He nearly dropped her in shock, mouth gaping as he quickly regained his wits and turned about-face, hiding her from sight. She struggled in his grip, ungrateful for the regard he held for her honour. Had she no care for being bare to the world? As he contemplated the possibility, the blanket dropped to the sand in a sodden mess, a fact he tried very hard to ignore. She fought to wrench herself from his grip, legs kicking and arms flailing. He could only hold fast, her clammy skin slippery in his hands.

If this had all been a dream he would have laughed it off as a fever of the mind, brought on by strenuous activity and idle thoughts. But the ache in his head and the curling hunger in his belly gave proof that this was no vision, nor was Gill a figment, no matter how Killian wished he was. And as his departure was unlikely without an explanation he may as well engage the man before he imposed a story upon them.

She squeaked in his arms as he cupped a hand over her mouth. It would only raise more questions if Gill heard her strange speech and he was rather unwilling at the moment to discuss it. The sooner he could rid himself of the old man, the sooner he could let go of her.

"Good morrow to you. Pleased to see you survived the storm," he shouted over his shoulder.

"As am I," Gill smiled around his pipe, wide grin splitting his face. "Though I believe of the two of us, you had a far more interesting night."

It could have been the cold breeze blowing off the water but he could have sworn Jones' ears turned red at the insinuation. Regardless of the reason Gill smiled, his face wrinkling as he stood against the wind, cane sunk deep into the sand as an anchor. If he was being honest this was the most entertaining sight since Mrs. O'Leary's cow had crashed through the cemetery the day they buried Callahan. For some reason Jones was holding onto a pretty little thing, bare as the day she was born. Rather surprising as the young man had always seemed timid around womenfolk. Perhaps a lover's spat?

"Would you care to introduce me lad?"

He wiggled an eyebrow, fully aware of how uncomfortable Jones was. And he couldn't help but stir the pot. Little enough these days gave him joy and he was rather hungry for gossip. It was quite obvious the boy had no intention of engaging in conversation but it would be rude to not at least offer her name and Gill knew it. They may be miles from civilization but Kincasslagh boys knew their manners.

"This is my…" Killian drifted off, uncertain as to how he could possibly explain her away. "Cousin," he murmured, cringing even as he spoke, knowing Gill would see it for the lie it was.

The old man nodded, unable to contain his glee as he puffed great clouds into the air. "And…her state of dress?"

Killian rolled his eyes. Brendan's bloody arse.

"She caught fever last night and…has been delirious since this morning." He tried to stand still as she scratched at him, wiggling and kicking and generally writhing against him in a way that was most distracting. At any other time he might have welcomed her actions but they weren't alone, nor were they in his cottage and he was stuck with the worst gossipmonger in the county not five paces behind him.

"I see," Gill nodded, tapping his pipe against his lip. "Was a time when fever kept a patient in bed fully clothed. But I was young then and knew less than I do now. Clearly times have changed."

There was no answer from the young man though he dearly wished the boy would take the bait. There really was nothing better than toying with a worm on a hook and he had so little these days to entertain him. But as he waited, grinding his cane in the grit, he saw Jones unwilling to bend and play the game. And despite how interested he was in catching a flash of bosom, he had no interest in staying out in the wind longer than necessary. His old bones kept him close to the fire these days instead of out on the salt where he wanted and admittedly he was reaching his limit today.

Killian grunted as a sharp elbow stole the breath from his lungs and left him gasping. His throat burned and his eyes watered as he tightened his grip, well aware of her intentions to escape. She took advantage of his momentary pain though and bit down on the flesh of his palm. All thoughts of the King's English flew out of his mind to be replaced by the vilest words overheard aboard ship but instead of letting them fly past his lips, he waited. He was no stranger to pain. All it required was endurance, a trait which he fortunately excelled in. As the shape of her sharp teeth dissipated, Killian found that he felt more tired than anything. His unexpected guest and dream-plagued sleep had deprived him of a well-earned rest. And yet he was unable to return to the cottage without passing the gauntlet of Gill's lecherous wit, an experience he was unwilling to have on an empty stomach.

Sensing the change in mood, Gill pulled up his cane, tapping sand off on his boot.

"A pretty young lass such as yourself should not be left alone with such a scamp," he tilted his head towards toward boy. "If you should ever choose to spend your time with a man who has experience in the ways of women I would gladly offer my services."

Killian frowned at the insinuation but held his tongue. Engaging with the old man would only perpetuate their situation as Gill loved a good argument. Instead he prayed to God, willing the man to grow bored and depart. Until then he was trapped holding onto a woman with an increasingly disturbing body.

"Fair winds to you then boy. Perhaps the two of you would like to come by for a cup when your lovely cousin is feeling right with the world again?" He paused, receiving only a grunt in return before he shuffled back the way he came. He had the creeping sensation that things in the county were about to change.

Several minutes passed before the two remaining on the shore moved. Killian finally risked a glance over his shoulder to find Gill gone. He slowly lowered her to the ground, removed his hands and chose to stare out towards the horizon to avoid looking at her. But when she stumbled away from him towards the water, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her wrist. She whipped around, driplets from her wet hair striking him in the chest.

"Let go!"

He growled in frustration as she started yelling at him about her skin, berating him as a thief all while trying to extricate herself from his grip. He was tired, cold and hungry, his wet shirt flapping in the wind against his back. All he wanted was to sit by his hearth with a full belly and instead he was here, dealing with a madwoman.

He stared at the top of her head to avoid looking at other parts of her in barely concealed annoyance as she nearly fell in her eagerness to escape from him, all the while still yelling. It truly did make him long for the moments when First Lieutenant Wilding had berated him aboard the Phalarope. His insults had at least managed to be imaginative and amusing, whereas her voice was something akin to the screech of an overworked fiddle. And so he waited, out of propriety and politeness for her to finish her tirade but the moment never came. She continued and would likely have spoken through to the end of eternity had he not interrupted.

"Stop!" He gave her shoulders a great shake. "If you wish to continue this…outburst once we are back inside you may but we are going to get out of this wind."

He huffed, angry at Gill and at himself but most of all angry at her and her disruption in his life. Tedious it may have been but there was a rhythm and security in every day progressing along the same path as the one before. He was accustomed to the routine he had established. Fishing took him to the market where he sold his catch that paid for food and so on, peppered with visits to church and the local pub. But now he found everything that had been his calm corner of the world turned on its head due to her sudden appearance. He could no more walk into town with her than he could walk on water and his forced explanation of her presence bound him to a lie that would surely prove his undoing.

As a problem though she paled in comparison to Gill. The man was incorrigible and loved nothing more than getting under everyone's skin which worried him greatly. He was unsure of whether he could trust the old man to hold his tongue about their encounter. But as he could do nothing to prevent him from telling tales there was little sense in worrying. Instead he turned his mind to the problem at hand.

Leaning down he grabbed hold of the sodden blanket, now covered in grit. It ground into his palms as he clenched his hand before shaking out the fabric and throwing it over her shoulders so she was at least hidden from prying eyes that might come upon them before pulling her away from the shore. Even if she proved to be half mad he could admit, at least to himself that he felt a sense of responsibility to her. Though so far she seemed unappreciative of the lengths he was going to in order to ensure her comfort and safety.

As he tugged her away from the water she glared, his hand tight about her wrist. It was uncomfortable but less so than the hold of a bite. As they walked she faltered, pulling against his grip as she fell to her knees. The ache in her legs had steadily grown worse since she left his cave. Unused to walking she frowned at the thought that escape was unlikely when he could move faster than she.

The truth of her situation sunk in as he grumbled and pulled her up, practically dragging her along. Truly though she knew him not and despite her demands he might never return her skin and as such, she would never return to the sea. The thought sent her mind into a panic, her heart pounding loud against her chest. Landers were cruel creatures and she had no wish to remain one. Already her legs were starting to itch with that familiar tightness in her limbs telling her it was time to shift back. Coupled with the pain accompanying every step, she struggled to hide her discomfort and failed miserably.

As he towed her along, their pace slowed with ever step. Killian was lost in thought considering how he was possibly going to feed the both of them not to mention what she was going to wear. He was brought to an abrupt stop by a small whimper. Frowning he turned and saw her, overly pale, her eyes closed, a grimace on her face. She looked positively peaked and it was entirely possible that her time outside sans clothing had made her more vulnerable to illness. Women had fainted in his presence before bearing such a look but worry kept him from waiting for that outcome. Instead he leaned down to pick her up. Haste was of the utmost until she was dressed in proper clothes and the situation called for practicality, no matter how awkward she made him feel.

A yelp was all she could muster as he pulled her into his arms, his hands pressed tight against her. But despite the sweet relief he brought to her legs all she could do was bare her teeth. This man was a thief and if she got her skin back she would make him pay for daring to take it. If not, she would tear his cave down around his ears so that he might reconsider doing this to anyone else.

The two arrived back at the cottage in due course. Killian stepped inside and roughly deposited her on the bed before turning to latch the door. After a moment's consideration he pulled the table over, plates rattling as the legs scraped over the stone, blocking the exit. He would not be caught unawares a second time.

For a moment he stood in silence, uncertain of how to proceed. He had never before had a woman in his home and had no idea as to how he should act. It was perhaps too much to hope for that she would take the lead in such matters as she appeared incapable of speech unless it involved yelling at him. He risked a glance at her, taking in the tears, the lowered eyes and mournful expression and instantly felt like a scoundrel. First he had manhandled her at the estuary and then dragged her back to the cottage. She likely thought him a rogue and was scared witless as to his intentions.

He sighed as he felt the edge of a headache starting behind his eyes. There were few things that could rile him. Unfortunately women happened to be one of those rare exceptions. How was it he could feel calm and comfortable being fired on by a 40-gunner but a single woman was enough to cause all sensible thought to flee? Usually it was an awkward meeting after church with Mrs. Gormley trying to introduce him to one of her many nieces. Now though, it was a strange woman who seemingly appeared from nowhere, making odd demands and yelling at him about nonsensical things.

But as she was in his home and appeared to be a stranger to these parts, it was apparent that he should be the one to extend his hand. After all he couldn't very well abandon her to the elements. It would serve her well to be properly clothed especially with the spring storms rolling in off the sea. He would of course offer her shelter as it would be the Christian thing to do, offering safe harbour to those in distress. But then there was also propriety and a single man staying alone with an unwed woman was decidedly looked down upon and considered scandalous. And if Gill let fly with his tongue, the Lord only knew where it would end. The news would easily spread to the nearest counties and he'd never be able to show his face in church again.

Unable to reconcile the two thoughts in his head as to whether he should shelter or exile her, he instead he avoided both by focusing on clothing her. He plucked up what had been his church clothes that she had so carelessly strewn about, gathering the bundle into his arms. That was of course the easy part he realized as he slowly approached the bed while staring at his feet. He carefully laid the clothes down beside her before abruptly turning to provide her a measure of privacy.

All was quiet in the cottage except for the occasional pop from cooling embers in the hearth and the rattle of wind against the door, leaving Killian with his thoughts. He tried not to listen for movement behind him, feeling it was rather unbecoming. But all the same he wondered about her. Encountering a strange woman was one thing but finding an unconscious woman parted from her clothing was an entirely different animal. What possible set of circumstances could have led to such a scene? Try as he might no earthly explanation came to mind.

Several minutes passed with no sound emanating from either. He was unsure as to how much time he should allot for her, never having been forced into such a situation before. As time ticked by the silence grew oppressive like a great weight sitting on his head, pressing him into the floor. He was loathe to break it and hesitant in how to proceed. Should he continue to wait or simply inquire as to her progress? How did one politely go about asking a woman if she was clothed or not? After several minutes more he decided he could wait no longer.

"Miss?"

Moments passed without reply. Left with his only remaining option he turned, careful to keep his gaze averted. Slowly he lifted his eyes, only to find her shivering on his bed. The clothes he'd laid out for her remained where they lay. Instead she was curled in on herself, huddled against the wall, having discarded the wet blanket. He felt his cheeks grow warm at the sight of her bare again. Eyes wide, she stared at him with no small measure of ire.

The first and most urgent problem was getting her dressed. There was no civil way to look at or speak to her without spying a glimpse of flesh, a sight that only a husband should be privy to. There was also the fact that Killian felt he had sinned enough already in relation to this woman. In particular he was dreading confession and expected Father Mulcahy to be especially hard on him, having recently missed Mass due to weather and illness.

There appeared to be only one way in which he could achieve his ends and it involved directly intervening. He prayed for guidance as he slowly inched towards the bed, not wishing to cause alarm as she already appeared nervous in his presence. Blindly he reached down for his shirt and grabbed a fistful of fabric. Finding the seams he kept his eyes shut and held it out towards her.

"Please miss. For decency's sake and your own health."

She looked down at the skin he held, shuddering. Why was he asking her to wear someone else? Did he seize her people often? The pain in her hand flared as she thought back to her family and their slowly shrinking numbers. Was this why so many had gone missing? Fear bled cold in her heart as she tensed at the thought. To imagine him responsible for any of it curled her toes, her jaw clenching.

And so it was with some amount of fear that she rejected his request and turned away. All her life she had been warned. Avoid, observe, flee. For Landers were killers and would drown the sea with blood if they could. And yet from the moment she woke her focus had been only her skin and returning home. Her father would have been angry at her for ignoring all else. Because the truth was danger had been standing before her the whole time. She could no more trust this Lander than she could the heart of a storm. Both were vicious and had their own ways, leaving death in their wake.

But he had blocked the entrance. It was unlikely she would escape a second time, not with him wary of her. Her previous attempt had been messy. Her body still ached from falling, the pain sinking into her bones. How was she ever to return home with his constant gaze upon her?

She looked down to his hand again, holding the offending thing. Was that the bargain? To leave she must wear another? Angry at the thought she hissed. Only a monster would ask such a thing. Not even in battle did her people do this, only Landers. And she would rather cut out her teeth than echo them. For many moments she sat thinking. Slowly she came to the conclusion that only one option was open to her. It was an ugly idea but she would embrace it wholeheartedly if it ended in her escape.

"You will return my skin?"

Killian sighed, his eyes still firmly shut. "It may be that we find it while fetching my boat. But I cannot promise any certainty to its discovery."

Unlikely to receive any more commitment on the issue, she agreed to his terms by reaching out and snagging the skin from him, uncertain as to how she should wear it. First she held it like poison, pinched tight between thumb and finger, before finally relenting. But nothing happened when she laid it alongside her palm. It did not cleave to her; there was no familiar give and stretch. Instead it felt strange, holding no spark of life within. It felt dead.

It meant only one thing for her people and so she tried her best to ignore the nauseous feeling burbling inside her. If it helped her escape she would stomach almost anything. Several minutes passed as she fiddled with it, growing frustrated at her failed attempts to force the skin to bind to her. Grunting she finally chucked the thing back at him.

Startled, Killian stepped back, his eyes popping open of their own accord. He should have shut them immediately or stared at the floor but instead he was struck by the look of disquiet on her face as she hugged her knees.

"I cannot…wear your skin," she mumbled.

Confused, he looked at the shirt. It only took a moment for the reason to enter his mind. He supposed it wasn't so strange that she was unable to dress herself as he had only men's clothes at hand and she was likely used to being dressed by a maid. He fought the blush rising to his cheeks at the idea that he would be forced to help, never having considered being helpless over such a small thing. But as he was likely already damned what did it matter? God forgive me.

"Miss I can…if you would…" He fought for the right words, to ask for assent while maintaining a semblance of gentlemanly conduct. "If you would?" He held up the shirt, the language lost between his teeth.

Again he was faced with that glare, a look that was fast becoming a permanent fixture on her face. He could feel his gut twisting into itself, an uncomfortable roil that threatened to distract him from the matter at hand. He fidgeted as he waited, silent and tense as an ache grew between his shoulders. She gave a slight huff and twisted, her only indication of acknowledgement, confronting him with an expanse of bare skin. Quickly he stepped forward and slipped the shirt on, ignoring the flinch as the fabric settled onto her shoulders. A quick tug to the sleeves slipped her arms inside and he pulled her around.

With half the matter settled it seemed likely he would have to repeat the same procedure with the trousers. This was of course a more delicate matter, with the sodden blanket cradled about her. And so he knelt coaxing her to stand, the whole while reciting a prayer in his head. His concentration was entirely broken however when two bare ankles appeared next to him. Shakily he slowly pulled the trousers up her legs, his eyes squeezed shut, muttering under his breath.

"Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee…"

His heart pounded like a drum as he stood up, a thumb accidentally brushing against her thigh. He felt her shiver at the touch. Startled he found himself face to face with her. An audible breath escaped him as he stared into her eyes, a green like the sea in sunlight. There was a coldness to her expression that hurried his movements and so he quickly fastened the trousers. Seeing her in his clothes was an oddly stirring sight, though they fit her not at all. Clearing his throat he stepped back, a tight smile pulled to his face. He attempted to convince her that the tattered boots left from his campaign were necessary. But she refused any and all attempts to cover her feet.

He was wont to leave her at the cottage though, not trusting she wouldn't disappear on him. There was also the concern that she might wander outside again. It was a small risk taking her back to the boat. Mostly it was a frustration, being forced to drag her along. At least with the tides he could cut across the estuary, sparing him a wasted hour, skirting the sea. He could only hope that her feet would last the walk.

"If you would follow me miss. It will take some time to walk back and then sail her into the bay." With a quick bow he walked to the door, moved the table and invited her outside.

"Sail?" She frowned, her gait still unsteady as she eagerly tromped outside.

He tried to ignore the fact that her response made it sound as if she were unfamiliar with the term. There were already far too many mysteries swirling about her person. He had no wish to add another.

"Last night was unexpected and I had no choice but to tie up near Bull Rock. The tides can be rough around the bend and I need to retrieve my boat. You are to come with me and help return it to the docks."

He took the lead but stayed close, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, concerned she would wander off if given the chance. He even slowed his gait to match her pace. As they reached the shore he stepped off onto the sandy draw of the estuary and after a moment's consideration held out his hand. She ignored the courtesy completely and simply stumbled after him.

The day was bright and cold, the wind a sharp bite to the cheeks. Rubbing his hands together he stomped his boots, the chill of the north Pacific seeping into his feet. In comparison she appeared at ease, still and calm as she faced towards the sea, a grey and roiling mass. Grey clouds covered the sky, the remains of last night's storm, pressing low over the world.

She followed along behind, enjoying the feel of wet on her feet as she squelched through the wet sand. Everything else was so dry, her human form so close around her, dressed in the skins he had forced her to wear. He walked forward with purpose, ignoring the small tidal pools around him, sheltered in the shadow of rocks scraped smooth by time. She wanted to stay and pick over the clumps of mussels as an excuse for resting her feet. But one look at the retreating back of the Lander and she knew there was no chance he would leave her behind. If anything he was more than likely to drag her along as he had before. And she would need to affix herself to his side if she wanted any chance at seeing her skin again.

So instead she followed, grimacing as they left the estuary and climbed up the bank to a dirt path. Walking behind she found the transition unpleasant. The ground was hard, dry and sharp. Before when she had shed her skin, she'd kept her feet immersed, the waves lapping against her a calm reminder of home.

It was strange looking at everything backwards, staring out to sea rather than towards land. The breeze buffeting against her was briny and made her mouth water. Everything smelled right but felt wrong. Normally she would be swimming through currents and kelp forests, dodging around her cousins, feeding off sea bass and mackerel. They were happy memories and she held them close as she hobbled after the Lander.

As she considered her current predicament a hand absently reached up to itch at her wrists and neck, hating the layer between herself and the sky. It was confining and unnatural, a strange Lander custom she would never grow used to. The movement though brought to mind the deep ache left by the sun in his cave. The pain had remained and was slowly becoming an agitation. She hardly even noticed when the Lander before her stopped.

Killian blinked in confusion. He remembered rowing back to land and where he had tied his boat. The wind had been blowing and the sky torn open with grey but Bull Rock had been visible. There was no mistaking his landing. And yet… And yet he had no explanation when he stared down to where he had anchored, finding only the ocean below.

His boat was gone.