Page 28 of Nyall

He imagined the straw bundle tied to the first post he reached as the vicious partner who had abandoned Caroline to die in the sea. He could well envision such a spineless, worthless bastart whose greed for treasure outweighed the value of a woman’s life. Like the raiders who killed for what they could pillage, he’d had no heart nor any reason to exist.

As Nyall struck the target, cutting it and the pole in two, dozens of bolts of lightning streaked overhead, turning the dark sky a ghostly white.

Shaw gathered a stack of wet driftwood, his touch drying and then setting flame to them so he could cook the two fish he’d caught. He’d likely use his tartan to drape some rocks higher on the shore to fashion a shelter for the night. He’d walked steadily since leaving Dun Ard, and knew he still had more than three-quarters of the island’s shoreline yet to search. Two weeks rather than one would likely go by before he returned to the stronghold, unless he coaxed MacLeir into ferrying him to the mainland.

Aye, go where live thousands, that’s the wiser course.

The damnable itching of his arm had finally subsided at noon, and while the darkness still roiled inside him the beast had stopped poking at his thoughts. Shaw liked to sleep under the stars, especially away from Dun Ard, and expected this night would be a peaceful one. He’d not had many of those since the women from the future had begun arriving on the island.

And now that dark one, with eyes that see through me.

Caroline Parish might look like a man’s fevered dream, but she had recognized the truth of what he held inside him. His notice of her keenness had roused his beast like nothing else could, for beyond killing anything that moved, it wished to remain hidden. Shaw suspected it feared something connected to it being revealed, as from the moment Caroline had struck him, it slavered for the dark beauty’s blood.

Why ’tis my fate, that I must serve as caldron for such a hideous stew?

He would never know the entire truth, and sometimes that plagued him more than the burden of the beast. When the tribe’s shaman had brought him to the standing stone for their strange ritual, Shaw should have fought to the death to avoid being swallowed up by their dark magic. Yet he’d been only a lad, and assumed being inked was nothing more than being marked a slave. The prayers their shaman had offered up to their gods had seemed silly. Only when the fire they had built with bones had turned black atop the prayer stone did he realize what had come for him, and by then it had been too late. The shaman had dragged and then thrust him on his knees before the blackness. It had enveloped him, sinking into and becoming part of him.

Since then that nameless, featureless beast from the bone fire had dwelled inside him, as much a part of his heart as his own spirit.

Bitterly Shaw knew if he’d never been enslaved he might have become a different man, a better man. As a lad his brothers had ever teased him for his name, which Prince Mar had told him in Fae meant “wolf of the wood.” He’d named him thus because even as a bairn he had been swift and silent, and his looks reminded Mar of Eilonwy’s stunning beauty, something that his then mortal wife had tolerated. His sire hadn’t realized then that Shaw’s mortal affliction, which caused anything made of wood to burn when he touched it, would make a mockery of his name. His màthair had urged him not to take offense, for he had gifts the other lads envied.

Lasses shall ever chase after you for your beauty, my boy. Only take care, for ’tis your heart that matters, no’ your face.

Since being freed from enslavement Shaw had hoped the curse that the tribe had inflicted on him would end, and he could prove that he deserved a place among the MacMar. It had taken centuries for him to accept that, like his Fae blood, the beast would always remain a part of him.

“What do you here, Chieftain?” a deep, familiar voice asked from the shadows.

He glanced over as Merrick walked out into the moonlight. For a moment he hated seeing the tall, golden-haired aquatic, for his beauty could be like the sun, even in darkness. Shaw knew he looked much the same, but beneath his prettiness lay a yawning abyss of the grotesque, unseen as yet by anyone...except, perhaps, Caroline Parish.

“I’m luring kings out from the safety of their palaces and personal guards,” Shaw told him, keeping his resentment off his face. “’Twould seem I’ve much talent for such.”

“Och, lad, I came here long before you. Indeed, I’ve been sent so I might wait on your arrival.” The big male crouched down in front of his fire. “’Twould seem you’ve only lured a few sea trout—a puny pair at that. Need I teach you how you may better fish?”

He knew Nyall wouldn’t have asked the king to come after him, and Fletcher had still been on the other side of the island when he’d left. That left one brother who harassed him almost as much as his facking arm.

“Duncan cannae keep his mouth shut,” Shaw said, fisting his hands.

“He spoke with your laird, I expect. In truth, ’twas Connal asked me find and send you back. He worries, the lad.” Merrick’s blue-gold eyes caught the firelight and glittered as he looked over him. “You’ve no’ cut the ink from your arm, and you seem clear-eyed tonight. Why, you’ve even spoken with a civil tongue, at least, what passes for one with you. Why plague you your brothers by scampering off?”

“I live for naught more,” Shaw assured him.

The king made a musing sound. “I’ll guess ’twas something with that hot-tempered dark wench caught up with my commander and your captain. She’s a beauty, although I’m told her tongue, ’tis as sharp as a blade. Connal seems uneasy with her as well.”

He hated that the other man could read him so easily.

“’Tis best I stay far from her for now.” He didn’t even like talking about the diver, so he quickly changed the subject. “You should go and pester Fletcher for news of Meg. I wonder if she’s set her cap on one of those fine Mackay lads yet.”

“I pray she has every morn and night,” Merrick told him, sounding sincere. “For I can offer her naught but more pain. She’s suffered enough on my account.”

For a moment he envied the other man, whom he suspected had fallen in love with the fiery-haired chambermaid from the moment she’d arrived on Caladh. She’d been a child then, but even when she came into her maidenhood the king still avoided her for a time. Merrick’s people had some taboo about red-haired females, and refused to let them join their kind. Atop that, Meg had no wish to be queen or live in the sea, and the king had already used his one chance to transform a mortal in order to save Jamaran’s life. It seemed ridiculous that the two of them should give their hearts to each other, and yet they had without reservation.

Seeing them together made that plain to everyone, which was why Meg had chosen to leave Dun Ard and go to work on the other side of Caladh, which was as far as she could get away from Merrick and still remain on the island.

“Apologies,” Shaw said. “I shouldnae add to your torment. You may tell my eldest brother I’m well, and shall return when I may again best serve him.” That time might never come, but the king didn’t need to know that much.

“Which ’tis the same as saying you’re in trouble, eejit.” Merrick’s gaze shifted to his arm. “You’ve endured your Pritani affliction for centuries. Why now do you fight so desperately? What torments you? Surely no’ the wench.” As he started to shake his head he added, “I shallnae say a word, you’ve my vow.”

The temptation to tell the king all grew almost overwhelming; keeping silent all this time had been almost as much a torment as resisting. Yet if Merrick knew exactly what lay inside Shaw, he would kill him this very night. As wise a course as that seemed, he wasn’t yet ready to die—not when he suspected he could hold out a little longer.