Page 44 of Nyall

At some point Valerie came into the chamber and took her place at his side; she said nothing but took hold of his hand and simply stood with him. She had always been able to sense his moods and respond to them quietly, without fretting or fussing when she grew worried. He knew himself to be doubly blessed, first by Joana and now the woman her ring had brought to him. That he had been given the chance to love two strong, courageous ladies seemed more than he deserved. He also dreaded the days ahead, when he might be forced to end the life of a brother who had never asked for or merited the terrible burdens placed upon him.

“I need your counsel, Wife.” He met her gaze. “Shall we take a walk through the forest?”

After morning drills Nyall listened to the reports of his patrol chiefs, and ordered them to continue searching for the missing scullery, although most of the men believed the lad had either been attacked in the water or had drowned himself.

“He seemed happy enough,” Brochan’s chief kitchen maid Jamma later told him when he went to speak to her about the castaway. “Aye, and went about the work with no complaints. I dinnae believe he’d choose go in the water.”

He frowned. “Why say you such?”

“Worth slopped a bucket on his boots at the well one morn, and I heard the lad hiss as an angry cat would,” the maid said. “He worked barefoot the rest of the day rather than wear wet boots.” She shook her head. “Never I’ve seen him wash more than his hands, either.”

From the kitchens he went to report to the laird, only to learn from Connal’s guards that he and his wife had left early for a stroll. That left him with too much time and not enough to do, so he went back to the garrison hall to inspect the armory. Counting blades and assuring their condition battle-ready had always been one of the more tedious tasks he gave himself, but he needed the solitude. That he soon regretted, for Caroline’s voice began murmuring from his memory.

Your clan doesn’t need me. I thought you might.

He had never once given her any reason to believe such a thing, Nyall assured himself. Their night of passion had been just that: vigorous and inventive facking that the three of them had greatly enjoyed. Just recalling how it had been with her and Jamaran made his cock harden. He badly wished to join them again for a night, but if such convinced Caroline to believe he wished more than the pleasure they could give each other, he would have to put an end to it.

The woman already drove him wild with longing for her; that was all the madness he would allow himself.

Nyall saw his reflection in the brightly-polished surface of a long sword, which he stared at for a time. From his màthair he’d inherited his red hair and eyes so dark they appeared black in most light. Prince Mar had gifted him handsome features, and a tall, strong body, but in coloring he looked no different than Tiree. Because he had been her only child he’d always looked different compared to the rest of the clan. Was that why his sire had avoided him for most of his boyhood, leaving him in the cruel hands of his insanely jealous màthair? Had the prince ever once wondered what she had been doing to his son?

He abandoned her, and forgot me.

“Here you hide.” Fletcher came into the armory with a large crate in his arms, which he set down on the inspection table. “Lark bid me bring you these new gauntlets. She claims the buckled straps shall hold fast better than laces, and shall allow adjustments for fit. Why scowl you at me? ’Twas by your bidding she altered them.”

“’Tisnae your wife’s efforts. Please offer the lady my thanks.” He took out one of the gauntlets, to which the seamstress had sewn the new straps. “She does very fine work.”

That made the seneschal grin. “You’d never ken such fragile hands handle leather as if ’twere fine linen, aye? She’s a marvel with her awls and wee hammers. I’ll need guard against the cobbler tasking her with boots next. What’s plaguing you, then?”

Nyall had never been particularly close to Fletcher; Duncan had always been the one brother among the MacMar in whom he placed the most trust. Seeing the seneschal’s happiness made a strange, grinding envy twist inside him as well. Yet aside from the laird, Fletcher was the only other MacMar wed to a woman from the future.

“I wish ask you something about Lady Lark,” he said. “If you dinnae mind.”

The seneschal chuckled. “Why should I?”

“You vowed never to love another female,” he reminded him. “Why did you break your vow for your lady, then? Why didnae you simply keep her as your lover?”

The seneschal’s brows rose. “You reckon ’twas my choice? Before she came, ’tis true I’d rather skin myself than kill another woman with my love. Lark also reckoned herself cursed. ’Twas our misfortunes kept us apart at first, but naught could stop us from loving—no’ even Idonea at her worst.”

The clan’s former seamstress had died from her injuries during a Finfolk attack orchestrated to separate Lark from Fletcher. Just before her death her obsessive, secret love for Fletcher had been revealed, along with the dreadful things she had done because of it, which had left them all shocked and horrified.

“I didnae intend remind you of that.” Nyall grew uneasy now, as if the seneschal might soon say something about him and Caroline. “You’ve no regrets?”

Fletcher’s expression softened. “How could I? She’s a wonder, my lady. So kind and gentle, and beyond generous with her affections. She’s become so much a part of my life I barely remember what ’twas, living without her.” He eyed him. “Love, ’tisnae a choice, you ken. I fought myself on that account long and hard. Or mayhap love chose bring us together. Whatever the cause, I’m grateful beyond words for Lark.”

Nyall nodded. “I wish you and your lady naught but joy, you ken.”

“Aye. Even our long lives dinnae provide us with an endless supply, so we must make our own.” Fletcher smiled. “Take care and show yourself kindness, Brother. Then do the same with your lady. ’Tis where you must begin if you desire ken true happiness.”

After the seneschal left Nyall finished his inspection and stowed away the gauntlets, and then walked out to the cove for a swim. Each time he retreated to the sea his cares would usually dissolve, at least for a few hours. Now, however, he found himself scanning the shore for any sign of Caroline out gathering. When he realized what he was doing he cursed himself and set out from the sheltered spot to the ridge of rocks beyond, where he saw Connal and Valerie standing atop them.

“My lord, my lady.” Hoisting himself out of the water, he climbed up to join him. “What do you here?”

The laird’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I wished show my wife the view of the bay from here.”

“He’s lying.” Valerie ignored the way Connal scowled at her as she pointed to a mound of stones just beneath the water. “Duncan found something under all that and brought it to him. We’re trying to figure out why someone would hide it here.”

“The ridge blocks the currents,” Nyall told her. “’Tis why so little washes up on the rocks. What found Duncan, my lord?”