Page 7 of Nyall

I bet “you’ll have to stay” is what they tell prisoners while they’re still being polite.

Caroline wanted to tell her what she could do with her promises, her castle and her island, but the time freeze and a swelling sense of being trapped in something she’d never understand made it hard to talk. Then she saw Nyall coming through one of the archways.

“No one will hurt you or force you to do anything,” Valerie said quickly. “I give you my word.”

“The last person who gave me his word left me to die today.” To keep from screaming Caroline drained the goblet of water before she got to her feet. “Captain, can I talk to you?”

He came over, bowing to Valerie before he regarded her and held out his hand. “Shall we walk outside, Mistress Parish?”

Looking up at his stern face made her angry, because he’d dumped her in the middle of this mess. She didn’t want to hold his hand, she wanted to kick him in the crotch, but the panic wanted top priority. From the weird sensation in her throat she had a horrible suspicion that any minute she might throw up on his boots. That was when her knees decided to give out.

Thunder boomed outside the castle, so loud it made things rattle.

“Excuse us, my lady.” Nyall lifted Caroline into his arms, holding her against his chest like a groom carrying his bride over a threshold as he walked quickly out of the hall.

“Sorry,” she muttered, closing her eyes tightly. She knew she should tell him to put her down, go to hell, and start her calm-down exercises, but for now all she could do was cling.

“Dinnae speak.” He tucked her head under his chin. “Breathe.”

Where he carried her, Caroline didn’t know. Making herself look would result in some puking, she suspected. At some point they went outside, and then into another part of the castle. She heard men mutter, and a couple offer their help to Nyall. The captain refused each time. His arms remained steady and secure around her, and his steps never once faltered; she was no lightweight so he had to be strong as hell. She knew he might be taking her somewhere to be locked up, but as long as he held her she didn’t care. The warmth of his body overcame everything, even how pissed she was with him.

He’s not like that jerk Shaw. He won’t hurt me.

At last, he turned, opened a door, and then closed it as he stepped inside a dark room. Caroline looked through her lashes at the shadowy space, which had a large, simple bed, some tables and chairs, and so many bladed weapons on the walls it resembled the private arsenal of a knife-fighter. To her dismay Nyall carried her over to the bed, and put her down on it so that she lay flat on her back.

“Where is this?” she asked.

“’Tis my chamber,” he said as he pulled a wool blanket over her legs. “None shall plague you here.”

“Don’t.” As he started to move away she grabbed his arm and tugged him down until he sat beside her. “This whole deal, it’s too much for me, okay? I want to go home.” She hated the whining sound in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. “Please, can’t I just go home?”

He shook his head, put his arm under her, and shifted her so that her head lay against his shoulder. That allowed her to take one deep breath, and then another. The nausea finally ebbed along with the trembling, leaving her so exhausted she wanted to pass out.

“I shallnae leave you,” Nyall murmured.

Caroline closed her eyes. “You better not.”

Chapter Three

Nyall realized his mistake when Caroline’s breathing went from tight and wheezing to deep and slow; when he said her name she didn’t stir. She’d fallen asleep, as trusting as a bairn. Never had any female done such a thing near him, much less in his arms. She’d been in the sea long enough to have salt crystals scattered through her dark hair where the sun had dried it. Judging by the limpness of her body she must have succumbed to exhaustion. This close he could look at her as much as he wished, although he kicked himself for not first lighting a lamp.

How did you come here, my poor wild lass?

Her features seemed almost otherworldly in their striking, dramatic perfection; only a tiny bump on her nose and a mole beneath one eye could be named flaws, if that. Her skin had a deep golden color that silently testified to her love of being outside. She had hair so dark it looked only one shade lighter than black, and yet the pale sun-kissed streaks scattered around her brow and cheeks made her face look as if it were radiating light. Like strokes from a brush wielded by a decisive hand, her black eyelashes and brows added to the smoldering intensity of her features.

Sultry and strong.

Nyall knew her sudden weakness had been an unwilling bodily reaction to all she had endured; he’d seen men react the same too many times after surviving a battle. Only after a crisis did the truth of what had occurred set in. Everything Caroline had said and done told him she was nothing like the other two women brought by the ring to Caladh. Except for him and Jamaran she had rejected everyone who came near or spoke to her. Like some mortals rescued from sinking vessels, she had obviously come so close to death that everything to her must seem now a fight for her life.

His door opened, and Jamaran came inside. He stopped to look at them for a moment before he went and lit a candle, bringing it over to set on the bedside table. The flame reflected in his pale eyes, and his gaze grew fixed on Caroline’s peaceful face.

My thanks. Nyall glanced at the door. The laird sent you, or Merrick?

I came of my own accord after I spoke with the king. He shall do naught for now. He crouched down beside the bed and reached out to gently stroke his webbed fingers over Caroline’s damp hair. She’s no’ Scottish, and she wears the ring. From her manner of speaking, ’tis likely she came from the future as did the other ladies. Poor lass.

Nyall became bemused by the expression on his friend’s face. Jamaran’s usual reserve had vanished, leaving an open tenderness and warmth that made him seem a completely different man. In all the centuries he had known the commander, he’d never known him to react this way to a woman.

Aye, Mistress Parish stirs much in me. The commander’s mouth curved. She’s entranced you as well.