“Thought you might after what happened last night.”
