A Shiver of Light

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I LEFT MY hose off so that I could walk barefoot through the sand to kiss Sholto good-bye at the edge of the surf. He’d protested, “The sand is chilly, and the surf cold.”

“I would kiss you as often as I can, before you go. If that means getting my feet a little cold in the edge of the sea, so be it.”

The pleased look on his face was totally worth padding barefoot through the sand and letting the chill wind have its way with my bare legs. Sholto had given me his jacket this time, so at least my upper body was warm enough. I’d protested, “I’ll have to give it back to you at the water’s edge, and then I’ll be even colder walking back to the house.”

“No, keep it until I return. I have other jackets and I love the idea of you wearing mine. Give it back to me smelling of your skin, and I will be content.”

What could I say to that but yes, and, “You are a terrible romantic, my king.”

He had grinned at me, that grin that made him look younger and carefree, as if no sorrow had ever touched him. I loved that I could get that smile from him.

“I thought I was a very good romantic, my queen,” he said.

I’d agreed and there had been more kissing. Now, we stopped just short of the waves where they spilled along the sand, and kissed again. An energetic wave found my feet and I startled from the cold. He laughed and picked me up, holding me around the waist effortlessly, my arms around his neck and my bare feet suddenly kicking in empty air while I laughed with him.

I didn’t hear the shot; I felt it spin him around and suddenly we were in the waves, the sea like ice water pouring over us. He was on top of me, pinning me, as the waves drew back and left me gasping.

Saraid and Dogmaela were there, bending over us. Saraid yelled, “Princess! Princess, are you hurt?”

“Lord Sholto!”

The next wave came, leaving me spitting water, and coughing. Sholto never moved. I said his name, but I knew. If he could have, he would have been helping Saraid and Dogmaela. He would have been up protecting me, but he just lay there as the next waves came and Saraid dragged me out of the water.

Beck and Cooper were there, guns drawn, looking outward for someone to shoot. Dogmaela had grabbed Sholto and was pulling him farther up on the sand. Saraid had pinned me underneath her on the sand, using her body as a shield, and yelling for reinforcements from the house.

They came, the sidhe, armed, helping shield me from danger, but all I could see was Sholto. Dogmaela rolled him onto his back and I could see the wound that came out a few inches below his right arm. The hole looked big enough to put my fist through. Exit wound, I thought, and then, could he heal it? Could King Sholto, Lord of the Sluagh, heal a high-powered rifle round that might have gone straight through his heart?

Dogmaela was trying to hold pressure on the bullet hole on the entry wound. Someone else knelt and started trying to hold pressure from the other side. I saw them look at each other, and then Dogmaela looked not at me, but at Saraid.

I screamed, “No! Sholto! No!”

Far off I heard seagulls calling in their rough, complaining voices, but there was no mockingbird to sing sweet music. The wind from the sea was cold, and the sea was colder.