Chapter 9

Living on Caladh grew a little easier for Caroline, although over the next several weeks she had to make far more compromises than she wanted. She stayed as a guest at the castle, but spent as much time away from the stronghold as she could. With Shaw gone she relaxed a little more, as the other men of the clan seemed normal, relatively speaking. Thanks to Lark she assembled a small wardrobe to wear when she wasn't diving, and the clan's cobbler made her a very nice pair of fur-lined hide boots that actually fit her. She kept her word to Nyall, and never ventured out beyond the shallows in the bay, although the underwater beauty that surrounded the island often tempted her to break that promise.

Every time she submerged she took a few moments to admire the clear waters and abundance of sea life in it. She'd rarely worked in such pristine conditions, and the bounty and variety of fish alone stunned her. From the vibrant colors of the coral in the reef, which stretched for miles around the island, the sea here had never been tainted with any garbage, sewage or other pollutants.

This is what my world would look like if we'd never dumped anything in the oceans.

She had plenty of opportunities to work every day. She and Brochan soon became fast friends, especially when she began delivering in quantity the shellfish he liked for his dishes.

"You've fisher's blood in you, lass," the cook said as he admired the basket of oysters she brought back for him after discovering a new, untouched bed beyond the tide pools. "I've never had better. Kai, fetch fresh water from the well—and dinnae ask Worth for aid, lest he knock you in."

The young man with the mismatched eyes came over for two buckets, giving Caroline a shy smile as he passed her.

"Dinnae even dream, my lad," Brochan scolded him before he regarded her. "Now you may ask whatever you wish of me, and I shall make such yours." He waggled his brows. "Even myself, if you desire. I've no wife, you ken."

The clan's cook should have been Greek, Caroline thought. If not for Nyall and Jamaran she'd even be tempted to have a fling with the big man.

"I appreciate that, and I wish you luck in the wife department, but what I really need now is a conditioner for my wet suit." She explained how it would preserve the material as well as make it easier for her to put on and take off before she said, "Soap doesn't work on neoprene. What I'm looking for is something naturally oily to clean and protect both sides of the material, and that won't irritate my arms and legs where my rash guard doesn't cover me. Nothing rendered from animal fat, though—that always makes me itch."

"You dinnae seem so delicate," the cook said, eyeing her suit.

She smiled and cupped her face with her hands. "Underneath this suit, I'm just a fragile little flower."

Brochan snorted. "Aye, right. Dinnae tempt me prove you wrong, wench. You'll want my blackening oil, I'll wager." He went to one of his shelves and took down a huge lidded pot, and opened it to show the golden liquid inside. "'Tis pressed from seeds of the rapum flower. I rub the stuff on my iron pots after I clean them. 'Twillnae likely cause a rash. Only take care to use the stuff cold. When heated, 'twill make you stink of moldy cabbage."

She grinned. "Good tip, thanks."

After returning from his cross-island trip, Fletcher introduced himself to her, and offered to provide whatever she needed to make her stay at the castle more comfortable. Caroline became a bit bemused by Lark's tall, handsome husband, whom she liked right away. With his warm golden eyes, big build and deep voice, he seemed like way more man than the shy little seamstress could handle. She revised that opinion when she caught a glimpse of them kissing in the seneschal's work room, just before Fletcher kicked the door shut and dropped the bar. A few seconds later Lark let out a throaty moan, and her husband said something that even made Caroline blush before she quickly walked away.

Whew. Those two are almost too hot to handle.

She occasionally saw the laird and his wife, but Valerie's careful smiles and Connal's sharp looks made Caroline nervous, so she kept things with them to waves and simple greetings. Valerie didn't bother her, although she'd seen her talking with Lark a few times and wondered if she was pumping the seamstress for information. The laird mentioned once in passing that he was looking for a vacant cottage for her, and if he couldn't find one he'd have one built.

Then there were her two guys, both of whom had made themselves scarce.

Although she was hoping to see Jamaran, he had yet to make an appearance since their night of drinking at the spring. She did notice some aquatics surfacing briefly now and then far out in the bay, but none with white hair. Asking Nyall about him proved impossible, as she rarely saw the captain these days, and when she did he always seemed busy with his men—or he was doing whatever he could to avoid her.

Either way, it seemed for the best. The last thing she needed was to get attached to either of them—and yet they constantly stayed in her thoughts.

The king of the Finfolk showed up one afternoon when Caroline was exploring the outermost tide pools to see what they contained. The moment she saw his tall, imposing figure wading out of the water, and the crown of violet-gold metal he wore, she guessed he was Merrick. Rather than wait, she walked over to him, taking in his ridiculously handsome features and stunning eyes.

"I'm Caroline. You're King Merrick?" When he nodded she held out her gathering basket. "Want some oysters? They're really fresh."

Merrick laughed. "I thank you no, lass. They never set well on my belly. Mayhap as they remind me more of snot than food." He looked over her wet suit. "I do like your garment very much. 'Tisnae made from whale-killer hide?"

"It's a synthetic version. No whale-killers were harmed in the making." She eyed the short spear he carried, the business end of which sported effective-looking barbs. "Are you out hunting that man-eating shark today? I haven't seen any since I got here."

"I confess, I wished escape the palace and made such my excuse. My true purpose, 'twas speaking with you." He gestured toward some flat-topped rocks, where she sat down with him. "My garrison commander tells me you wish visit our settlement. You're a fine diver for a mortal, and 'twould be an honor to welcome you, only I reckon 'tisnae the ideal time for such a visit."

"Because I'm a woman who is fertile and attractive," she guessed, "and you're in short supply of those."

"Ever, I fear," he admitted. "The last two ladies that ring you wear brought here refused join us. That I fear created much resentment, and fueled some stupit acts by our younger males, who now suffer for their idiocy. I also lost my heir as a result. Might I ask you wait on your visit until we've eased tensions with the clan, and remembered again our manners?"

"Sure, I understand." He was obviously in a tough place, so she added, "Please let Jamaran know I appreciate him asking for me."

"Aye, for the lad's beside himself of late. I ken, for I hear every thought in his head." Merrick gave her a sideways look. "He's utterly besotted with you, but doesnae wish intrude on you and Captain Nyall."

His affection for the commander seemed obvious to her. She liked this king, too.

"Seems like that's never going to happen, either." She glanced down as some tiny fish swarmed around her ankles. "The laird's wife mentioned you and your people have superhuman powers. Is there any way you can use them to return me to my time?"

"'Tisnae within our abilities. My apologies." He nodded toward the barrier hemming the bay. "If you wish leave the island, I may take you once I've dispelled your memories of Caladh. That may remove your remembrance of your life in the future as well, so 'tisnae ideal."

"Lark told me. I agree, it sucks." She wrinkled her nose at him. "How about a place for me to live that isn't Dun Ard? I don't need much, just a basic shelter, maybe on one of those little islands near your settlement."

His brows rose. "That the clan may provide you. Over time a few castaways resided on the bay's islets. Indeed, some of their dwellings yet stand. I'll wager with some work you may render one fit for living."

Interesting that no one had mentioned that to her before now. What else were the MacMar keeping from her?

"Would you be all right if I did move into one of those places?" Caroline asked. "As in, would me living there cause any problems for you?"

"If the laird agrees, I'd make plain to my people that no Selseus shall plague you there." Merrick glanced back at the stronghold. "I've never liked the clan's stone dwellings, but the stronghold, 'twould likely prove more comfortable than abiding alone."

"Unless you hate crowds, sharing your meals with hundreds of men, and never having any privacy," she told him. "Or you're me."

The king nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. "I ken a place that may suit you. Permit me speak with Connal on such, and mayhap we may reach an agreement."

Caroline fell into a routine, spending her mornings gathering for Brochan and her afternoons exploring the shore and watching the fishermen from a nearby village bringing in their catch. The clan's vassals all seemed wary of her, which she attributed to her wet suit, which resembled the Finfolk's seamless hide garments. With a little patience she was able to talk to some of the younger men, who got over their shyness once they realized she was mortal like them. When she learned how they trawled the shallows she offered to help free their nets when they became caught or tangled.

Her efforts paid off when the fishermen told her where she might find the largest beds of abalone, near an islet on the east side of the bay.

After collecting and delivering oysters for the clan's cook, Caroline took a large sack she'd asked Lark to make with a cross-body strap and returned to the bay. Although it was getting late, she had only to swim a short distance from shore to reach the abalone beds, which lay in just ten feet of water.

She already knew what to look for, as abalone resembled moss-covered stones and had a distinctive row of holes on the edges of their shells. The holes, which were actually pores, were what the sea snails that lived in the shells used to expel the water they breathed. These abalone looked to be twice the size of those she'd seen in the future, but she'd already learned that everything here grew to jumbo sizes. Many chefs in her time prized the tough meat of the abalone, especially for use in Asian dishes. Commercially it was most often harvested for the thick nacre interior of its shell, which had a rainbow luster unmatched by any other shellfish.

She can make buttons for everyone on the island from these.

Since Lark only wanted a few shells first so she could see if twelfth-century tools would carve them, Caroline swam over the bed until she spotted a mound of empty shells left behind by sea stars and other predators. She then went up to the surface to take a few breaths before she dove down again, opening her collection bag as she headed for the pile. Selecting the largest and thickest shells, she took a half-dozen and then noticed a long line of pinkish-white bubbles in the silt between two big mounds of coral.

Not bubbles, pearls.

One of the aquatics must have dropped them, and since the fishermen had told her how valuable pearls were to the Finfolk she wondered how they'd been missed. If nothing else she might be able to use them as barter, so she swam over and picked up the necklace. The pearls looked perfectly matched in size, about three times bigger than her earrings, and all had the same pale blush color to them. It seemed caught on something under the silt, judging by the resistance, so she gave it a gentle tug.

Something fell on her like a blanket made of seaweed. When she tried to flip over and get it off it stuck to her as if it had been coated in adhesive, adhering to her wet suit in a dozen places. She then tried to surface, but the seaweed blanket had been anchored, and held her tethered to the bottom.

What the hell?

Somehow she'd blundered into some kind of kelp tangle, Caroline guessed. She needed to slowly work her way out of it, although as she inspected the rubbery stuff she saw that it had been crudely woven, and a thick, gluey slime applied to all the surfaces. It wasn't a tangle; it had been made like a net—and she could see the rope of pearls now dangling from one edge.

This was set up to catch me.

She pulled out her dive knife, peering down to see where she could cut the net loose; once she untethered it she could float to the surface for air. Her lungs began to burn as she sliced and chopped at the kelp, but she ignored the discomfort. She knew she could hold her breath longer than most salvagers, thanks to all the snorkeling she'd done as a sponge diver. The problem was the way the trap had been constructed, and her limited range of motion while being wrapped up in it.

She could very well drown here, in ten feet of water.

Servingas a kitchen scullery at Dun Ard didn't permit Fiacail a great deal of free time, but gave her ample opportunity to observe the MacMar Clan and learn her way around the stronghold. Thus far everyone believed her story that she was Kai, a young castaway male who had jumped ship to avoid being sold as a slave, and had no idea she was a shape shifter who had once been Cait Sith. Some weeks previous Fiacail had been stabbed by her own Cait Sith sister, Dearg, and cast into the sea to drown. Before she could, a shark had attacked her. Then came the wholly bizarre turn, when a strange immortal named Duxor had saved her by somehow merging her body with the shark's.

No one would believe the truth of that. Sometimes even she wondered if it had actually happened to her, or if she abided in some strange afterlife.

Since being saved and transformed, Fiacail had pledged to serve the immortal that had rescued her, and believed she would go on doing so for a time. She had much to think on regarding her sovereign, Derdrui, who had so easily sentenced her to die. Since killing the real Kai and taking his memories, she had shifted into his form so she could disguise herself while on the island, as her master Duxor had demanded.

Spend a moon among them and learn all you may of their troubles with the Selseus. Look for any weakness in their defenses.

The clan maintained their rather extensive defenses at the stronghold with the readiness of an army expecting an attack, which impressed her. Every guard on duty watched her closely, and even the humblest vassals seemed always prepared for trouble. Even Worth, the clumsy scullery who couldn't seem to accomplish the simplest task without creating a minor disaster, advised her to report anything she saw out of the ordinary.

"'Tis the truce with the Finfolk the laird says he ever wishes preserve," the scullery said. "Only I reckon he worries more on these shark attacks."

Erskin, a mortal her master had transformed like her, had been foolish enough to capture and eat some young lambs.

"'Tis why none walk the shores, and warn me stay away?" Fiacail asked him.

The lad nodded. "They found the hand of a mortal killed by a white-mouth—only the hand—with a tooth left in the flesh."

The approach of the full moon had been Fiacail's only true worry, so much so that she had left the stronghold to hide herself in the forest that night. As a Cait Sith she had been unable to stop changing into her true form for a night whenever the full moon's light touched her, but this time nothing had happened. By melding her with the shark, Duxor had somehow eliminated the spontaneous shift that she had suffered each month. Unlike Erskin, Fiacail was able to shift into other forms, and could remain out of the sea indefinitely. She'd suspected there would be a price for these boons, and it came over her whenever she saw Caroline Parish.

The shark wanted to hunt the dark-haired wench, so much so that it writhed inside her like some giant worm each time Fiacail saw the diver, as if trying to free itself from their blended body.

She had no particular desire to kill the diver, and suspected even a successful attack would only result in revealing herself to the MacMar. To appease the beast she pretended to stalk Caroline by following her now and again, at the same time taking care to stay well away from the woman in the event she lost control of her other half. That game both amused her and tormented the shark inside, and gave her the chance to wander along the shore as she watched Caroline dive. She even considered entering the water, shifting into her merged form and following the diver as she worked, but the chance of being discovered by the aquatics seemed too great.

After finishing her work for the day Fiacail walked down the cliff stairs to roam the shore, and saw the dark mortal woman swimming out in the deeper part of the shallows. She frowned, wondering what Caroline was doing as she submerged. After several moments she should have surfaced, but she remained under water. Soon Fiacail sensed something was wrong, and nearly rushed into the water after her. Only the sight of the MacMar's Captain of the Guard walking the stone path reserved for his use by the cliffs made her change her mind and hurry over to him.

"Maister,"she said, remembering to lower her voice, and touch her brow as the other male vassals did to show respect. "The dark lady, she's no' come up for air." She pointed in the direction of where she had seen Caroline submerge.

Nyall sprinted across the sand, leaving oddly deep footprints before he dove into the water. At the same time Fiacail saw the white-haired Selseus commander emerge from the waves, changing direction as he followed the captain. It made her smile to see how quickly they went to the aid of the diver, but then, everything these people did amused her. As if the life of one female meant more than their own.

No one shall ever treasure me thus. No' my master, my intended mate, or my sovereign. Even my own sisters didnae care enough to save me.

A bright flash of white as if from lightning made Fiacail cringe, but when she looked up she only saw clear skies.

"Fack me," she muttered as she saw lightning arc across the bay, seemingly out of nowhere, without disappearing. Then she looked down and saw the men, and from their position wondered if one of them had caused the strange bolt, for it seemed to be following them. Then the light spread in all directions, and dark clouds began to appear, closing around the island.

How could such a thing happen? Was she losing her mind?

Fiacail no longer experienced fear, anger or even sadness about the way her previous life had ended. With the shark inside her all of her emotions had flattened into shadows of what had been, vague and blurred. She rather enjoyed this cold-blooded thing she had become, for nothing plagued her. All her former worries and troubles seemed gone now. If she walked across the sands and found the dead bodies of her sisters rotting in the setting sun, she'd simply step over them. Yet this strangeness in the sky disturbed her.

The shark silently twisted inside her, wanting to pursue the men and kill them as well as Caroline.

"Need you another lesson, you toothy monster?" Fiacail murmured as the beast's urges abruptly receded. "Och, you're no' fun."

She stopped in her tracks as a green glow flared in the water near one of the islets on the opposite side of the bay, the agreed-upon signal summoning her to her master.