Page 4 of Fletcher

“That’s okay.” Reflexively she put her hand on his chest. “I’m a bit steadier.”

He frowned at her hand, and then she saw why: the ring she’d found in the fountain was on her finger. Lark couldn’t remember putting it on, but everything had happened so fast she might have forgotten.

“I found the ring in the fountain in Central Park, and then I was mugged and shoved in the water,” she told him. “I hit my head on a planter in the basin. Something else happened…” She stopped, unsure if she should mention the voices. “Is this near Canarsie Pol?”

“I dinnae ken such a place,” Fletcher admitted. “Permit me take you to the stronghold, Mistress. There we may better fathom what’s happened.”

“That’s the stronghold?” She pointed up at the castle, and he nodded. “Am I in trouble, Mr. MacMar?” He didn’t look as if he wanted to answer that, so she added, “Will you stay with me?”

“Aye, lass.” He covered her hand with his. “For as long as you wish.”

Chapter Two

Fletcher MacMar didn’t hurry on the way up the cliff stairs to Dun Ard’s front gates; the wee lass he’d pulled from the bay still seemed unsteady. Although the clan’s masons had long ago carved wide steps in the stone leading from the shore to MacMar Clan’s stronghold, the steepness of the ascent combined with her soaking-wet gown might cause her to stagger or slip. He could not permit anything to happen to the only person whose features he had ever clearly seen.

If I’ve no’ gone mad and imagined her lovely face.

He glanced at Lark Ambrose now and again to assure she hadn’t tired, or so he told himself. In truth he knew he would never weary of seeing her large, green-brown eyes, that delightful pert little nose, or the pink bloom of her lips, for all by herself she had ended for him a lifetime of being blind to the faces of others.

The rarity of her beauty stunned him. Thousands of amber breac-sheunain speckled her fair skin, spilling across her face and throat and even the backs of her hands as if she’d emerged from a shower of gold dust instead of the sea. Her long hair, which hung down her back like a tangle of spun copper, shimmered with peach-gold and apple-red glints in the sun. Everything about her seemed otherworldly in its perfection, as if she were some woodland Fae princess arrived from Elphyne.

She’s such a wee thing. Mayhap her màthair named her for the shore lark.

When he’d first spotted her in the bay he’d thought her a child, but thankfully upon lifting her from the water, her clinging gown had revealed a woman’s curves. He still had some doubt, for how could she be full grown? Perhaps she had come into her maidenhood early.

“Please don’t worry about me, Mr. MacMar,” Lark said, meeting his gaze. “I’m okay.”

Every word she said reminded him of Valerie Baker, the laird’s wife, who had travelled nine hundred years through time from the twenty-first century to Caladh. Since Lark wore the same ring that had brought Valerie to the island, and spoke with the same odd accent, he had no doubt she had come from the future. His quandary was how to explain to the lady that she had arrived in the twelfth century to an island enchanted by his Fae sire, and that she might never return to her time.

At last they reached the top of the stairs, attracting the attention of the gate guards and sentinels. As a group of them came running, Lark shifted closer to Fletcher.

“Are we in trouble?” she murmured, watching the men.

Her wide eyes compelled him to put his arm around her. “No, lass. They’re my family.” To the first guard who reached them he said, “Fetch Duncan and the laird, and ask them attend me in the great hall.”

Lark tucked herself under his arm and against his side, fitting to him as if made to be there. It made him want to whisk her off to a quieter place so he might comfort and reassure her, an impulse he hadn’t experienced for centuries. The other desires brimming inside him he blamed on his loneliness of late. Seeing the laird so happy with his wife had made Fletcher restless during the long, empty nights when he lay awake and wished for what he could never possess.

She’s too young, and no’ for you.

The lady did not say another word as he guided her through the gates and into the stronghold. Her expression filled with wonder as she took in everything, he noted, and yet she stayed pressed to his side as if tied to him.

In the great hall he took her to the central hearth, where she sat down on the bench by the fire. When he began to release her hand she tightened her grip and held on.

“Please don’t go,” Lark said, a glimmer of fear in her eyes now.

Fletcher sat down beside her, and clasped her hand between his. “You neednae worry, lass.”

Shaw, the laird’s senior chieftain and second, was as ever the first to arrive. He had been sparring in the lists, judging by the blood on his knuckles and the soil staining his tunic and trews. Expecting to see a blur where Shaw’s face should be, Fletcher’s jaw sagged as he took in the chieftain’s refined, flawless features, storm-gray eyes, and the flashing smile that replaced his scowl as he saw Lark and came over to them.

I can see him. Fletcher had always heard how handsome the clan considered Shaw, but never knew why until this moment.

“Fair day, my lady.” He sketched a courtly bow before regarding Fletcher with a raised brow. “Where found you the wee beauty, Seneschal?”

“In the bay.” Before the chieftain could ask he moved his hands to reveal Lady Joana’s ring on her finger. “Fetch Lady Valerie if you would, Brother.”

The chieftain’s smile vanished, but he nodded and dashed back out, passing two other men as they came in. By what they carried, Fletcher recognized them as Nyall, Captain of the Guard, and Duncan, the clan’s healer, but again couldn’t stop himself from staring at their faces, now clear to him for the first time in his memory. Nyall’s dark red hair framed a face so steely with determination he seemed ready for a maraud. Duncan’s kinder features resembled Shaw’s, but the shadows in his eyes and silver in his black hair silently affirmed the toll his work took on him. The healer came to the hearth while the captain of the guard went to the bay-facing window slits to stare out at the sea.

Fletcher almost laughed out loud. He could see everyone’s face, as if his mortal weakness had been wiped clean from him.