Page 13 of Fletcher

Thanks to his frequent trips above the surface Merrick had more tolerance for air-breathing than most other Selseus, but it would not do for him to appear desiccated before his subjects upon his return. At his nod the captain carefully poured the sea water against the closed gill slits on either side of his throat. The dousing made them plump out and flare, and breathing in the sea water brought welcome relief to his parched lungs.

As soon as they cleared the freezing mist of the barrier, his gaze went to the long pale crescent of sand hemming the bay’s waters. He expected to see the tall figure of a rude, red-haired girl who often came to collect shellfish from the shallows, but the beach now appeared deserted.

Where go you now, Margret?

Merrick knew the chambermaid remembered the slave ship wreck that had left her stranded on Caladh. What Meg had forgotten was who had found her in the depths of the sunken hull, and breathed life into her lungs before he’d swam with her to the surface. She had been starved before being sold to the slavers, making her appear all bones and huge eyes, but still she had fought to free herself from his arms. She’d kept staring down at the wreck, the breath he’d given her streaming from her mouth in bubbles as she screamed for her younger sisters.

The color of her hair had already decided her fate; the Selseus had a superstition about females with red hair, and did not take any as mates.

After dragging Meg to the shore, Merrick should have erased her memories of the sinking. Instead he told her that everyone else on board the ship had drowned before he and his men had reached them, and that she should be grateful to be alive. The child had said nothing, only standing stiffly with her small hands knotted into fists as she stared back at him. Bemused by her ferocious temper, haunted eyes and blazing red hair, he had reached out to wipe the tears of rage from her cheeks.

No one but Merrick knew who had given him the curl of tiny scars on the heel of his right hand. Meg had bitten him so hard she’d drawn blood, and then ran away, hiding in the forest for much of the day before a MacMar patrol had finally found her.

Stop brooding on that unsuitable wench, and work out where Duxor may now hide.

Merrick’s innumerable responsibilities included keeping a close watch over the son of his treacherous uncle. Although he had apparently done nothing to follow in his sire’s wake, Duxor still held a grudge; that much Merrick sensed. He also suspected that the hatred that had brewed in his cousin in the centuries since his father’s execution had been the motive behind his abrupt departure. His cousin, who had likely been promised much by his turncoat sire, had instead been removed from the line of succession forever due to his blood relationship with a traitor. That place had been given to Bered, the son of his grandfather’s brother, and the last Selseus born of royal blood.

Something else unnamed but far more ominous also now waited in the vast expanse of the sea, something to do with Duxor vanishing. Merrick knew that much in his bones. Try as he might, he could not fathom what his cousin intended by leaving and hiding.

Looking at the island of the MacMar Clan, and the broad bay inhabited by the Selseus, he wished yet again for the simpler time of his youth, when his sire had ruled, and all that mattered was hunting and carousing with his friends. He’d had no inkling that his sire would be poisoned by one of the traitor’s last followers just after the brief rebellion, or that he would be crowned just after sealing the king’s remains in the royal vaults. One day he had been a carefree lad, the next a monarch ruling over a people nearly torn apart by anger and grief.

“My king.” One of the deckmen came over and bowed. “Lord Bered approaches.”

Merrick went over to the starboard hull ladder, and reached down to help his heir and second in command over the side of the boat. “You neednae come greet me.”

The short, stocky Selseus accepted a drying cape from one of the hands as sea water gushed from his gills. He shook himself off, making the many ropes of pearls around his neck rattle, and then took a breath to speak.

“The MacMar took another castaway female from the bay,” Bered told him, his noble face already twisted with wrath. “Their seneschal snatched and dragged her ashore before we could reach the shallows. ’Tis plain the MacMar mean to steal all the women for themselves now.”

This new and unwelcome turn made Merrick’s hackles rise. Several moons past Connal MacMar had claimed a female from the bay, which still generated significant anger among the finfolk. Primarily the reason had been that the laird had taken a female perfectly suitable as a Selseus mate, as Valerie Baker had the golden hair and curvy shape that his men preferred most. In the end Connal had resolved the matter by wedding Valerie, but not entirely. Even now some of Merrick’s people still resented the loss of a potential mate for one of their unmatched young males, the number of which now steadily grew larger.

“You didnae brace Fletcher for the female?” As his cousin shook his head Merrick’s tension eased. Of all the clansmen on Caladh, the seneschal had proved to be the one MacMar fully capable of breaking the truce between their people. “When did your patrollers spot her, then?”

Bered stroked one of his pearl ropes. “That day I summoned them out to the kelp fields. One of the harvesters claimed a deformed white-mouth, ’twas stalking him. Word then came from the watchers, and I sent two to claim the woman. By then Fletcher had taken her to shore.”

“’Twas likely a rogue venturing into our waters. The native sharks dinnae come into the bay.” Merrick had used his ability to crudely communicate with the local predators to prevent them from swimming through the settlement and frightening their females and young. “Did the watchers see the female in our waters alone, or with the seneschal on land? What does she look like?”

His cousin made a dismissive gesture. “They ken the MacMar took her, ’tis all that matters.”

That was Bered’s way of admitting the female had already been claimed by the MacMar on land without putting as much into words.

“What matters, ’tis preserving the truce,” Merrick told him. “Since you botched the claim, I must surrender her so we may keep the peace with the clan.”

“Tell such to all the young men in need of mates,” his heir suggested before diving over the side of the boat.

Jamaran, the Selseus garrison commander, came to join him at the bow. A former mortal enslaved by the Norse, the warrior had risked his own life to free Merrick from imprisonment and certain death after his masters captured the king. For his efforts he had been cast in the sea far offshore to drown, but Merrick had reached him in time to transform and save him.

“Bered brings contentious news.” Merrick related the details, but didn’t have to ask what the white-haired warrior thought of his second’s report. Thanks to their connection through the power used to transform Jamaran, he could hear the younger man’s thoughts. “If Fletcher took her from the water before the patroller’s eyes, then by right she’s ours. Yet my heir couldnae describe her to me.”

“I wouldnae brace Fletcher before you learn the truth.” Jamaran’s pale eyes shifted to gaze at the island. “I’d fight Shaw before I’d scuffle with the seneschal.”

“Aye.” Merrick rubbed his chin; the last time he’d angered Fletcher, the landwalker had landed a single blow so hard he’d nearly broken his jaw. “Mayhap I’ll send Bered in my stead.”

Chapter Five

After the confrontation with Fletcher, Lark immediately left the hall and made her way upstairs. The guards she passed must have overheard her tantrum, as they all gave her wary looks. By the time she made it to the guest chamber her steps slowed as her temper cooled and regret set in. All things considered, the MacMar had been very kind and caring. Even if their medieval customs were absolutely ludicrous, she should be respectful of them.

As for Fletcher…