Page 58 of Connal

Men scattered this way and that as the chieftain and laird staggered to their feet and pummeled each other in earnest now. Nyall knew Shaw to be holding back, and only returned a mild blow for every savage punch he took. Connal, on the other hand, appeared fully intent on beating him senseless.

“Dinnae dance with me, you wee scunner,” the laird shouted, shoving Shaw over a table. “Fight like a facking man.”

The chieftain landed lightly on his feet, and brought down his inked arm on the trestle’s top, which split it into three pieces and made the legs snap.

“I cannae, you blind dobber,” Shaw roared back at him.

A large wave of water suddenly appeared over them, falling to drench them both.

“Enough.” Fletcher dropped the empty bucket. “If you mean to kill each other, go to the lists. I’ll no’ trouble the maids mop up your blood. Better still, I’ll save the clan more grief and end you both myself.”

Everyone in the clan had seen the seneschal lose his temper a few times. The threat of that happening again made most of the men back away from him until they lined the walls.

“Apologies, Fletch,” Shaw muttered, wiping his bloodied nose with the side of his hand as he eyed the laird. “My lord.”

Connal took a step toward him before shaking his head and turning away. “Dinnae cross me again today, Chieftain.”

“You shall cease threatening our brothers,” Fletcher said, appearing still unappeased. “What the fack ’tis wrong with you?”

“’Tis what I suspected,” Duncan said, folding his arms. “He’s in love with the lady. Why else should he beat his own brother thus?”

Meg, who had just walked in from the kitchens, stared in horror at the laird before running back out.

“I shall deal with you later,” Connal promised the healer, his eyes glittering with cold fury. “Fletcher, go to MacLeir and bid him ready the ferryboat. The stronghold, ’tis yours until I return with Valerie. Shaw, summon five of your best, and dinnae come near me again until the ferry docks. Captain, I’d toss your arse in the dungeons, but I need your arm, so you’ll come along as well.”

Nyall wondered what his eldest brother would do if he said no. Then he thought of Jamaran being caught on his return to the bay, and what the laird might do to him if he refused to give him any information about Valerie. “Aye, my lord.”

From there the clan moved into action, and Nyall went with Shaw to the garrison hall, waiting for the chieftain to condemn him for his part in the lady’s escape. He spat some blood on the ground, probed a rapidly-darkening bruise under his right eye, but otherwise kept silent.

“I’m no longer a lad you need coddle.” Nyall stopped him outside the hall. “Say what you wish.”

“Eejit. Dolt. Reckless, thoughtless arse.” With each word the chieftain delivered a smack to the back of his head. “You’re worse than a lad with half the sense. Involving that white-haired bastart in your scheme when you ken the strain between the clan and the Finfolk, ’tis never been so great. Didnae you once think to speak with me or Fletcher? Didnae you ken how crazed ’twould turn Connal?”

“Aye.” He nodded toward the hall. “’Tis been a year and more since I’ve seen him so lively.”

Shaw pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods take me back to the facking Pritani.” He went into the garrison hall and began bellowing for the men he wanted.

Before Nyall could follow he heard a shout for aid. He turned and ran toward the sound, and saw the gate guards swarming around the drooping figure of Jamaran, still dripping wet from the sea. He seized the portcullis to jerk it up, and suddenly dozens of arcs of white light exploded all over the gate, scorching the iron-plated oak. As soon as he released it white wisps of steam rose from the gate’s blackened wood.

No’ steam. ’Tis smoldering.

Nyall used a fire bucket of sand to thoroughly douse the portcullis before ordering the wide-eyed guards to raise it. The warped gate only lifted part way before becoming stuck, and he ducked under it to hurry to Jamaran, who panted as if strangling on the air. He’d also been badly beaten and slashed on the arms, chest and legs.

“We must take him back to the bay,” Nyall told the other men, seeing that Jamaran’s wounds still bled, and knowing only the Finfolk could heal him. He put an arm around his friend, who sagged with exhaustion. “Come, Commander.”

“I must first tell you,” his best friend gasped, and then dragged in a lungful of air before he added, “Mistress Baker.”

“’Twill wait,” he assured him. “You cannae remain on land in such a state.”

Shaw joined them, glancing back at the ruined portcullis before he went to help Nyall with Jamaran. “What manner of sea beast tangled with you, Commander? A whale-killer?”

“Mistress Baker,” the commander said again, and held out an object attached to a thin chain. “She didnae reach the meeting place in Aberdeen.”

Nyall frowned as he took Valerie’s locket from him. “Did you bring her back to the island?”

“I couldnae,” Jamaran said. “A dark woman and a dozen sailors ambushed us when we reached the harborside. I tried to fight them, but ’twere too many. They took the lady and left me for dead.”

Chapter Twenty