Page 50 of Shaw

“Stop calling Buster evil. It’s dark, but so is the universe. That comes from this uber long poem that I had to write a report on when I started high school.” She sighed, remembering the huge red F scrawled across her paper. “Never compare darkness to your ninth grade English teacher, by the way. After you do she like hates you forever and won’t give you any grade better than a D minus.”

He smiled a little as he turned to face her. “How anyone should hate you, I dinnae ken.”

“When you’re this tall, this blonde, and have boobs this big?” Julianne shook her head. “Everyone hates you, especially other girls. Even my bestie told me that she was glad I was intellectually challenged, because if I was also smart she’d kill herself.”

“She doesnae sound like a friend,” Shaw said, tugging her into his arms.

“Eva was, really. She looked out for me a lot during high school, and kept me from doing dumb stuff that could get me hurt. She just hated herself for not being as tall or pretty.” She slid her hands up his chest, and let herself relax. “Being totally gorgeous isn’t so great, you know. Girls don’t trust you or they think you’re after their guys. Like every guy hits on you, too, even the ones who are married. I went to this party one time, and the married dude hosting it cornered me in his bathroom. Told me he was totally in love with me and had to have me right there, like on the floor. With his wife on the other side of the wall, baking those little sausages in biscuit dough.”

Her lover made a hmming sound as he slowly tugged the wide band around the waist of her robe loose.

“He was drunk, but man. I had to do some serious weaving and dodging.” Julianne reached behind him to untie the laces of his pants. “I appreciate you not being married, by the way. Sorry I’m already hitched. Or that I will be in the future.”

Shaw touched his brow to hers. “No regrets between us, my lovely merrow.”

“Remember that,” she said softly as she took hold of his marked hand. “I don’t regret a single thing I’ve done since I got here. Especially this.” She pressed his hand against the tattoo under her breast. “And the whole dark and light thing isn’t so bad. We kind of go together, like chess pieces and piano keys and salt and pepper. I just wish we were back in your room at Dun Ard. That reed mat isn’t all that comfortable, and I’d like to–”

Everything around them blurred.

Speal finished dressing the enchantress, who looked and smelled much better after a long hot bath, and stepped back to survey the silk gown she’d chosen for her to wear. The dark blue silk seemed to please Derdrui, as she kept stroking the shining fabric with her fingertips. In her hair the ribbons holding up her soft black curls cascaded with them to her shoulders, where a spider-web fine shawl of thin lace dyed black for mourning made shadows on her dusky skin. Her eyes had taken on a faint red caste, as they did when she drank too much mortal blood.

“You look magnificent, my princess,” she said, her voice going husky now. Like this the enchantress resembled Fiacail so much it tore at her heart to look upon her.

“I must look my best for the slaughter of the sons of Mar. Then I think I will kill you and your sisters.” Derdrui beamed at her before sweeping out of the room.

A few moments later Mace carried in two steaming buckets and set them by the tub. “Dinnae glare at me. You stink of dead Viking.”

“I’ve most of the last ten she slew on my gown, I reckon.” Speal picked up the washtub to empty the dirty bathing water into the empty buckets near the wall before she set it down. “At least she shallnae hunger for mortal torment for a time, and she’s too pished on blood to pay us any mind.” The threat Derdrui had made earlier to kill the Cait Sith still gave her pause; that sort of musing might be something she’d remember. “Found you any alive we might take on the boat for her?”

The shifter shook her head as she began to fill the tub with the clean water. “You ken she dispatched over a hundred in but half a morn, aye? Save those that hid and escaped her on that longboat.”

What she didn’t say hung between them like a festering wound unseen.

“I doubt they shall return to seek their vengeance, if ’tis your worry,” Speal assured her as she made a particular gesture before she began stripping off her filthy gown. “Summon the rest of our sisters on the island and send them to the boats. You shall take half on the fisher and follow me and our sovereign on the trader at a safe distance until we reach the mainland.”

“Permit me stay with you. I’ve no belly for commanding a vessel.” Mace brought a scrubbing cloth and a crock of soap to her. “You reckon Fiacail’s new master shall attempt capture Derdrui?”

“If he’s a fool, he’ll try.” Slowly she lowered herself into the warm water of the tub and sat back, closing her eyes. “We’ll sail too far apart to share thoughts. Tell our sisters on the fisher to watch for our lanterns at the stern. If I light two, ’tis safe to join us at the dock. If they see but one lit, then flee to the east and Francia or Almany.”

“I pray the wind doesnae blow out the flame of the second. Lean forward.” The shifter dipped the scrub cloth in the soft brown soap before using it to wash her shoulders. “Say this immortal leads us to the island of the MacMar. Shall we follow the enchantress into battle with the clan, or flee the moment she steps off the gangway?”

“’Tis why we shall gather at the tavern.” Speal looked down at the bath water, which had turned a dull pink. “I’ve become sick unto death of death.”

“We’ve served a sovereign of death since she taught us how we might live.” Mace patted her wet shoulder before she handed her the stained cloth. “You’ll need clean water to rinse yourself. I’ll go and fetch more buckets.”

Speal waited until the other shifter had gone before she stepped out, wrapping herself in a robe too small and short for her heavy body. Slowly she approached the bed, then quickly ducked down to look under the blood-soaked ticking.

Two large eyes peered back at her from the gaunt and bruised face of a boy who appeared to be approaching manhood. His skinny limbs suggested he had been poorly treated for some time, and not by the mortals who had occupied the island before Derdrui’s arrival. From his grimy appearance and the poor condition of his ragged garments, she guessed him to be a Norse slave.

Derdrui had been so pished, she’d missed the scent of him when she’d first arrived. But now it was the carnage she’d created that masked his presence.

“You did well, hiding yourself for as long as you did, lad. You ken by now I shallnae harm you.” Although his lower lip trembled, the rest of his body was rigid. “You speak Scots or English?” When he simply stared at her she sighed. “I dinnae speak any other tongue.”

Her gaze shifted to the tray of tea and food Mace had brought in earlier, and then back to the boy. He could have it after they left. It would keep him occupied and away from the water until they’d left the island.

Aware that Mace would soon return, she stood and went back to the bath a moment before the door opened and Mace came in with two more buckets.

“Why didnae you wait?” she scolded. “Now I must find another clean robe for you.”