Page 18 of Fletcher

Something about the drowning lass had awoken the white-mouth as well, but not in a frenzy of wishing to feed on her. Instead the shark seemed only interested in seizing her by the side and dragging her down to the bottom.

Why should the beast wish drown rather than eat her?

The shark doesnae wish drown the landcrawler, you eejit.

The harsh stream of his master’s thoughts blazed through Erskin’s head, making him spin around to search the currents. Quickly he swam to the islet, where Duxor waited in the water. For once his master’s expression appeared amused rather than furious.

Master, you ken the white-mouth’s intent for that lass?

Duxor reached out and cuffed the side of his head. The creature inside you, ’tis more stupit than I reckoned.

He ducked his head in deference, and to hide his resentment as well. Forgive me, Master. I wish only fathom what the beast desires, yet I cannae.

Her scent, ’tis that of an untouched female laden with enchantment. Duxor’s thin lips twisted into a sneer. For the beast transformed, I’ll wager naught could prove more tempting.

Erskin grew astonished. The shark desires eat her magic?

It wishes fill her belly with his young. What other purpose serve females? A mate, ’tis what you need. His master laughed. Now come. The ghost boat with my enemy, ’tis returned. We shall retreat until nightfall.

Lark had altered another of the woolen gowns enough to make it wearable, and changed into it before she decided to venture downstairs with her breakfast tray. A maid who saw her tried to take it from her, but she persuaded the girl to instead show her the way to the kitchens. There she saw dozens of men and women working. Some stood at tables with huge bowls of dough, which they took out by the handfuls and shaped, while others went back and forth with large wooden paddles, taking uncooked loaves out through a side door and returning with others that had been baked. The amount of work they did and their ease at handling the massive amounts of ingredients made it clear they were accustomed to preparing food for a small army.

That’s what a clan is, I guess, Lark thought, impressed.

A skinny woman with strands of dark hair escaping her white cap appeared in front of her, and bobbed in a brief curtsey before she took the tray. “I’m Jamma, Mistress. You neednae return the crockery. Bid the guards summon a maid for you.”

“I just wanted to help out a little.” She nodded toward a long table covered with baked breads and oat cakes. “Everyone is so busy here.”

“Aye, well, please yourself, then.” The maid took the dishes over to a huge wash basin. Over her shoulder she said, “Seneschal’s gone out with Cook, if you’re seeking him. They’re down by the cove, I expect.”

“Thanks.” Lark walked out to the passage that led to the great hall, and nearly bumped into a tall, dark red-haired man with handsome but intimidating features. “Excuse me. Ah, could you tell me how to get to the cove?”

The man’s stern expression turned to surprise. “Why want you go there, Mistress Ambrose?”

Did everyone in this place know her name?

“Just idle curiosity.” Now she wished she hadn’t asked for directions, because the only reason she had was wanting to see Fletcher again. “Never mind.”

“I shall escort you, if you wish.” He bowed. “I’m Nyall, Captain of the Guard.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain. Please, call me Lark.” She fell into step with him as he walked toward a door.

Outside the castle stretched a very large, wide yard where more people were working loading and unloading carts, carrying baskets and leading some horses to and from what appeared to be a stable. The smell of baking bread blended with the sunshine, making her smile. There might not be many conveniences in the twelfth century, but it certainly had a rustic, pleasant atmosphere.

Nyall led her down a hard-packed dirt trail to the first of two high walls with huge metal grates. Men armed with swords and spears bowed their heads to the captain before pulling on ropes to lift the barriers.

Lark noticed all of the clansmen looking at her with obvious curiosity. Maybe she should have covered her hair like the other women at the castle, she thought, but then remembered Valerie hadn’t worn any kind of cap or veil. Their scrutiny made her very aware of her appearance, something that ordinarily never happened. Even when she’d walked through Central Park in her wedding dress people hadn’t stared at her. Maybe that was why Fletcher hadn’t wanted her to go around in the linen dress she’d made.

“If you’ve questions, Mistress Lark, ask them,” Nyall said once they had walked through the second gate. “I shall answer what I may.”

“You’d have to spend all day doing that.” Seeing the huge swath of forest in front of them, and the rocky cliffs to one side hemmed by the sea, made her jaw sag a little. When she turned her head she saw a wall of even higher mountains rising up behind the castle, and no sign of the sea on the other side of the island. “I didn’t realize the island was such a big place.”

“Your New York, ’tis even larger, or so our lady claims.” He kept looking down at her with a strange expression now. “Your family must miss you greatly.”

“I’m afraid not. They’re all gone now,” Lark admitted, and then realized what he was looking at, and lifted her hand. “Would you return this ring to the laird? Lady Valerie said it belonged to his first wife.”

“’Twould be a kindness.” His mouth hitched as he watched her try to take it off. “Dinnae fret. Our lady couldnae pry the ring from her finger, either. ’Tis meant to be yours for now, I reckon.”

“It scares me a little, to think a ring could be a time travel device.” She glanced up at him, surprised at how different he looked when he was smiling a little. “I’m not very brave.”