Page 10 of Nyall

Some tired chuckles came from the others, but they all knew their future depended on finding the MacMar Clan. If they did not soon provide the enchantress with the revenge she desired above all else, they would join Fiacail in death.

“We shall set sail at midday,” Speal told them as she took out the map she’d taken from the harbor master’s office, and rolled it out onto the table. “The MacMar’s enchanted island, ’tis likely somewhere near the spot where we captured the seneschal and his hoor. We shall begin our next search from there.”

Nyall escorted Caroline from what he called the garrison hall back to the big room on the first level of the castle, which gave her a chance to take a good look at the exterior and the ways that appeared to lead out of the main building. She needed to know how to escape this place fast if the situation got worse than it was. The MacMar couldn’t watch every single inch of their medieval fortress. Her new priority was working out an escape route that wouldn’t get her killed.

Not much of what she saw suggested what her chances were.

If this was the twelfth century, it seemed to be the squeaky-clean version. Everyone they passed looked healthy and neat; all of the men appeared young and strong, like walking advertisements for fitness places. The interior of the castle smelled like herbs instead of filth, and while the only windows she saw were more like tall slits only a few inches wide, they let in a decent amount of light and fresh air. When they reached the first level Caroline smelled bread baking and something like warm apple cider. Both scents reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

I don’t need food. I need to get the hell out of here.

The captain stayed with her in the great hall while a maid went to fetch the laird’s wife, who came back and behaved as if nothing had happened. Valerie’s bubbly blond hair and obviously faked sweet expression reminded her of the airheaded sorority sister types that came to St. Augustine to wear capris with their bikini tops, shop for jewelry, and complain about the effect of salt water and sand on their manicures.

Be polite. She’s married to the guy in charge. I piss her off, I really might end up in a dungeon.

“I’d like to borrow some clothes,” she told her, keeping her tone neutral.

“Of course. I’ll take you up to the sewing room; I’m sure Lark has something you can wear for today.” Valerie regarded Nyall with another sugary smile. “I’ll have Ms. Parish stay in the guest room near our quarters, Captain.”

“My thanks, my lady. Mistress Parish.” He bowed to them both and left.

“Sorry I haven’t been friendly,” Caroline said, trying and probably failing to look apologetic. She never could fake the niceties very well. “All of this is a lot to take in.”

“I want to apologize, too. I’ve been through the same experience, so I know better than to dump so much outlandish information on another modern woman.” Valerie wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t we count this as our first meeting? I’ll try and do better this time.”

The laird’s wife took her from there through several long passages to a small room where a petite, freckled redhead stood pinning fabric pieces to a crude dress form made of straw bundled and tied to a wooden pole. This girl looked about twelve years old from the back, but when she turned around she showed she had the definite curves of an adult. Once Valerie made the introductions, Lark Ambrose assured Caroline she would see to her clothing needs.

“I’m still teaching my apprentices how to make patterns, so it will take us a couple of weeks to sew a wardrobe for you. For now I have some things that should fit.” She went to a big cabinet and opened the doors. “Would you prefer a dress, a blouse and skirt, or shirt and trousers?”

She needed something she could run in, Caroline reminded herself.

“Shirt and trousers.” She touched the ballocks dagger hidden under her sleeve, which had become almost like a talisman. “With a belt, please.”

From the cabinet the seamstress took out a cream-colored linen shirt and a pair of dark pants, which she brought over and held up in front of Caroline.

“This outfit should do. Everything in this time is laced, I’m afraid, but I have the clan’s carpenters working on wood buttons, and the village smith making wire I can fashion into eye hooks. I’ll make the belt as well, but I’ll need to measure your waist.” She gestured toward a door at the back corner of the room. “If you go in there you can change.”

“We’re all girls.” She removed both knives before she reached for the pull on the tab beneath her nape, tucking it under her arm before using it to open the back zip of her suit. After she eased the collar loop over her head, she worked the suit down to her waist.

Despite what she’d said both women politely turned their backs to her as she stripped off the suit and the rash guard one-piece she wore under it. They probably had belonged to the same sorority in their time, Caroline thought, sourly amused. Once she stood naked, she checked herself for any injuries before she tugged the wide-sleeved linen shirt over her head.

“I’m covered now,” she told them as she studied the trousers, which had corset-type fastenings. “Do these laces go in the front or the back?”

“The front is easier for convenience. If I could measure you for the belt?” Lark turned around and used a strip of ribbon to encircle her waist, which she then marked. “Wow. Your waist is smaller than mine.”

“My mother’s gift. She had that fifties hourglass figure that drives guys crazy.” She didn’t want to think about her mama right now. Didn’t these women miss the families they’d left behind in the future?

Maybe they’re like me and don’t have any.

Valerie picked up her discarded suit and one-piece from the floor. “This is marvelous—Lark, look at this back panel. It has ridges like a heating pad.”

“That’s because it’s a heated wet suit. The batteries are in those pockets under the arms.” Caroline stepped into the trousers, which when laced up proved a little tight around her hips. She loosened the laces enough to make the fit comfortable before she pulled the shirt down over them. “Can I borrow some shoes?”

“The best I can do right now are slippers.” Lark went to a trunk and from there produced a pair of moccasin-style leather shoes with cloth lining. “We’ll have the clan’s cobbler measure you for some boots. Would you like me to have your things laundered?”

“All detergents destroy neoprene, and I doubt you have any wet suit cleaner or conditioner around here. I also need to disconnect and remove the batteries.” Caroline pulled on the shoes, which were only a little loose, and picked up the basket in which the seamstress had placed her things. “Is there a place I can work?”

“I’ll have the maids bring what you need to the guest room,” Valerie said, taking hold of one of the basket handles. “That’s our next stop.”