Page 56 of Connal

She had been expecting to see some sort of town or settlement; the area where he’d anchored appeared to be nothing but rocks, brush, and moss-covered hills. Had he lied to her? Her other, earlier suspicions started popping up in her head. “Ah, this is Aberdeen?”

“No, my lady.” He pointed to his left. “We must go inland a bit. I cannae dock where mortals may see the boat.” He held out his hand as if to help her up, and when she took it he swung her up in his arms, and stepped over the side of the boat to carry her ashore.

“I could have walked, you know,” Valerie mentioned when he placed her on her feet.

“Your gown and cloak, ’twould grow wet, and draw attention when we reach town. Give me a moment, please.” He left her there and waded back out to the boat, pulling up the anchor before dragging it beneath some trees growing right beside the water.

His casual show of tremendous strength made Valerie a little ashamed of herself. Jamaran could have easily killed her at the cove, or as soon as they’d sailed past the mist barrier. Getting rid of her body wouldn’t have posed much of a problem for him, either.

“May I ask you a question?” she said when he came back to her. At his nod she added, “What’s the real reason you’re helping me?”

Jamaran stared out at the sea for a long moment.

Had she insulted him? “You don’t have to tell me if it’s none of my business.”

“’Tis that we’re much the same, my lady,” he said finally. “I didnae wish to become one of the Finfolk. Merrick saved my life by transforming me, but by doing thus he took from me the family I left behind back in Francia. As Finfolk never again could I see my parents, my brothers, or the lady I loved and meant to wed.” He glanced at her. “I wished give you the choice denied me.”

“Thank you for that.” She tried to smile as she blinked back her tears. “I’m not crying, I promise. The wind is stinging my eyes.”

He smiled, changing his stern features into something utterly glorious. “Aye, my lady.”

Chapter Eighteen

Halfway to Ornyst, Fiacail smelled something not Cait Sith nor their sovereign, and followed it to the stern. All she could see was the wake that lay on the dark waters behind them. Her hair blew around her face, for they were sailing into the wind, which also accounted for their lack of speed. At this rate it would take them another full day to reach the islands, which would not improve Derdrui’s mood.

Nor does moving like a snail sweeten mine.

The waxing of the full moon tempted her to blame her terrible mood on her monthly curse, which had been building slowly since her last change. Unlike mortal females, the Cait Sith did not bleed during their change time, nor could they conceive bairns. On the night of the full moon they instead reverted to their full feline forms, complete with fur, fangs and claws. Yet Fiacail knew her time would not come over her for another tenday. Until it did she would grow more restless and on edge, and her mood would darken, but she had never before experienced phantom smells, or this sense of strangeness.

The wrongness of the scent reminded her of the captive they’d lost during their last search for the MacMar. Aside from the humiliation inflicted by that escape, the fool mortal had left the same unpleasant stink in her nose. It made her long for the night when she could become her Fae self, and shrug away all the thoughts and reason of her mortal side. Often she and Speal would retreat to the highlands to hunt drovers and shepherds in the night. Perhaps that was what made her so unsettled, for here on the sea she had nowhere to run, nowhere to take refuge.

“You ken that?” Speal asked as she came beside her to peer out at the water. “’Tis making my skin creep.”

“Hold your tongue.” Fiacail narrowed her eyes against the darkness. She had better vision in the dark than all mortals and most animals, and now she saw a faint trail of tiny lights hovering just above the waves. She’d seen the like before whenever Derdrui had cast a spell. “’Tis Fae magic.”

“There.” Dearg jumped down from the mast yard and pointed. “Spell trace. Something enchanted crossed the water here.”

“A Fae casting spells in the midst of the sea?” Speal chuckled. “You’re addled, Sister.”

The little Cait Sith breathed in. “Doesnae your nose work? ’Tis old magic, born of water and bound to something…no’ Fae.”

“A mortal.” Fiacail didn’t recognize this female’s scent, which tasted sweet on her tongue. “No’ a maiden, an older wench. How should a mortal become wrapped in spell trace and end in the ocean?”

“She possesses something belonging to the Fae.” Dearg grimaced. “And something more and alive, ’tis with her. ’Tis like fish.”

Speal leaned forward to look in the water. “Could she be drowned and caught in a fisher’s net?”

“No, she yet lives. I can yet taste her pulse in the air.” Fiacail wanted to find the mortal and rip out her throat for reminding her of her disgrace.

“I’ve smelled such before tonight,” Speal said slowly, frowning as she thought. “’Twas in Aberdeen last year.”

“Forget that,” Dearg said as she darted a quick look at Fiacail. “The spell trace, ’tis what matters.”

“So it does, Runt.” Derdrui pushed them aside as she climbed up to stand on the stern rails, and breathed in. Something like pain passed over her dark features as she murmured, “’Tis very old magic, cast by Mar. His death spell, in fact. Now, leave me alone.”

Fiacail dragged both of the other Cait Sith away from the enchantress and yanked them a safe distance away on the deck. “Keep back if you wish your heads remain attached. You ken what’s she’s like when she senses the prince.”

“How can old magic leave such a trace? That heartless bastart died a thousand years past,” Speal whispered, her eyes rounding.