Chapter 4

Jamaran swam out to meet the ghost boats returning from the latest hunt of the waters beyond the mist barrier surrounding Caladh and the Selseus settlement in the bay. He saw the tall, golden-haired figure of their king, Merrick, standing at the bow of the lead vessel, and sent out a greeting through his thoughts. As he did, his mind merged with his maker's, which allowed the king to effortlessly read his memories, and sense the turmoil of his usually cool emotions.

Merrick could now see for himself how finding Caroline in the bay had been for his garrison commander like waking from a long dream.

Her image seemed permanently etched in Jamaran's thoughts, probably because everything about her stirred him. Her turquoise eyes resembled jewels, and she had the most beautiful mouth he'd ever seen on a woman, full-lipped and slightly pouting, as if she forever awaited a kiss. Gold streaked her dark hair as if she radiated light. As for her body, seeing her water garment molded to all those luscious curves had sent so much hot blood through his veins he'd nearly spilled in his own suit. She possessed every single attribute he admired in females, including the fierce, unflinching daring to brandish a blade when outnumbered by men.

Say naught aloud of your female, Merrick warned him.

Jamaran caught the hand of a rower, who swung him up over the whale-hide clad hull onto the deck. Built to sail swiftly and silently, the long, narrow ghost boat barely rocked as he made his way to his master. Overhead the sails fluttered as they captured the wind to propel them over the sea. He doubted Merrick would concern himself with Caroline when there were more pressing matters at hand.

"You and the captain found no trace before, then?" the king murmured.

He shook his head. He and Nyall had been swimming daily patrols in and around the Selseus settlement in hopes of finding any trace of Duxor, Merrick's traitorous cousin, or Freja, the widow of the king's oldest friend among their kind. Both had been missing for several moons, and everyone assumed they had gone into self-exile or had ended themselves.

Reports of a deformed white-mouth shark had also spread through the settlement. The bizarre beast had also been blamed for attacking and killing a mortal as well as some stray lambs. For weeks now Merrick had been leading the searches beyond the mist barrier to find the beast as well as the missing Selseus, to no avail.

"Come with me," the king said before he dove into the water.

Jamaran swam after Merrick, who led him to a small uninhabited islet bordering the deeper side of the bay. There he waded out of the water, and went into the brush from the shore. As he cleared the water from his gills to follow the king, he wondered what was now happening to Caroline Parish, and if Nyall had been able to calm and reassure her. He wanted badly to go and find out for himself.

Merrick stopped at a run-down cottage that had once belonged to a reclusive mortal fisherman, now long dead. He unlatched the front door and stepped inside, which confused Jamaran for a moment. The king disliked entering landwalker dwellings and generally avoided doing so. When he entered the home, however, he saw the inside of the dwelling appeared as neat and clean as if the mortal yet lived there, with furnishings that appeared new.

"Old Dugles and I sometimes played draughts together here," Merrick said as he opened the window to let in the sunlight. "He turned hermit after his wife and bairn died during birthing. He lived until ninety-five, as I recall."

"'Tis a tidy place," Jamaran said. "Why come you here now?"

"'Tis become a refuge of sorts." Merrick touched the wall beside the window, which took on a violet and gold shimmer. "Connal had MacLeir make the place habitable again. I've used my power to shield the cottage. What we say while inside, no one may overhear."

That the king would trouble himself to do so much meant nothing good. "You reckon 'tis a rebellion brewing, then."

Suddenly a man came out of an adjoining room. Jamaran drew his blade and darted in front of Merrick. He then relaxed and put away his weapon when he saw it was Connal MacMar.

"Take your ease, lad," the laird told him. "Your king and I meet here of late so we may speak of matters we dinnae want overheard by the clan or your people." He placed a torn bundle of gray and white on the rickety old table. "Shaw found this washed ashore last night on the north side."

Jamaran frowned as he picked up the tattered hide and spread it out. The garment, styled for a Selseus female, bore maker marks he recognized.

"Freja wore this the day she vanished." He turned it over to see faint mottling around the long tears in the center—blood trace from grievous wounds—which bore mute testimony to what had happened to her. "You reckon 'twas the white-mouth, my king?"

Merrick touched the hide, which shimmered for a moment. "Whoever slew Freja used power as well as the beast. Duxor had a hand in her end, I'll wager."

Connal nodded his agreement. "We need find the traitor before any more die."

"I shall double the search parties and sweep every hiding place in the sound from here to the mainland." The king pinched the bridge of his nose. "'Tis likely he's moving about each day so he may avoid discovery."

A thought occurred to Jamaran. "Mayhap we might enlist the aid of the other warm-bloods in the sea? They might spot Duxor and his beast during their daily travels, and can report to us on where he hides."

"The whale-killers ken everything that happens outside the barrier," Merrick said, nodding. "I shall parlay with their matriarch. She seems fond of me."

"We've another matter we must settle." The laird eyed Jamaran. "You and Nyall both rescued Mistress Parish this morn. Had you done so alone, the claim, 'twould seem clearly yours." He regarded the king. "Only Nyall played his part, and the lady wears Joana's ring."

For a moment Jamaran almost spoke his thoughts, until he saw how Merrick tensed. The truce between the MacMar Clan and the Selseus guaranteed Merrick and his people first claim to any female of bearing years they rescued from the island's waters. That advantage had always been vital, as the Selseus could only sire sons, and were compelled to transform mortal females to serve as their mates. The imbalance between the genders remained a constant problem. Yet since both he and Nyall had rescued Caroline at the same time, and she had been brought to Caladh by a powerful enchanted ring belonging to the laird's first wife, the situation gave the clan equal claim.

Since the Selseus had not been able to claim the last two females to arrive in their waters, that had created a rift between them and the MacMar. That had also stirred up the younger males, who had attempted to take Lark Ambrose by force. The end result had forced Merrick to disown his heir, Bered, who had goaded the young males. The king had also banned the lads directly involved from taking a mate for a centurial. Since he had yet to name the new heir, or propose a solution to the lack of females, tensions remained perilously high among the Selseus.

"In all matters, what my king commands, so shall I do," Jamaran finally said. "Yet I should like a moment alone to speak with Mistress Parish, if you would permit such, my lord."

Connal sighed. "Aye, you've earned the right. Only ken she'll likely refuse any offer you make now, lad. 'Twould seem a man in her time attempted drown her."

"Waiting while the lady calms and recovers seems the wisest course," Merrick said, while in Jamaran's mind he thought If she wants you, I shallnae rest until she's yours.

The king had always been very fond of him, Jamaran knew. They shared a unique bond that no one among the Selseus or MacMar had ever completely fathomed. Because he had saved Merrick's life, the king used the power he should have wielded to create a queen to instead transform and revive Jamaran from drowning. He also knew that one act of mercy had deprived Merrick of the chance to wed and sire a son, as Selseus law restricted each male to transform a mortal only once.

In the end he would always be the only family Merrick had.

"Mayhap we should turn our attention to Freja and Duxor for now," Jamaran finally said. "If the traitor's using the white-mouth to hunt and kill our people, we must find where he's hiding."

Nyall listenedto the last of his patroller's reports before he dismissed the men from the garrison common room. Shaw then entered and handed him an apple before dropping down in the iron-clad chair reserved solely for his use.

"We need discuss your dark beauty, Captain," the chieftain said.

"She's no' mine, and I've duties awaiting my attention." He tossed the fruit back. The last thing he wanted was to talk about Caroline with Shaw, who had never met a female he couldn't seduce with one grin. "Visit the infirmary. Mayhap Duncan shall wish gossip with you while he poultices your face."

"Och, you wound me near as much as the lady." The chieftain touched the now-fading bruise on his jaw where Caroline had struck him. "Never I reckoned a cold bastart like you should claim her—or do you mean save her for that pale-eyed fish friend of yours?"

He met Shaw's gaze, and saw something in his eyes he didn't like. "Shall I tell Fletcher and the laird of the promise I made you, or simply keep my word and end you now?"

A rich laugh burst from the chieftain.

"Whenever I'd wager you're more ice than man, you char me." He leaned forward. "She's already chosen you over Jamaran, or she wouldnae cling to you like a wee lost bairn. She's also saved you from your mortal weakness, as we all saw on the shore. Only your Finfolk friend couldnae take his eyes from her, and waited watching you both as you took her away. 'Twill prove interesting, how the pair of you shall navigate your path with the lady."

Nyall rubbed his eyes. "What want you from me, Brother? Ask or go."

"Caroline Parish sees me—the whole of me, no' just the outside." All the hilarity left the chieftain's handsome face. "From the moment she set eyes on me, I reckon she saw what I hide. I cannae tell you how, only 'tis likely why she wished break my face. She did thus again when she first came into the great hall."

That made no sense. "How could you ken what the woman sees?"

Shaw gestured to his inked arm. "The other did. No wench ever saw past my looks, so I'm fashed. 'Tis taken all my will, staying away from her."

He was also worried about what Caroline's reaction might do to him, Nyall guessed. "You wish go on keeping a safe distance from the lady, then."

"Aye, unless you wish her unsafe." Shaw sat back in his chair. "You need learn what 'tis the boon Lady Joana's ring bestowed on her, quickly. If she possesses some gift of Fae vision, then she'll see more than what lies within me. She may aid us with Derdrui and the Cait Sith."

Nyall's eyes narrowed. "You reckon the shifters shall try come here disguised?"

"I shouldnae put such past that facking Fae witch and her grovelers." The chieftain rose. "I'll walk the shoreline and look for treasures that may please Duncan. That should keep me away from the stronghold a week or more."

As Shaw left, Nyall was tempted to go after him and try to persuade him out of such a solitary quest. The more time the chieftain spent alone, the more difficult his private battle with his secret affliction grew. All anyone knew about it was it had been forced on him by a tribe of renegade Pritani, who had captured Shaw as a lad and trained him to serve them as an enslaved warrior. When he returned to MacMar at last, everyone realized the happy, handsome boy they had known had been entirely transformed by his abductors, and given dark gifts that had to do with the strange ink patterns etched on his arm.

The chieftain refused to tell anyone exactly what the skinwork meant, or how it had changed him. Yet over time they had all seen him demonstrate unnatural and sometimes frightening abilities.

Nyall knew the darkness in Shaw had been growing as well. Driven almost to the point of suicide by his affliction, he'd entered into a pact with him, pledging not to end himself if Nyall would kill him when he finally lost control. In the end he would keep that vow, for no one—even him and his best fighters—could ever prevail over Shaw in a battle. Before he did, he intended to do whatever he could to prevent the chieftain from sacrificing his life to protect the clan.

Made restless by his thoughts, Nyall left one of his senior chieftains in charge of the garrison and returned to the stronghold. Of all the MacMar the one he trusted and confided in most often was Duncan, the clan's healer, so he went to the infirmary. There he found him treating the senior kitchen maid for a hand she'd scalded in a mishap.

"Keep your hand dry, Jamma, and dinnae meddle with the blisters," Duncan said as he finished wrapping a strip of clean linen around the maid's burned palm. "Come see me in the mornings so I may change the dressings. Och, and for the love of Mar, tell Brochan keep that fool scullery away from you and anything heated."

"Aye, healer." She sighed as she turned her bandaged hand this way and that, and then saw Nyall and bobbed before she departed.

"Worth caused another facking mishap?" Nyall asked as he came in and closed the door.

"Worth causes all the facking mishaps. He's but grown even more clumsy since that Brochan took on that odd-eyed castaway lad." Duncan placed a jar of salve among the others on his treatments shelf before he rubbed the palm of his own hand. "Mayhap I should send the scullery somewhere he may do some good. Need we any sheds torn down, or deadfall burnt?"

"Ask the Seneschal when he returns." He accepted the mug of brew the healer offered him but sniffed it and recognized the soothing blend of herbs. "You reckon I need calming?"

"'Tis that or a beating," Duncan said drily. "I'm too weary for a bout in the lists this morn. Tell me."

"Shaw's leaving for a time." He related most of his conversation with the chieftain before he added, "Both ladies who came before Mistress Parish possessed boons bestowed by the ring. Reckon you she has the sight?"

"'Twould explain why she punched Shaw, only I cannae say. She shallnae permit me close enough to examine her, much less ask what's changed since she came. Nor shall she soon, I reckon." Duncan eyed his black cabinet, in which he stored the Fae objects that had been discovered on Caladh since the time of their sire. "I've naught that may expose or measure a boon. Mayhap you should ask the lady tell you, once she comes to rely on you."

He frowned. "You think she doesnae now?"

"If she's like our other ladies, she doubtless believes us all mad with our tales." The healer gave him a sympathetic look. "Your beauty seems contrary by nature as well."

"She's no' mine." Even as he said that Nyall wondered why it gave him pleasure to hear such a thing. "Nor shall she become thus."

"Tell Connal and Fletcher, who said the same." Duncan sighed. "With these ladies arriving from the future with such regularity, mayhap the laird should rework the truce with the Finfolk. Does Jamaran intend offer for Mistress Parish? 'Twould seem he possesses equal claim, as you both brought her ashore."

"He doesnae wish wed." Nyall knew why his best friend had always refused to take a mate, but wondered if Caroline would change Jamaran's mind. "The laird shall sort out the claim with Merrick."

"I should go carefully there. The Finfolk grow impatient with the clan for denying them the last two females to arrive in our waters. They shallnae much like a third refusal." The healer picked up his medical bag. "I've a stable lad still abed with a broken foot, two maids with coughs, and a weaver with a sprung shoulder, so I must make my rounds. Need you anything more?"

"Get on with you." Nyall left him, and walked the passages until he came to the hall of guest rooms.

Lady Valerie had assigned two guards to stand outside the largest and most comfortable guest chamber, but as he approached both men crossed their spears to deny him entry.

"You need knock and gain permission first, Captain," one of them said. "Else the lady takes offense."

That didn't surprise him. "How fares she?"

The men exchanged a look before the second said, "'Twould seem she's angry and armed. Lady Valerie warned us no' intrude on her for any reason save fire or an attack that overruns the stronghold."

"Do as our lady bid. You'll live longer." Nyall reached out and knocked at the door, which opened a few moments later.

Caroline stood barefoot on the other side, and had dressed in a man's leine and trews that oddly suited her. The bountiful curves he'd admired early looked even more lavish now freed from the confines of her swimming garment. She'd washed the salt from her dark brown hair, which had dried, and shimmered with those intriguing pale golden streaks. She no longer looked parched, either.

"You do keep your promises. How nice." She leaned against the frame for a moment, pretending ease while she actually looked past him into the passage. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten about me."

Her biting tone made Nyall considered leaving her alone for the night; her show of open antagonism made him uneasy. With more time her temper might cool, and she'd be more likely to rely upon him. Then he looked into her eyes, and saw the shuttered loneliness and beautiful fury she'd shown when she'd run to him by the bay.

Shall this woman ever relax in my presence, or I in hers?

He removed his sheathed sword and handed it to one of the guards. "If you're no' too weary, may we speak, Mistress?"

She looked him over a second time before she stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. Once he did, she closed the door and dragged over a table, using it to block the entry.

"Would you like a drink?" She walked over to the wash stand and poured some of the water from the jug into a goblet. "They keep bringing me food, too, but I'm still not sure about that."

It took him another moment to work out what she meant; she thought they intended to drug or poison her. "You've no' yet eaten?"

Caroline came over and handed him the goblet, and then brought a plate of food and offered it to him. "Test it for me?"

While Nyall sampled all of the meal for her, he wondered what had compelled her to believe her life in danger. "Mistress Parish, you're among friends at Dun Ard, I vow. Please, believe me."

"I went deep diving today believing my ex-boyfriend would protect me. He cut my lines and left me there to die, thirty miles from land." She nodded at the door. "Valerie said I could trust your guards, only they keep talking about these Finfolk making a claim on me or for me or something like that, and how the clan might have to hand me over to them to keep the peace. Shaw really didn't like me punching him, either. Then there's this ring that's magically welded onto my finger."

He looked down and for the first time realized blood was dripping from her hand onto the hearth stones. He strode over to her, taking hold of her wrist and jerking up her fingers to inspect them. She'd clenched her hand into a fist to hide what she'd done, and small crescent marks still showed on her wet, red palm.

Through the window slit white light flashed, and the low rumble of thunder echoed through the stronghold, reminding him of his unwelcome new boon.

"I couldn't get it off with that slimy soap they gave me," Caroline said, sounding indifferent. "I thought I might work it off with some pressure, but you interrupted and the knife slipped. That sucker really is sharp."

Too angry with her to speak, Nyall marched her over to the wash stand. Once he'd cleaned off the blood, he saw she'd sliced open her finger from just above the ring to the tip. Taking the linen towel hanging from the stand's side, he pressed the end to the wound, holding it tightly to stop the bleeding. Only then did he look at her face and see how pale she'd grown.

"Why should you remove the ring when 'tis done naught but protect you, and bring you safely here?" he demanded.

"You think I'm safe." She nodded as if he'd confirmed something, and jerked her hand from his grasp. "Okay, you can leave."

He pulled her against him, splaying his hand over the small of her back and using his other hand to fist her hair. When she looked at him, that fury blazing even higher in her eyes, he backed her up against the nearest wall, holding her there with the weight of his body. The sunlight coming through the windows dimmed, and several powerful booms from the gathering storm shook the stronghold.

"Do you think I'd permit anyone harm you?" he demanded.

"I don't know you. I'm locked up in a magic castle on an enchanted Scottish island in the twelfth century. If that's true, it's insane. If that's not true, I'm insane." Caroline tilted her head back. "Are you going to take back what you said about hitting women, or kissing them? Looks like you want to do both to me."

Somehow he kept himself from putting his mouth on hers, although he could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment.

"I shall send away the facking guards. Shaw's left the stronghold. In the morning we shall meet with Jamaran so you may hear his offer and refuse him. Then I shall show you the island." He nodded as her eyes widened. "Indeed, I shall taste your food and drink for you at every meal, if 'tis your wish. Put your faith in me, Caroline, and I shall see you never ken a moment of regret."

"Too late for that." Her mouth tightened. "Let go of me now, Captain, or I'm going to hurt you."

Only when Nyall released her and stepped back did he see the ballocks blade he'd given her in her uninjured hand. From the angle, she had held it ready to thrust between two of his ribs. As an immortal he healed from most wounds, but a dagger to the heart could end him. Had she struck, he'd lay dead on the floor now.

"Why?" he asked. "I saved your life, and now you threaten mine?"

"Let's review," Caroline said, her tone pleasant. "You and the fish guy dragged me out of the water to a beach where a very weird man with scary eyes and moving tats was waiting. After I very reasonably punch tats guy for being grabby, he looks like he wants to kill me with his bare hands and maybe his teeth. From there you haul me up here to Neverland castle, where supposedly none of your thousand or so half-Fae brothers ever get any older. I'm supposed to believe a ring I found in the ocean that belonged to your dead sister-in-law did all this with your dead father's magic. If you were me, what would you think?"

"I ken 'tis maddening, but all said, 'tis truth." Nyall fought back the anger and desire that raged inside him. "I shall keep my word, Mistress, whether you trust me or no'."

Her brilliant gaze softened for a moment. "I want to believe you, Captain, I really do. But so help me God, I'll never trust anyone again as long as I live."