Page 36 of Fletcher

“I need you no’ to break bones,” the captain corrected himself. “As ’tis, you’ll no’ hold a blade for a week or better.”

Shaw knew the wisest course was to summon guards to drag Nyall away from him. Since he was the laird’s second, the captain and the other men of the clan were obliged to obey him. Something about the way he was looking at him, however, made him turn away from the wall.

“Tell me,” he said as he snatched his tunic up from the ground.

“Bered, Merrick’s heir and second, awaits you at the labyrinth,” the captain said. “He wishes claim Lark Ambrose and, aye, I told him no. He doesnae accept the word of a lowly soldier like me, and would walk on the matter with you.”

“Fack.” Shaw pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who stands his second? Jamaran, I’ll wager.”

Nyall nodded. “Bered commands all the settlement’s fighters, and he’s no’ fool. He chose the best.”

“You’ll stand for me, and dinnae dream of refusing.” Shaw strode over to a wash barrel and shoved his bloody fist into the cold water. “Bered, he’s the prettyish bawbag who wears roped pearls about his neck like a wench, aye?”

“I didnae pay attention to his baubles, Chieftain.” The captain handed him a clean rag to wrap around his wounded hand. “Dinnae permit his primping and prancing fool you. Bered holds no love for the clan, and shall take the slightest chance you gift him so he may seize the advantage.”

“Och, then he’s no different than most of the slit-necked bastarts.” He stopped himself from airing more of his opinion of the aquatics, and drew in a calming breath. “No honor blades.” When Nyall started to protest he shook his head. “You dinnae want my arm anywhere near a weapon today, Captain.”

Together they walked from the lists through the gates and out to the trail leading to the labyrinth. On the way Shaw silently repeated the calming chants the old shaman had taught him during the first weeks after he had been marked. As a lad he hadn’t understood the Pritani ritual to which he had been dragged in chains, or the strangeness that had come into him when they had permanently etched their cyphers into his flesh. Centuries had passed since that terrible night, and he still knew too little about what they had done.

What it did to him, however, he knew only too well.

At the labyrinth a small group of Finfolk stood around a short figure with the pompous pose of the self-important. All of the males cast indignant measuring looks at Shaw, while Merrick’s second spoke in a low voice to Jamaran before moving to the opening on their side. The Finfolk commander then shifted to the place where the second kept watch for any treachery on the part of the clan. Nyall mirrored him as he assumed the same spot on the MacMar side.

Shaw knelt down and touched his palms to the ground, and closed his eyes for a moment as he silently beseeched his sire and màthair to lend him their strength. He then entered the stone-lined path, and walked slowly along the curving trail. Connal had taught him that moving through the spiraling path required an open and clear mind with no thoughts but those of peace and understanding. He wondered if the laird knew such a thing would ever and always be impossible for him.

My brother wishes believe me the brother taken from him, no’ the one he brought back.

Once Shaw had traversed the entire circle of the maze, he followed the connective path to the overlapping sides of the two circles, where the Finfolk male met him. Bered wore the same fitted gray skin suit that Merrick donned, but had dozens of tartan pins and brooches fastened to his waist. From the rusted appearance of most of the baubles he’d collected them for a long time, likely from the bodies of clansmen from afar whose boats had wrecked near the island.

That Bered had chosen to wear them while walking seemed an unsubtle threat.

“Chieftain MacMar.” The Finfolk prince bowed. “My thanks for attending me so swiftly.” His gaze shifted to the rag wound around his hand. “I hope you’ll tell the laird I didnae make you bleed today.”

Hinting he’d be happy to any other, Shaw thought, wondering if the idiot had heard any rumor of him. “Prince Bered. How may I aid you?”

The other man’s upper lip curled slightly. “We ken your seneschal took a female of bearing years from the bay. According to the truce, we’ve first claim. Return her, and we shall forgive his transgression.”

He wanted to laugh out loud, but instead he settled for a wide grin.

“No Finfolk claimed the lady when Fletcher found her, for none occupied the bay. Indeed, had he no’ saved her, you’d have claimed a drowned corpse.” When Bered would have replied he held up his bandaged hand. “I reckon your king forgot tell you he came some days past and offered for her himself. The lady refused him and desires remain on Caladh. The matter, ’tis settled.”

The Finfolk prince’s noble features grew sharper and harder. “He wouldnae accept such. We’ve hundreds of males long in need of mates.”

“Ask him, then, if he’ll accept a lass you lot consider bad luck. Aye, you didnae ken? Mistress Ambrose possesses the loveliest of copper-red hair.” As Bered gaped at him, Shaw folded his arms. “’Tis anything more you wish discuss? No? Then I shall take my leave.”

“Wait, Chieftain. We’ve much in common, you and I,” Bered said as he turned away. “You’re Connal MacMar’s chosen heir, just as I shall take the throne when Merrick’s finished playing at king. We could do much to aid each other and serve our kinsmen.”

Shaw spun around and marched up to the prince, coming within an inch of his face as he stood toe-to-toe with him. “Nyall.”

The captain appeared at his side three heartbeats later. “Aye, Chieftain.”

“How highly regards Merrick his heir?” He tilted his head to watch the Finfolk man’s neck gills flare with his gasp. “Should he come to a swift end for playing at treachery against his king, ’twould he take great offense?”

“No, Chieftain. I reckon he’d consider such a favor,” Nyall said softly. “If proved by seconds standing witness, which I reckon ’twould.”

Bered gave the captain an incredulous look. “You deceitful bastart. I didnae say any such thing. Your Chieftain lies.”

“My prince.” Jamaran appeared behind Bered, and took hold of his arm. “The female, she’s unsuitable, so ’tis resolved. We should go now.”