Page 59 of Fletcher

“He probably thinks he has to struggle on alone.” Lark took hold of his free hand. “Pressuring him to talk to you would only make the situation worse, I think. Just show him that you love and support him, and assure him however you can that no matter what he did that your affection and respect for him won’t change.”

“So I shall.” He nodded at the mist barrier just ahead of the boat now. “Take my tartan and wrap yourself. ’Twill be colder as we pass through the enchantment.”

Lark wound the plaid over her shoulders, and gasped when the mist first touched her face. “My goodness, it really is cold. How does it stay in one place like this? I would have thought the winds would blow it away.”

“My sire sank urns of Fae crystal on the sea bottom and buried them there before he cast the spell to create the thing,” Fletcher told her, putting his arm around her and drawing her closer to share his warmth with her. “As long as they remain in place, so too shall the barrier.”

It took several moments to pass through the mist, but once they emerged on the other side Lark chuckled.

“I think I know where I want you to take me if it ever gets really hot on the island.” She brushed a hand over her hair, and then regarded some ice crystals melting on her palm. “Next time we have to bring a churn filled with cream and some honey with us. Then I can introduce you to the delights of ice cream when we get back.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “You’re all the delight I need or want, my lass.”

From there Fletcher sailed west, watching for the sea birds that returned to Ronalsee in the spring to nest in the cliffs. A short time later the low smudge of the small island appeared ahead, but the skies above it remained empty.

“What’s wrong?” Lark asked. “Isn’t that where we’re going?”

“Aye, but ’tis strange. The skies should be filled with courting gannets and guillemots.” He shifted the sail to slow the boat, and then glanced over his shoulder to see a huge fisher coming up fast behind them. “Fack me.”

Lark turned around just as one of the sailors at the bow flung a large, rock-weighted net at them. One of the stones struck her in the head, and blood streaked across her face as she slumped over against him.

“Bastarts.” Fletcher drew his dagger, but before he could cut them free of the net a harpoon came sailing through the air and pierced the side of the sail boat. Water gushed in through the hole as the sailors on the fisher yanked on the harpoon’s rope to pull the sailboat alongside their hull.

A tall, thin sailor leaned over the railing to survey him and Lark. He blinked, and the sailor changed shape, becoming a large, older female dressed like a fish monger.

“Och, the poor lass got coshed on the head.” She dropped a rope ladder over the side. “Come aboard, MacMar, or sink and watch your wee beauty drown.”

Fletcher removed the net before he gently hoisted Lark over his shoulder. He considered jumping into the sea and trying to swim to Ronalsee, but unlike him Lark needed to breathe air. He also suspected if he tried, they’d harpoon them both. Grabbing the rope ladder and taking a tighter hold on his woman, he climbed out of the sinking boat. As soon as he neared the railing the heavyset woman reached down, grabbing him by the arms to lift him and Lark onto the deck.

“Wise lad.” She glanced down at the dagger he held at her throat. “Or mayhap I spoke too soon. Teine.”

He saw a tall sailor wearing an eye patch appear behind the big woman and raise another harpoon, aiming it at Lark’s back. “If you harm a hair on her head, I shall end every one of you.”

The shape shifter folded her arms. “If you dinnae do as I say, Teine there shall skewer you to the mast so you may watch as I feed your lass to the sharks.”

Fletcher nodded. “What want you of me, then?”

“Much.” She made a gesture, and another sailor trotted over and threw open a hatch on the deck. “Come with me below, where I’ve a nice cage to hold you and the lass while we speak on such matters. Refuse, and again you make the acquaintance of a harpoon.”

He surveyed the number of sailors on deck, whom he imagined to be Cait Sith as well. Although in a temper he could easily slay them all, he could not do so and protect Lark at the same time. The strain of knowing that, and holding back the rage inside him, made every muscle he possessed knot.

“Very well.” He looked into the shifter’s beady eyes. “Only ken you and I, we’re no’ done.”

Below deck more of the Cait Sith stood watching them descend, but when the large female made a terse gesture they all went up the ladder and onto the upper deck. As soon as the last one left the hatch closed, leaving the hold in darkness but for a single lantern swaying from a hook overhead.

“In here,” the woman said as she went to the end of the hold, and opened the iron grate door to a cramped space. “Lucky for you I just had the cage washed out. ’Twas rather odorous and filled with all manner of mortal fluids and flesh. Our fallen leader fair bathed in the blood of mortals. Mayhap the stink ’twas why one struck her down when last we docked.” She grinned as if she’d made a joke.

Fletcher stepped inside, cradling Lark against him as the Cait Sith put chained manacles on their ankles before she slammed the door shut. “Whatever you want, I shall see ’tis yours if you spare the lass.”

“Och, never offer the means of your own destruction as a bargaining point. You should strive make me believe you care naught for the wee beauty.” The big woman took down the lantern and brought it over to the cage, holding it so that it illuminated Lark’s face. Her grin faded as she said in a steely tone, “Poor bairn. She’s barely a maiden, and yet smells of you. You enjoy such diversions, you fack?”

“I’m twenty-seven years old,” Lark said, making Fletcher close his eyes in gratitude for a moment. “So please stop calling me a bairn. As for why I smell like him, that’s none of your business. If you don’t want this boat smashed to pieces, you should let us go.”

“I do like her, MacMar. You’ve fine taste in lasses.” The shape shifter laughed, and reached in through the grate to seize Lark’s hand, and jerked the ring from her finger. “I’ve spied this before in Aberdeen. Our sovereign claimed the magic enchanting the bauble permitted your laird and that golden-haired wench escape us.” She tucked it inside her bodice. “Never fret, I’ll keep the ring safe.”

The hatch to the upper deck opened, and the one-eyed Cait Sith made a gesture to the woman, who uttered a heavy sigh.

“’Twould seem our sovereign desires my presence above.” She gave Fletcher a serene smile. “Think on how your pretty lass shall suffer if you dinnae tell me what I wish ken when I return.”