Chapter 13

Making love in the morning always put Caroline in a wonderful mood. She never wanted to wake up alone again, which meant she needed to make some changes as soon as possible.

"I really like this cottage," she told Nyall after she finished pulling on her wet suit. "It's got everything I need to get by. Can I ask the laird if I can move in here?" When he didn't reply she looked over at him. "I am allowed to talk to Connal directly, right?"

"You neednae." His shoulders went rigid. "Living alone here, 'tisnae a good notion."

Why was he acting like this now?

"Please don't tell me I'm among friends at the castle, and it's the only place where I'll be protected, and the other girls from the future will be my friends," she told him. "Last night is proof that I need my own place. I know you don't understand this, but I'm a loner. I don't do groups or friends or clans. You and Jamaran, you're enough for me."

He went to the window and looked out at the bay. "You cannae depend on us for all you want, my lady."

The stiff way he said that suggested he might finally be having second thoughts about last night, so she went over and put an arm around him.

"You're right. If you really want me there, then I'll go back, I guess." That was yet another compromise she didn't want to make, but she could do that for his peace of mind. "I just hate being locked up in that place with everyone watching me all the time. Plus I think smuggling Jamaran in and out past the guards will be a pain. The only place with some privacy is the cottage here. You two also promised to train me, remember?"

Now he gave her an impatient look. "You speak of remaining with us. Yet you've said your greatest wish, 'tis returning to your time so you may seek vengeance against the lover who betrayed you. The laird shall hear any day from those who may help you go back. When the time comes, which shall you choose?"

Being reminded of Richard Ellis ruined her mood. She also didn't appreciate being cornered on something she had yet to decide. "When I have to make a decision about that, you'll be the first to know, okay?"

"Jamaran's falling in love with you," Nyall said as she walked away. "He denies such in his heart, but the affection, 'tis strong. I cannae give you that. Nor shall I take you as wife, and you've refused wed him."

It hurt her to hear him say that, and that made her even angrier. "I only care about what's happening right here, right now. Everything else doesn't matter to me."

"Indeed, 'tis plain what you wish." He turned around to face her, his expression aloof. "Yet what life shall you live here should you stay, Caroline? We may fack in secret, the three of us, but 'tis no future for you. We shallnae grow old with you. We cannae give you bairns. You refuse make a place for yourself among the clan. You shall end alone and unprotected as you age and grow bitter. Must you continue deceive yourself that all you wish 'tis the here and now?"

"Okay. I get it." She marched up to him. "You're scared, and you're trying to hide it by dumping all this crap on me. That's fine. Take notes now, so you don't forget what I say. If I stay in this time, I'll live however I want. If Jamaran falls in love with me, that's a problem he and I will handle. I don't care if the two of you have to watch me turn into an old lady. I really don't want kids. If you want to break up with me, that's fine, too. I've been alone since I was a teenager, and I never expected that would change. Your clan doesn't need me." She finally met his gaze. "I thought you might."

Nyall flinched. "No."

"Okay, that's settled." She spread her hands. "See? All the problems of my future on your enchanted island are solved. Now, don't you have a bunch of men waiting for you to order them around so you can tell yourself you're worth something?"

He grabbed her, dragging her up against him as if he meant to kiss her breathless. He even bent his head as if that was the next way he wanted to hurt her. Then he released her and strode out of the cottage.

Caroline went back to the window and watched him wade out into the shallows and then disappear under the waves. "Guess I'm sailing the skiff back by myself."

She dumped some water on the embers still glowing in the fireplace before she looked around and sighed. Nyall's tough love talk hadn't put her off the idea of living in this place. Walking out through the back door she saw what looked like an overgrown garden. She crouched down to pick some wild raspberries from an overgrown bush, and popped them in her mouth. The warm sweetness reminded her of her grandmother's rice pudding, which she had always topped with berries.

I'll be fine if I live here alone.

As a kid she'd helped her grandparents with their garden; she could clean up this one and plant some veggies. The bay was full of seafood for the taking, and no doubt Brochan would be happy to barter for whatever she couldn't cook herself. In time she could probably work out similar deals with the villagers and get eggs, milk and maybe even some meat. Something plopped onto her hand, but when she glanced down her eyes went blurry.

Didn't you realize you were crying, Parish?

"Damn it." Caroline stood up and scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I am not doing this, not with him. I'm fine. Better than fine."

As she walked out to the dock she almost believed that.

After sharingthe morning meal with his wife, Connal retreated to the laird's chamber, where the clan's scribe delivered a handful of message scrolls that had newly arrived. One, made of rendered bark rather than parchment, had been sealed with a triskelion, a triple spiral symbol indicating it came from the druid council on the mainland. He opened that one first and read the brief message inside, which contained the offer he'd hoped to receive, but also a condition.

Greetingsto the most serene Laird MacMar,

Under the sweetness of peace and fairness of mind, the Council of Druids gathered and spoke on the matter of the visitor you related. We've no doubt the lady came from the future by Fae magic to your island, although we possess no means to reverse the spell. Our humility and earnest desire for peace, balanced by our thoughtful efforts in preserving the lineage of time, compels us agree with your request. As the female didnae choose come, she should return so she may again abide in her proper place in time, and we may provide assistance with such.

Before such efforts, we ask the Clan MacMar first capture and deliver the Cait Sith halfling whose portrait we've sent with our response. While the smallest of her kind, the halfling without remorse or hesitation tortured and slew our brothers and sisters and their bairns. Once you bring the killer, we shall return your visitor by our gateway. If such arrangements please you, send word when we may meet on the mainland.

Written at Montrose, the Kalends of May in the four thousand nine hundredth year of our rule.

"Fack me."He rose from his desk and walked over to pitch the message into the hearth, where it caught fire with a small burst of magic and the scent of golden mistletoe; likely the druids had enchanted the scroll to burn itself had anyone but a MacMar attempted to read the message. He then regarded the detailed sketch of the halfling, who appeared nothing more than a young and innocent maiden.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he recalled the Cait Sith that he and his brothers had fought when they had gone to Aberdeen to rescue Valerie from the shifters. The shifters had worn the mortal forms of sailors when they had attacked, but he recalled one that had been unusually small.

They shall show her no mercy.

Connal had never known the magic folk to make such a demand before now, but word of the brutality of the attack and the dozens slain had spread among his allies on the mainland. Most of the mortals there blamed Norse raiders, who sometimes still conducted stealthy raids in darkness on the coast. That a tiny halfling shifter on her own had killed so many explained the druids' condition. Left to roam on her own, this wolf in lamb's fleece might attack other tribes.

Understanding their reasoning did not relieve his uneasiness. Assuming he could capture and deliver the halfling, he would have no say in what happened to her once he handed her over to the council. Although known for avoiding violence, when provoked the peaceful magic folk could be nearly as cruel as the Fae when it came to punishing those who had deeply wronged them.

A knock came on the door, and Connal tucked away the portrait before calling for them to enter. Instead of one of the senior chieftains he expected, the clan's healer came in.

"My lord." Duncan bowed. "Forgive me for the intrusion. I need speak with you about something I found while assisting the search for the missing scullery."

He frowned. "That lad Kai? Come in and tell me."

The healer looked uncomfortable as he closed the door and then came over to place a bulging bundle of sacking on the table. He unwrapped it, showing inside a hide garment worn by Finfolk males, one that had been ripped apart at the seams. The inside appeared mottled with dark stains that suggested the wearer had been badly injured.

Connal picked up the suit and studied the damage. "You found the garment washed ashore?"

"No. 'Twas buried beneath the rocks that line the south side of the bay," Duncan said. "I found the thing only by chance when I lost my footing while climbing. When I put down my hand in the water, I touched a small edge of the hide."

"The style, 'tis much like that King Merrick wears, but no' quite the same." He turned it over, and saw the stylized symbol worked into the hide that indicated the wearer was of royal blood. "'Tis Bered's."

The healer shook his head. "I made inquiries before I came, and learned the outcast yet lives, and his suit, 'tis intact. The only other Finfolk male of royal blood, 'tis Duxor."

Connal frowned. "You didnae show Merrick the garment?"

"I had good reason." Duncan pulled up the front of the hide suit, arranging it as it would look when worn. A large, stained gap ran from one side of the collar to the other. "A white-mouth couldnae cut Duxor's throat, and the Finfolk never kill in such fashion. Cutting through the hide and the flesh beneath required a stronger hand than a mortal possesses. 'Twas done by MacLeir, or a MacMar."

"No." He jerked the suit away from him. "You're mistaken. The ferryman wouldnae kill anyone by blade. None of our brothers should dare attack a royal in secret. I'd first wager that cowardly bastart cut his own throat."

"Then why should I find the thing so well concealed?" the healer countered. "The rocks couldnae by themselves pile atop the garment, some weighed as much as me. You well ken the resilience of hides tanned by the Finfolk, and how naught in the sea touch them. Destroying the garment, 'twould take much time. 'Twas simpler for the killer hide the thing."

"Why didnae you find a body with the garment, then?" he countered.

Duncan grimaced. "'Twouldnae take long, disposing of a corpse. A white-mouth likely devoured him, only it wouldnae eat the garment."

"You didnae tell anyone else?" When the healer shook his head he gathered the suit into a tight bundle and wrapped it up in the sacking. "Say naught, then, and leave the problem with me."

"'Tis a matter you cannae long conceal, my lord. The Finfolk, they've searched for Duxor for weeks now. His body, 'twas likely hidden as well. Should they find him..." He hesitated before he sighed. "Naught may break the truce faster than a male of royal blood with his throat cut."

He wasn't saying something, Connal sensed. "You reckon you ken who murdered Duxor, aye? Say his name."

Duncan's dark eyes narrowed. "I've no proof nor reason believe such as yet, but the signs, they've been clear for a time now."

"Never." Finally he understood the other man's reluctance and hesitations. "'Twasnae Shaw."

"Name anyone better with a blade," the healer said, his expression growing sad now. "The chieftain ran from the stronghold when Mistress Parish saw through his ruse. From what the guards tell me I'll wager he's no' slept in months. You've watched him destroying targets in the list, and beating his fists against that bloody wall you built for him. I ken how much you love Shaw, Brother, for I've the same affection for him. Yet if in some madness he lost control of his demon–"

In three strides he had Duncan by the front of his tunic. "Shaw didnae kill Duxor."

The healer put his hand over his fist, but simply held it. "I've never wished for anything as much as hoping I'm wrong, my lord. Only I must speak truth as I see."

Connal saw the trueness of that and released him. "Leave this matter in my hands, and tell no one."

Duncan nodded, bowed again and then left.

After locking away the garment in a trunk, Connal went to the window and looked out at the bay. In all the years since Shaw had been rescued from the Pritani and returned to the clan, Connal had watched him closely. He knew his younger brother had long struggled with the damage enslavement had done, both to his mind and his heart. Although he had pressed Shaw several times about the skinwork on his arm, and the dark ways in which it had altered him, the chieftain had flatly refused to reveal the details.

Now this ruined garment, and the ominous portent it might present.

At some point Valerie came into the chamber and took her place at his side; she said nothing but took hold of his hand and simply stood with him. She had always been able to sense his moods and respond to them quietly, without fretting or fussing when she grew worried. He knew himself to be doubly blessed, first by Joana and now the woman her ring had brought to him. That he had been given the chance to love two strong, courageous ladies seemed more than he deserved. He also dreaded the days ahead, when he might be forced to end the life of a brother who had never asked for or merited the terrible burdens placed upon him.

"I need your counsel, Wife." He met her gaze. "Shall we take a walk through the forest?"

After morning drillsNyall listened to the reports of his patrol chiefs, and ordered them to continue searching for the missing scullery, although most of the men believed the lad had either been attacked in the water or had drowned himself.

"He seemed happy enough," Brochan's chief kitchen maid Jamma later told him when he went to speak to her about the castaway. "Aye, and went about the work with no complaints. I dinnae believe he'd choose go in the water."

He frowned. "Why say you such?"

"Worth slopped a bucket on his boots at the well one morn, and I heard the lad hiss as an angry cat would," the maid said. "He worked barefoot the rest of the day rather than wear wet boots." She shook her head. "Never I've seen him wash more than his hands, either."

From the kitchens he went to report to the laird, only to learn from Connal's guards that he and his wife had left early for a stroll. That left him with too much time and not enough to do, so he went back to the garrison hall to inspect the armory. Counting blades and assuring their condition battle-ready had always been one of the more tedious tasks he gave himself, but he needed the solitude. That he soon regretted, for Caroline's voice began murmuring from his memory.

Your clan doesn't need me. I thought you might.

He had never once given her any reason to believe such a thing, Nyall assured himself. Their night of passion had been just that: vigorous and inventive facking that the three of them had greatly enjoyed. Just recalling how it had been with her and Jamaran made his cock harden. He badly wished to join them again for a night, but if such convinced Caroline to believe he wished more than the pleasure they could give each other, he would have to put an end to it.

The woman already drove him wild with longing for her; that was all the madness he would allow himself.

Nyall saw his reflection in the brightly-polished surface of a long sword, which he stared at for a time. From his màthair he'd inherited his red hair and eyes so dark they appeared black in most light. Prince Mar had gifted him handsome features, and a tall, strong body, but in coloring he looked no different than Tiree. Because he had been her only child he'd always looked different compared to the rest of the clan. Was that why his sire had avoided him for most of his boyhood, leaving him in the cruel hands of his insanely jealous màthair? Had the prince ever once wondered what she had been doing to his son?

He abandoned her, and forgot me.

"Here you hide." Fletcher came into the armory with a large crate in his arms, which he set down on the inspection table. "Lark bid me bring you these new gauntlets. She claims the buckled straps shall hold fast better than laces, and shall allow adjustments for fit. Why scowl you at me? 'Twas by your bidding she altered them."

"'Tisnae your wife's efforts. Please offer the lady my thanks." He took out one of the gauntlets, to which the seamstress had sewn the new straps. "She does very fine work."

That made the seneschal grin. "You'd never ken such fragile hands handle leather as if 'twere fine linen, aye? She's a marvel with her awls and wee hammers. I'll need guard against the cobbler tasking her with boots next. What's plaguing you, then?"

Nyall had never been particularly close to Fletcher; Duncan had always been the one brother among the MacMar in whom he placed the most trust. Seeing the seneschal's happiness made a strange, grinding envy twist inside him as well. Yet aside from the laird, Fletcher was the only other MacMar wed to a woman from the future.

"I wish ask you something about Lady Lark," he said. "If you dinnae mind."

The seneschal chuckled. "Why should I?"

"You vowed never to love another female," he reminded him. "Why did you break your vow for your lady, then? Why didnae you simply keep her as your lover?"

The seneschal's brows rose. "You reckon 'twas my choice? Before she came, 'tis true I'd rather skin myself than kill another woman with my love. Lark also reckoned herself cursed. 'Twas our misfortunes kept us apart at first, but naught could stop us from loving—no' even Idonea at her worst."

The clan's former seamstress had died from her injuries during a Finfolk attack orchestrated to separate Lark from Fletcher. Just before her death her obsessive, secret love for Fletcher had been revealed, along with the dreadful things she had done because of it, which had left them all shocked and horrified.

"I didnae intend remind you of that." Nyall grew uneasy now, as if the seneschal might soon say something about him and Caroline. "You've no regrets?"

Fletcher's expression softened. "How could I? She's a wonder, my lady. So kind and gentle, and beyond generous with her affections. She's become so much a part of my life I barely remember what 'twas, living without her." He eyed him. "Love, 'tisnae a choice, you ken. I fought myself on that account long and hard. Or mayhap love chose bring us together. Whatever the cause, I'm grateful beyond words for Lark."

Nyall nodded. "I wish you and your lady naught but joy, you ken."

"Aye. Even our long lives dinnae provide us with an endless supply, so we must make our own." Fletcher smiled. "Take care and show yourself kindness, Brother. Then do the same with your lady. 'Tis where you must begin if you desire ken true happiness."

After the seneschal left Nyall finished his inspection and stowed away the gauntlets, and then walked out to the cove for a swim. Each time he retreated to the sea his cares would usually dissolve, at least for a few hours. Now, however, he found himself scanning the shore for any sign of Caroline out gathering. When he realized what he was doing he cursed himself and set out from the sheltered spot to the ridge of rocks beyond, where he saw Connal and Valerie standing atop them.

"My lord, my lady." Hoisting himself out of the water, he climbed up to join him. "What do you here?"

The laird's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I wished show my wife the view of the bay from here."

"He's lying." Valerie ignored the way Connal scowled at her as she pointed to a mound of stones just beneath the water. "Duncan found something under all that and brought it to him. We're trying to figure out why someone would hide it here."

"The ridge blocks the currents," Nyall told her. "'Tis why so little washes up on the rocks. What found Duncan, my lord?"

"That 'twill keep until I learn more," Connal said firmly, and then regarded his wife. "You need practice keeping a confidence, my lady."

"I don't like secrets." She sighed before she gave Nyall a rueful look. "Merrick just sent word that Shaw is coming back to the stronghold, probably sooner rather than later. I'd warn Caroline, but she's been avoiding me."

"I shall tell her, my lady." He turned to the laird. "Mistress Parish wishes abide in Old Dugles's cottage rather than the stronghold. I promised her I'd ask your leave for such."

"That might help with her Shaw problem," Valerie put in.

Connal rubbed his brow. "Aye, so 'twould. Very well, if she wishes live there, she may. I shall advise Merrick."

"This matter you wish keep," Nyall said. "If 'tis something to do with the Finfolk, you ken I shall hold your confidence, my lord."

"We'll talk again when 'tis time," was all the laird said before he picked up his wife and carried her back to shore.

Nyall watched them walk up to the cliff stairs before he swam back to the cove and retrieved his tartan and boots. Like Valerie, he didn't care for Connal's secrecy, and suspected his friendship with Jamaran to be the reason the laird was concealing the matter from him. At least he would make Caroline happy once he related the news about the cottage.

Back at the stronghold he stopped in the kitchens to ask Brochan if Caroline had delivered any shellfish to him.

"She came and went, and you should leave the lass alone," the big man said, glowering at him before he shouted for Jamma and then stalked outside.

"Dinnae mind him, Captain." Jamma came over to pick up the bowl of pears Brochan had been slicing. "He's grown fond of the lady, and doesnae care to see her troubled. I heard her ask one of the guards if anyone might walk the labyrinth."

What had Caroline so upset that even the cook would notice? "My thanks."

Nyall trotted to his chamber, where he changed into dry garments before he headed outside the stronghold. He'd laid a stone path to the walking labyrinth for when Shaw and Fletcher could not second the laird and he was obliged to take their place, but as he followed it he thought on how angry Caroline had been when he'd left her at the cottage. He knew she could manage sailing the skiff alone, but had she come to some harm while crossing the bay? Had one of the Selseus frightened her?

Merrick commanded all the males stay away from Caroline, Captain.

He stopped and looked over at Jamaran, who was emerging from the forest on the shell-lined side of the maze used by Merrick. He then looked over the spiraling paths until he saw Caroline, now garbed in a flowing white dress, standing in the overlapping centers when the laird and the king met to parlay. She looked remote, as if she were wrapped in snow, and oddly regal, as if she had every right to stand where Connal and Merrick worked out their differences.

Do you ken what has her upset?He thought back to his friend.

Aye. We two. Reflect on such as you make your way to her, as shall I.

Nyall had never grown at ease with moving through the stone-lined paths built by the MacMar, but to reach her without violating the purpose of the labyrinth he had to follow them. The commander did the same on his people's side, his expression as calm and silent as his movements. Had they been laird and king, he thought, they would never have needed a truce. Jamaran and he had always trusted each other without reservation, because they had looked into each other's hearts and knew everything about each other.

We shared a night of pleasure with her. He watched Caroline, who stood with her back toward both of them. Now she behaves as if we dinnae exist.

The commander gave him a solemn look. She's been alone too long, as we were before we discovered our connection. She's fearful of how much harm she may do us, and we her. 'Tis why she guards her heart.

By mutual agreement they stopped short of stepping into the center overlap, and stood there for so long Nyall wondered if she'd keep them waiting until nightfall. He found he didn't mind, for seeing her wrapped in white made everything about her look even more bold and beautiful. His earlier assumption that it made her appear coldly majestic faded as he watched her. The sun gilded the pale streaks in her dark hair, making them gleam like gold silk ribbons, and added a lovely rosy glow to her striking face and smooth, tanned skin. He knew he would never again think another woman half as stunning as Caroline. Her silence, however, troubled him so much he considered calling her name, just to see if she would answer him.

Wait, Jamaran told him. She's almost ready to face us.

As if he had read her mind, a few moments later Caroline turned around and regarded first him and then the commander. She looked decidedly imperial now; a queen prepared to issue execution orders, a goddess gathering her power to strike down the enemies of her worshippers. It made Nyall appreciate again just how strong she was, even if she didn't realize that herself.

Caroline Parish would never be helpless.

"This maze thing actually works." She regarded him with a brief look before she said to Jamaran, "I'm done with wanting revenge. If Richard Ellis never pays for what he did to me in life, then I'll hope that hell really exists. The devil should make a special level just for him, where he spends eternity swimming around alone and then drowning in the middle of the damn ocean. One with an automatic reset every ten miles."

"Why say you such?" the commander asked.

For a moment Caroline looked as if she might burst into tears. Then, slowly, she straightened her spine and looked at him before she said to Jamaran, "I'm not going back to the twenty-first century. I'm staying here on the island."

Every knot in Nyall's muscles suddenly vanished.

The commander bowed to her as if she were his Queen. "A wise decision, my lady."

"Not really. I'm just tired of being angry all the time." She smiled at him. "But I appreciate you agreeing with me. You and I, we're good." Her expression chilled as she turned to face Nyall. "And there, you're one of the first to know, so I kept my promise."

He could see the glitter in her eyes was not from anger, and imagined what it had cost her to hold back her tears. "My thanks."

"Aw, now he's grateful." Caroline lifted her skirts and stepped over the low stone wall between them, coming to stand only a few inches from him. "I'm going to talk to your laird and get the okay to move into the cottage–"

"I asked, and he told me you may," he put in quickly.

"–then I'm going to pack up right now and move over there. Let's keep this simple and easy: Jamaran, you're welcome to visit any time you want." Caroline poked a finger into Nyall's chest. "You will wait for an invitation."

She was testing his patience now, but Nyall suspected she wanted him to become as angry as she was. She had no idea how happy she'd just made him.

"I shall wait," he agreed, "and no' hold my breath."

"A wise decision, Captain Pain in My Ass." She glanced over her shoulder as Jamaran came up behind her. "Do not explain his crap or apologize for him. You're the good boyfriend."

The commander slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You shall invite him join us soon?"

"Maybe. Probably." Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. "All right, you can come over, too."