Page 60 of Connal

Coming out of the void of unconsciousness Valerie slowly became aware of two things: she wasn’t dead yet, and wherever she was, it was freezing cold. She lay with her hands still bound behind her back, and a strip of dirty linen gagging her. When she tried to see where she was she could only open one eye to a murky darkness. Vaguely she made out the shapes of barrels and smaller kegs, and smelled something like rotting vegetables.

A door opened, and the tall brunette came in holding a lantern, which she raised so that it shed light on Valerie.

“Still alive, then? You should be proud, wench. I may count on one hand those who survived angering our princess.” She crouched down beside her, setting the lantern atop a keg before jerking her up into a sitting position. “You willnae live much longer, so tell me how to find the MacMar.”

Valerie glanced down at the gag in her mouth, and then at Fiacail.

“Apologies. I’m no’ accustomed to speaking by tongue.” The shapeshifter reached to tug down the strip.

“What are you?” Valerie couldn’t help asking.

“Cait Sith.” She held out the fingers of one hand, from which long, curved claws sprang. “We serve the Princess Derdrui, who’s sworn vengeance against the sons of Mar for his betrayal of her. You’ve seen something of our powers, so dinnae even think to trifle with me. Where hides the clan?”

“I don’t know any clan.” She turned her head to spit out a piece of linen left from the rag. “I’m from the future, not this time.”

“You wear the ring of that wee black-haired thief who escaped me last year. Her people, they’re druid kind, or so she claimed.” Fiacail leaned closer. “’Tis the same in your time, aye? Or mayhap you and Joana share a bloodline.”

Valerie went still. “Who is Joana?”

“Joana Arasgain, daughter of my husband’s friend. He claimed the little mouse had wed one of the MacMar, and oft returned to Aberdeen to visit her kin. After he told me thus, I waited until she came again and caught her on the way back to the docks.” The shapeshifter’s expression darkened. “Like you she claimed to ken naught of the MacMar, yet I could smell the stink of those halfling bastarts on her. Although I could slay her, drink her blood and by thus take all her memories of the island and the clan, I offered to spare her life if she’d aid us.”

“But she didn’t, so you killed her,” she murmured, watching her face.

Fiacail made a rude sound. “She begged me untie her so she could draw a map for us, the deceitful little wretch. Only she ran from the house instead, and jumped from the cliff. Somehow she guessed we cannae take memories from the dead.” She leaned in closer. “I’ll no’ make that mistake again with you, pretty lass.”

Valerie closed her eyes for a moment, silently thanking Joana for her sacrifice. Now somehow she had to do whatever she could to protect the MacMar. Years of teaching had given her the ability to project authority, but it was loving Connal that filled her with strength now.

I do love him. If I have to, I’ll die for him, too.

“I don’t want to die,” she said, aching with the knowledge that everything her lover believed about his wife was wrong. “But honestly, I don’t know anything that can help you. I only came here to meet some druids. I could have gotten the smell on me because I bumped into one of them on the way into town. There were a bunch of men at the docks on the boat that brought me here. Maybe they belonged to the clan you want to find.”

The shapeshifter didn’t say anything for a while, but simply watched her. Then, with a small smirk, she nodded.

“Tell me more of this boat that brought you to Aberdeen,” Fiacail said.

By the time MacLeir came within sight of the mainland Connal had paced the length and breadth of the ferry boat dozens of times. Nyall and the clansmen who had come with him kept their distance, but Shaw refused to leave him alone.

“I’ll no’ tussle with you again,” he warned the chieftain as he watched the shore. “We’ve come to find Valerie. I dinnae ken if Jamaran spoke the truth, but if he lied, we must talk sense into her before the facking druids cast some eejit spell.”

“They’d send her to her time through a sacred oak grove.” When Connal glared at him Shaw smiled. “I ken a wee bit of their methods. The Pritani and the magic folk, they’re grand friends.”

Connal already regretted the fight they’d had in the great hall; trust his brother to make that worse. “Someday you and I shall talk long and in great detail about your time enslaved.”

“You’ve other matters to attend.” Shaw glanced at the lone figure standing at the bow. “Forgiving the captain for aiding the lady should come first.”

“I cannae fathom why he did thus.” Connal glared at Nyall’s back. “He’s ever hated all females.”

“Dinnae you recall his lady màthair died?” the chieftain chided. “’Tis haunted the lad since the day he found her body in the stone forest.”

MacLeir maneuvered the ferry to the end pier, where the dockers trotted out to help with the moorings. Connal didn’t wait for the ramp but leapt over the side and strode toward the cluster of buildings on the harborside. Shaw caught up with him as he reached the road, and jerked his thumb toward the nearest tavern.

“Ale and whiskey loosens tongues,” the chieftain said.

Inside the dark common room of the tavern men sat talking and drinking, but all fell silent when they saw Connal and Shaw. The tavern keep came from behind his counter, a jug in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“I’m seeking a lady taken against her will from the harborside,” Connal said loudly. He measured Valerie’s height with his hand. “Fair curls, pale-skinned and slender-limbed. She wears a brown gown with gray fur boots, and mayhap a dark hooded cloak. Her name, ’tis Mistress Valerie Baker.”

None of the men said anything.