Page 13 of Nyall

“Whenever I’d wager you’re more ice than man, you char me.” He leaned forward. “She’s already chosen you over Jamaran, or she wouldnae cling to you like a wee lost bairn. She’s also saved you from your mortal weakness, as we all saw on the shore. Only your Finfolk friend couldnae take his eyes from her, and waited watching you both as you took her away. ’Twill prove interesting, how the pair of you shall navigate your path with the lady.”

Nyall rubbed his eyes. “What want you from me, Brother? Ask or go.”

“Caroline Parish sees me—the whole of me, no’ just the outside.” All the hilarity left the chieftain’s handsome face. “From the moment she set eyes on me, I reckon she saw what I hide. I cannae tell you how, only ’tis likely why she wished break my face. She did thus again when she first came into the great hall.”

That made no sense. “How could you ken what the woman sees?”

Shaw gestured to his inked arm. “The other did. No wench ever saw past my looks, so I’m fashed. ’Tis taken all my will, staying away from her.”

He was also worried about what Caroline’s reaction might do to him, Nyall guessed. “You wish go on keeping a safe distance from the lady, then.”

“Aye, unless you wish her unsafe.” Shaw sat back in his chair. “You need learn what ’tis the boon Lady Joana’s ring bestowed on her, quickly. If she possesses some gift of Fae vision, then she’ll see more than what lies within me. She may aid us with Derdrui and the Cait Sith.”

Nyall’s eyes narrowed. “You reckon the shifters shall try come here disguised?”

“I shouldnae put such past that facking Fae witch and her grovelers.” The chieftain rose. “I’ll walk the shoreline and look for treasures that may please Duncan. That should keep me away from the stronghold a week or more.”

As Shaw left, Nyall was tempted to go after him and try to persuade him out of such a solitary quest. The more time the chieftain spent alone, the more difficult his private battle with his secret affliction grew. All anyone knew about it was it had been forced on him by a tribe of renegade Pritani, who had captured Shaw as a lad and trained him to serve them as an enslaved warrior. When he returned to MacMar at last, everyone realized the happy, handsome boy they had known had been entirely transformed by his abductors, and given dark gifts that had to do with the strange ink patterns etched on his arm.

The chieftain refused to tell anyone exactly what the skinwork meant, or how it had changed him. Yet over time they had all seen him demonstrate unnatural and sometimes frightening abilities.

Nyall knew the darkness in Shaw had been growing as well. Driven almost to the point of suicide by his affliction, he’d entered into a pact with him, pledging not to end himself if Nyall would kill him when he finally lost control. In the end he would keep that vow, for no one—even him and his best fighters—could ever prevail over Shaw in a battle. Before he did, he intended to do whatever he could to prevent the chieftain from sacrificing his life to protect the clan.

Made restless by his thoughts, Nyall left one of his senior chieftains in charge of the garrison and returned to the stronghold. Of all the MacMar the one he trusted and confided in most often was Duncan, the clan’s healer, so he went to the infirmary. There he found him treating the senior kitchen maid for a hand she’d scalded in a mishap.

“Keep your hand dry, Jamma, and dinnae meddle with the blisters,” Duncan said as he finished wrapping a strip of clean linen around the maid’s burned palm. “Come see me in the mornings so I may change the dressings. Och, and for the love of Mar, tell Brochan keep that fool scullery away from you and anything heated.”

“Aye, healer.” She sighed as she turned her bandaged hand this way and that, and then saw Nyall and bobbed before she departed.

“Worth caused another facking mishap?” Nyall asked as he came in and closed the door.

“Worth causes all the facking mishaps. He’s but grown even more clumsy since that Brochan took on that odd-eyed castaway lad.” Duncan placed a jar of salve among the others on his treatments shelf before he rubbed the palm of his own hand. “Mayhap I should send the scullery somewhere he may do some good. Need we any sheds torn down, or deadfall burnt?”

“Ask the Seneschal when he returns.” He accepted the mug of brew the healer offered him but sniffed it and recognized the soothing blend of herbs. “You reckon I need calming?”

“’Tis that or a beating,” Duncan said drily. “I’m too weary for a bout in the lists this morn. Tell me.”

“Shaw’s leaving for a time.” He related most of his conversation with the chieftain before he added, “Both ladies who came before Mistress Parish possessed boons bestowed by the ring. Reckon you she has the sight?”

“’Twould explain why she punched Shaw, only I cannae say. She shallnae permit me close enough to examine her, much less ask what’s changed since she came. Nor shall she soon, I reckon.” Duncan eyed his black cabinet, in which he stored the Fae objects that had been discovered on Caladh since the time of their sire. “I’ve naught that may expose or measure a boon. Mayhap you should ask the lady tell you, once she comes to rely on you.”

He frowned. “You think she doesnae now?”

“If she’s like our other ladies, she doubtless believes us all mad with our tales.” The healer gave him a sympathetic look. “Your beauty seems contrary by nature as well.”

“She’s no’ mine.” Even as he said that Nyall wondered why it gave him pleasure to hear such a thing. “Nor shall she become thus.”

“Tell Connal and Fletcher, who said the same.” Duncan sighed. “With these ladies arriving from the future with such regularity, mayhap the laird should rework the truce with the Finfolk. Does Jamaran intend offer for Mistress Parish? ’Twould seem he possesses equal claim, as you both brought her ashore.”

“He doesnae wish wed.” Nyall knew why his best friend had always refused to take a mate, but wondered if Caroline would change Jamaran’s mind. “The laird shall sort out the claim with Merrick.”

“I should go carefully there. The Finfolk grow impatient with the clan for denying them the last two females to arrive in our waters. They shallnae much like a third refusal.” The healer picked up his medical bag. “I’ve a stable lad still abed with a broken foot, two maids with coughs, and a weaver with a sprung shoulder, so I must make my rounds. Need you anything more?”

“Get on with you.” Nyall left him, and walked the passages until he came to the hall of guest rooms.

Lady Valerie had assigned two guards to stand outside the largest and most comfortable guest chamber, but as he approached both men crossed their spears to deny him entry.

“You need knock and gain permission first, Captain,” one of them said. “Else the lady takes offense.”