Page 9 of Duncan

Meg hated them both a little for being so much in love.

“My lady awaits my return at the stronghold.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the bay. “I saw you push Duncan over the cliff, and now you smell of blood. What’s gone amiss with you, lass?”

Meg knew he could easily slay her and spirit away her remains with no one the wiser. Slowly she extended her hands, holding them palm-up to reveal the harm she’d done to herself, only to discover the blood and the wounds gone. Quickly she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a small red smear.

“I mistook your brother for Merrick, come in search of me.” Why she was telling such a lie Meg had no idea, but she looked down at her boots and shuffled them as if she were embarrassed. “I’ve begged the king stay away. The sight of the healer, so tall like Merrick in the darkness… ’Twas too much for me.”

Shaw said nothing for such a long time she nearly turned and ran back into the cave. Instead she poured all her effort into giving him a pleading look. It seemed very, very important that she deceive him, although she didn’t understand why.

“Dinnae stay out here alone,” he said at last. “If you dinnae wish sleep at the stronghold, then seek a bed in the village. You’ve friends there, aye?”

“I do.” Lie after lie kept spilling from her lips, but at least they seemed to be convincing him. “My thanks, Chieftain.”

“If you dinnae wish cross paths with Merrick, then mayhap the MacKay farm, ’tis the best place for you.” He sighed. “Or you may leave Caladh.”

Meg would have taken the ferry to the mainland as soon as dawn arrived, but for one requirement of any mortal who left the island: Merrick would be called on to remove her memories of the MacMar and Caladh first. That meant forgetting Lady Joanna, who had been like a mother to her, and the Finfolk king, whom she loved so much it had broken her.

“I shall, Chieftain.” She belatedly bobbed to show him the proper respect, and then watched him turn black from head to toe and stream down the ridge like a flood of ink. “Only forgive me if ’tisnae how you wish.”

Chapter Three

Speal kept watch from the railing of the merchant trader, her half-Fae blood allowing her to see as clearly in the dark as during the brightest hour of day. The night air bathed her in salt-kissed coolness, but all the sea water around her kept her on edge. Seeing her sovereign Derdrui being rowed ashore where they had arranged to meet with their new benefactor had reminded her of the many ridiculous promises she had made to the dark Fae enchantress. She and her shape-shifting Cait Sith sisters had pledged to serve her for the remainder of their lives. Of course at that time they hadn’t known that unlike their mortal màthairs they would live forever.

She yet keeps too many secrets from us.

Since Derdrui had escaped imprisonment in Elphyne and returned to the mortal realm, she had commanded the Cait Sith to devote themselves to her quest for vengeance. That meant endlessly searching for the MacMar, which the enchantress had sworn to destroy. In pursuit of the elusive clan and their hidden island, Speal and her sisters had been compelled to steal ships and sail the waters off the coast of Scotland; this despite their intense hatred of the sea.

What more must we do so we may appease her?

Although she could change her shape to that of any of the slain mortals whose blood she had drunk, Speal preferred the corpulent form she now wore. All the memories of the mortal to whom it had belonged were hers as well, although she had not murdered her. A widow without kin to protect her, the fishwife had been stabbed by a thief and left for dead. Speal, who had loved her at first sight, held her in her arms as she took her last breaths. The only comfort she had since watching the lady she loved die was absorbing her memories, and transforming herself so that she wore her thickset body like a comforting cloak.

I should go and live in the highlands, where none may plague me.

Being denied her vengeance had made Derdrui grow more reckless and vicious with each passing day; she had already turned on the Cait Sith by ordering the murder of Fiacail, their former leader and the eldest and wisest of them. Instead of dying, Fia had been saved and transformed by an immortal aquatic being who could change mortals and halflings into his personal warriors by melding them with sea creatures. She had returned to offer the Cait Sith a bargain, but Speal could no longer rely on her.

None of us trust each other anymore.

Duxor needed more shifters to transform into a monstrous army he could use to invade Caladh and prevail over Merrick, the king of the Finfolk. Derdrui intended to use him to locate that hidden island, as it was where the sons of Mar dwelled. The Cait Sith had no quarrel with the clan or the aquatics. Yet the enchantress would never release them from servitude until they aided her in butchering the get of the princely bastart who had rejected her love.

If she doesnae betray us, as she’s done with every other she’s used for her own purposes.

Mace came to stand beside her, who wore the shape of a scullery she had killed. After losing her sister to an ugly death, and then discovering she had been resurrected and transformed by Duxor, she had grown ever angrier than Speal. Her body projected the rigidity of outrage in her tensed spine and raised hackles, and she stank of old sweat and new blood.

“Never shall that fishman reveal the location of Caladh until he’s ruined us all,” the Cait Sith predicted, her nails scraping against the wooden railing. “We should raise anchor and flee for Francia. We may hide there.”

Speal had put Mace in charge of the Cait Sith transformed by the aquatic, and suspected they were the real reason for her ire. “What of those Duxor’s already changed?”

“Ask them, if you may convince them talk. They refuse converse with their lowly former sisters. Indeed, they hardly make any sound.” She spat into the water. “The wee fiend keeps watching me, and ever holds a blade ready, as if she means gut me.”

The smallest and most vicious of the shape shifters, since being melded with a shark, Dearg’s twisted character had grown even darker and more fearsome.

“I shall go and speak with Fiacail,” Speal told her. “She shall keep the others in line.” As she started to walk toward the hold hatch, Mace gripped her arm. “What more?”

“Tiene’s eyes, they’ve turned black as night, and she’s scratching herself as if the full moon’s risen.” Mace took in a deep breath before she added, “And her belly now swells.” She held a hand far out in front of her own flat abdomen.

As half-Fae, the Cait Sith could not become pregnant, or so Derdrui had assured them when the enchantress had explained all to them. That was the cost of their immortality, she’d claimed. No mortal could ever sire a bairn on them, and because they were already considered abominations among the Fae, no otherworldly male would ever touch them.

“I shall look after her until our sovereign returns,” Speal assured Mace, and touched her hand. “Whatever ’tis the cause, Derdrui shall save her.”