Page 10 of Duncan

In the dark, dank confines of the hold she found some of the shifters who had been transformed by the aquatic immortal. They had gathered around a large wooden tub, in which Tiene lay, her bloody hands clutching the sides. All of them but Fiacail turned and made hissing sounds as Speal approached, but their former leader had one arm around Tiene and the other in the water. The scent of newly-shed blood came from all of them, as well as something like raw fish and mud.

“What ails her?” Speal demanded.

“Dinnae meddle,” Fiacail said to Speal as gold-streaked purple fluid stained the tub water.

Tiene uttered a terrifying yowl, and Fia’s arm moved quickly. She raised from the water a small, writhing fish with a gray-white hide and fins, but a mortal bairn’s face, and handed it to the little shifter, who placed it in a separate tub of water.

As Speal watched Fiacail pulled a dozen more mortal-faced fish from the tub, and handed them to Dearg. Tiene groaned and wailed the entire time, but eventually she fell silent and let her head sag against the tub’s rim.

“Add fresh sea water to the tub so she may heal proper,” Fiacail said to the other changed shifters before she turned to Speal. “Do you need me explain?”

“We cannae carry bairns,” she reminded her.

Her lips stretched into a grim smile. “Aye, only the sharks melded with us may birth as many pups as they wish. We cannae keep the males away from us in the sea, and so we end up bred with bellies full of the wee things.”

“Cannae your new master order the males stop?” Speal demanded.

“I begged, but he wishes us whelp more of our kind.” Fia dried her hands on a linen before she met her gaze directly. “The bairns dinnae obey their dams, but compulsively follow them.”

Horror made Speal’s throat fill with bile. “How many times do you birth these creatures each moon?”

“Within days of being bred.” She sighed. “We’re quite fertile, Sister, and speed our whelping time. ’Tis why we didnae accompany the enchantress to the islet, so we might deliver Tiene.”

At least the transformed Cait Sith did not need to return to the sea in order to survive, she thought. “You must stay on the trader, then.”

“I hope we shall.” Fiacail glanced back at Tiene. “Mayhap I shall persuade the master permit us.”

CONNAL DISMISSED his guards and allowed only his seneschal Fletcher to remain with him in the laird’s chamber. There Merrick paced back and forth, like a starved cat smelling a pan of fresh cream out of reach. The king’s messenger stood appearing just as baffled as he had when he’d described to Connal his encounter with Nicole Fairley in the dunes. The Selseus male also seemed somewhat distracted, even in the presence of his king.

At least the latest woman to arrive from the future would not be a matter of contention between the MacMar and their aquatic neighbors. Her red hair, which the Selseus believed made her bad luck to their kind, would prevent any of Merrick’s men from demanding she wed them.

“MacLeir used his magic to repair the damage to the mist barrier,” he told Merrick, making him stop and glower at him, “so that problem, ’tis solved. My lady’s taken Mistress Fairley to a guest chamber. She possesses red hair, which renders her unsuitable for your kind. What more need you discuss with me?”

“Dinnae you ken what she did?” Merrick made a scathing sound, and pointed to his man. “She ordered my most trusted courier find help, and he obeyed her.”

“Come now. I believe she simply asked,” Connal chided.

Fletcher came to stand at his side, his expression darkening. “You cannae blame the lass for what he chose do, surely. He provided aid for her and our brother, which ’twas kind and much appreciated. Why dinnae you reward the man?”

“Reward him, indeed?” The king regarded his man. “Theol, what shall you do for that female you encountered on the shore with the fallen healer?”

The courier’s confusion cleared from his face.

“I must find help for her.” He looked around the room before he said to Connal, “My lord, might your men provide the lady aid?”

“Aye, so we did, lad.” The affection he saw in the aquatic’s eyes disturbed him even more than the man’s ongoing blind obedience to Nicole Fairley’s request. “She no longer requires assistance.”

“But she asks.” The courier turned to Merrick. “Shouldnae the Selseus send help for her, my king? I may rally our men if Commander Jamaran’s occupied with other matters. Indeed, I wish I might speak with the lady again, so she may relate more details of the aid she requires.”

“Fack me,” the seneschal said softly.

“Aye, now you ken the quandary,” Merrick said, glowering. “Indeed, I wager Theol shall try and help your Mistress Fairley until the very end of his days. Shall I leave him here with you, then, Laird? You may give her the lad as a servant, for he’s useless now.”

Before Connal could reply the messenger uttered a strange sound and dropped onto the floor. Fletcher went and knelt beside him, checking him before he regarded the king.

“He’s but swooned.” He glanced down as Theol’s eyelids lifted. “How fare you, lad?”

“I’m well, I reckon, Seneschal.” The courier looked up at Connal and Merrick. “Och, forgive me, my lord, my king.” He scrambled to his feet, and gazed around the laird’s chamber as if he’d never before seen the place. “Didnae I deliver my message to you, Laird MacMar?”