Chapter 6

Speal watched as the door to the captain's cabin slowly opened, and Derdrui peered out into the twilight dusk like a sleepy cat. The enchantress's dark beauty, from her perfect cap of shining black hair to the pallid flawlessness of her stunning features appealed to all mortals, male or female. Even her own weathered heart beat a little faster as their sovereign stepped out onto the deck, her beautiful body draped in a richly-embroidered gown of midnight silk. Yet from the cabin also came the stench of death, which cloaked Derdrui like a poisonous fog.

As deadly as she's lovely,Fiacail had always said of their sovereign.

During her long lifetime Speal had taken several female lovers, so she imagined her eldest sister had been trying to warn her not to lose her heart to the enchantress. She hadn't understood in the distant past when Derdrui had gathered them together for the first time and taught them how to manage living in the mortal realm. Now that she had witnessed their sovereign's endless desire to torment and bloody those she seduced, she was glad she'd never done more than admire her from afar.

"Why have we left the island of pigs?" the enchantress demanded. "Surely you did not kill all the mortals again."

Speal hand-signaled for the rest of the Cait Sith on deck to stay back before she went to bow to Derdrui.

"Fair evening, my princess." She looked into her dark eyes and smiled. "We've set sail so we may track the MacMar back to their island."

"Without my permission?" The enchantress glanced around the railings. "Surely I do not have to explain how you are to serve me again. Or are you that simple that I must repeat myself over and over to you?"

"I understand the most important command you gave, for us find the sons of Mar for you." She smiled. "Our sister Dearg's recovered from her injuries, and she's our best tracker in this part of the sea, so I didnae wish wait another night."

"Idiot." Derdrui made an impatient sound. "Did you also forget that tomorrow the full moon arrives?"

"Aye, and we'll anchor before the change comes over us." Speal nodded toward the cabin. "You should remain indoors and away from us then, my princess. The Cait Sith dinnae reckon with mortal minds when we become our true selves for the night."

"Were you proper Fae, you might control the change." The enchantress sighed. "Very well. How are you tracking the MacMar?"

"We're hunting them near where we captured the pair who escaped us." Dearg appeared beside Speal, looking sweetly wholesome in a fresh silk gown and all the dried blood washed from her shining curls. "I should like my sister serve as our leader for a time, my sovereign. My head, 'tisnae quite healed yet, and my thoughts remain muddled."

Derdrui gave her a narrow look. "You're too frail, you halflings." To Speal she said, "What of the mortal I desire?"

"We've none aboard, but we shall procure one for you at the earliest chance, my princess," she assured her.

The enchantress stalked back into the cabin, slamming the door so hard the entire upper deck shook.

"Like us she's close to change," Dearg murmured, her expression turning dreamy. "I've never once seen her birth form."

"No one shall." Why the little fiend would wish witness such, Speal didn't know. "Therion Fae, they're known to drive mortals mad with a single glimpse of how they truly appear."

"Another reason to despise our half-mortal blood, then." The little shifter pouted. "I'm hungry, but I dinnae trust our sisters. They all desire me dead and shall poison me. Fetch me some food." She saw her face and quickly added, "Or take me where I might eat some."

Speal took her down in the hold, where Teine was preparing meals. The one-eyed shifter shoved a plate of food in Dearg's hands, while the other Cait Sith gave her ugly looks.

"You should dine on deck," Speal suggested. "Else someone decide stuff you and put you to roast."

"Reckon you I'm shamed?" Dearg's pouty lips curved. "All of us saw Fiacail grow soft and sentimental these last years. I say I did our sisterhood a great service by ending her."

Teine hurled a blade at her head, which the little shifter dodged at the last moment. "Shut your mouth, you wee fiend."

"If Derdrui orders you slay Speal for failing her, what then?" Dearg demanded, dropping her plate and marching up to the maimed shifter. "Shall you die for love of a sister who didnae obey our sovereign, or proper protect you?"

"I'd find another way," Teine assured her. "As Speal did with you."

That silenced the defiant shifter, who took her food over to a deserted spot, crouched down and ate with a sullen expression. Speal filled two mugs with ale and brought them over, handing her one before she lowered her bulk down to sit beside her.

"We've returned to the spot where we captured Fletcher MacMar and his lover," she told her. "You've managed a small skiff when you lived in the islands, aye?"

Dearg frowned at her. "We're safer on the big boat, numpty."

"I need go somewhere the vessel cannae." She took out the map and unfurled it enough to show her the place she'd marked. "The seneschal kept looking at this island."

Dearg took the map from her and peered at it. "I ken the place. Ronalsee, 'tis hardly more than a great boulder in the sea. The Norse once kept a raiding camp, but ever they left when the snows came. 'Twas ever too barren and cold for other mortals dwell there year-round."

"I reckon the MacMar use the place somehow. Mayhap their fishers take their catches there so they may clean and smoke them." Speal glanced up at the deck overhead. "'Tis worth a trip, and we shall return before nightfall."

"A skiff shall hold but two of us—ah, I see. You intend strand me on that rock once I change so I may starve, and tell our sovereign I met with a mishap?" The small shifter made a rude sound. "Just end me quickly. I tire of your games."

She took hold of Dearg's plate, setting it aside before she caught her hands and held them as she looked into her beady dark eyes. "'Tis a chance to prove your worth to the enchantress and our sisters. Do thus, and mayhap you shall earn back your life, and our trust."

As she said that with her mouth, she poured into Dearg's mind all the love she had for the Cait Sith. Although losing Fiacail had hurt them deeply, they could not bring back their eldest sister. They needed their sovereign to keep her promise to provide them all with an enchanted sanctuary where they might live apart from all mortals in eternal peace and prosperity. To do so, they had to lead Derdrui to the MacMar Clan.

Dearg's eyes took on a watery gleam as she clutched Speal's hands. "You would again name me your sister, and welcome me among you? Truly?"

"Aye, you wee pest." Teine crouched down in front of her. "Go with Speal and learn what you may from the place."

Dearg hurled herself at Speal, hugging her tightly. She patted her back and looked up at the maimed shifter, who had drawn her dagger and held it ready to strike.

I spoke truth,Speal signaled with her hand behind the little shifter's back. We need her.

Tiene signaled back If she betrays us again, and then pretended to draw her dagger across her own throat.

"Get hold of yourself, Sister," Speal said. "We must leave and return before the full moon rises."

At dusk Nyallfinished the last of the garrison drills, and sent the men to have their evening meal before he eyed the stronghold. Shaw had left word he'd be gone for a week or more, and Fletcher would cover most of his responsibilities. Nyall wanted to go and speak with the seneschal about the chieftain's absence, but that might mean seeing Caroline again. All day he'd been unable to keep her from his thoughts, and he knew he'd be unable to resist going to her chamber to look in on her. He also suspected if she touched or kissed him again, he'd have her under him in the space of a heartbeat. The fact that he'd never once trifled with any female on Caladh was beginning to seem ridiculous, too.

I need cool my blood.

Nyall left the lists, stopping to place one of his senior chieftains in charge before he made his way along a stone-covered path to the tree-shrouded cove where he often swam alone. His mortal weakness, which made him immediately sink into any sand or soil, did not plague him in sea water. As a lad he had spent most of his free time swimming, as it proved the only real freedom he'd ever had.

Planting the torch he'd brought with him in the ground, Nyall took off his tunic, weapons and boots before wading into the shallows. The moment the salt water enveloped him his cares seemed to melt away, and he floated for a time. Looking up at the stars twinkling through the canopy of branches and leaves made his tension ease as well, for in the water he was neither a MacMar or Captain of the Guard.

What manner of man shall I become if I entangle myself with Caroline?

The woman from the future had already proven brazen enough to kiss him; she had no maidenly hesitation or pretense of modesty. No, Caroline Parish's blood seem to run as hot as her temper, which bemused him. He'd never encountered a female so wholly unconcerned as to how others regarded her. She seemed intent only on her own thoughts and needs, and said everything with a rare if blunt honesty. He could not read her, however. If he approached her as a man who desired her, she might welcome him to her bed, or attack him with his own blade.

Both prospects made him experience a curious desire unlike any that had come before for him with females. Nyall could become entangled with her so easily, but if she developed affection for him, he would be unable to return such.

How may I love a thing like you?his màthair screeched from the distant past.

As a lad Nyall had always been locked away from the other sons of Mar, thanks to Tiree's insistence that they were above the clan and their vassals. The wildly lovely, willful daughter of a powerful highland chief, she had chased after Prince Mar every time he visited the mainland, and finally succeeded in seducing him. After she'd become pregnant with Nyall his sire had at last wed her, but he had never returned her fervent love. He admired Tiree for her beauty, but his heart remained with his first wife, the Fae princess Eilonwy.

If that evil enchantress Derdrui had murdered that woodland slut earlier, then Mar would love only me.

Tiree had always kept Nyall away from his half-brothers, often loudly claiming their common mortal bloodlines rendered them unfit to serve as his companions. That had embarrassed him, and condemned him to a lonely boyhood. He'd been unable to please his màthair, who demanded he excel at every task while denying him the brothers that might have aided his efforts at learning to ride, hunt and fight. Meanwhile, the prince grew weary of his wife's complaining, and stopped visiting them, fueling her often outlandish suspicions.

He intends take a new wife before I'm in my shroud, does he? I shall make him suffer for each night he spends away from my bed, my lad. Watch me.

Thinking about Tiree in the last years of her life always sent Nyall into a terrible melancholy. She grew so bitter in her loneliness she'd begun drinking all the time, and blaming everyone else for her sorry state. Prince Mar had not been made to suffer, of course; he easily avoided his wife by having his guards keep her from him. The fact that Nyall had matured early, and his body matched his sire in height and build, didn't help matters. He soon became the target of all of Tiree's most vicious remarks. She constantly compared him to his sire, declaring him unnatural for the peculiarities his Fae blood bestowed on him. Sometimes his màthair would become so pished by whiskey she would even mistake him for Mar, and attack him the moment he appeared in front of her.

You loved me, I ken you did, so how can you do this? How can you take those common filthy hoors and leave me alone in our bed?

Nyall had done everything he could think of to appease Tiree, spending every free moment with her, listening to her drunken rantings and begging her to calm herself. He'd even spoken to his sire about what could be done for her, but the prince had told him only to ignore her rantings. In the end nothing Nyall had done had made a difference.

One day, after seeing the prince bestow an affectionate smile on a kitchen maid, Tiree had tried to beat to death the poor lass as well as every vassal who attempted intervene. By the time Mar stopped her he had been so angry he threatened to have Merrick remove her memories and send her back to her kin in the highlands. Tiree took a jug of whiskey and stalked off to the watch tower. By the time Nyall found her she'd climbed up on the battlements.

Now he closed his eyes, but that didn't erase the image of his màthair's bloated, reddened face or the wide maw of her mouth as she'd screeched her fury over his sire's threat. When he'd assured her that he loved her, and would even leave the clan and go with her to the mainland, Tiree had laughed at him.

How may I love a thing like you?You're as much a horror as your sire.

The wind had grown wild that night, making her lose her footing. Nyall had lunged for her, desperately trying to keep her from falling. If only she had taken his hand he might have saved her, but instead Tiree had deliberately avoided his touch, stepping out as if she meant to walk on the air. Watching her fall to her death had been the worst moment of Nyall's young life.

What he could not forgive himself for was knowing that the moment after Tiree had jumped had been the best.

After the funeral, Nyall's half-brothers had rallied around him, but because Tiree had kept him isolated virtually since birth they remained strangers to him. To this day he could never completely relax in their company. The only one who seemed to understand that was Duncan.

'Tisnae your fault,the older boy had told him. Her anger and madness, 'twas from a mind sickness. We didnae ken how troubled she'd grown. She hid her suffering, and refused let anyone near her.

After that Duncan had done much to help Nyall to accept his place among their half-brothers, but there remained a rift between him and the clan. As much as he tried to fit in, he never grew accustomed to their camaraderie or their rough affection for each other. Love to him was the very worst emotion, for it had eaten away at Tiree's mind and soul until it destroyed her. For that reason he assumed he'd always be alone, until Merrick had saved the Norse slave who had freed him from captivity. That day Nyall had realized what Jamaran was thinking from the first time they'd clasped hands on the ghost boat. He'd waited until the next chance he had to speak with the Francian alone, and discovered Jamaran could read his thoughts as well.

Why should the two of us share such a connection?Nyall asked without speaking.

Jamaran had shrugged. Perhaps in another life we called ourselves brothers in truth.

That strange link between them had made all artifice and concealment between them impossible, which might have turned them into enemies. Instead, it served to draw them closer than friends or even brothers. Since Merrick shared the same connection with Jamaran he knew of their bond, and Nyall had confided the truth to Connal when he'd chosen him to serve as Captain of the Guard.

When anything threatens the MacMar, you shall put the safety of the clan before your friendship with the Finfolk commander,was all the laird had said.

Centuries had passed since Merrick had transformed Jamaran so he could join the settlement. After training him in the ways of the Selseus, the king had promptly named him commander of his garrison. Nyall suspected at first Merrick wanted a leader who could in an instant know what his MacMar counterpart would do during conflicts with the clan. In time his reasons had become more obvious.

None of the Selseus had the Francian's battle experience, as in his homeland he had served as soldier, and also had detailed knowledge of the Norse and their practices from his years of enslavement. Jamaran also had a war master's knack of thinking as an enemy did, so that he could anticipate their moves before they made them. Since leading the Selseus garrison he had successfully prevailed over every Norseman attempting to raid Caladh.

I'm gratified you hold me in such high regard.

Nyall came upright as Jamaran swam into the cove and surfaced. "You shouldnae eavesdrop on a friend's thoughts."

Once he'd cleared the water from his gills his friend chuckled. "I hoped memories of a certain lady would fill your head. Our dark beauty, she's ever in my thoughts."

"Is that what you call me?"

Nyall looked over as Caroline appeared at the edge of the cove. She wore her wet suit, and carried a dripping sack filled with large shells, as if she'd spent the day collecting them. "Why come you here? Who permitted you leave the stronghold?"

"Do I need permission? Not that I'd ask for it anyway." She placed the sack on a rock before wading into the water. "I came because I heard your voice. Hi, Commander. Dark beauty, huh?"

"Fair evening, my lady." Jamaran inclined his head. "'Twas meant as a compliment, I assure you."

"For a second I was worried you were talking about him." She jerked her chin at Nyall. "He's certainly dark and beautiful."

"Never should you swim alone here." He couldn't believe she was jesting about him while returning to the water. "We've a man-killer shark in these waters, which you dinnae ken at all—and you've an open wound on your hand."

"We have sharks in my time, too, Captain. Also, my cut stopped bleeding last night, and I wore my gloves." She swam out to the edge of the cove to look out at the sea. "Commander, I caught a glimpse of your settlement today. Am I allowed to swim out there, or is it off-limits to everyone except your people?"

"No mortal's ever wished visit us." He glanced at Nyall, shaking his head a little before he added, "I shall ask the king if he would permit such."

"Thanks." She came back to tread water between the two of them. "So, what do you guys do for fun here?"