Page 48 of Fletcher

The rope finally jerked tight a few feet from the sand below, and Fletcher released the end wrapped around his hand and landed with a hard thump on his arse. Quickly he untied the rope around his waist, kicked off his boots and shed his tartan, and ran for the sea, aligning himself with the commotion in the water on the other side of the bay before he dove into the waves. He heard other bodies diving in behind him, but concentrated on swimming as fast as he could across the bay.

The water in front of him churned with bubbles as several Finfolk males shot up and tried to create a barrier with their bodies. Fletcher barreled through them, using his fists to knock each one aside before he realized that was taking too long. He submerged, swimming under them before kicking his way to the surface and looking for Lark. He saw her being dragged under by webbed hands, and lunged toward her, coming up against another Finfolk who tried to seize and hold him back. He wrenched the aquatic’s arm out of his socket and shoved him aside.

When he reached her Lark flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him as she coughed and wheezed.

“I’ve got you, my lass,” Fletcher told her, his gut tightening as she shivered against him.

He swam with her to the shallows, and when he could stand he lifted her out of the water. He saw no sign of harm on her body, but when he touched the back of her head his hand came away with fresh blood streaking the palm.

“She’s ours, Landcrawler.”

Fletcher turned around to see a dozen young males coming out of the brush on the islet, intent on him as they brandished short hunting spears.

“Lass, I need put you down and deal with these fools,” he murmured to Lark. “Stay behind me, aye?”

As the males spread out in an attempt to surround them, Fletcher drew the dagger from his belt and held it ready.

“I rescued that female from drowning,” a voice said from behind him, and a young male holding his dangling arm came up as if he meant to grab Lark again. “By rights she’s mine.”

“You cannae claim a woman you tried first to drown, you eejit,” Fletcher told him, aghast that a boy barely grown to manhood would even dream of doing such a thing.

The Finfolk lad lowered his head. “She’s mine and I shall take her.”

Fletcher knew the lad would charge him, and suspected his rage would soon grow uncontrollable. If that happened, every one of these males would die.

“Don’t you touch him,” Lark said, coming to stand in front of him.

The air around them came alive with blue and green lights as the water shook. Fletcher wrapped his arms around her as ocean roared, and a surge of power came from her. All of the Finfolk males suddenly soared through the air, landing in the brush behind them. A moment later the entire islet suddenly came out of the water and soared up in the air to hang like a bizarre cloud over the bay. The Finfolk who been coming at Fletcher now hung from the edges of the brush, their legs dangling.

“Did I kill them?” Lark whispered.

He turned her to face him, and saw that she had her eyes tightly closed. “No, my lass. That pleasure, ’twill be mine.” A splash of water drew his attention to one side, where he saw Merrick rising from the water to approach them, and placed her on her feet. “First I must deal with their king.”

Merrick held his hands aloft in a gesture of surrender, something Fletcher had never before seen him do, and stopped a short distance from them. “Mistress Ambrose, Seneschal. My apologies for whatever fool thing these lads attempted do.”

“The truce, ’tis clear what we shall do to any who dare attack the clan and our vassals,” Fletcher said through his teeth, and pointed up at the islet. “The one with the wrenched arm, he’s mine as soon as he comes down.”

“Wait, please,” Lark murmured to him. In a louder voice she said, “King Merrick, one of your men attacked me and my friend in the forest. He hit her with a stone and put a bag over my head. Then he dragged me into the bay and tried to drown me.”

“I shall see the male responsible punished,” the king assured her. “Yet he acted alone, aye? None of the others aided his attack?” When she nodded, he pointed up at the floating islet. “Mayhap you might show mercy on those who didnae harm you.”

“Mercy?” Fletcher echoed. “When they had none for her? Had the eejit forced the change on her, ’twould end the truce and begin a war between us.”

“They’re only lads, some hardly older than bairns,” Merrick said softly. “Please, Seneschal. Permit them one bad but foolish mistake.”

Lark sighed, and then lifted her hand. As if it were nothing more than an oversize bucket, she lowered the islet down until it settled back into the sea. A long, rolling wave of displaced water spread out over the bay, washing over everyone in its path, and then drove the surf to dash against the tide pools.

Nyall, Jamaran, and dozens of Finfolk and MacMar guards emerged from the dunking they’d gotten by the wave, all of them staring first at the islet and then at Lark.

Fletcher stroked her wet hair back from her face. “Did the bastart injure you?”

“I don’t think so.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I was just so scared.” She looked over at Merrick. “You said I’m not suitable for your men. Why would that boy do this to me?”

“I wish I could tell you, my lady. ’Twill never happen again, that much I may promise.” The king’s expression turned grim as he regarded Fletcher. “Need you aid taking Mistress Ambrose back to Caladh?”

“No.” He saw MacLeir coming toward them on the small skiff he used to go between his home and the island. “Captain, escort my lady back to the stronghold. I’ve yet business I must settle here.”

Nyall made a low sound in his throat. “Brother, you shouldnae act in such a state.”