Page 17 of Nyall

“I’ve always liked blond men with blue eyes.” She went right up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. Because he was slightly shorter than the captain she didn’t have to reach up as much to press her lips against his.

Jamaran didn’t touch her or kiss her back, but his entire body tensed.

She took her time, as she liked how he tasted of the sea, and the warmth of him, which surprised her. His body radiated the same wonderful heat that Nyall’s did, and smelled like the sea instead of fish. That made her want to cuddle up to him, and imagine Nyall with them—her little menage fantasy seemed to be on continual replay now. Only she had another reason for this exercise, so when she drew back she pushed aside her own needs and watched his stunning face.

“Nothing?” she asked. “A girl like me usually gets some kind of reaction. Or are you the same as your friend, all work and no play?”

“Tell me first why you’re so angry,” he murmured, his eyes filled with compassion now, “and I shall give you the answers you desire.”

Sympathy instead of reaction, like she was a teenager acting out and he was her dad. Caroline thought for a moment she really might punch him. “Go away now.”

“My lady.” Jamaran caught her hand as she stepped up onto the rocks. “With your leave, then.”

She didn’t understand what he meant until he drew her close to him, holding her with one arm as he ran one webbed hand over her hair. For a moment she thought of Nyall, and how he had pinned her against the wall. She also wished he was here with them so he could watch, although she wasn’t sure why.

Jamaran bent his head, kissing the corner of her mouth. That turned into a slow, sensual caress as he moved his lips over hers, stopping just long enough so that she sensed the weight of them for a moment. His mouth drifted across her cheek and against the curve of her ear, catching her earring for a moment, as natural as if he’d done that a couple thousand times. He then rubbed his face in her damp hair, and did the same things again in reverse until he kissed her other ear.

She heard the quick intake of his breath, and his muscles tightening against her, and knew he wasn’t faking anything. No man had ever kissed her like that, and it drenched her in longing. When his mouth touched her temple, she thought her knees might actually give out.

“What the hell are you doing?” Caroline whispered.

“What you did, in my own way.” He drew back to look into her eyes. “Like you I didnae choose my fate. Merrick changed me after slavers left me in the sea to drown. ’Twas so he might save my life, but no’ what I wished.”

The thickening of his accent and soft slurring of his words convinced her that he was French; she’d taken a semester in high school before dropping out and he sounded like her dialogue tapes. He also looked so sad he had to be telling the truth.

“What do you want from me, Commander?” she finally asked. “Just tell me straight.”

“I reckon you’d want an ally outside the clan.” He laced his fingers through hers. “I’m yours as long as you wish.”

That nearly made her hurl herself back into his arms. Yet as much as Caroline wanted to hold onto Jamaran, it could be a huge mistake. She liked everything about him, but she didn’t know him. Then there was Nyall, and that ferocious reaction she had to him whenever he came near her. If she had to choose between the two of them, she wasn’t sure she could. They certainly wouldn’t agree to a threesome, either; this was the twelfth century, when women probably had to pretend sex was a chore or just to make babies. An image of a smiling Rich then popped into her head, reminding her of what had just happened because she had depended on a man she’d had sex with to do right by her.

I don’t owe either of them squat.

“Let me go.” When he did she looked up at the cliff, where someone was watching them—not Nyall, but Shaw, who was carrying a pack on his shoulders. “You know that guy?”

Jamaran followed the direction of her gaze. “Chieftain Shaw, aye. He’s the laird’s second.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with that man.” Caroline suppressed a shudder as Shaw grinned and lifted his hand, as if he’d actually heard her. “Yesterday I saw his eyes turn solid black for a few seconds. Those tats on his arm started moving. I thought I was hallucinating, but the closer I got to him, the more frightened I was. After I punched him, he looked like he wanted to kill me, too.”

Instead of laughing at her he nodded. “The chieftain, he’s afflicted with some manner of dark magic. ’Twas forced on him. Doubtless ’tis what caused the strangeness you saw. He’d sooner end himself than harm anyone.”

“Is there anyone on this island who isn’t enchanted or complicated?” she asked after Shaw had disappeared.

“You, my lady.” As she eyed him Jamaran smiled a little. “I dinnae ken how your life shaped you. Only ’tis what burns in you, a light pure and clear as the sun.”

Before Caroline could ask him to explain, the commander bowed and turned away from her, jumping off the rocks to dive into the water. The splash he made froze in mid-air, and a gull hovering over her turned to a hanging bird statue.

It’s happening again.

She stripped off a glove before she touched the motionless sea water. It moved when she pressed it, but had taken on the consistency of gelatin. She noticed some drops of spray hanging in the air, and grabbed one. The little sphere sat on her palm like a bead of glass. All the sound had vanished from the world, and the sun on Caroline’s skin no longer seemed warm. It was simply light now. She blinked, and the gelatinous bead of water collapsed on her hand. The gentle roar of the waves made her release the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Whatever this is, it took longer this time. Maybe thirty seconds.

That was when she noticed the tall clansman with dark brown hair and a quietly handsome face watching her from the shore. He nodded as she lifted her hand and waved, and then approached the tide pool.

“Mistress Parish,” he said in a deep, soft voice. “I’d hoped to meet you at the stronghold.”

“I don’t like the stronghold,” she said, climbing over the rocks until she could walk up on the sand. The guy was so tall she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, and he had the same bone structure as Nyall. “Which MacMar are you?”