Chapter 5

After twenty-four hours Caroline got a somewhat better handle on her strange situation at Dun Ard. That was mainly thanks to Lark, who came the next morning to deliver the promised belt along with a pair of slightly too-large hide boots. While she measured her for some new clothing, the little redhead answered all her questions. She also told her about her own trip through time, and what she had gone through during her first days on the island.

"You can stay in here and no one will bother you," the seamstress said. "Valerie's put the word out to the staff and the clan to leave you alone. I'll have a maid deliver the clothes I make for you if you don't want to see my face again. That's totally okay, too. It's a lot to deal with, just coming here. You need the space, take the space."

At least Lark understood. "What if I don't want to stay in the castle?"

The other woman thought for a moment. "I'm sure the laird can find a place for you to live and work somewhere else on the island." She grimaced. "Everyone works, I'm afraid; it's just the cost of living in the twelfth century on an isolated island where everything has to be produced by hand. Do you have any particular skills or talents besides diving?"

"Why can't I dive?' she countered.

Lark looked surprised. "Well, I suppose you can. Our cook always needs shellfish, which the fishermen are usually too busy to collect. He used to get some of the local village boys to do it, but Valerie has them all going to clan school now. Oh, and I'd love to have some abalone shells to see if we can make buttons from them." She smiled. "We barter instead of using currency, so I can pay you in shirts, pants or lingerie, if you like."

"Then all I need is another place to live." Caroline went over to the window slit, which she had uncovered during the night. From the guest room she could see over the walls to the bay, which sparkled in the sunlight. "Will the fish people mess with me if I'm by myself, the way they did with you?"

"Merrick punished the boys who tried to abduct me pretty harshly, so I doubt it." The seamstress joined her. "Is there something that's making you want to leave?"

"Pretty much everything. The people, the clan, the rules. I don't need to get involved in this Fae magic crap, or end up being forced into some kind of medieval shotgun wedding." Caroline nodded toward the mist barrier. "They've made it clear that they're not going to let me off this island, either."

"That's not true. I mean, you can leave if you really want to." Lark appeared uncomfortable now. "Before you go to the mainland Merrick will erase your memories of the clan and the island, and how you came here. That's to keep the clan's enemies from finding this place. It's almost guaranteed to leave you with total amnesia. Women in this time are pretty dependent on their families and social status to protect them, but away from Caladh you won't have anyone, or any place to call home."

"So, I'd likely end up in more trouble anyway." Caroline nodded. "All right. I appreciate the honesty and the advice. Thanks for the belt and boots, too."

"No problem. I hope I didn't make things worse for you." The seamstress took a small bundle out of her skirt pocket and offered it to her. "It's just a comb and some ribbons. No brushes or ponytail elastics in this time."

After Lark left, Caroline tossed some wood on the dying fire and sat down to work out the knots in her hair. Every tug of the comb reminded her that she would no longer be able to depend on anything or anyone but herself. If her mop became tangled, she'd have to deal with it—no handy detangler spray in the twelfth century, either. If she left Dun Ard, she'd have to find shelter, food, and a way to live on her own. She wondered if she could harvest enough from the ocean to barter for what she'd need. Although she hadn't mentioned it to Lark, she really had no other skills beyond diving, other than cooking, cleaning and a little gardening.

Think of something. Caroline's need to get away from the castle grew more intense by the hour, especially when she remembered how Shaw had looked at her.

She used a blue ribbon to tie back her hair before she stripped, dressed again, and then grabbed the tray one of the maids had brought up to her. When she stepped out into the passage it surprised her to see the guards had gone, just as Nyall had promised her.

Maybe he isn't a liar after all.

She walked down the passage to the stairs leading to the lower floor, where she followed her nose to what she hoped was the kitchen. A young servant glanced at her as he came out of there, showing he had very pretty but mismatched eyes.

"Excuse me," Caroline said, and when he stopped she nodded past him. "What's the name of the clan's cook? I haven't met him yet."

"Brochan, my lady," he said in a soft, almost feminine voice. His blue and brown eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. "He's the tallest, and loudest."

"Thanks." She headed in.

The clan's kitchen—kitchens, she corrected herself—looked almost as big as the great hall. Various foods being prepared covered dozens of wooden tables and counters, and hundreds of pottery jars and jugs lined the shelves built into the stone walls. From a long rack overhead tied bunches of herbs hung, drying in the sunshine that poured in from the wide windows, which looked out onto a busy yard where men and women were carrying things back and forth. The air smelled of yeast bread, warm fruit and roasting chicken.

Brochan turned out to be a towering bald man standing at one of the tables and sorting through a small mountain of greens, stripping leaves from the stems. He had the kind of build that would make gladiators look anemic, and yet worked with a precise delicacy that she liked. His dark eyes took her in with a single glance, and while he didn't smile she had the sense that he approved as she set the tray down on one corner of the table.

"Thanks for the food," she said. "You're Brochan?" When he nodded she said, "Nice to meet you, I'm Caroline Parish. Need any shellfish today?"

"I'm ever wanting oysters, sea snails, and urchins," he said in a deep, booming voice as he nodded toward some weathered baskets in one corner. "Bring me as much as you may gather from the tide pools round the bay, lass, and I shall kneel at your feet."

"Save the genuflecting," she told him. "For now, I'm paying for my room and board. After I move out of here, then we can negotiate deliveries and payment."

"Very wise. I like you already." He grabbed two baskets, a primitive-looking short-handled rake, and a pair of leather gloves.

"Got my own," Caroline said as she pulled on her zip gloves before taking the rest. "Thanks for lending me the gear."

Walking outside instantly made her the center of attention; every person walking or working stopped what they were doing and stared. She ignored them as she made her way to the first gate, where the guards glanced at each other with obvious confusion.

"What do you here, Mistress?" one of them asked.

"Captain Nyall said I'm free to come and go as I please," Caroline told them. "I'd like to go out, please."

That wasn't what he'd said, of course, but how would they know?

Using that name worked like magic; the men yanked up the gate grate so fast the ropes almost smoked. By the time she walked to the second gate the guards there were already raising it, saving her from stretching the truth again. At last, she reached the stairs leading down the side of the cliff, where two more guards eyed her before reluctantly stepping out of her way.

Caroline hadn't expected that wearing her wet suit would get her out of castle detention so easily. She might never wear anything else now.

At the base of the cliff she took off the boots Lark had given her, taking care to set them, the basket and the hand rake on a rock where they'd stay dry. Then she glanced down each side of the shore to assure she was alone before she walked into the waves and waded out. The moment the cool water reached her chest she finally relaxed; what Rich had done to her hadn't left her too messed up to go back in the water, it seemed. Using a slow, easy stroke she swam parallel to the shore as she checked out the water. The current seemed remarkably mild, given that this was probably the North Atlantic or the North Sea. Then again Caladh was supposedly enchanted, so maybe the sea around it was, too.

I'm really starting to fall for this fairy tale.

Caroline stopped and treaded water as she noted the number of broad, low-lying tide pools on one side of the bay; that was probably where she could harvest Brochan's shellfish. Then she saw a pale shape coming at her at high speed, and pulled out her knife as she found her footing on the shallow bottom. A broad wave of water rolled toward her as the shape halted and a white-haired man with gills on his neck surfaced. Something pretty sparkled at the end of his long braid, a chunk of metal that looked like violet-enameled gold. His lean, tough body appeared just as muscular as Nyall's, but he had slightly shorter limbs and a narrower torso. The crystal blue of his eyes made her think of the water in the Keys, so clear that one could see everything down to the sea bed.

They're like day and night. Again the thought of him and Nyall made her restless, as if that meant something. Why did she always think of them together? Maybe because they're two guys I'll never have.

"Good morning." She lowered her knife.

Water gushed from Jamaran's neck before he took a breath of air and replied, "You shouldnae swim alone, Mistress Parish."

His voice matched the rest of him, beautiful and haunting, with a slight accent that was decidedly not Scottish. French, maybe? Was France even a country now?

Deal with the man first, Parish.

"Is that because you won't be able to resist changing me into an immortal fish bride?" She watched for a reaction, and got nothing. "I guess not. You have to get my permission first, or make me an offer I can't refuse, or something along those lines. Also, I'm not swimming. I'm gathering shellfish for the clan's cook. Him, I like."

"Does the captain ken you're here?" When she shook her head he glanced up at the cliffs. "Mayhap I should escort you back until Nyall may accompany you."

"Nyall is busy. You should stay out of it." She turned her back on him and waded to shore, where she collected the basket and rake and walked toward the tide pools. She could sense him watching her, which meant he probably wouldn't swim off in a huff any time soon. Liking him for that was wrong. Getting involved with any of these people was not in her best interests. Even as she thought that, she wanted to turn around and go back to him.

Jamaran caught up with her. "Why do you such work?"

"Why not?" She stepped over a long curving stretch of sea-washed rock and crouched down to peer into the water. "Women in the future do all kinds of work. We don't have to marry or have babies anymore, either. Spread the word among the other fish guys, will you?"

He sat down on the rocks to watch her using the rake.

"The future sounds delightful. Mayhap you'll take me with you when you return." He smiled a little as she glared at him. "Did you expect me demand you stay here and wed me?"

"According to what those ding-dongs in the castle say, yes, I did. You found me, you get to propose. Of course, the captain was there, too, which seems to create some kind of first-claim problem." She sighed. "I can't believe these words are coming out of my mouth, either."

"'Tis much, accepting your fate," Jamaran suggested.

"Not accepting. I don't believe in fate." She shook off some oysters into the basket before she regarded him. "Unless the two of you want to share me, which we could make work." What she'd meant as a joke seemed to have the opposite effect on him. His eyes narrowed and his jaw went tight. "Sorry—are you and Nyall lovers, and I missed it?"

"I've but friendship for the captain. More, for he's as dear as a brother born. We both prefer female lovers." He stepped into the pool and slogged over to her. "You neednae pretend I've a chance for your love. You've already made your choice. I saw you kiss Nyall."

At least he's not gay.

Caroline ignored that burst of relief as she realized something. Everyone on this damn island jumped to conclusions, or maybe kissing someone in the twelfth century was the same as announcing an engagement. She needed to stop that crap right here and now.

"I didn't choose anyone. My last lover left me to drown in the middle of the sea yesterday, so I'm done with love. Kissing in my time doesn't have to mean anything. I even promised myself if I survived I'd kiss the first guy I saw. I can't remember if that was him or you. Just glad it wasn't Shaw." She carefully plucked a large black urchin from a cluster of rocks and tossed it in the basket. "Should I even things up between you and your friend?"

He took a step closer. "I wouldnae deny you your vow."

Caroline liked the way he looked at her as he told her that, as if he wanted to grab her and toss her on the ground but wouldn't let himself act like anything but a gentleman. He seemed to be Nyall's exact opposite, because she still had trouble guessing what the captain wanted from her. Judging by the way Jamaran had approached her, however, he could be working some kind of strategy here, too. He also wanted her, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe he wasn't so close to Nyall after all.

Or maybe this is the new plan to get me married to one of them. Why did I have to land on the island of Guys Needing Wives and Babies?

"I've always liked blond men with blue eyes." She went right up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. Because he was slightly shorter than the captain she didn't have to reach up as much to press her lips against his.

Jamaran didn't touch her or kiss her back, but his entire body tensed.

She took her time, as she liked how he tasted of the sea, and the warmth of him, which surprised her. His body radiated the same wonderful heat that Nyall's did, and smelled like the sea instead of fish. That made her want to cuddle up to him, and imagine Nyall with them—her little menage fantasy seemed to be on continual replay now. Only she had another reason for this exercise, so when she drew back she pushed aside her own needs and watched his stunning face.

"Nothing?" she asked. "A girl like me usually gets some kind of reaction. Or are you the same as your friend, all work and no play?"

"Tell me first why you're so angry," he murmured, his eyes filled with compassion now, "and I shall give you the answers you desire."

Sympathy instead of reaction, like she was a teenager acting out and he was her dad. Caroline thought for a moment she really might punch him. "Go away now."

"My lady." Jamaran caught her hand as she stepped up onto the rocks. "With your leave, then."

She didn't understand what he meant until he drew her close to him, holding her with one arm as he ran one webbed hand over her hair. For a moment she thought of Nyall, and how he had pinned her against the wall. She also wished he was here with them so he could watch, although she wasn't sure why.

Jamaran bent his head, kissing the corner of her mouth. That turned into a slow, sensual caress as he moved his lips over hers, stopping just long enough so that she sensed the weight of them for a moment. His mouth drifted across her cheek and against the curve of her ear, catching her earring for a moment, as natural as if he'd done that a couple thousand times. He then rubbed his face in her damp hair, and did the same things again in reverse until he kissed her other ear.

She heard the quick intake of his breath, and his muscles tightening against her, and knew he wasn't faking anything. No man had ever kissed her like that, and it drenched her in longing. When his mouth touched her temple, she thought her knees might actually give out.

"What the hell are you doing?" Caroline whispered.

"What you did, in my own way." He drew back to look into her eyes. "Like you I didnae choose my fate. Merrick changed me after slavers left me in the sea to drown. 'Twas so he might save my life, but no' what I wished."

The thickening of his accent and soft slurring of his words convinced her that he was French; she'd taken a semester in high school before dropping out and he sounded like her dialogue tapes. He also looked so sad he had to be telling the truth.

"What do you want from me, Commander?" she finally asked. "Just tell me straight."

"I reckon you'd want an ally outside the clan." He laced his fingers through hers. "I'm yours as long as you wish."

That nearly made her hurl herself back into his arms. Yet as much as Caroline wanted to hold onto Jamaran, it could be a huge mistake. She liked everything about him, but she didn't know him. Then there was Nyall, and that ferocious reaction she had to him whenever he came near her. If she had to choose between the two of them, she wasn't sure she could. They certainly wouldn't agree to a threesome, either; this was the twelfth century, when women probably had to pretend sex was a chore or just to make babies. An image of a smiling Rich then popped into her head, reminding her of what had just happened because she had depended on a man she'd had sex with to do right by her.

I don't owe either of them squat.

"Let me go." When he did she looked up at the cliff, where someone was watching them—not Nyall, but Shaw, who was carrying a pack on his shoulders. "You know that guy?"

Jamaran followed the direction of her gaze. "Chieftain Shaw, aye. He's the laird's second."

"There's something seriously wrong with that man." Caroline suppressed a shudder as Shaw grinned and lifted his hand, as if he'd actually heard her. "Yesterday I saw his eyes turn solid black for a few seconds. Those tats on his arm started moving. I thought I was hallucinating, but the closer I got to him, the more frightened I was. After I punched him, he looked like he wanted to kill me, too."

Instead of laughing at her he nodded. "The chieftain, he's afflicted with some manner of dark magic. 'Twas forced on him. Doubtless 'tis what caused the strangeness you saw. He'd sooner end himself than harm anyone."

"Is there anyone on this island who isn't enchanted or complicated?" she asked after Shaw had disappeared.

"You, my lady." As she eyed him Jamaran smiled a little. "I dinnae ken how your life shaped you. Only 'tis what burns in you, a light pure and clear as the sun."

Before Caroline could ask him to explain, the commander bowed and turned away from her, jumping off the rocks to dive into the water. The splash he made froze in mid-air, and a gull hovering over her turned to a hanging bird statue.

It's happening again.

She stripped off a glove before she touched the motionless sea water. It moved when she pressed it, but had taken on the consistency of gelatin. She noticed some drops of spray hanging in the air, and grabbed one. The little sphere sat on her palm like a bead of glass. All the sound had vanished from the world, and the sun on Caroline's skin no longer seemed warm. It was simply light now. She blinked, and the gelatinous bead of water collapsed on her hand. The gentle roar of the waves made her release the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Whatever this is, it took longer this time. Maybe thirty seconds.

That was when she noticed the tall clansman with dark brown hair and a quietly handsome face watching her from the shore. He nodded as she lifted her hand and waved, and then approached the tide pool.

"Mistress Parish," he said in a deep, soft voice. "I'd hoped to meet you at the stronghold."

"I don't like the stronghold," she said, climbing over the rocks until she could walk up on the sand. The guy was so tall she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, and he had the same bone structure as Nyall. "Which MacMar are you?"

"Connal, laird of the clan." He bowed to her. "I ask your pardon for neglecting you. I've been much occupied of late with my work. My wife tells me you're a diver."

"I am." Caroline wondered what he was going to say, and then decided to ask him straight out. "Let me save you some time. I don't want to marry the captain, the commander, or anyone else. I don't want to live in your castle. I don't like being told what to do. I really don't like Shaw. What I want is to go back to my time so I can put the guy who tried to kill me in jail. Please leave me out of weddings, clan stuff, and whatever is going to break your truce with the fish people, and find me a way off this rock."

The laird threw back his head and laughed, and it was the best sound she'd heard since coming to his island.

"Forgive me, Mistress. 'Tis a delight, meeting a lady who speaks her mind. Wherever you wish abide, we shall do our best so you may make your home on Caladh until such time as you may return to the future." He held out his hand. "Welcome."

On the fringesof the settlement, Bered watched from the hovel where he'd been exiled as the kelp farmers swam out for the day's harvest. Alone, shunned and miserable, he had wallowed in his hatred and despair for weeks now. All of his wealth had been seized by the king after he had disowned him as his heir. No one would speak to him now, and he had been forced to live in such squalor that he even had to hunt for his own food. All this because he had offered advice to the unmated males who had acted on their foolish notions and attempted to abduct Lark Ambrose—a supremely unwarranted punishment in his view.

Bered wanted his hoard of pearls, to eat until he became so drunk he might crawl onto land and die gasping in the sun. The last unmated male of royal blood meant his bloodline would be forever lost to the Selseus. Then the elders would all be sorry for turning against him.

Once the farmers had passed by, Bered left his one-room dwelling and swam across the bay, surfacing to see a dark-haired female in conversation with Merrick's second, Jamaran. The wench boldly wore pearls in her ears, as if taunting him. His hatred swelled, for the king would surely give this female to the commander if she came to the Selseus. The white-haired bastart had been born mortal, which should have rendered him unsuitable for mating. Yet since Merrick had yet to name his new heir, the Selseus would likely approve of any measure the king took in hopes of his favor.

The thought of the many tons of pearls kept in the palace that Merrick would shower on Jamaran at his mating ceremony infuriated Bered even more, for as a former mortal the commander could not be made intoxicated by eating them.

He moved close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, which seemed nonsensical to him, and then submerged when the commander suddenly dove into the water. He found a reef ridge where he hid himself and watched as Jamaran swam to the palace. There Merrick came out, stared at him for a time, and then nodded and accompanied him to the shallows. Although the king had warned Bered to remain out of his sight, he needed to know what Merrick and his mortal pet were scheming.

They left the water and walked onto the old hermit's islet, which had remained unoccupied for centuries. Bered swam to the other side before he came out of the sea, and trekked through the brush until he approached the shabby remains of the dead mortal's cottage. Inside he could hear the two speaking, and crept close to one of the window openings.

"–refused you, then I shall speak to the laird on taking her to the mainland," Merrick said. "Mayhap that alternative shall prove so unpleasant for her she shall change her mind."

"You take offense for what I've expected since Nyall and I saved the lass, my king," Jamaran told him. "She's no' like the other females brought here from the future. Indeed, I reckon she may choose leave for the mainland."

"While I ken how such shall break your heart." The sound of the king's pacing followed. "You've a right here, lad, and Nyall shallnae stand in your way, for he hates females. Shouldnae you try court the lady, then?"

"She desires a friend more than a lover, my king." The commander chuckled before he added, "Aye, women from her time, they count men as well as women as such."

"'Tis unnatural." Merrick hesitated before he said, "You truly wish me do naught, and yet I see every thought in your head. You desire her, so woo her. Mayhap seduce her."

"'Tisnae Mistress Parish who concerns you so much you'd speak on such," Jamaran chided. "For the sake of the law you've refused to take a mate, and Bered's disowned. I reckon the elders shall grant you whatever you wish until you name your new heir. You desire me sire a son on the lady, which I shallnae."

Bered had to bite his tongue to keep from howling with rage.

"You cannae conceal your true self from me," the king chided. "Even speaking the words heats your blood."

The commander sighed. "Shall we talk then of desire and duty, my king? For you've concealed naught from me these fourteen years."

Merrick uttered a short, bitter laugh. "'Tis yet another reason I cherish you as a son born to me. Come, for I must hear grievances this day, and you shall keep me from ending the complainers."

Bered waited until he heard both men go back in the water before he made his way to the opposite shore of the islet. As he walked into the water, what he had learned began to turn in his head, offering new hope of taking back what had been stolen from him. This landcrawler female Jamaran so desired would be the tool he would wield to force both the commander and the king to bend to his well.

All he had to do was make her his—after he bit those pearls from her ears.