Selkie, page 16
Quinn sucked in a sharp, angry breath through her teeth. But her injury hurt, and she’d told Maisie she would trust her, even if she didn’t trust these men. She nodded at the keeper to continue. Jamie set down the box and flipped the latch to open the lid, revealing a tidy pile of medical supplies. He pulled out a familiar roll of bandages and round tin, as well as a small, stoppered bottle and a square rag.
“This’ll sting,” he told her, apologetic. He pressed the rag to the open mouth of the bottle and swished it a few times. He looked up at her, a warning, and she braced herself.
The antiseptic stung a lot, like she was being stabbed all over again, but Quinn didn’t cry out. She refused to make a sound and instead gripped the edge of the bench with one hand, fingernails digging into the wood as Jamie wiped the edges of the wound. He was surprisingly gentle, the delicate motions at odds with his large, rough hands.
“Looks like you were stabbed by a spear,” he said, peering at her foot.
She bit out, “Fishing spear.”
Jamie paused, a complicated look flickering over his face, and Quinn saw something shift in MacArthur’s expression, too. He quickly shut it down when he saw her looking.
“Hmm,” was all Jamie said, and he finished cleaning her injury before applying the same salve that Maisie had brought her a few days ago—which now felt a lifetime away—and then wrapped it tightly with the bandages.
While Jamie tucked away the end of the bandage, MacArthur finally spoke again.
“She cannot stay here.”
Maisie made a noise of protest, a complicated look passing over her face. She’d made Quinn believe that she could convince the keepers to let her stay, but now that she was actually facing MacArthur’s refusal, the monumental effort it would take seemed to be dawning on her. Quinn watched quietly.
“She has nowhere else to go!” Maisie said quickly, pitch rising. “We can’t send her back into the storm, and there’s no way she can make it back to the mainland!”
“It is a nasty wound,” Jamie reasoned, clicking his box of supplies shut and getting to his feet, “but with a few days’ healing she could at least manage to walk on her own. We can take her back on our last trip to town.”
“But—” Maisie started, and then paused when MacArthur raised an eyebrow at her. Jamie, too, seemed surprised by her insistence. Quinn had the feeling that Maisie had spent a lot of her time at the lighthouse proving her loyalty by being agreeable and even-tempered. But if Maisie backed down now, these men would return Quinn to Owen’s waiting arms.
“Sir, I’d ask you to reconsider,” Maisie pressed on. She tilted her chin up, but Quinn could see how her fists were clenched with nerves. “What’s wrong with her staying here, at least until she’s fully healed? Her husband did this to her, and you would have us send her back to him while she’s wounded?”
Jamie, who had missed that part of Quinn’s story, looked wildly between Maisie and Quinn. He eyed the fresh wrapping he’d just completed on Quinn’s wound and frowned, his forehead wrinkling with suspicion that he didn’t bother to conceal when he caught Quinn watching him in return.
“She cannot stay,” MacArthur repeated, “because we have nowhere to put her.”
“She can have my room,” Maisie offered quickly.
“And you will sleep where?” MacArthur asked, and Maisie hesitated. She, like Quinn, was hiding something from the other keepers. It would be hard to keep a secret like that without a closed door to rely on.
“On the floor,” Maisie said instead. “She can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I can’t have you staying in the same room with a woman you just met.” MacArthur shook his head. “It’s not proper.”
“Sounds like her husband’s not proper,” Jamie grumbled, but he didn’t push back on MacArthur’s decision. MacArthur shot him a look. Quinn also gave him a sideways glance, surprised by the comment. In town, when a wife showed up with a strange bruise or mark from her husband’s hands, it was ignored or explained away as something she was responsible for. Quinn’s injury was much worse than anything the fishermen’s wives had endured, but it shocked her to hear a man laying the blame on the right shoulders.
Maisie turned to Jamie. “You saw the wound. Surely you can’t think of sending her away before she’s better?”
Jamie’s mouth twisted as he considered her and Quinn. While MacArthur seemed undeterred by Quinn’s situation in favor of maintaining the integrity of his lighthouse, Jamie’s hesitance was steeped in suspicion. Quinn felt for the weight of the bag at her hip to ground her as dread filled her throat.
But there must have been some worth to the trust Maisie had placed in Jamie, because he let out a sigh and flapped a hand at Maisie. “Murdoch can bunk with me, we can split time on the floor.”
Quinn risked a glance at Maisie and saw her mind working very quickly behind her green eyes. She had taken off the rain hat at some point, and her freckles stood out sharply on her pale face.
While Quinn’s thoughts raced, Jamie joked, “You don’t trust us, Mr. MacArthur? You really think we’d try anything? I’m hurt, I am. I thought you knew me better than that.”
MacArthur seemed to repress rolling his eyes at Jamie’s tone. “It is not about that. It is about what is proper.”
“Ain’t much proper about living in a lighthouse,” Jamie said. “Society can’t see us here.” He said “society” with heavy disdain. It made Quinn’s lips want to twitch up, but she forced them to be still.
“That is also not the point,” MacArthur said.
Jamie kept bickering, as if needling at MacArthur was going to change his mind, but Quinn had seen statues with less rigidity. However, every so often, Quinn could see MacArthur’s eyes crinkle at one of Jamie’s jokes.
Beside her, Maisie sucked in a steadying breath. Quinn looked up at her and saw a wave of determination settle over her face, as if Jamie’s decision to side with her had boosted her conviction. Quinn wanted to ask what decision she had come to, what she had planned, but Maisie spoke before she could ask.
“She can stay with me,” Maisie said. “It won’t be improper.”
MacArthur took a step to the side so that he could see Maisie from around Jamie’s bulk. “I disagree.”
“It is improper for a lone woman to stay in a room with a man she just met,” Maisie summed up, and waited for MacArthur to nod. Jamie turned to look at Maisie, too. “Then it would be fine if she stayed in a room with another woman?”
Quinn stared at Maisie, unblinking. What was she doing? Quinn couldn’t believe that this was Maisie’s plan, to give up everything she’d worked for on the unlikely chance that it would convince the keepers to let her stay. But in what world would they let Maisie stay, let alone Quinn, once they knew the truth? She made a tiny motion with her head, trying to stop Maisie without saying anything. The keeper caught the motion but didn’t back down.
MacArthur was looking at Maisie steadily. Jamie looked confused.
“You know me,” Maisie said, though her voice wavered. Jamie nodded at her, and it seemed to spur her forward. “Do you trust me?”
Quinn marveled at the way Maisie laid her foundation in trust. Maisie’s whole life, the life she had struggled and fought for, was dangling on the edge. And she would topple it for Quinn, for these men.
Jamie nodded again, no hesitation. MacArthur considered her for a handful of long moments, before telling her, “I trust the worker you are. I respect the person who I’ve labored beside for two months.”
“I need you to trust me now, then,” Maisie said.
“Trust you with what, Tavis?” Jamie asked.
“My name,” Maisie said steadily, reaching up for her knit hat, “is not Tavis, nor Murdoch. My name is Maisie Garrow.”
She took off her hat and ran a hand through her chin-length, bright red hair, rumpled from being tucked away.
Maisie kept her gaze on MacArthur as she spoke.
“I applied for this job under a false name, but I meant to do it well. I have learned quickly, and I would not trade this life for anything. I would have never been able to find this life as a woman. But I am just as well suited for it as any man,” she declared, the look on her face daring the other keepers to defy her. “Murdoch has earned your trust, but he and I are the same.”
Jamie’s mouth had dropped open, and MacArthur’s eyes were darting quickly up and down Maisie’s body as if he could spot anything that should have given her away. Quinn was hardly breathing.
“I’m asking that you trust me,” Maisie finished, “and that you allow her to stay here until her injury heals.”
A huge gust of wind rattled the glass windowpanes, but none of the lighthouse’s inhabitants flinched at the sound. Quinn thought that the whole wall could have been torn away by the storm and the keepers wouldn’t even look around to find the cause of the noise.
MacArthur and Jamie stared at Maisie. She kept her eyes on MacArthur, firm, but braced for whatever could come. Quinn looked between all of them in slow, shifting glances, though she lingered on Maisie the most.
How could Maisie risk herself like this? Just to get Quinn a place to stay in the lighthouse? She had already seen a piece of Maisie’s selflessness in the bits of food she shared from her own plate, in the readiness to spill her secrets before asking Quinn to lay out her own. This, however, this was more than a kind gesture to a wounded stranger. Maisie was risking everything for Quinn’s safety. And she was risking it with two men who had all the power to make Quinn’s situation infinitely worse.
Quinn’s fingernails were pressing indents into the underside of the wooden bench from how tightly she was gripping it, waiting for someone to speak. She wished this body had claws or something she could use to intimidate these men, and to protect herself, if necessary, but she also didn’t want to ruin Maisie’s trust by lashing out like an animal.
Jamie had managed to close his mouth at some point after Maisie’s revelation. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and reached up to run a hand over his beard. MacArthur was motionless at his side, arm still tucked behind his back like a soldier. Behind them, a log cracked and dropped in the fireplace.
“You applied for this position under a false name?” MacArthur finally asked.
Maisie blinked at him. “Yes. I knew they wouldn’t even look at an application under a woman’s name.”
“They would not,” MacArthur agreed. His tone was not angry, Quinn thought, but it did not inspire confidence. It felt like a building wave, the pressure mounting to a peak before it finally broke and flooded the shore.
“Well, this fixes things, doesn’t it?” Jamie asked loudly.
He still had a hand on his beard, and he didn’t flounder when all eyes swung to him. He gestured between Maisie and Quinn.
“She couldn’t stay because we were all men, right? Now there’s another woman. It’s even.” He nodded to himself. “She can stay in Murdoch’s—I mean Maisie’s—room. Not against the rules for two women to share, right, Mr. MacArthur?”
MacArthur, though he had to tilt his head back a little to look Jamie in the face, somehow managed to appear like he was looking down his nose at him. A wrinkle had formed between MacArthur’s eyebrows.
“There is no rule against it,” MacArthur admitted slowly, “because there have never been women in this lighthouse.”
“Then it’s not against your ‘proper’ rules,” Jamie said, satisfied.
“As usual,” MacArthur sniffed, “the real issue seems to be flying over your head. The problem is no longer that this woman needs to share a room in the lighthouse, but rather that one of its keepers is not who she said she was. Namely, that she is female.”
Jamie tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow, fully crossing his arms. A considering look flashed behind his eyes as he looked at Maisie, at her defensive stance, the determined set to her mouth. He’d been reluctant to disagree with MacArthur on Quinn’s behalf, but he rose to Maisie’s defense without hesitation.
“She’s right, though, isn’t she?” Jamie asked.
“About what, Jamie?” MacArthur asked tersely.
“She’s well suited for this job. You admitted it yourself, not three days ago.”
Maisie’s eyes widened as she looked from Jamie to MacArthur.
“Be that as it may,” MacArthur said, shifting his weight, “the matter of her employment here was produced through obscure means.”
Jamie made a tsking sound, as if Maisie lying on her job application was hardly consequential. “She does the work, don’t she? Us knowing she’s a woman now won’t change the fact that she’s good at this job.”
“The board would not agree with you,” MacArthur told him.
“But they’re not here, are they?” Jamie shot back. “You are.”
This time, all eyes swung to MacArthur.
Maisie had been quiet the entire time they were arguing, and she seemed ready to vibrate out of her boots with the nervous energy rolling off her, but she kept her mouth shut. Quinn had been getting the impression that within the walls of this lighthouse, MacArthur’s word was law, and while the keepers had the jurisdiction to test the limits of his flexibility, he would have the final say. But he seemed to be wavering under Jamie’s argument.
Quinn was shocked by how quickly Jamie had sprung to Maisie’s defense, his reasoning so simple it evaded any doubt that he really meant what he was saying. But was the support of another keeper enough to save Maisie’s place here?
MacArthur tapped his foot on the floor.
“Ms. Garrow,” he tested out, and Maisie stiffened. “I admit that you have been an exemplary addition to the lighthouse. I would be hard-pressed to find a replacement for you who could do the job even half as well. I’m sure you noticed during the application process that this is not a much sought-after position.” His words were crisp and to the point.
“The board would not approve of you working here,” he told her. Now Quinn stiffened, and she saw Maisie’s shoulders climb up toward her ears, but Jamie stared calmly at MacArthur’s profile, waiting for the rest. “However, at this point, the board does not know. And as I see it, they do not need to become aware of the fact.”
A pause, as if the room itself did not believe what it had heard.
“You mean,” Maisie started, her voice finally her own. It was small and nervous, but the layer of fake masculinity was peeled away. “You’ll let me stay?”
MacArthur nodded, then, shifting his weight to his left, added, “I of all people shouldn’t judge someone’s ability to do this job based on perceived physical capability, especially since you have already proven yourself capable.”
Jamie’s face broke into a wide smile.
While Maisie’s shoulders dropped in relief, she tilted her head toward Quinn and asked again, “And she can stay, too?”
“As we have established,” MacArthur said, “I trust you.” Quinn heard the unspoken, Even if I don’t trust her. “However, our current rations were decided when only three people were going to be occupying the lighthouse for the winter, and while we have settled the issue of where she should sleep, I will not tolerate any distraction from your duties.”
Jamie cut in, “No worries on the food front, Mr. MacArthur. Murdoch, I mean Garrow—”
“Maisie’s fine,” she told him, a wobbly smile on her lips. He grinned back at her.
“Maisie and I managed to get a bit more than you’d planned on our last trip, despite having to dodge that storm and those two investigators—” He ground to a halt, eyes widening at his slip.
MacArthur frowned. “Investigators?”
Maisie, like Jamie, had gone rigid at the mention of the two men Quinn remembered the dock foreman talking about, the ones who had been asking questions around the pub and town about an escaped murderer. Quinn wondered why they hadn’t told MacArthur about it before. They seemed as cautious about the outsiders as Quinn was about most humans.
Jamie quickly recovered, though his eyes shifted nervously to Quinn for some reason. “Just some busybodies that Dunwoody warned us about. We should have enough supplies for one more s’long as we don’t need seconds.”
MacArthur’s jaw twitched. “Fine, then. Still, I will not stand for any lagging on lighthouse duties while she is here. This is not a hospital, nor is it a social club.”
Jamie looked around, eyes comically wide. “Are you sure? Could have fooled me, what with the isolated island and all.”
Maisie let out a laugh, though she tried to smother it in deference to the look on MacArthur’s face. Quinn, however, wanted to hear her laugh again.
Slowly unpeeling her fingers from the bench, Quinn considered the three humans before her. Who were these men, who so easily accepted Maisie when she finally shared the truth with them, against everything that Quinn thought she understood about humans? Maisie had asked them to trust her, but it was obvious that she had had enough faith in them in return that the risk was not unfounded. Miraculously, Maisie’s plan had worked.
Jamie continued to needle MacArthur until the head keeper raised his voice and declared, “Since the matter has been settled, we should end this discussion. Ms. Garrow, you will see that—” He stopped, turning back to Quinn with furrowed brows.
“Quinn.” She saw Jamie tilt his head when she said her name, like he was trying to remember something after hearing it. Too late, she wondered if it was wise giving the keepers her real name. Knowing that Jamie was the keeper who came to the mainland to resupply, he would have come across the fishermen at the docks or the pub and perhaps heard the rumors swirling about Owen’s strange wife. Quinn pressed her lips tight. She had no last name to give them and would never claim Owen’s as her own. She hoped they wouldn’t press her for more.
“You will see that Ms. Quinn is settled,” MacArthur continued smoothly. “And then return to your post. Jamie, back to bed.”
“You say this ain’t a hospital,” Jamie grumbled, “but it sure feels like a military post sometimes.” He flicked a final glance at Quinn but said nothing as he gathered up his box of medical supplies and left the kitchen, throwing a jovial, “See you in the morning, then!” over his shoulder as he went.
