Rainlashed by Leda Swann Page B

always.”
    His words hit at her heart and she recoiled from him in horror, her hands behind her back so he could not reach out for them. “Not the coat. You promised me I would never have to wear that evil garment ever again. You promised.”
    He made an exasperated noise with his tongue. “I said nothing about the coat.”
    She looked at him blankly. “What am I to wear then?”
    He opened a large wooden door in a corner of the room, exposing a large selection of garments hanging within. “These were my sister’s dresses. You may take your pick of them.”
    Maya put out one tentative hand to touch them, and was relieved to find that few of them felt like dead things. Most of them were far more pleasant to the touch, with the cool smoothness of sea anemones, or seaweed. She would not mind having such garments on her back if it would please the master. “Your sister will not mind?”
    The master gave a short laugh. “Have no fears on that score. My sister no longer wants or needs anything in this wardrobe. Take whatever you fancy.”
    A horrible suspicion flashed across her mind. “Your sister is dead?” Though the clothes in themselves were not offensive, she would never wear the clothes of a dead girl. No selkie would dare such an ill-omened act that showed no respect for the dead. The girl’s spirit would be outraged at such a violation and would come back to haunt her and bring her to her doom.
    “No, she is not dead. She is married to a young English pup.” He shook his head with a grimace of distaste. “Scottish clothes from Aberdeen are no longer good enough for her. She will touch nothing but the latest London fashions now.”
    She shrugged with relief, her selkie fears appeased. “And the ones I do not like? What of them?”
    “Throw them into the corner and I will have them burned.”
    She lost no time in doing exactly as he suggested. All the heavy garments that made her shudder with revulsion when she touched them were soon discarded in a heap, leaving only the ones that felt good under her hands.
    There was a goodly pile of clothes on the floor when she had finished. The master looked at them with amusement that seemed to Maya mixed with something sour. “How like Fiona you are,” he muttered. “To throw away the good Scottish wool and keep the flimsy Indian cottons and Chinese silks.”
    Maya lifted her nose into the air, taking offence at his surly tone. “I care nothing for Fiona and her habits. I kept the clothes that did not feel dead.”
    He shrugged off her proud words, and took a garment from the wardrobe, a gown the deep blue color of the sea on a calm, sunny day. “Here, put this one on. It should fit you well enough.”
    It looked as if it should be easy enough to put on, but the appearance of simplicity was illusory. In a bare moment, she was entangled in its folds, not knowing which way to turn.
    The master took hold of her arms and guided them through the sleeves of the dress. A moment later, her head popped free. With a sigh of relief she wriggled her body a fraction, allowing the folds of the skirt to fall unimpeded down to her ankles.
    “Turn around.”
    She did as she was instructed, and the master tied her gown tightly from behind before stepping around to admire his handiwork.
    “You look very fine.”
    She moved her arms gingerly, encased as they were in the odd garment. “I do?” The gown felt infinitely better than the hideous coat, at any rate. If she could wear water, this is what it would feel like. Smooth as ice and cool to the touch, and fluid about her legs.
    He took her by the shoulder and guided her over to the open wardrobe door. “See for yourself.”
    A gasp of surprise escaped her at the reflection in the silvery mirror, and touched her hand to her hair self-consciously. A pool of water among the rocks had been her only mirror before now, her reflection blurred by the touch of sea-breeze on the surface. Now she could see herself as clearly as others saw