Page 47 of Fletcher

“The plants, they’re gathered from fields in the valley there,” Idonea said, pointing to a spot between two slopes. “Once the reapers deliver the sheaves to the village, they’re retted in that pond by the barn there, where the scutching’s done once they’ve soaked.” She scowled as something whizzed through the air between them. “Och, ’tis too early for horse flies.”

Lark saw a large stone strike a tree behind the older woman, and then a second hit her in the forehead. The seamstress staggered backward and fell to the ground.

“Idonea.” Lark tried to grab her, but someone seized her from behind and put a heavy dark cloth over her face. “Let go of me.”

“No,” a young voice said against her ear. “You’re mine now.”

Chapter Fifteen

After attending to his morning duties Fletcher went to the great hall, where the maids had just finished tidying, and saw Nyall and Duncan standing by the great hearth and speaking in low voices. Since the captain and the healer shared the same closeness he had with Shaw, he imagined they wished keep the matter between them. Yet as soon as Duncan noticed him he beckoned.

“Dinnae ruin my mood this morn,” Fletcher warned as he joined them.

“Join another clan, then,” the healer countered. “We’ve a new problem brewing with the Finfolk.”

“Patrollers along the shores saw a group of males coming out of the water and gathering on one of the islets,” Nyall added. “One of them wore ropes of pearls about his neck.”

Fletcher frowned. “Why should Bered hold yet another assembly there?”

“Anything said underwater may be heard by other Finfolk,” Duncan told him. “To converse in secret, they must do so on land.”

The captain made a dismissive gesture. “If Bered gathered them twice, ’twasnae for the purposes of conversing. He seeks to wrest the throne from Merrick. We need report both gatherings and make the king aware his heir plots against him.”

“’Tis my thinking as well, but such, ’tisnae something we truly ken or may reckon,” he said, silently agreeing with them even though they were overstepping. “Tell the laird what we and our watchers saw, and mention your concerns. He’ll decide what Merrick needs hear.”

“Hold you a senior clansmen meeting, and leave me out?” Shaw hobbled over looking more amused than disgruntled. “Why the dour faces? Did Brochan singe the morn’s oat cakes? Or do you debate the meaning behind that clutch of Finfolk meeting again on the islet?” He leaned in, lowering his voice as he said, “Mayhap they’re all men-lovers and wished indulge in an orgy away from their wives.”

Duncan looked pained now. “You’ve a terrible mind.”

“Aye, and an arm to match.” The chieftain gestured to his foot. “If you’re finished gossiping, might I convince you probe again my wounded hoof? The damn thing doesnae wish heal.”

As Shaw limped off to the infirmary with the healer, Fletcher grew a little more unsettled than before. His older brother had never before sustained an injury that had lingered, and the degree with which he limped seem to change by the hour. He wondered if there was another, secret reason the chieftain wished to consult with Duncan.

“He’s been disappearing most of the night,” Nyall said, as if he knew what he was thinking. “The watchers and guards regularly mention seeing him in the gardens or lists after dark. He then vanishes in the shadows, and doesnae return until dawn.”

“Shaw shall do what he must so the clan remains safe.” He met the captain’s gaze. “Even if such requires him leave Caladh someday.”

“Facking Pritani.” Nyall stalked out.

Although he was tempted to corner his older brother, Fletcher did believe Shaw had not yet reached the point with his mysterious affliction that he needed to exile himself away from the MacMar. If that day ever arrived, he’d always imagined his brother would choose to end himself rather than leave the clan. He suspected the chieftain had already made arrangements with the laird as to what he wished done.

Give him more time, please. Fletcher didn’t particularly care for the Gods and the twisted, wretched fates they meted out. Still, if it helped Shaw hold on, he would pray all the same.

The sound of shouts outside the stronghold drew his attention, and he walked out to see a patroller carrying the limp form of Idonea in through the second curtain wall gate. Five other clansmen came after them, but none had Lark, which made him run.

“Seneschal,” the seamstress said in a low, groggy voice, and touched a large lump on her brow. “Someone attacked us in the forest, and knocked the senses from me.” Tears welled into her eyes as she reached out to him. “They took the wee lass.”

His blood turned to ice. “Did you see who ’twas, Donnie?”

Idonea shook her head. “I only woke when Rory and the others came upon me.” She glanced up at the sky. “’Twas mayhap an hour past when they attacked us.”

Nyall and one of the wall watchers joined them. “The men on duty saw a young Finfolk male come up from the shore and vanish into the trees. Permit me summon Jamaran, and we shall–”

Fletcher snatched a coil of rope hanging by the gates and took off at a flat run for the cliff, tying the rope around his waist as he went. Everything in his head vanished but for the thought of Lark being dragged off by some renegade Finfolk male, who could use his power to change her in an instant. He stopped by the largest willow near the top of the stone steps, and tossed the rest of the coil over the thickest bough. After jerking the rope to assure the branch would hold, he found the other end and wound it around his fist, and then jumped off the edge.

As men shouted above him Fletcher plummeted, his gaze searching the bay for any sign of Lark. In the water near the edge of the mist barrier he saw something floundering and a flash of red hair.

Stay alive, my uiseag. I’m coming for you.