Chapter 2

In the bay at the island of Caladh, Nyall MacMar quickly wiped the sea water from his eyes. Sunlight bounced off the surface of the shallows in glittering flashes, making him squint. Keeping his arm around the limp body of the woman he and his best friend Jamaran had found in the water, he wanted nothing more than to stay with them. He'd seen clear water ahead of him one moment, and then the dark-haired female simply appeared out of nowhere.

Why did these women keep coming to the island?

Because Nyall was only half-Fae, his mortal weakness sometimes still caused him to sink into dry earth of any kind, so he had to leave the female with Jamaran as soon as they made it to shore. Hoisting the dazed female into the Finfolk commander's arms, he waded out of the waves and sprinted for the stone-covered trail that led from the shore to the cove. As he did, he passed Chieftain Shaw MacMar, second in command for the clan and his half-brother.

"Did you claim her, or kill her?" he heard Shaw ask in an odd tone.

Nyall's temper flared, and white sparks jumped across his vision. Since being struck by lightning he had also acquired an elemental boon, but he had yet to learn to wield or control the power. Thus far it seemed only to make his eyes flash with light, and attract storms to the bay.

"Shut up," he told the chieftain.

Jamaran said nothing to Shaw as he carried the woman from the water's edge up to the shade of a willow. Shaw followed, grabbing a tartan he'd shed along the way and flinging it out so the commander could place the castaway upon it. As both men knelt down beside her, Nyall regarded the strange, tight-fitted gray garment she wore. To his eyes it looked much the same as those made and worn by the Finfolk, except that it covered her from neck to wrists and ankles. The fabric clung so tightly to her body it showed plainly that she had full breasts, a tiny waist, rounded hips and long legs.

As the Finfolk commander brushed her wet, dark hair back from her bold, beautiful features Nyall's gut knotted. The white pearls piercing her ear lobes gleamed against the deep gold of her skin. Her dark coloring and womanly body paired with that face made her seem like something from his dreams.

Knowing exactly what he was thinking, his best friend met his gaze, and nodded his agreement.

"Look." Shaw picked up her hand, moving it to a patch of sunlight, where the silver band she wore took on a familiar green sparkle. "She wears Lady Joana's ring."

The woman suddenly jerked upright and yanked her fingers from the chieftain's clasp. With her other hand she balled her fist and punched Shaw hard, her knuckles cracking against his jaw, which sent him reeling. Jamaran seized the chieftain's arm to keep him from hitting his head on some rocks. A moment later the woman got unsteadily on her feet and brandished a black-bladed dagger as she backed up several steps. Nyall could see she held the weapon like someone accustomed to using blades.

"Get him the hell away from me," she told Jamaran, who dragged Shaw back from her. She turned her head as she looked over the shoreline, saw Nyall, and ran to him. "You, talk." She spun around as if expecting the other men to attack her from behind. "Where am I?"

The fact that she had come to him bemused him almost as much as hearing her voice, which had the resonance of a lovely bell, and a soft accent that was decidedly not Scottish.

"An island called Caladh." As she stared at him he looked into her sea-colored eyes and recognized the terror behind her anger. "You're safe now."

"Sure I am." She tightened her grip on her blade as she glanced around again, keeping her gaze moving between the other men and him. "If you're for real, I need you to find a phone and call nine-one-one, right now."

Nyall knew from the laird's wife that a phone was how people in the future spoke over long distances to each other. This female possessed an accent similar to that of Lady Valerie, the first woman who had come from the future. Her strange garment also suggested she had been brought to Caladh in the same fashion. He also suspected that if he told this woman she had traveled back in time to twelfth century Scotland she would run from him.

He glanced at the chieftain, who was rubbing his jaw, and looked as if he wished to brawl.

"'Tis no phone here, Mistress. Shaw, go fetch Lady Valerie." Nyall regarded Jamaran, with whom he thankfully shared a connection through their thoughts. I must disarm her. Help me.

The commander nodded slightly. Distract her. Ask for her name, and what happened that brought her here.

Nyall had always been a man of few words. He also avoided trifling with young females on the island, so he had little desire to engage any in conversation. Yet when he looked into this woman's eyes and saw her fear, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her.

"I'm Nyall MacMar, Captain of the Guard for the MacMar Clan." As the woman frowned, he saw Jamaran start toward them. "We wish only help. What may I call you?"

"My name is Caroline Parish." Slowly she lowered her blade and then slid it into a sheath strapped to her forearm. "I must have passed out...how far am I from St. Augustine? Why are there mountains? There aren't any in Florida."

"You're quite far from home, my lady." Instead of grabbing her arms from behind, Jamaran stopped beside her and offered her a small strapped object. "This came off in my hand when I took hold of you, Mistress Parish."

What do you now?Nyall thought.

Jamaran glanced at him. 'Tis better show her she may trust us.

"Thanks." She took it and buckled it onto her wrist, and then went still as she stared at his webbed fingers and then his neck. "You've got...wait, are those gills?"

"Aye, for I'm no longer mortal. 'Tis a story I shall tell you another time." The Finfolk commander smiled a little. "Dinnae fret. My kind, we're allies with the MacMar." His pale eyes shifted to Nyall. "Word of Caroline's arrival shall spread swiftly. I must speak with Merrick."

Nyall nodded. "I shall look after her."

Caroline watched Jamaran trot down to the water. "I'm not anywhere near Florida anymore, am I, Captain?"

"No, Mistress Parish." He glanced up at the top of the cliff stairs, where the golden-haired laird's wife had just appeared with Shaw and Duncan, the clan's healer "Caladh, 'tis off the north coast of Scotland."

Her hands curled into fists. "That would mean either I swam four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean, or I'm dead. I can't swim that far. Are my mother and grandfather here?" When he shook his head, she went over to sit on a flat-topped rock and stared at the bay, looking as if she'd taken a blow to the head.

Nyall joined her, taking care to step on rock instead of sand. "'Tis more I must tell you that shall explain much."

"Can that wait?" She touched his hand. "I just spent most of the day swimming so I wouldn't drown. I need a break."

Without knowing why, he curled his fingers over hers. "Aye, 'twill keep."

Sitting with her in such a fashion should have made Nyall uncomfortable, but he only experienced again the need to protect her. Watching the bay, he wondered if Merrick would come directly to speak with her. The Finfolk, who could only sire male progeny, were always in need of mortal females they could transform into immortal mates for their males. This woman already had to grapple with the fact that she had come so far from home, and to a place well beyond her present understanding. For the first time Nyall imagined just how terrifying this predicament must seem to a female from another, very different time.

I shall protect her until she accepts her fate.

A few minutes later Lady Valerie, Duncan and Shaw approached them. The laird's wife, her golden curls shining around her pretty face, had one of her gentle smiles firmly in place. She had changed into the clothing she had worn in the future, and held a light wool blanket and a waterskin. The healer carried his case, and looked as calm as ever. Although the chieftain had pulled on a tunic to cover the black Pritani skinwork on his arm, Shaw still appeared pale and grim.

Caroline went rigid, but she said nothing as Nyall introduced them.

"I'm not hurt," she told Duncan after he asked if she had any injuries, and looked at Shaw for a long moment before she regarded the laird's wife, and shook her head when Valerie offered the blanket and water. "You're American, right? You mind telling me what the deal is here with the enchanted island and everyone but you and me being Scottish?"

"The ring you're wearing brought me to Caladh," the laird's wife told her, and then briefly described the terrifying ordeal that had led her to find the ring and travel back nine centuries. "It also saved our clan's seamstress, Lark Ambrose, from drowning after she was mugged and shoved in a fountain. Somehow the magic the ring contains rescues women in trouble in the water. I'm guessing from your wet suit that you came from the ocean. Were you in danger when you found the ring?"

Caroline looked at Shaw. "Yeah."

"You've come to a place where you'll be safe," the laird's wife assured her. "I'm afraid we don't yet know how to return someone to the future—Lark and I chose to remain here with the clan—but we'll do our best to find a way back for you. In the meantime, you'll stay with us." She gestured toward the cliffs. "Our home, Dun Ard, is up there. It's a very large medieval castle, so don't be alarmed when you see it."

Caroline got to her feet, but held onto Nyall's hand with a tight grip. "He comes with."

The laird's wife smiled. "Of course. My husband will want to hear all about the rescue from the captain."

As they walked across the shore toward the cliff stairs, Nyall noticed Valerie giving him odd looks. It wasn't until he put his foot on the first stone step that he realized he had crossed a long stretch of sand without once sinking into it. He glanced down at the white-knuckled grip Caroline had on his hand. In the past Lady Valerie's touch had stopped the laird's mortal weakness, as Lady Lark had done for Fletcher, the clan's seneschal.

"Would you wait a minute?" Caroline asked once everyone else had gone up the stairs, and stepped up in front of him before turning to face him. "I promised myself if I made it that I'd do this."

Nyall caught her by the waist as she leaned down, but before he could hold her back, she put her mouth on his. The softness of her lips and sweet heat of her breath nearly made him groan, but the bold press of her breasts against his chest made his hands tighten on her waist. When she ended the kiss, she only moved back enough to look into his eyes, her own dark with some unfathomable emotion.

"You look like you want to smack me, Captain." Her lips parted, showing beautiful white teeth. "Why don't you kiss me back instead?"

She thought such all a jest, Nyall decided. "With women I dinnae do either."

"Shame about the kissing." She turned away and started up the stairs, leaving him to watch her curved hips sway with each step.

Caroline had never kissedanyone who made her mouth burn as if she'd just knocked back a flaming mojito. Her exhausted body still fluttered with sensations and desires that threatened to overwhelm her, and all she could think about was turning around and grabbing Nyall again. That urge genuinely confused her, as big, grim and ripped had never been her type. Thinking of his exotic friend with the gills also made her curious and a little hot and bothered. How could she be drawn to two guys at the same time?

It's because you're messed up in the head, Parish, and Captain No-Kissing-Allowed and his pal Flipperboy pulled you out of the water. Haven't men done enough to you for one lifetime? Shut it down.

She saw the castle before she reached the top of the cliff, and wondered if she were still narked. Like some giant's version of a sandcastle, Dun Ard seemed to sprawl out in every direction behind two tall stone walls. On top of those walls very large men armed with spears, swords and bows watched her as if they were Secret Service and had caught her trespassing at the White House. The sound of a massive, very medieval-looking grate being pulled up drew her attention to the first of two gates she had to walk through to get to the castle's main building. The guys guarding that had twice as many weapons as the ones on the walls.

This looks too real to be staged.

Dropping out of high school had seriously curtailed Caroline's knowledge of world history, so she knew next to nothing about Scotland or the twelfth century. Kilts and plagues were all she could summon from her vague memories. Was this place now at war with some other country? Also, was she really supposed to swallow all this time-travel magical island crap?

Until a better explanation comes along, I'll play dumb.

"I must leave you with Lady Valerie, Mistress Parish," Nyall said, and started to let go of her hand. When she held on, he frowned at her. "You're safe now, I vow."

"You could be a liar." Ah, he didn't like that suggestion, judging by the way his expression went arctic. "What happens to me now?"

"They'll look after you." He glanced down at their joined hands. "I shall come and see you later."

"You vow that, too?" When he nodded she let go of him.

Valerie took the captain's place beside her, and accompanied her into a cavernous room that had several enormous fireplaces, dozens of wooden tables and benches hung on the walls, and a raised platform on one end where Shaw stood talking with some other clansmen. His eyes had turned to a light gray, and he'd covered the crawling tattoos, but just the sight of him made her want to run in the opposite direction.

Caroline saw the ugly look the chieftain gave her, and returned it. Come and mess with me again, you creepy bastard, and I'll add some scars to go with your weird ink.

Shaw looked away, said something to the other men and stalked out.

The laird's wife glanced at Caroline's wet suit before she gestured to a couple of chairs by one of the windows. A smiling petite brunette appeared with a tray containing steaming mugs, a metal goblet and a plate of bread, cheese and fruit, which she set on a small table by the chairs.

"We'll have to get some clothing for you to wear once you've rested." Valerie sat down as Caroline did and gestured at the tray. "Please, help yourself."

Caroline didn't like that she was served food and drink the minute she walked into the place; that set off more alarms. Rich didn't have the connections to do this, but there were plenty of sea pirates involved in human trafficking. Shaw definitely looked like a guy who could do that with no problem. She knew she had the kind of body that appealed to assholes like him, and the many ways she could be sold for a profit. Maybe they'd shot her with a dart before hauling her out of the water. Being drugged would explain the strange lights and the voices in her head, and how she'd gone instantly from the middle of the Atlantic to wherever this was.

She sniffed the goblet, which smelled of nothing, and then sipped a little of the liquid inside, which turned out to be cool water. She gulped it down before she could stop herself, and then looked at the wide-eyed brunette.

"More, please?" After the girl bobbed and left she glanced at the blonde. "I've been in the ocean all day, so I'm dehydrated."

"I should have realized." Valerie grimaced. "Before the ring saved me I was trapped in my car and drowning at the bottom of a lake, so I know a little about what you've been through today. It's so bizarre that you don't want to believe it's true. I kept thinking I'd wake up in a hospital, or find myself standing in front of the proverbial pearly gates."

Caroline recalled the murderous hatred that had kept her going after Rich had cut her lines and sailed off. "Yeah, I don't think I'm going to heaven."

The other woman gave her a sharp look. "Well, in any case, you're still alive and safe now. There's also more you should know about the MacMar, and what's happening here in the twelfth century. Let me give you some details."

As Valerie told her about the island and the clan, Caroline sensed the weight of many gazes on her; some from the guys Shaw had left standing on the raised platform, and others not so noticeable. She glanced up to see the clan's healer watching her and the laird's wife from an upper-level floor, and noted at least a dozen guards positioned in every potential exit spot. Young women dressed like the brunette maid peered in while walking in the hall beyond the archways. No one seemed threatening or angry, which seemed odd. She was an intruder in a heavily-guarded space; why wasn't anyone questioning why she was here?

It's like they expected me to show up. Like that's a regular thing with women here.

The details Valerie offered up seemed like the script from an epic fantasy movie, like the MacMar men all sharing the same father, a Fae prince whose blood had made them immortal. The clan's founder had also literally created the enormous island of Caladh to protect his sons from some vengeful shape-shifting Fae enchantress, which sounded like complete bull, too. The more the other woman told her, the less Caroline liked the script. If it was true, it was utterly crazy. Whatever this magic clan, their secret island and time-traveling ring really were, none of it had anything to do with her.

A maid hurried into the hall, making Caroline flinch. A second later Valerie fell silent, her mouth hanging open as if she'd become suddenly shocked or paralyzed. The maid froze, too, balancing on the toes of one foot. In the fireplace, the flames turned solid, like a photograph of fire. It seemed as if time had come to a complete stop, and then a few seconds later everything returned to normal, with the laird's wife talking and the maid rushing over to hand her something.

What the hell just happened?

Terror seized Caroline by the throat, and this time she sensed nothing she could do would hold it off. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, she needed to get away from these people right now.

"Excuse me, but do I have to stay here?" she asked, interrupting Valerie's story about Lark Ambrose, the Broadway seamstress the ring had brought back a couple of months prior. "Isn't there a hotel or inn or whatever outside the castle?"

"I'm afraid there's no demand for temporary accommodations on the island. Everyone is a permanent resident. You'll have to stay with us." The other woman frowned. "Ms. Parish, you're among friends here at Dun Ard."

I bet "you'll have to stay" is what they tell prisoners while they're still being polite.

Caroline wanted to tell her what she could do with her promises, her castle and her island, but the time freeze and a swelling sense of being trapped in something she'd never understand made it hard to talk. Then she saw Nyall coming through one of the archways.

"No one will hurt you or force you to do anything," Valerie said quickly. "I give you my word."

"The last person who gave me his word left me to die today." To keep from screaming Caroline drained the goblet of water before she got to her feet. "Captain, can I talk to you?"

He came over, bowing to Valerie before he regarded her and held out his hand. "Shall we walk outside, Mistress Parish?"

Looking up at his stern face made her angry, because he'd dumped her in the middle of this mess. She didn't want to hold his hand, she wanted to kick him in the crotch, but the panic wanted top priority. From the weird sensation in her throat she had a horrible suspicion that any minute she might throw up on his boots. That was when her knees decided to give out.

Thunder boomed outside the castle, so loud it made things rattle.

"Excuse us, my lady." Nyall lifted Caroline into his arms, holding her against his chest like a groom carrying his bride over a threshold as he walked quickly out of the hall.

"Sorry," she muttered, closing her eyes tightly. She knew she should tell him to put her down, go to hell, and start her calm-down exercises, but for now all she could do was cling.

"Dinnae speak." He tucked her head under his chin. "Breathe."

Where he carried her, Caroline didn't know. Making herself look would result in some puking, she suspected. At some point they went outside, and then into another part of the castle. She heard men mutter, and a couple offer their help to Nyall. The captain refused each time. His arms remained steady and secure around her, and his steps never once faltered; she was no lightweight so he had to be strong as hell. She knew he might be taking her somewhere to be locked up, but as long as he held her she didn't care. The warmth of his body overcame everything, even how pissed she was with him.

He's not like that jerk Shaw. He won't hurt me.

At last, he turned, opened a door, and then closed it as he stepped inside a dark room. Caroline looked through her lashes at the shadowy space, which had a large, simple bed, some tables and chairs, and so many bladed weapons on the walls it resembled the private arsenal of a knife-fighter. To her dismay Nyall carried her over to the bed, and put her down on it so that she lay flat on her back.

"Where is this?" she asked.

"'Tis my chamber," he said as he pulled a wool blanket over her legs. "None shall plague you here."

"Don't." As he started to move away she grabbed his arm and tugged him down until he sat beside her. "This whole deal, it's too much for me, okay? I want to go home." She hated the whining sound in her voice, but she couldn't help it. "Please, can't I just go home?"

He shook his head, put his arm under her, and shifted her so that her head lay against his shoulder. That allowed her to take one deep breath, and then another. The nausea finally ebbed along with the trembling, leaving her so exhausted she wanted to pass out.

"I shallnae leave you," Nyall murmured.

Caroline closed her eyes. "You better not."