Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A s Duncan rarely carried any sizeable weapons, he went to the garrison armory to retrieve a spear, a long sword and some throwing daggers. The blades weighed heavily in his hands, but he would need them once he entered the Stone Forest. For protection he wrapped a leather brace around his throat, and shrugged into a well-padded sparring coat that would prove too thick for the wee monster to bite through to reach his flesh.

Unless he attacks my face, and tears away my lips, nose and ears. He grabbed a helm with a grate he could see through, and buckled it onto his head.

"You cannae wish spar wearing all that," a cold voice drawled from behind him. "What do you intend fight, Healer?"

He sighed and faced Nyall. "A Fae egg fell out of my nulling cabinet and hatched in the infirmary. The spawn demanded a bairn before fleeing the stronghold."

The captain added another sword to his belt and pulled on a heavy leather cloak. "What manner of spawn?"

"I cannae tell you. The egg, 'twas gold, but the magic bronze and amber." He shook his head as Nyall picked up a huge mace. "You cannae destroy such imps by smashing them. Each piece grows into a new imp within moments, creating an army of them." He pocketed a firesteel. "Burning, 'tis the only sure method. You neednae come."

"I've naught more I may attend. The laird and Merrick, they've gone out so they may view the damage to the mist barrier," the captain said as they strode out of the garrison hall. "We should bring Shaw. He may end the wee fiend with a finger tap."

"He's with Mistress Scott." Duncan reached the first gate and waited for the guards to raise the portcullis. "I dinnae wish her learn of the imp."

"These ladies from the future, they're no' easily shocked," Nyall said as they passed through the gate and paused before the next. "Caroline accepted Jamaran almost from first sight."

"Your wife, she's wondrous brave as well as beauteous. I dinnae ken how you and the commander share her affections so easily, but I'm happy for you." To save time he ducked under the grate before the men could raise it completely. "Mistress Scott seems much the same as Lady Caroline, although 'tis something about her that I find puzzling."

"She looks upon us almost fondly," Nyall said, nodding. "Yet we're strangers to her, and you've seen her putting her hands on Shaw. What female on the island should act so bold?"

"You've made note of the strange color of her eyes, aye?" When he nodded Duncan changed directions to follow the trail to the Stone Forest. "'Tis something too in her gaze I near recall, as if she and I crossed paths in the past. Yet she came from the future, and I vow we've only just met."

"Mayhap she's an old spirit. Caroline told Jamaran that she saw the lady's appearance change for a brief moment in the sunlight," the captain said, and then related the details before he asked, "I found some scrolls in our sire's archives that mention a very old order of woodland immortal that lived in the mortal realm long before the Fae. Indeed, 'twas said they taught the melia their strange magic. They possessed dark green hair and skin. Or reckon you she's a shifter, like the Cait Sith?"

"Never." He didn't know why he was so sure, only that he was. "That lass, she's no' evil. If she served the enchantress, by now we'd all rot."

"'Tis my reckoning as well. She's too open and sweet-natured." Nyall slowed as they approached the outlying trees of the Stone Forest, and held out a hand to stop Duncan. "Look, there, in the center grove."

He peered at the cluster of willow trees at the heart of the petrified woods, and saw amber and bronze sparks flying out from behind one of the glistening trunks. "The imp came from the mainland. The thing wouldnae ken the melia here ended themselves long ago."

"If they did. Connal reckoned they might yet live in the realm within their trees. Our sire named that the forest world." Nyall drew a dagger, and pointed to the right. "I shall flank you there. Distract the imp while I approach."

Duncan debated on drawing a weapon, but decided the Fae creature might flee at the sight of a blade. He walked slowly and quietly toward the willow grove, stopping when he saw a tiny creature crawl around to the front of one trunk, pounding on the stone bark as if trying to hammer its way inside the tree. The woodland imp resembled a badly-carved hunk of moldy wood, with twigs for limbs and a pointed head. It had no eyes, but when it hissed with frustration it bared dozens of needle-fine teeth.

"You cannae open that door," he said, catching the imp's attention. "'Twas sealed from within many centuries past."

The tiny creature tilted its head back and made a sniffing sound. You did thus to my mistresses, son of Mar? I shall gut you and every sack of meat on this cursed island.

"Of course I didnae seal the ladies in their trees. Ever we've respected the melia of the island." He made an encompassing gesture. "After my sire Prince Mar died, they cast a spell before they retreated into the willows and pines. That made the whole of the forest change into stone."

My mistresses should never do such. For your falsehoods you shall be the first I end. The imp uttered a piercing, furious squeak, and flew directly at his helm, its jaw stretching wide.

Duncan didn't know if it could bite through the grate that protected his face, but if it did he knew it would try to blind him first. Then it would choose a soft spot where it could burrow into his skin with its snout, and eat its way through his muscle and bone until it devoured him from the inside out.

A heartbeat before the tiny creature struck his helm a gloved fist reached out and snatched it from the air, slamming it onto the ground and impaling it on a thin dagger.

"Firesteel," Nyall barked.

Duncan's hands shook as he knelt and struck a piece of flint against the curving metal of the firesteel, making several bright sparks shower the imp. One caught his twiggy arm alight, and the captain gently blew on it until a small flame appeared.

The child doesnae belong here, the little creature screeched inside Duncan's head. She carries my mistress's magic. 'Twill end all you foolish halflings.

"Name the child and your mistress," Duncan said, "and we shall find both ."

The imp made one final shriek of outrage as the flames spread across its body, reducing it to gray ash a moment later.

"Facking vicious thing." Nyall removed a pouch and scraped up the ashes to deposit them inside. He then carried it over to the melia's ancient ritual altar, bowing low before emptying the pouch atop the weathered stone.

Duncan removed his helm, and went over to bow before the altar. Although no one had seen a single sign of the melia since they had retreated into their trees and cursed their forest, he experienced a twinge of shame for destroying one of their creations. Although the imps were vicious and mindless, they only attacked mortals so they could–

"Captain, the imp, 'twasnae mindless. I could hear its thoughts. It also attacked me a second time after tasting my blood in the infirmary." He pulled the leather brace from around his neck. "It called me son of Mar."

"I heard the wee fiend's thoughts as well," Nyall told him. "Only why should it believe a bairn capable of ending the clan?"

"I cannae tell you. Melia, they're ever the gentlest of Fae." He pondered what the imp had said to him. "If one lost her daughter on Caladh, why should she no' come and find her? She'd only need speak with the laird, and he'd send the whole garrison out so they might search."

"Mayhap the bairn's màthair doesnae yet ken her daughter's here." The captain went still, his eyes narrowing. "'Tis been better than five moons since we found a female from this time in our waters. The last, 'twas Deidre, who begged Merrick take her memory and return her to the mainland, where her family awaited her."

"Aye, I recall. Of course, there's Mistress Scott." He thought of Julianne's unusual eyes, and the troubling fact that she had brought Shaw back from the future. "Reckon you the Fae 'twill live in the far future?"

"They're immortal." Nyall groaned. "If Mistress Scott's the daughter of a melia and a mortal from her time, she maynae ken she possesses Fae Blood. 'Tis any method by which we may discover her bloodline?"

"Mayhap." Duncan thought of his cabinet. "We need speak first with the laird."

Shaw waited until Julianne had fallen asleep before he rose from the bed and dressed. The darkness of his chamber thinned as sunrise approached. His skin remained damp with her sweat and his; his muscles still throbbed with the remnant aches of the lush pleasure she had given him. Here and there he found light scratches from her nails, and dark pink marks left by her avid mouth. She had kissed him more than any other female he'd bedded, mapping his hide with her lips, suckling his cock slowly, even licking his arm where he had been inked. He wished her love bites would remain with him forever.

I dinnae ken what 'twas, loving such a generous beauty.

It was only when he glanced down that he saw new ink marring the flesh over the vault of his upper chest. His skinwork often moved whenever the beast grew agitated, but never before had it settled over and claimed more of his body. Would it do the same to his mind? Had he begun the final slide into madness, as his former Pritani masters had vowed he would?

Why now, when I've found such happiness?

Against his will he went over to stand by the bed and watch his lady, who slept with the abandonment of a weary bairn. Slumber didn't alter her serene loveliness, which made his heart clench. He wanted to pull off his garments and join her, even only to hold her against him and listen to her breathe. Even his hands reached, wanting to touch again the sweet softness of her skin over those long, hard muscles, so womanly and yet like no woman he'd ever taken.

I'll end her if I remain.

The beast had gone silent and still inside him, but Shaw knew better than to be deceived by that seeming calm. It had to be gathering power and magic from wherever the facking cursed Pritani spirits came, so that it could at long last conquer and control him. Since it craved Julianne as much as he did, Shaw had no doubt that once the beast vanquished him she would become its next victim. He had never slain a female, even after he had been inked and offered to the spirit, but he imagined since the evil darkness craved her, it would use his body to violate her over and again, perhaps until such killed her.

He bent down, but a moment before pressing his mouth to her brow he sensed the beast stirring, and quickly backed away from the bed.

No. You shallnae harm her.

Shaw left his chamber and used the back passages and stairs to leave the stronghold. No one stopped him at the gates, but every man on duty watched him with their hands on their weapons, ready to defend themselves and the clan. He no longer frightened his brothers, he realized. He had united them in their determination to stop him from becoming the beast entire— and that, he suspected, was Nyall's doing.

Climbing down the cliff stairs, Shaw walked out to the bay shore and looked out over the calm waters. In a few hours the sun would rise, and he needed to be far from Caladh by then. Wading out through the shallows, he submerged and swam for an islet the clan rarely visited, where the ferry boat the clan used for trips to the mainland had been tied to an old dock. There on a stool, a blade and a hunk of driftwood in his hands, sat MacLeir, the stout Fae halfling who served the MacMar as their ferryman.

"You neednae speak," Shaw told him as he hoisted himself up on the dock and shook off. "I must borrow your boat."

MacLeir's slightly pointed ears flicked back and forth, a sign of his agitation, and then a very large, broad man in a dark, hooded robe came to the railing of his boat. All that showed of his face was half his chin and the tip of his nose, but the intricate embroidery on his cuffs and hem told Shaw what he was.

"Fair day, Chieftain," the druid said in an unexpectedly young voice. "I fear I now occupy this vessel, at least, until my host delivers me to Dun Ard. I'm Master Trabalar, summoned from the mainland by your laird."

Shaw eyed the ferryman, who nodded. "Connal summoned you?"

"Aye, for your lord's wishes and those of our council collided in a most agreeable manner." His hood moved as if he were gazing on Shaw's marked arm. "Shall you come aboard and break your fast with us? I've just made a pleasant brew for our morning meal, and your ferryman's quite generous with his stores."

MacLeir glared at the druid before regarding Shaw and shrugging, as if he had no say in the matter. Since any word he uttered would cause the islet to shake, trees to topple and the very sea to churn, he was obliged to remain silent.

Shaw walked up the gangway onto the ferry, followed by its captain, and joined the druid in the three-walled cabin just before the bow. There on a brazier steamed a pot with a fragrant brew. The ferryman had provided some oatcakes spread with gleaming blackberry jam, along with sliced pears and cheese, which he offered to him while Trabalar filled three wooden mugs with the brew.

"Och, forgive me." He wrapped one mug with a cloth before handing it to Shaw. "The laird mentioned your mortal weakness in his message. Such must plague you often."

"I dinnae gaily stroll through woods," he told him. "Nor shall I ever serve my clan as carpenter. You seem more interested in my slave ink."

"'Tisnae oft these days that I see the marking from a Pritani Choosing ritual," Trabalar admitted, pulling back his hood at last, but keeping one side of his face averted. "I should tell you that I'm badly scarred, if such would disturb you. My face oft causes bairns to weep."

Shaw gestured to his arm. "Reckon you anything should, after I've endured such a monster near a thousand years?"

The druid faced him, his long black hair combed over to veil a blind eye and deeply scarred face and scalp. His ear on the damaged side of his head appeared almost melted. Although to an untrained eye Trabalar's disfigurements appeared to be caused by grievous burns, Shaw recognized the cause as the sunlight made the mottled flesh sparkle.

"You almost lost your head," he said. "A spell gone awry, I'd guess."

"Aye. An untrained novice wished eliminate his rival for the affections of a young druidess, and cast a mutilating spell on the other lad." He sighed. "As I detected the cast I moved to shield the rival from harm and deflect the attacking magic. Some of the lash did as you see. The remainder ended the novice in a most unpleasant manner." He nodded toward his marked arm. "Might I ask you remove your tunic, that I may observe the extent of the damage done by the Pritani?"

Shaw sensed the beast slithering around inside him as if agitated, and quickly stripped off his tunic. "Look swiftly, druid."

"By the gods." Trabalar's one good eye shifted as he took in every mark. "You ken the symbols, they're to summon and hold the darkest of spirits, aye?"

"Since butchery, 'tis all that pleases the facking thing, I reckoned as much." Unwilling to resort to his final resolution if there was another way, he asked, "If I burn or cut away the ink, shall the spirit leave me?"

"I fear no'." Trabalar's expression grew pained. "From what your laird wrote, 'tis remained bonded with you these many centuries. 'Twill stretch beneath your skin and entwine with your flesh and bone. I reckon 'tis as much part of you as your own blood."

"MacLeir, give us the boat for a moment, I beg you," Shaw said.

As the ferryman nodded and moved past him, he pressed one of his big hands on his shoulder in a rough, comforting touch. It made him want to howl, for MacLeir had never before shown him any pity or compassion, even when he'd brought him back after the clan's rescue. That more than anything told him he should do as he'd always resolved to in the end.

'Twillnae end until I do, and 'tis only one sure means of such.

"Before you ask what you wish of me, Chieftain, you should ken that I cannae slay another being," the druid said once MacLeir was out of earshot. "Nor shall the council condone any of druid kind ending you. Doing thus, 'twould invite the wrath of many old gods."

"I dinnae wish ask you or your kind kill me," he told him. "Yet what I shall speak on now, you must pledge you shallnae repeat to the laird or anyone." Once the druid dutifully swore he would keep silent, he said, "Ken you the lands of the northwest? 'Tis said a great island there called Gardarsholmur. 'Twas settled by the Norse."

"I ken of that land, aye," the druid said. "Some of our traveling brethren trade with those who dwell there. They no longer raid, and as such remain at odds with the Norse who go a-viking."

"'Tis said there one may find in that land fire mountains that spew smoke and molten rock," Shaw said.

"The eldfjall , aye." Trabalar looked puzzled now. "The Norse settlement there doesnae kindly welcome visitors keen on exploration, if you reckon sailing there."

"I shallnae trouble the Norse. I but need a map that shows the location of the closest fire mountain from the shore." As Trabalar started to speak he touched his chest where the new ink had appeared. "Yesterday 'twasnae any skinwork here. The marks of the beast, 'tis now spreading like rot. I need visit the fire mountain before the darkness devours my mind and heart."

The druid winced. "You tempt me break the vow I just made. How should you come to such a sorrowful decision, Chieftain? Surely 'tis some hope of containing the spirit. We druids ken many powerful spells. Indeed, with your leave I shallnae rest until I discover such that shall aid you–"

"Lad, please." Shaw reached out with his unmarked hand and touched his shoulder in the same way MacLeir had shown his compassion. "I've lived with the beast since boyhood. I've fought so I might keep myself sane and whole and serve as a prison, no' a slave. I just spent the best night of my life in the arms of a lady I could love, had the Pritani no' marked me. The beast desires her for what reason, I dinnae ken, only 'twill prove her doom. 'Tis for her sake and that of my brothers and their vassals that I must win the battle I've fought so long before this thing, 'tis set free. Help me, I beg you."

The druid rubbed his good eye, leaving the side of his finger wet. "Aye, Chieftain. I shall find the map you need."

Nyall sent a guard to the tide pools with a message for Caroline, summoning her to the stronghold to meet with Valerie before the morning meal. Since the laird's wife rarely asked for her, she grudgingly stopped her gathering. Once inside the stronghold she stopped by the kitchens long enough to hand off what oysters and urchins she'd already collected for the cook.

"Och, if only you'd no' wed the captain," Brochan said, sighing with delight as he inspected her haul. "I'd whisk you off your feet in a blink, my lass."

"Pay me in flour, don't regale me with your lustful regrets," Caroline advised him drily, and then thought of something. "Have you met Julianne yet?"

"Mistress Scott? Aye. She hardly spared me a glance." He scowled. "She's every man's dream wife, yet no one may challenge the chieftain his first claim. I expect I'll dance at their wedding before summer's end."

That surprised her. "You think Shaw's going to marry her that fast? Why?"

"He yet follows the lady everywhere she goes," Brochan said, sounding depressed now. "Never he's shown so much attention to any mortal female he's pursued." He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a murmur. "Except when he wished hunt and kill you. 'Tis as that, only happier. And grandly lustful."

The cook's observations stayed with her as she went to find the laird's wife, whom a maid said had gone upstairs to be fitted for a new gown.

"This doesn't look promising," Caroline said as she joined Valerie and Lark in the seamstress's work room, where no fitting appeared to be taking place. "Let me guess: to keep the locals happy I have to start wearing floor-length dresses and cover my hair all day. If that's the case, I think my islet is going nudist twenty-four-seven."

"You can keep cross-dressing and flaunting," Valerie said, glancing at Lark, who was winding some thread around a carved wooden bobbin as if her life depended on it. "We need to have a talk about Julianne while Connal and Nyall are distracted by the mist barrier problem."

In some ways that seemed worse than a new dress code. "Why are you worried about Shaw's goddess? She's genuinely nice, and I'm pretty sure she's keeping your brother-in-law from turning into a walking tsunami of killer black goop. I've told that to my husband, too, by the way."

"Julianne is nice, and I appreciate how she's keeping Shaw from melting down." The laird's wife held up her hand and wriggled her fingertips. "It's just that I can't read her mind. I've tried to, several times since she arrived on the island, with no success. I was worried we might have another Kai situation, so I asked Lark to try using her boon on her."

"It was a no-go for me, too." The seamstress grimaced. "When I tried to lift her chair a little during the morning meal she stayed put. I nearly dumped a pitcher of cider in Valerie's lap, though."

"Interesting that you thought you should try. We agreed me using my boon was a very bad idea, given that the time freeze doubles every time I do." Unsettled by their revelations, Caroline wandered around the chamber. "But I'm guessing if yours don't work on her, then mine won't, either." She belatedly realized why Valerie had mentioned this missing scullery who had turned out to be Cait Sith. "Wait, no, Val. No way Julianne is a shifter."

"It would explain how she was able to bring Shaw back from the twenty-first century," Lark said slowly. "Because she didn't. She somehow tricked him into believing she did."

"Julianne's teleportation ability could be a spell of some kind the enchantress cast over her, or a shifter ability we weren't aware of until now," Valerie added, nodding. "We all agree that there's something not quite right about her."

"Trust me, ladies, you're wrong," Caroline said.

"You may want to ignore it, but it's only too obvious," the laird's wife said. "Julianne's intelligence seems quite limited, and she's always highly cheerful and willing—the perfect way to ingratiate herself with the clan. She already has a great deal of influence over Shaw. The maids tell me that they just spent the night together, and one heard Julianne begging for mercy."

"That would be the same maid who tells everyone I'll be struck down by the Gods because I sleep with two men," Caroline told her.

"Okay, the maids aren't that reliable, but have you noticed how Julianne hardly ever looks anyone in the eye?" the seamstress put in. "Just like Kai did when he was working in the kitchens."

"Her speech is all wrong for a shifter. How could one know the millennial slang Julianne uses?" As she said that, a memory of a boy in high school came back to her. Jamie had always been happy and open in the same way Julianne was. Before dropping out Caroline had done her best to shield him from the hateful kids .

That's why she seemed so familiar to me.

"I agree about the slang usage," Valerie said, "but Cait Sith can absorb the memories of those they kill. What if one of them intercepted a woman from our time before we could get to her?"

"Maybe that's why Kai left so suddenly," Lark said, nodding. "So we wouldn't know when he impersonated her–"

"–or maybe Julianne is on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum," Caroline countered, silencing her. She regarded the laird's wife. "Valerie, you were a teacher. Please tell me you've seen kids like her before now."

"Of course, I have." Looking stunned, the laird's wife pressed a hand to her brow. "I never once thought of that."

"Why would the ring bring back an autistic adult?" Lark asked.

"You might as well ask why bring back a teacher with a masters, a trade school grad and a high school drop-out who never bothered to get a GED. Regardless of our brains or education, we were all in danger of drowning. We all have emotional connections to our guys through the rotten experiences we've shared." Caroline sighed. "I don't know. Maybe Julianne is the only type of woman who can handle Shaw's big bad ink thing. She's quite smart, too, you know."

Valerie looked mystified now. "Why would you think that?"

"She may not use a lot of three-syllable words, Teach, but the girl already mentioned some solutions for Shaw's problem as well as the Selseus and their need for women." She related what Jamaran had overheard the lifeguard tell Merrick, and what Shaw had told Nyall about Julianne's suggestion that he parlay with his beast. "If she seems limited to you, it's because she's probably not well-educated. Jamie, an autistic boy I knew in school, passed every year because he worked hard and didn't cause any trouble in class. I bet Julianne's teachers did the same thing with her."

The laird's wife sighed. "Some think it's a kindness to keep them out of special ed."

"Someone with a unique perspective is all it takes to fix a problem that no one else can," Caroline told her.

"I want to believe you're right, but I have a responsibility to the mortals who serve the clan," the laird's wife said. "Somehow we have to make sure that Julianne is not Cait Sith."

"Duncan," Lark said suddenly. "He has that cabinet of Fae curiosities that nulls the enchantments of the objects he places inside."

"I don't think we'll be able to fit our lifeguard on one of those little shelves," Caroline said, growing more annoyed.

"If Julianne is Cait Sith, then she's wearing a fake shape, right?" As Valerie nodded, the seamstress grinned. "If she reached inside the cabinet for something, the nulling effect would show her hand as it genuinely appears, which would be covered in black fur with long, sharp claws. Someone just needs to stand behind her and watch."

"Are you going to tell her you're testing her?" Caroline demanded. "If she turns out to be just a human being who is wired a little differently?"

Lark cringed a little. "Since it's my idea, I'll tell her."