Chapter 3

Nyall realized his mistake when Caroline's breathing went from tight and wheezing to deep and slow; when he said her name she didn't stir. She'd fallen asleep, as trusting as a bairn. Never had any female done such a thing near him, much less in his arms. She'd been in the sea long enough to have salt crystals scattered through her dark hair where the sun had dried it. Judging by the limpness of her body she must have succumbed to exhaustion. This close he could look at her as much as he wished, although he kicked himself for not first lighting a lamp.

How did you come here, my poor wild lass?

Her features seemed almost otherworldly in their striking, dramatic perfection; only a tiny bump on her nose and a mole beneath one eye could be named flaws, if that. Her skin had a deep golden color that silently testified to her love of being outside. She had hair so dark it looked only one shade lighter than black, and yet the pale sun-kissed streaks scattered around her brow and cheeks made her face look as if it were radiating light. Like strokes from a brush wielded by a decisive hand, her black eyelashes and brows added to the smoldering intensity of her features.

Sultry and strong.

Nyall knew her sudden weakness had been an unwilling bodily reaction to all she had endured; he'd seen men react the same too many times after surviving a battle. Only after a crisis did the truth of what had occurred set in. Everything Caroline had said and done told him she was nothing like the other two women brought by the ring to Caladh. Except for him and Jamaran she had rejected everyone who came near or spoke to her. Like some mortals rescued from sinking vessels, she had obviously come so close to death that everything to her must seem now a fight for her life.

His door opened, and Jamaran came inside. He stopped to look at them for a moment before he went and lit a candle, bringing it over to set on the bedside table. The flame reflected in his pale eyes, and his gaze grew fixed on Caroline's peaceful face.

My thanks. Nyall glanced at the door. The laird sent you, or Merrick?

I came of my own accord after I spoke with the king. He shall do naught for now. He crouched down beside the bed and reached out to gently stroke his webbed fingers over Caroline's damp hair. She's no' Scottish, and she wears the ring. From her manner of speaking, 'tis likely she came from the future as did the other ladies. Poor lass.

Nyall became bemused by the expression on his friend's face. Jamaran's usual reserve had vanished, leaving an open tenderness and warmth that made him seem a completely different man. In all the centuries he had known the commander, he'd never known him to react this way to a woman.

Aye, Mistress Parish stirs much in me. The commander's mouth curved. She's entranced you as well.

Nyall almost denied it before he realized there was no point. The fact that they could speak to each other through their thoughts also made them aware of each other's emotions. 'Tis more than her plight that moves you. She's everything you desire in a female.

Aye, and the same for you. Jamaran reached out to touch a tendril of Caroline's damp hair, and then touched the pearl in her ear lobe. Although she's no' fair, she'd stir desire in any Selseus male. Shall I offer for her, then, or do you intend make claim?

Go you mad? he countered, oddly shaken by the reminder of what happened to females found in the waters around the island.

Caroline murmured something, and turned her face toward the commander's hand, brushing his palm with her mouth. Seeing her do that sent a surge of wild desire rather than jealousy through Nyall. He wanted to see his friend with Caroline in his arms, kissing and comforting her while he watched. Shame instantly followed that twisted notion, for he had long treasured his friendship with the Finfolk commander, and despised his own unnatural desires. He also knew Jamaran to be the better man in all things.

Dinnae, for you ken I've ever thought the same. You're a man, no' a monster, and the lady, she's everything we've both longed for. The commander rose to his feet, and gave them both one long final look. I shall visit her again when I may. Take good care with her, Captain.

After his friend left, Nyall picked up Caroline's hand to examine her long fingers. Although elegant they didn't seem pampered; she kept her oval nails very short, and he could see some faded white scars on her knuckles and palm. The gleam of Lady Joana's ring unsettled him, for Caroline must have been very close to death to have triggered its enchantment. Both Valerie and Lark had been nearly dead before they'd found the ring. Who would have harmed this lovely woman, and why?

I just spent most of the day swimmingso I wouldn't drown.

Caroline made a low sound, and turned over to put one of her legs across his thighs, and the weight and warmth of her made his gut clench. Nyall had never once slept with any female in this bed; when he wanted that he went to the mainland to spend the night with a woman who took coin for sharing her bed. He should have left Caroline in a guest room, but instead he'd brought her here, as if she already belonged to him.

I saved her. 'Tis why I made myself responsible for her.

Even as he thought that, Nyall wondered why it seemed like an excuse. He'd never experienced this rush of emotion with the other two women brought back in time. Nor had he been able to read them as clearly as he had Caroline; he'd known from the moment he'd seen her with Lady Valerie in the hall how angry she was, and how close to collapsing.

Why this woman, and why would his sire's magic bring her to the island?

The two women who had come before Caroline had brought tremendous boons with them. The laird's wife dispelled Connal MacMar's vertigo with her touch, and ended his melancholy over losing his first wife, Lady Joana, to suicide. Proving the lady had sacrificed herself to protect the MacMar from the Cait Sith had been Valerie's enormous gift to Connal. The touch of the seamstress, Lark Ambrose, had allowed their seneschal Fletcher to overcome his mortal weakness and see the faces of others for the first time in his life. In the end she had also exposed the obsessed woman who had caused the death of those he'd loved in the past, which relieved him of his belief that he had been cursed.

Nyall's weakness had already been dispelled by Caroline's touch, but he had no secret heartbreak lurking in his past. If anything, his boyhood had taught him to keep to himself and never allow anyone to become too dear to him. His màthair, Tiree, had been obsessive and extremely jealous of Prince Mar. Throughout his boyhood he'd witnessed what love had done to her before it had killed her in the end. He'd vowed never to allow himself to follow her path.

A short time later Caroline stirred and woke. She looked up at him, frowning for a moment.

"Not dreaming," she whispered. "You're still real."

"Aye." He glanced down at her hands, which tightly clutched his tunic. "Do you remember what's happened?"

Fear tightened her beautiful face, and then vanished as she pushed herself away from him and climbed off the bed.

"Yeah, all of it. Why did you bring me to the castle?" she demanded.

"'Tis my home." When he reached to steady her, she shrugged off his hand. "You're no' angry with me for saving you, surely."

"I'm not a damsel in distress." She stood with her back to him for a moment before turning to regard him. "I need a shower and some dry clothes."

"We've no showers, and my garments, they'd prove too large for you." He rose from the bed. "Nor may I remain at your side, Mistress, for I've duties awaiting me. I ken you're badly frightened, but I vouch for Lady Valerie. She shall but help you in any manner she may."

"I don't like Lady Valerie. Call me Caroline." She didn't appear pleased or entirely convinced by his assurances, but some of the fear had cleared from her eyes. "I want a weapon."

He nodded at the blade sheath strapped to her forearm. "You possess one."

"I have two hands, and I want a bigger weapon." She glanced around the room until she saw his collection of daggers and went to point up at one of the slimmest. "This knife."

Nyall suspected she was testing him, but kept his expression bland as he went to take down the weapon. "'Tis called a ballocks dagger. I keep my blades sharp, Mistress, so dinnae trifle with the edge."

"Caroline, not Mistress." She watched him slide it into a hanging sheath. "I will defend myself if I'm attacked, and I'm very good with knives. You'd better let your people know they shouldn't trifle with me."

"Indeed, I shall." He offered the weapon to her, which she tucked out of sight beneath her sleeve. "Now promise me you shall attack no one unless they attempt harm you."

"Everything here may be crazy, but I'm not." She moved toward the door, hesitated, and then stepped back and made a pushing gesture. "You go first."

On the Isle of Orkney,Speal of Aberdeen walked up the gangway onto the last vessel still docked, nodding to the two Cait Sith shape shifters she'd left on deck as guards. Both appeared surly and exhausted; their thoughts darkly simmering with resentment. All that they did was part of their ongoing pretense. One signaled to her without words that all was well, and the other glanced at the captain's cabin and shook her head.

Speal went to the railing to look out at the sea, which appeared calm, and then glanced at the open hatch to the hold.

You'd better come down here and dispatch me, you facking turncoat, for once I heal and free myself, your belly, 'tis the first I'll gut. Aye, and drape you in your insides before I tell the enchantress what you did to me.

Most of the night she had considered doing as their fallen leader now suggested in various ways, most merciful and quick. Unlike Dearg, Speal had mostly killed to protect herself and the Cait Sith, and she knew the little fiend would make good on her ghastly threat. Indeed, the moment their injured leader regained enough strength to break free of her bonds, she would tear through the island and the very world itself, if need be, to take her vengeance.

Both guards gave Speal a look of mute appeal as she approached the hatch. She smiled at them before she climbed down into the hold.

Since coming back to the island after failing yet again to prevail over the MacMar, the Cait Sith had had little to do but eat, drink and sleep. Their sovereign, the Fae enchantress Derdrui, had barricaded herself in the captain's cabin on the boat to torment mortals they brought to entertain her, which was her manner of sulking. For much of that time Dearg had lain senseless with a grievous head injury. Their dismal situation tempted Speal to order the guards to do the work for her. They'd be only too happy to wrap the treacherous Dearg in roped stones before they dumped her into the water. Or they could set fire to the vessel, which might even end the enchantress as well as their crazed leader.

Fiacail, their former leader murdered by Dearg, would have known what to do.

Speal took down one of the lanterns and carried it over to the cage where they kept mortals captured for Derdrui's amusement, and held the light so that it illuminated the current prisoner. The small Cait Sith had wedged herself into a corner, and all the blood on her chains as well as her person had dried and darkened. Due to weakness she could not yet shift into the body of one of the pretty mortals she had slain, and thus remained in her true form, like a small stray feline that had been shaved of its fur.

"Fair morning." Dearg cocked her head as she smirked up at her. "Shall you beg for my mercy before you free me? 'Tis possible I may forgive you."

"I dinnae desire your pardon." Speal reached into the pocket of her skirt, removing the hunk of bacon she'd brought with her and tossed it into the cage.

"I cannae eat with my hands manacled." The tiny Cait Sith scowled at the meat. "Besides, that smells rotten."

"Aye, 'tis." She took out another hunk, which she hurled at Dearg's lap. "I found a keg of pork left to spoil in the sun. Only 'tisnae for you."

"Who should wish dine on rotted meat?" the other shifter demanded.

"No' who, Sister," Speal gently corrected. "What."

The rats on board had kept out of sight since she'd cleared out all the stores and brought their wounded leader below to be chained and caged. As Speal suspected they'd grown close to starving. A handful now appeared on the edges of the lantern's shadow; their pink noses held high as they caught the scent of the spoiled meat.

Dearg went very still as she saw them, and then released a giggle. "You prove yourself my sister today. Only you ken they shallnae touch me, only the meat."

"Aye, likely so. Only I shall invite our sovereign come and watch the new amusement we've arranged. She can easily enchant the vermin to overcome their distaste for half-Fae flesh." She crouched down to look into the other shifter's eyes. "Shall her affection for you prove weightier than her need for such diversions? I wonder."

The little Cait Sith's lower lip trembled.

"Kill me, then. Swiftly." As Speal stood and began to walk to the ladder she cried out, "What do you want?"

She turned and looked into Dearg's tear-filled eyes.

"Name me leader before our sovereign. Pledge me your loyalty, and do as I bid. Swear on your miserable facking life that you shall never again harm any you call blood-kin. Do thus, and we shall forgive you." She went to the cage, unlocking it. "Only take care remember we shall never forget. Ken that should you betray us again, we shall make your end far worse than any rat might."

In their minds all of the other Cait Sith added their hearty agreement with dozens of Ayes, along with the ends they imagined for the little shifter.

Dearg struggled to stand. As she did so the chains that were wrapped around her dragged at her thin limbs and hunched shoulders. "Shall you believe me?"

"We're your family, you wee horror." Speal took hold of her arms. "Keep your word, and we shall protect you with our lives. Break your vow, and you shall suffer as you never imagined you could."

The wounded Cait Sith repeated the vows, both by voice and by thought so that the others could hear her. Once she had finished, she knelt before Speal and bowed her head.

Breaking Dearg's spirit made her belly sour, but she kept her promise and released the small shifter before she carried her out of the hold like a babe. Once on deck she nodded to the guards, who followed her down the gangway and to the inn where they had been sleeping since returning to Orkney.

"Bathe her and find some clean garments for her to wear," she told the guards after she put Dearg in one of the guest rooms. "If she betrays her word, end her."

From there she walked to the tavern where the rest of the Cait Sith had gathered, a place that reeked of spilled spirits and blood. The bodies of those slain had thankfully been removed to be burned, but the bottles of whiskey her sisters had emptied during the night yet lay on the stained floor rushes.

She drew a tankard of ale from a barrel before she went over to sit in the center of her bleary-eyed sisters. "Teine, take two others to the kitchens at the inn and prepare a morning meal for us."

The one-eyed Cait Sith rose from her chair, pointed with her remaining hand at two of the shifters who still wore the forms of the tavern maids they had slain, and left with them.

Speal regarded the others for a long moment. "Dearg's managed, at least for now. What say you?"

"I'll say you need drink whiskey, no' ale," one of the younger shifters muttered.

Some tired chuckles came from the others, but they all knew their future depended on finding the MacMar Clan. If they did not soon provide the enchantress with the revenge she desired above all else, they would join Fiacail in death.

"We shall set sail at midday," Speal told them as she took out the map she'd taken from the harbor master's office, and rolled it out onto the table. "The MacMar's enchanted island, 'tis likely somewhere near the spot where we captured the seneschal and his hoor. We shall begin our next search from there."

Nyall escortedCaroline from what he called the garrison hall back to the big room on the first level of the castle, which gave her a chance to take a good look at the exterior and the ways that appeared to lead out of the main building. She needed to know how to escape this place fast if the situation got worse than it was. The MacMar couldn't watch every single inch of their medieval fortress. Her new priority was working out an escape route that wouldn't get her killed.

Not much of what she saw suggested what her chances were.

If this was the twelfth century, it seemed to be the squeaky-clean version. Everyone they passed looked healthy and neat; all of the men appeared young and strong, like walking advertisements for fitness places. The interior of the castle smelled like herbs instead of filth, and while the only windows she saw were more like tall slits only a few inches wide, they let in a decent amount of light and fresh air. When they reached the first level Caroline smelled bread baking and something like warm apple cider. Both scents reminded her that she hadn't eaten anything since last night.

I don't need food. I need to get the hell out of here.

The captain stayed with her in the great hall while a maid went to fetch the laird's wife, who came back and behaved as if nothing had happened. Valerie's bubbly blond hair and obviously faked sweet expression reminded her of the airheaded sorority sister types that came to St. Augustine to wear capris with their bikini tops, shop for jewelry, and complain about the effect of salt water and sand on their manicures.

Be polite. She's married to the guy in charge. I piss her off, I really might end up in a dungeon.

"I'd like to borrow some clothes," she told her, keeping her tone neutral.

"Of course. I'll take you up to the sewing room; I'm sure Lark has something you can wear for today." Valerie regarded Nyall with another sugary smile. "I'll have Ms. Parish stay in the guest room near our quarters, Captain."

"My thanks, my lady. Mistress Parish." He bowed to them both and left.

"Sorry I haven't been friendly," Caroline said, trying and probably failing to look apologetic. She never could fake the niceties very well. "All of this is a lot to take in."

"I want to apologize, too. I've been through the same experience, so I know better than to dump so much outlandish information on another modern woman." Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Why don't we count this as our first meeting? I'll try and do better this time."

The laird's wife took her from there through several long passages to a small room where a petite, freckled redhead stood pinning fabric pieces to a crude dress form made of straw bundled and tied to a wooden pole. This girl looked about twelve years old from the back, but when she turned around she showed she had the definite curves of an adult. Once Valerie made the introductions, Lark Ambrose assured Caroline she would see to her clothing needs.

"I'm still teaching my apprentices how to make patterns, so it will take us a couple of weeks to sew a wardrobe for you. For now I have some things that should fit." She went to a big cabinet and opened the doors. "Would you prefer a dress, a blouse and skirt, or shirt and trousers?"

She needed something she could run in, Caroline reminded herself.

"Shirt and trousers." She touched the ballocks dagger hidden under her sleeve, which had become almost like a talisman. "With a belt, please."

From the cabinet the seamstress took out a cream-colored linen shirt and a pair of dark pants, which she brought over and held up in front of Caroline.

"This outfit should do. Everything in this time is laced, I'm afraid, but I have the clan's carpenters working on wood buttons, and the village smith making wire I can fashion into eye hooks. I'll make the belt as well, but I'll need to measure your waist." She gestured toward a door at the back corner of the room. "If you go in there you can change."

"We're all girls." She removed both knives before she reached for the pull on the tab beneath her nape, tucking it under her arm before using it to open the back zip of her suit. After she eased the collar loop over her head, she worked the suit down to her waist.

Despite what she'd said both women politely turned their backs to her as she stripped off the suit and the rash guard one-piece she wore under it. They probably had belonged to the same sorority in their time, Caroline thought, sourly amused. Once she stood naked, she checked herself for any injuries before she tugged the wide-sleeved linen shirt over her head.

"I'm covered now," she told them as she studied the trousers, which had corset-type fastenings. "Do these laces go in the front or the back?"

"The front is easier for convenience. If I could measure you for the belt?" Lark turned around and used a strip of ribbon to encircle her waist, which she then marked. "Wow. Your waist is smaller than mine."

"My mother's gift. She had that fifties hourglass figure that drives guys crazy." She didn't want to think about her mama right now. Didn't these women miss the families they'd left behind in the future?

Maybe they're like me and don't have any.

Valerie picked up her discarded suit and one-piece from the floor. "This is marvelous—Lark, look at this back panel. It has ridges like a heating pad."

"That's because it's a heated wet suit. The batteries are in those pockets under the arms." Caroline stepped into the trousers, which when laced up proved a little tight around her hips. She loosened the laces enough to make the fit comfortable before she pulled the shirt down over them. "Can I borrow some shoes?"

"The best I can do right now are slippers." Lark went to a trunk and from there produced a pair of moccasin-style leather shoes with cloth lining. "We'll have the clan's cobbler measure you for some boots. Would you like me to have your things laundered?"

"All detergents destroy neoprene, and I doubt you have any wet suit cleaner or conditioner around here. I also need to disconnect and remove the batteries." Caroline pulled on the shoes, which were only a little loose, and picked up the basket in which the seamstress had placed her things. "Is there a place I can work?"

"I'll have the maids bring what you need to the guest room," Valerie said, taking hold of one of the basket handles. "That's our next stop."

"Come by anytime," Lark said, smiling. "I'll tell you all about my adventures since I landed on Caladh. When my husband gets back from his trip I'll introduce you to him, too. Fletcher is the clan's seneschal."

"Yeah, sure." She wondered why the seamstress made such an effort to be friendly. Come in, grab some clothes, meet the hubs—like we're besties already.

As Caroline left with the laird's wife she again sensed someone watching her close by, but didn't see anything in the passage but burning torches and lots of flickering shadows. At the same time the hair on the back of her neck prickled, the same way it did when something large and predatory came close underwater.

"You two stayed and got married to MacMar men why, exactly?" she asked Valerie.

"I can't speak for Lark, but I fell in love with Connal." Her bright blue eyes twinkled with happiness now. "It took a while, but eventually I realized that going back was pointless. He couldn't come with me, either. That's why I made a life here with him."

For a moment Caroline envied her. No man had ever been that important to her, although for some reason both Nyall and Jamaran popped into her head.

Shame I can't have those two.

"Right, ah, let everyone know in advance that I'm not interested in that," she told Valerie. "My life is going to be all about putting the guy who tried to kill me in prison, and destroying his sick dream. Hopefully both at once. Wait a sec." She stopped and stared at the other woman. "If I go back, do I end up where I was when I left? Because I was drowning thirty miles off the coast of Florida."

Valerie's expression filled with sympathy. "I'm not sure. All I can do is see to it that we find a safe way to return you to the future, and assure you end up where you want to be."

The guest room turned out to be another stone-walled chamber with a boxy bed, heavy wood furnishings, a fireplace, and slits in the outer wall instead of windows. For the first time Caroline noticed the crispness of the air, and imagined a fire would be welcome at night. Two maids came in behind them with armfuls of linens, which they took over to the box-bed and put over the bumpy mattress. A third girl brought in another tray with a jug, goblet, and a fresh plate of food.

Valerie picked up an apple from the tray and took a bite out of it before she offered it to her. "Just so you know it's not poisoned."

Caroline shook her head. "I'm good, thanks. I suppose you think I'm being an ass."

"After what you just went through, you're entitled to do whatever you want," the other woman said, her compassion plain. "Within reason, of course."

She really wanted to confide in the laird's wife, an impulse that made her even more uneasy. Since when did she want to cuddle up to a sorority sister? "How do I pay for the room and the maid service?"

"You don't," Valerie assured her. "You're our guest at Dun Ard. Also, my household staff are paid quite well by the clan. If you need anything, just step out into the hall and ask one of the guards."

Now she was being guarded, was she? Caroline had noted the lack of utensils on the tray, and reached into the basket for the two knives she'd tucked in there with her wet suit. Touching the hilts made her relax a little.

"Is there anything else I can have brought to you?" Valerie asked.

"I'd like a large tub filled with warm, clean water, and a sponge or soft rag I can use to clean my gear." Caroline then produced both knives, holding them so the maids could see them as well. "Also, you should let the staff, the guards and anyone else interested know that I'm armed, a very light sleeper, and no one comes in here again without knocking first."

"Fair enough." The other woman's expression turned serious. "You should know that if you attack anyone under this roof without provocation, our men will respond in kind. They won't care that you're female, either."

Caroline had assumed the blonde was just a nice woman, but now she caught a glimpse of steely warning in her pretty eyes. In a way it reassured her as nothing else had. "Got it."