The Kelpie's Mate: Caspian's Call

Catherine

When I was eight years old, I drowned.

I had strayed too far from my parents, as they were collecting small crabs and shrimp from the rock pools near our home for our evening meal.

Why had I done such a thing? I was bored of scraping my hands on all the barnacles, so I had snuck off for a swim.

Our farm and cottage was nestled between some silver birch trees, only a mile up the river mouth that opened into the bay. So, this wasn't an irregular occurrence. In fact, it happened a lot, and after helping to find and collect crustaceans for an hour, I always stripped down to my petticoat and thundered my way into the waves, determined to play as much as possible in the cold waters before we headed home.

What was irregular however, was the strange burning tightness on my ankle, and the next thing I knew, the water was rushing past my face in a blur. I remember gasping for air, the taste of salt in over taking my mouth and my eyesight dimminng, and then?

Then I was on a boat, two miles off the coast, coughing up the water from my lungs onto the deck of an elderly man's fishing boat, surrounded by wooden crab pots, as he began to row us to shore.

He said, he had seen me floating past and scooped me up. Somehow, he managed to resuscitate me with no major damage. The only evidence there ever was of my ordeal, is a strange scar that had formed on my ankle.

The blackened mark splays out in the form of many criss crossing tendrils as it wraps around my lower leg, seemingly reaching up towards my calf. It has never faded, but more than that, under water it seems to shine a deep sparkling blue colour. My mother hates it, always fussing to make sure it is covered. As if I would reveal my ankles in the first place. No, that lesson in decorum has been well instilled within me. My grandfather however, used to tell me magical stories about it, before he passed. He would soothe all my worries when he found me crying over the hideousness of it; telling me I was bound for greater things. That it was the mark of a mermaid, and any fisherman would be glad to have such a lucky omen on the wife by his side. Or the hair of a sea nymph, left over as a gift to ward off sea demons. He always did make me laugh.

The day I was returned, my parents were absolutely frantic with worry, full of thanks to the old man and declarations of how they were in his debt. The very same old man, whose name I don't believe I ever learned also warned my parents to keep me far from the sea. A request that, after that day my parents would gladly oblige by. I was their only surviving child, a blessing from God my mother would tell me every night before I slept. As if this explained her domineering tendencies.

There was only one problem for them to face in their new desires to keep me locked on land.

I was that problem.

I had loved the sea all my life, and as strange as it sounds my longing for it only intensified after that day. Especially, since my scar permanently burned, the pain only lessening the closer I became to the water.

Twelve years on, and I am still sneaking off to the sea at every opportunity. I have a small wooden rowing boat and two oars. Which I keep moored above the tideline on the sandy shore, and I try to begin every morning on it; using the guise of catching fish for the family to eat, as my excuse.

On this particular day, the sun is only just rising over the horizon, and I'm already on the water. I threw my anchor down into the depths twenty minutes ago. I am in the same spot I always stop, and have been lying on my back to watch the sunrise. It slowly illuminates the world around me, light reflecting off the water and bouncing up the steep cliffs that surround the bay. On a stormy day, you can see the foam reach up past the giant cliffs towards the sky. Not that I would ever watch that from my boat, I love being on the water not drowned at the bottom of it.

I watch as the shadows begin to recede from the long grasses that flank the sand dunes, before I tear my eyes from the beauty of the world around me, as it becomes bathed in the morning light. More often than not I fall asleep here, lulled to rest by the gentle bobbing of waters that promise peace and contentment. The pain in my ankle is barely noticeable now, maybe that's why I find this spot so relaxing, so ideal. It is an escape from the pain that even now, still lingers on.

Once the sun has fully risen, I find myself setting up my small wooden rod. I rarely catch anything, but at least it makes me look as if I am being somewhat productive out here. I let the weight sink to the bottom, carrying my feathered hooks, before gently lifting and dropping it so the feathers on my line will attract something to bite as they mimic the supposed movements of other small fish. It takes about ten minutes, but at last there is a fish on, and I begin to wind the line upwards. With it, comes the relief of escaping too bad a scolding from my mother when I do return home. She can't be mad if I caught lunch, surely.

However, when the fish nears the surface, I lift the rod to reveal a small gurnard, he is far too small to satisfy one palate, never mind three, and with a sigh I flick him off the hook, watching as he plops back into the sea, and disappears beneath me into the depths.

This was a mistake.

I should have been watching the other hook, because now, out of nowhere, the blasted thing is embedded in my finger and coated with blood.

Cursing my own absent mindedness, I rest the rod inside the skiff, and unhook myself, with a wince, from the line and drop it back onto the deck with the rod, before with a sigh I rinse my hands in the salt water, and lie down against the bottom of the boat in defeat.

My contentment is causing me to drift off to sleep again, when the boat rocks uncharacteristically and out of time with the somewhat predictable swell. I sit up and look around, yet nothing seems amiss. Then it catches my eye, at first my adrenaline spiked because it looked like the tip of two shark fins rising up, except it wasn't.

They were too close together, and rising upwards, not forward.

They were ears. Horse ears and saying I was shocked when the rest of the equine's head followed them out of the water would be an incredibly dramatic understatement.

Where he came from I had no idea, but he looked angry, and I decided not to hang around, he snorted spraying water at me as I turned to gather up the anchor. Deciding enough was definitely enough for the day.

I must have had the blasted weight about halfway up, when the horse disappeared again. But, then the anchor seemed to get stuck, and it wouldn't budge no matter how hard I tugged. Then, before I could force it up any higher, the rope was pulled so hard through my hands, I screamed as it tore into the skin.

Thinking fast I took my small knife, and with shaking hands, cut the rope higher up, releasing me from the device altogether while making the boat sway dramatically, and then I began to row.

I rowed like my life depended on it, heading for the sandy beach as quickly as my burning hands and throbbing arms would get me there. The relief I felt when I made it to shore was indescribable. The water lapped my ankles and soaked the bottom of my skirts when I stepped out to pull the boat up, falling backwards in the sand at least three times in my haste.

Thankfully at least my ankle wasn't hurting for once, even if my aching arms were making up for it.

When the boat was far enough up, away from the tideline, even if not in her usual spot, I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a very short lived relief.

Because, when I turned towards the sea again the horse was standing behind me, his fetlocks stood strong in the waves as they lapped around his legs, his body was dripping wet, and still, he just watched me, watched me as if I were some kind of crazy puzzle he needed to understand.

Maybe I was.

Crazy that is, because my next move made no sense to me; I approached the beast, clearly having taken leave of my sanity altogether, and lost track of any sense I may have had remaining.

But, he didn't seem angry any more, just curious and he was stunning; possibly the most magnificent animal I had ever seen. His coat was more of a dark grey seal pelt. Yet I could see the hair growing in clumps, like there was a form of scales below it that shone through in the outline. He carried his head in such a high regal manner, even while he studied me curiously. His mane flowed effortlessly past his shoulder, droplets of water still running along to drip back into the sea below him. He was enchanting, and before I even realised it, I was directly in front of him desperately wanting to touch his beautiful coat.

"Hello," I stated, feeling more than a bit ridiculous while talking to a magical sea horse.

He responded with a breath of warm air to my face, his soft muzzle nudging against my neck as he inhaled. I laughed at the tickling sensations his whiskers created. Then his nose dropped to my ankle, and I for reasons I am not aware of, I automatically lifted my wet skirts, just enough to show him my scar.

"You are a curious thing, aren't you?" I spoke light heartedly.

His warm breath against my leg sent shivers through me, and suddenly he was looking me in the eye again, like he was trying to convey his own secret message, a message I wasn't sure how to understand, but one that seemed meant for me all the same.

My fingers still itched to touch him, and when he stood still, silently watching me, I could resist no longer. I extend my hand slowly, and my fingers melted into his soft dark fur as my small hand cupped his cheek, sinking into his damp pelt.

The next thing I know, I am watching utterly stunned as his body begins to ripple from the contact, and then he was there no longer.

However, in his place stood a man, a soaking wet naked man, holding my hand to his cheek with his own, and begging me with his large grey eyes not to scream. Somehow it worked, and I felt I was lost to him, completely enraptured my his presence.

His head turned to kiss the inside of my wrist, as his other arm wrapped about my waist, pulling me close enough, that I was pressed against his damp body in the most improper way. That's when I registered he was bare, and some of my senses returned, causing me to try and stumble back away from him.

"You're naked!" I shrieked, covering my eyes quickly within the small space I had managed to create between us through my struggles.

His laugh was deep, I imagined his whole body moving with the chuckle, as his arms encircled my waist again, tighter this time and making me jump nervously.

"Then, I suggest you stay close, lest your eyes stray and explore the view," came his deep voice.

Lowering my hands slightly to peek above my fingers, I ask in confusion, "Are you attempting to be flirtatious with me?" While simultaneously cursing my reddening face at what he had been implying of me.

His smile widened and that's when I realised he may be the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes upon. His eyes look like a storm rages inside their depths, his thick and long dark hair lies wet across his shoulders, while his lips are thick and plump even while stretched over his face in a smile. Somehow, I find myself inexplicably drawn to that mouth.

Never one for showing an interest in the opposite sex it startled me, just how much I'm drawn the possible taste of those lips. I study his bone structure, it encases his features well, and screams of a hardened strength that matches his powerful shoulders and strong arms. Before I realise it my hands are completely gone from my face and resting on his chest in front of me. There is no doubting his strength, I can feel it in the arms he has wrapped around me, locking me in place against him.

Yet I am not afraid of him.

I am pulled from visual exploration when he speaks, one corner of that mouth lifting in a smirk, "Aye, I suppose I am, My Lady."

I had almost forgotten what I had asked him, and I swear he knew that too, as he began to laugh and continued.

"And, please, tell me the name of the most beautiful woman I have ever met?" He asked, obviously enjoying himself at my expense far too much.

"Catherine," I whisper with a small frown, feeling unsure of everything. Especially why such a scandalous encounter should feel so, so safe.

"A name fit for a Queen," he commented, seemingly pleased as he smiled at me, and I find myself blushing at his expression while his fingers delicately raised to trace my jaw. "Catherine, I must go," he states, his voice laced with regret. "I have preparations to make," he stated next, sounding pained, "But, I will return for you in four days," he spoke with a certainty that had suddenly irritated me.

"And who exactly said I want you to return?" I asked, leaning away from him like I could magic up some space between my body and his. But, his arms were tightening, locking me to him completely. "You certainly think very highly of yourself, for a man behaving with such impropriety." I scolded him.

He laughed at me! It was loud, and I swear the waves under our feet pulsed with it, before he became deadly serious, "My Love, I have been searching the seas for you since I was twelve years old. Twelve years of waiting for you to reveal yourself again. I refuse to wait much longer." His voice was weighted, and I could feel how adamant he was with every syllable, but then his eyes softened, and his next words caressed over me, "But you? I bet you've already been out in this cove quite regularly, seeking relief from the tether. You have waited for my return, My Love, without even realising it. That, is how I know you wish me to return again."

Somehow I know exactly what he is implying without having to ask, but still I find I am seeking clarity, "Tether?" I ask him.

"It is my mark on your ankle, My love, and it yearns for the transition to be completed." He answers my unasked question.

I find myself stunned into silence, my own blue eyes searching his grey ones for more of an understanding. But then his eyes lower, flicking to my own mouth the way mine have done to his countless times during our embrace. His head lowers slowly, it is an almost painfully slow pace that has my heart rate leap in anticipation. Then with the gentlest of pressure his lips meet mine, hesitant, like he is seeking permission.

And I am lost.

I push my mouth against his more firmly, and it was all the permission he seemed to need to chase away his hesitation. He tastes slightly of the salt water he rose out from, and my body melts in his grasp completely. My knees weakened as his tongue takes entry of my mouth, and my own pushes back in exploration of his. I feel his arms tighten against me again and I swear he will never let me go. Odd as it seems, I don't believe I want him to either.

When the kiss does finally end he pulls back with a hazed look in his eyes, "My Catherine," is all he can say, as I myself struggle to catch my breath.

"Yours." The words suddenly leaves my lips unbidden, and I blush once again realising what I have said.

"What is your name?" I ask him.

"Shhh, soon," is his only reply, before he kisses me again, my body melting to his.

But, this time my world goes dark.

When I awaken, the sun is high in the sky and I am lying in my little boat. I sit up with a start, and begin scanning the beach, looking for any trace of the man, or the horse. I'm honestly not sure of which to seek out. But the surrounding bay is empty.

My boat is back in it's usual spot, not where I left it and all my items are where they naturally stay. It looks like I never went out at all. I lick my lips, the strong taste of salt still lingers there, but maybe that could simply be from the sea air.

Then I see it, my anchor rope. It is no longer cut, but the rope is secured to its weight as it always has been.

I begin to question myself vehemently, was it just a dream? I am still questioning myself, when I look down at my hands, I have a bad rope burn. Where did that come from then, if I had slept the entire time?

I climb out the boat, wincing when my ankle burns like fire under my weight.

I guess it's time to make my way home, and get mother's scolding over with, I decided with a sigh.