Page 5 of Fletcher

“Seneschal,” Duncan said, his gaze shifting to Lark as he set down his medical bag. “Mistress, I’m the clan’s healer. Might I attend your head wound?”

Lark looked at Fletcher, who nodded to reassure her. “Yes, please.”

As the healer examined the gash, Fletcher released the lady’s hand, and watched Duncan’s face become a blur to him again. Indeed, the only face he could still see now was Lark’s.

’Tis coming from her, no’ me.

Rather unsteady himself now, he rose and left her with Duncan and went to join Nyall, and quickly explained in a low voice what had happened.

“If the Finfolk didnae challenge you in the water, then ’tis likely they didnae witness her arrival,” Nyall told him. “Merrick and half the men yet search for Duxor each day, and the rest stand guard at the settlement’s boundaries. I doubt anyone shall come claim her.”

The otherworldly immortal aquatics who occupied Caladh Bay had long ago struck a truce with the MacMar that gave them the right to offer for any female of bearing years that they found in their waters. If the woman agreed to join the Finfolk they mated her to one of their men, who transformed her with their magic to become immortal and live underwater as they did. If she refused, they took her memories of all she had seen of them and the island before returning her to the mainland. Because Fletcher had found Lark first, however, and had not been challenged in the bay, she would be offered a place with the clan on the island.

What if she wishes leave?

Connal MacMar arrived in the great hall along with his wife, both of whom Fletcher recognized by their garments. They held hands like an innocent young lad and lass, although both had endured despair and torturous heartbreak before finding and healing each other. They both stopped short at seeing Lark with Duncan before coming over to Fletcher and Nyall.

“She wears Lady Joana’s ring, my lord,” Fletcher said before anyone spoke. “And she speaks as you do, my lady. I’ve no’ yet explained for her what’s happened.”

As the laird stifled a groan and rubbed the back of his neck, Valerie studied Lark for a moment. “She seems calm enough, and it’s best that we keep it that way. How was she wounded?”

“I believe ’twas some manner of attack in her time, my lady,” Fletcher told her, and while it made no sense to him, repeated what Lark had said.

“She came from the largest city in my state,” Valerie said, frowning now. “‘Mugged’ means she was physically attacked by a thief.”

“Attacked?” Nyall echoed, his expression darkening. “How could such a wee thing put up a proper fight?”

“You’d be surprised what women of my time can do,” the laird’s wife said drily. “All right, we’re both from New York, so that will give me some common ground. Did she say why she’s wearing that gown?”

“The ladies in the future dinnae wear such?” the laird asked after Fletcher shook his head.

“Generally speaking, only on special occasions. Let me talk to her first, okay?” As the men nodded Valerie went over to the hearth.

Connal watched both women for a moment before regarding Nyall. “Word of the lady’s arrival shall soon reach Merrick. She’s no’ the sort the Finfolk desire greatly as mates, but we should make clear we’ve first claim.”

“No one touches her.” Fletcher always guarded against losing his temper, but the thought of anyone attempting to take Lark away made his anger surge to a dangerous level. “Any who tries shall first go through me.”

The captain inclined his head and left the hall, while the laird’s shoulders tensed as he folded his arms. Reading the bodies of others instead of their faces, which Fletcher couldn’t see, had taught him what Connal did when he was dismayed as he was now.

“You wish claim the lady?” the laird asked, his voice low and grave.

“No. Mistress Ambrose deserves the same chance we gave your lady wife to choose her fate,” Fletcher told him, annoyed that he would assume otherwise. “If she wishes leave the island and meet the druids on the mainland, you shall permit her do so.”

“We dinnae ken if the druids possess the power that may send her back through time,” Connal reminded him. “After what happened with Valerie in Aberdeen, ’tis too risky for us take the lass there.”

“I shall find another way, then.” He saw Lark looking at him now, her gaze alarmed, and bowed to the laird. “I shall look after her, my lord.”

As soon as he reached the women Valerie forced a smile and said, “Ms. Ambrose needs to rest, and my students are waiting on me. Could you have one of the maids take her to the guest room, Seneschal?”

“I shall escort her.” He reached out a hand, which Lark quickly took. The moment they touched Fletcher clearly saw for the first time the pretty face belonging to the laird’s wife, and bowed to her. “My lady.”

Lark didn’t know what to say as Fletcher took her from the huge room and through a series of passages with armed guards. Everything Valerie Baker had told her sounded like something from a science fiction novel, especially the part about the time travel. It seemed ludicrous to hear the other woman claim the entire MacMar Clan were only half-human, and that their Fae blood had rendered them immortal. She’d also said that their father, a Fae prince called Mar, had created this whole island and enchanted it so no one could find them. Valerie even believed the ring Lark had found in the fountain had actually brought her to this place. With all these strangely-dressed people, the whole thing seemed wildly outlandish.

I’ve had a breakdown, Lark thought. In the real world I’m probably in a psych ward and hallucinating from whatever drugs they gave me.

The problem with that scenario was that other than the dull throb from her head wound, she didn’t sense anything differently than how she had at the fountain. She could see, smell, hear and touch everything in this world. The castle seemed quite real, and with its torches, candles, rugged stone interior and wood furnishings, suitably medieval. The people living here also appeared very much alive. She didn’t recognize half of the things she saw in the stronghold, which made it unlikely that she was imagining all this.

If this were some kind of psychotic episode, wouldn’t she have staged it like a show? And why were all the costumes so poorly sewn?