Page 15 of Nyall

Her brilliant gaze softened for a moment. “I want to believe you, Captain, I really do. But so help me God, I’ll never trust anyone again as long as I live.”

Chapter Five

After twenty-four hours Caroline got a somewhat better handle on her strange situation at Dun Ard. That was mainly thanks to Lark, who came the next morning to deliver the promised belt along with a pair of slightly too-large hide boots. While she measured her for some new clothing, the little redhead answered all her questions. She also told her about her own trip through time, and what she had gone through during her first days on the island.

“You can stay in here and no one will bother you,” the seamstress said. “Valerie’s put the word out to the staff and the clan to leave you alone. I’ll have a maid deliver the clothes I make for you if you don’t want to see my face again. That’s totally okay, too. It’s a lot to deal with, just coming here. You need the space, take the space.”

At least Lark understood. “What if I don’t want to stay in the castle?”

The other woman thought for a moment. “I’m sure the laird can find a place for you to live and work somewhere else on the island.” She grimaced. “Everyone works, I’m afraid; it’s just the cost of living in the twelfth century on an isolated island where everything has to be produced by hand. Do you have any particular skills or talents besides diving?”

“Why can’t I dive?’ she countered.

Lark looked surprised. “Well, I suppose you can. Our cook always needs shellfish, which the fishermen are usually too busy to collect. He used to get some of the local village boys to do it, but Valerie has them all going to clan school now. Oh, and I’d love to have some abalone shells to see if we can make buttons from them.” She smiled. “We barter instead of using currency, so I can pay you in shirts, pants or lingerie, if you like.”

“Then all I need is another place to live.” Caroline went over to the window slit, which she had uncovered during the night. From the guest room she could see over the walls to the bay, which sparkled in the sunlight. “Will the fish people mess with me if I’m by myself, the way they did with you?”

“Merrick punished the boys who tried to abduct me pretty harshly, so I doubt it.” The seamstress joined her. “Is there something that’s making you want to leave?”

“Pretty much everything. The people, the clan, the rules. I don’t need to get involved in this Fae magic crap, or end up being forced into some kind of medieval shotgun wedding.” Caroline nodded toward the mist barrier. “They’ve made it clear that they’re not going to let me off this island, either.”

“That’s not true. I mean, you can leave if you really want to.” Lark appeared uncomfortable now. “Before you go to the mainland Merrick will erase your memories of the clan and the island, and how you came here. That’s to keep the clan’s enemies from finding this place. It’s almost guaranteed to leave you with total amnesia. Women in this time are pretty dependent on their families and social status to protect them, but away from Caladh you won’t have anyone, or any place to call home.”

“So, I’d likely end up in more trouble anyway.” Caroline nodded. “All right. I appreciate the honesty and the advice. Thanks for the belt and boots, too.”

“No problem. I hope I didn’t make things worse for you.” The seamstress took a small bundle out of her skirt pocket and offered it to her. “It’s just a comb and some ribbons. No brushes or ponytail elastics in this time.”

After Lark left, Caroline tossed some wood on the dying fire and sat down to work out the knots in her hair. Every tug of the comb reminded her that she would no longer be able to depend on anything or anyone but herself. If her mop became tangled, she’d have to deal with it—no handy detangler spray in the twelfth century, either. If she left Dun Ard, she’d have to find shelter, food, and a way to live on her own. She wondered if she could harvest enough from the ocean to barter for what she’d need. Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Lark, she really had no other skills beyond diving, other than cooking, cleaning and a little gardening.

Think of something. Caroline’s need to get away from the castle grew more intense by the hour, especially when she remembered how Shaw had looked at her.

She used a blue ribbon to tie back her hair before she stripped, dressed again, and then grabbed the tray one of the maids had brought up to her. When she stepped out into the passage it surprised her to see the guards had gone, just as Nyall had promised her.

Maybe he isn’t a liar after all.

She walked down the passage to the stairs leading to the lower floor, where she followed her nose to what she hoped was the kitchen. A young servant glanced at her as he came out of there, showing he had very pretty but mismatched eyes.

“Excuse me,” Caroline said, and when he stopped she nodded past him. “What’s the name of the clan’s cook? I haven’t met him yet.”

“Brochan, my lady,” he said in a soft, almost feminine voice. His blue and brown eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. “He’s the tallest, and loudest.”

“Thanks.” She headed in.

The clan’s kitchen—kitchens, she corrected herself—looked almost as big as the great hall. Various foods being prepared covered dozens of wooden tables and counters, and hundreds of pottery jars and jugs lined the shelves built into the stone walls. From a long rack overhead tied bunches of herbs hung, drying in the sunshine that poured in from the wide windows, which looked out onto a busy yard where men and women were carrying things back and forth. The air smelled of yeast bread, warm fruit and roasting chicken.

Brochan turned out to be a towering bald man standing at one of the tables and sorting through a small mountain of greens, stripping leaves from the stems. He had the kind of build that would make gladiators look anemic, and yet worked with a precise delicacy that she liked. His dark eyes took her in with a single glance, and while he didn’t smile she had the sense that he approved as she set the tray down on one corner of the table.

“Thanks for the food,” she said. “You’re Brochan?” When he nodded she said, “Nice to meet you, I’m Caroline Parish. Need any shellfish today?”

“I’m ever wanting oysters, sea snails, and urchins,” he said in a deep, booming voice as he nodded toward some weathered baskets in one corner. “Bring me as much as you may gather from the tide pools round the bay, lass, and I shall kneel at your feet.”

“Save the genuflecting,” she told him. “For now, I’m paying for my room and board. After I move out of here, then we can negotiate deliveries and payment.”

“Very wise. I like you already.” He grabbed two baskets, a primitive-looking short-handled rake, and a pair of leather gloves.

“Got my own,” Caroline said as she pulled on her zip gloves before taking the rest. “Thanks for lending me the gear.”

Walking outside instantly made her the center of attention; every person walking or working stopped what they were doing and stared. She ignored them as she made her way to the first gate, where the guards glanced at each other with obvious confusion.