Page 32 of Shaw

“They’re immortal.” Nyall groaned. “If Mistress Scott’s the daughter of a melia and a mortal from her time, she maynae ken she possesses Fae Blood. ’Tis any method by which we may discover her bloodline?”

“Mayhap.” Duncan thought of his cabinet. “We need speak first with the laird.”

Shaw waited until Julianne had fallen asleep before he rose from the bed and dressed. The darkness of his chamber thinned as sunrise approached. His skin remained damp with her sweat and his; his muscles still throbbed with the remnant aches of the lush pleasure she had given him. Here and there he found light scratches from her nails, and dark pink marks left by her avid mouth. She had kissed him more than any other female he’d bedded, mapping his hide with her lips, suckling his cock slowly, even licking his arm where he had been inked. He wished her love bites would remain with him forever.

I dinnae ken what ’twas, loving such a generous beauty.

It was only when he glanced down that he saw new ink marring the flesh over the vault of his upper chest. His skinwork often moved whenever the beast grew agitated, but never before had it settled over and claimed more of his body. Would it do the same to his mind? Had he begun the final slide into madness, as his former Pritani masters had vowed he would?

Why now, when I’ve found such happiness?

Against his will he went over to stand by the bed and watch his lady, who slept with the abandonment of a weary bairn. Slumber didn’t alter her serene loveliness, which made his heart clench. He wanted to pull off his garments and join her, even only to hold her against him and listen to her breathe. Even his hands reached, wanting to touch again the sweet softness of her skin over those long, hard muscles, so womanly and yet like no woman he’d ever taken.

I’ll end her if I remain.

The beast had gone silent and still inside him, but Shaw knew better than to be deceived by that seeming calm. It had to be gathering power and magic from wherever the facking cursed Pritani spirits came, so that it could at long last conquer and control him. Since it craved Julianne as much as he did, Shaw had no doubt that once the beast vanquished him she would become its next victim. He had never slain a female, even after he had been inked and offered to the spirit, but he imagined since the evil darkness craved her, it would use his body to violate her over and again, perhaps until such killed her.

He bent down, but a moment before pressing his mouth to her brow he sensed the beast stirring, and quickly backed away from the bed.

No. You shallnae harm her.

Shaw left his chamber and used the back passages and stairs to leave the stronghold. No one stopped him at the gates, but every man on duty watched him with their hands on their weapons, ready to defend themselves and the clan. He no longer frightened his brothers, he realized. He had united them in their determination to stop him from becoming the beast entire— and that, he suspected, was Nyall’s doing.

Climbing down the cliff stairs, Shaw walked out to the bay shore and looked out over the calm waters. In a few hours the sun would rise, and he needed to be far from Caladh by then. Wading out through the shallows, he submerged and swam for an islet the clan rarely visited, where the ferry boat the clan used for trips to the mainland had been tied to an old dock. There on a stool, a blade and a hunk of driftwood in his hands, sat MacLeir, the stout Fae halfling who served the MacMar as their ferryman.

“You neednae speak,” Shaw told him as he hoisted himself up on the dock and shook off. “I must borrow your boat.”

MacLeir’s slightly pointed ears flicked back and forth, a sign of his agitation, and then a very large, broad man in a dark, hooded robe came to the railing of his boat. All that showed of his face was half his chin and the tip of his nose, but the intricate embroidery on his cuffs and hem told Shaw what he was.

“Fair day, Chieftain,” the druid said in an unexpectedly young voice. “I fear I now occupy this vessel, at least, until my host delivers me to Dun Ard. I’m Master Trabalar, summoned from the mainland by your laird.”

Shaw eyed the ferryman, who nodded. “Connal summoned you?”

“Aye, for your lord’s wishes and those of our council collided in a most agreeable manner.” His hood moved as if he were gazing on Shaw’s marked arm. “Shall you come aboard and break your fast with us? I’ve just made a pleasant brew for our morning meal, and your ferryman’s quite generous with his stores.”

MacLeir glared at the druid before regarding Shaw and shrugging, as if he had no say in the matter. Since any word he uttered would cause the islet to shake, trees to topple and the very sea to churn, he was obliged to remain silent.

Shaw walked up the gangway onto the ferry, followed by its captain, and joined the druid in the three-walled cabin just before the bow. There on a brazier steamed a pot with a fragrant brew. The ferryman had provided some oatcakes spread with gleaming blackberry jam, along with sliced pears and cheese, which he offered to him while Trabalar filled three wooden mugs with the brew.

“Och, forgive me.” He wrapped one mug with a cloth before handing it to Shaw. “The laird mentioned your mortal weakness in his message. Such must plague you often.”

“I dinnae gaily stroll through woods,” he told him. “Nor shall I ever serve my clan as carpenter. You seem more interested in my slave ink.”

“’Tisnae oft these days that I see the marking from a Pritani Choosing ritual,” Trabalar admitted, pulling back his hood at last, but keeping one side of his face averted. “I should tell you that I’m badly scarred, if such would disturb you. My face oft causes bairns to weep.”

Shaw gestured to his arm. “Reckon you anything should, after I’ve endured such a monster near a thousand years?”

The druid faced him, his long black hair combed over to veil a blind eye and deeply scarred face and scalp. His ear on the damaged side of his head appeared almost melted. Although to an untrained eye Trabalar’s disfigurements appeared to be caused by grievous burns, Shaw recognized the cause as the sunlight made the mottled flesh sparkle.

“You almost lost your head,” he said. “A spell gone awry, I’d guess.”

“Aye. An untrained novice wished eliminate his rival for the affections of a young druidess, and cast a mutilating spell on the other lad.” He sighed. “As I detected the cast I moved to shield the rival from harm and deflect the attacking magic. Some of the lash did as you see. The remainder ended the novice in a most unpleasant manner.” He nodded toward his marked arm. “Might I ask you remove your tunic, that I may observe the extent of the damage done by the Pritani?”

Shaw sensed the beast slithering around inside him as if agitated, and quickly stripped off his tunic. “Look swiftly, druid.”

“By the gods.” Trabalar’s one good eye shifted as he took in every mark. “You ken the symbols, they’re to summon and hold the darkest of spirits, aye?”

“Since butchery, ’tis all that pleases the facking thing, I reckoned as much.” Unwilling to resort to his final resolution if there was another way, he asked, “If I burn or cut away the ink, shall the spirit leave me?”