Page 20 of Nyall

Tiene signaled back If she betrays us again, and then pretended to draw her dagger across her own throat.

“Get hold of yourself, Sister,” Speal said. “We must leave and return before the full moon rises.”

At dusk Nyall finished the last of the garrison drills, and sent the men to have their evening meal before he eyed the stronghold. Shaw had left word he’d be gone for a week or more, and Fletcher would cover most of his responsibilities. Nyall wanted to go and speak with the seneschal about the chieftain’s absence, but that might mean seeing Caroline again. All day he’d been unable to keep her from his thoughts, and he knew he’d be unable to resist going to her chamber to look in on her. He also suspected if she touched or kissed him again, he’d have her under him in the space of a heartbeat. The fact that he’d never once trifled with any female on Caladh was beginning to seem ridiculous, too.

I need cool my blood.

Nyall left the lists, stopping to place one of his senior chieftains in charge before he made his way along a stone-covered path to the tree-shrouded cove where he often swam alone. His mortal weakness, which made him immediately sink into any sand or soil, did not plague him in sea water. As a lad he had spent most of his free time swimming, as it proved the only real freedom he’d ever had.

Planting the torch he’d brought with him in the ground, Nyall took off his tunic, weapons and boots before wading into the shallows. The moment the salt water enveloped him his cares seemed to melt away, and he floated for a time. Looking up at the stars twinkling through the canopy of branches and leaves made his tension ease as well, for in the water he was neither a MacMar or Captain of the Guard.

What manner of man shall I become if I entangle myself with Caroline?

The woman from the future had already proven brazen enough to kiss him; she had no maidenly hesitation or pretense of modesty. No, Caroline Parish’s blood seem to run as hot as her temper, which bemused him. He’d never encountered a female so wholly unconcerned as to how others regarded her. She seemed intent only on her own thoughts and needs, and said everything with a rare if blunt honesty. He could not read her, however. If he approached her as a man who desired her, she might welcome him to her bed, or attack him with his own blade.

Both prospects made him experience a curious desire unlike any that had come before for him with females. Nyall could become entangled with her so easily, but if she developed affection for him, he would be unable to return such.

How may I love a thing like you? his màthair screeched from the distant past.

As a lad Nyall had always been locked away from the other sons of Mar, thanks to Tiree’s insistence that they were above the clan and their vassals. The wildly lovely, willful daughter of a powerful highland chief, she had chased after Prince Mar every time he visited the mainland, and finally succeeded in seducing him. After she’d become pregnant with Nyall his sire had at last wed her, but he had never returned her fervent love. He admired Tiree for her beauty, but his heart remained with his first wife, the Fae princess Eilonwy.

If that evil enchantress Derdrui had murdered that woodland slut earlier, then Mar would love only me.

Tiree had always kept Nyall away from his half-brothers, often loudly claiming their common mortal bloodlines rendered them unfit to serve as his companions. That had embarrassed him, and condemned him to a lonely boyhood. He’d been unable to please his màthair, who demanded he excel at every task while denying him the brothers that might have aided his efforts at learning to ride, hunt and fight. Meanwhile, the prince grew weary of his wife’s complaining, and stopped visiting them, fueling her often outlandish suspicions.

He intends take a new wife before I’m in my shroud, does he? I shall make him suffer for each night he spends away from my bed, my lad. Watch me.

Thinking about Tiree in the last years of her life always sent Nyall into a terrible melancholy. She grew so bitter in her loneliness she’d begun drinking all the time, and blaming everyone else for her sorry state. Prince Mar had not been made to suffer, of course; he easily avoided his wife by having his guards keep her from him. The fact that Nyall had matured early, and his body matched his sire in height and build, didn’t help matters. He soon became the target of all of Tiree’s most vicious remarks. She constantly compared him to his sire, declaring him unnatural for the peculiarities his Fae blood bestowed on him. Sometimes his màthair would become so pished by whiskey she would even mistake him for Mar, and attack him the moment he appeared in front of her.

You loved me, I ken you did, so how can you do this? How can you take those common filthy hoors and leave me alone in our bed?

Nyall had done everything he could think of to appease Tiree, spending every free moment with her, listening to her drunken rantings and begging her to calm herself. He’d even spoken to his sire about what could be done for her, but the prince had told him only to ignore her rantings. In the end nothing Nyall had done had made a difference.

One day, after seeing the prince bestow an affectionate smile on a kitchen maid, Tiree had tried to beat to death the poor lass as well as every vassal who attempted intervene. By the time Mar stopped her he had been so angry he threatened to have Merrick remove her memories and send her back to her kin in the highlands. Tiree took a jug of whiskey and stalked off to the watch tower. By the time Nyall found her she’d climbed up on the battlements.

Now he closed his eyes, but that didn’t erase the image of his màthair’s bloated, reddened face or the wide maw of her mouth as she’d screeched her fury over his sire’s threat. When he’d assured her that he loved her, and would even leave the clan and go with her to the mainland, Tiree had laughed at him.

How may I love a thing like you? You’re as much a horror as your sire.

The wind had grown wild that night, making her lose her footing. Nyall had lunged for her, desperately trying to keep her from falling. If only she had taken his hand he might have saved her, but instead Tiree had deliberately avoided his touch, stepping out as if she meant to walk on the air. Watching her fall to her death had been the worst moment of Nyall’s young life.

What he could not forgive himself for was knowing that the moment after Tiree had jumped had been the best.

After the funeral, Nyall’s half-brothers had rallied around him, but because Tiree had kept him isolated virtually since birth they remained strangers to him. To this day he could never completely relax in their company. The only one who seemed to understand that was Duncan.

’Tisnae your fault, the older boy had told him. Her anger and madness, ’twas from a mind sickness. We didnae ken how troubled she’d grown. She hid her suffering, and refused let anyone near her.

After that Duncan had done much to help Nyall to accept his place among their half-brothers, but there remained a rift between him and the clan. As much as he tried to fit in, he never grew accustomed to their camaraderie or their rough affection for each other. Love to him was the very worst emotion, for it had eaten away at Tiree’s mind and soul until it destroyed her. For that reason he assumed he’d always be alone, until Merrick had saved the Norse slave who had freed him from captivity. That day Nyall had realized what Jamaran was thinking from the first time they’d clasped hands on the ghost boat. He’d waited until the next chance he had to speak with the Francian alone, and discovered Jamaran could read his thoughts as well.

Why should the two of us share such a connection? Nyall asked without speaking.

Jamaran had shrugged. Perhaps in another life we called ourselves brothers in truth.

That strange link between them had made all artifice and concealment between them impossible, which might have turned them into enemies. Instead, it served to draw them closer than friends or even brothers. Since Merrick shared the same connection with Jamaran he knew of their bond, and Nyall had confided the truth to Connal when he’d chosen him to serve as Captain of the Guard.

When anything threatens the MacMar, you shall put the safety of the clan before your friendship with the Finfolk commander, was all the laird had said.

Centuries had passed since Merrick had transformed Jamaran so he could join the settlement. After training him in the ways of the Selseus, the king had promptly named him commander of his garrison. Nyall suspected at first Merrick wanted a leader who could in an instant know what his MacMar counterpart would do during conflicts with the clan. In time his reasons had become more obvious.