Page 24 of Nyall

“Same here.” She tilted her head back, and saw the taut desire on his face. It had an even stronger effect on her than Jamaran’s slow, caressing kiss at the tide pool. “What else can we do? I have suggestions, if you want them.”

For a moment Nyall looked as if he was going to show rather than tell her, but then he shook his head and walked through the castle gate. When Caroline looked over at the stronghold, she saw Connal standing by one of the big windows in the great hall, watching them both.

“Man, I really need to get my own place,” she muttered as she headed that way.

Lark finished work early so she could spend time with Fletcher, who had finally returned from his trip to the other side of the island. Yet as much as she wanted to jump in her husband’s arms and cover him with kisses, she became distracted by what had been bothering her ever since Caroline Parish had arrived. As he finished washing up and changing in their bed chamber she found herself hovering by the windows, watching the people coming and going through the stronghold gates.

“You seem determined to ignore me,” Fletcher said as he came up behind Lark, and folded his arms around her. “I reckoned the moment I returned to Dun Ard you’d chain me to our bed and ravish me.”

“I could, but you can’t touch me when you’re in manacles. I like your hands on me too much.” She leaned back against his hard, strong body, drawing comfort from his strength and warmth. “How is Meg settling in at the farm?”

“The Mackays, they’re good folk,” he said, and then sighed. “She may take her pick of their sons, but I reckon ’twill take time for her to forget her first love.”

“Merrick is pretty unforgettable.” She’d seen the king a few times since the chambermaid who loved him had left Caladh, and he’d seemed very subdued. “Maybe I’ll go with you on the next trip so I can visit her.”

“You dinnae brood on Meg tonight,” Fletcher said.

He could read her like an open book, Lark thought, loving him just a little more for that. “I just noticed Nyall coming through the gates with Caroline Parish, and they had a moment. Like, a hugging moment. Do you think our captain will end up with her?”

“’Tis unlikely,” her husband said. “Nyall’s no’ fond of females, and he avoids all entanglements since his màthair went mad and ended herself.”

Lark turned around to face him. “Are you serious? Why would she do that?”

“’Twas much to do with her nature. Her name, ’twas Tiree, and she came from a powerful highland clan ruled by her sire,” Fletcher told her. “She set her sights on the prince from the moment they met. I heard talk as a lad that she even seduced him so she might get with child and force him wed her. Nyall’s heard such whispers since his boyhood.”

She winced. “I see why he’s not terribly fond of women. Wasn’t his mother happy she got to marry the prince?”

“Mayhap for a time. My sire buried his heart with his woodland princess long ago, but Tiree couldnae accept such. She hated his loving memories of Eilonwy, and demanded all his affections.” He curled his hand over her nape, rubbing his thumb over her sensitive skin there. “As you might expect, Mar soon lost all interest and avoided her. ’Twas then she began drinking, and turned her anger against Nyall. I reckon she tormented him day and night until she died.”

“He’s probably worried he might do the same thing,” Lark guessed. “I forgot to tell you, Shaw left right after our diver arrived. He said he’d be gone for a week searching the shorelines for Fae stuff, but I don’t believe that. He wanted to get away from Caroline for some reason.”

He kissed her brow. “With Shaw one may never ken his true intentions. Come to bed, my uiseag.”

What followed were many hours of pleasure, made all the more intense and enjoyable by their brief separation. Yet as her husband fell asleep beside her, Lark couldn’t shake the sense that she should go and check on Caroline. At last she slipped out of Fletcher’s arms, pulled on her robe and left their chamber to make her way to the guest room.

Flickering light showed through the bottom gap of the door, so Lark gently knocked, hoping she wouldn’t wake the other woman.

The door swung open, and Caroline frowned at her. “Kind of late for a fitting, isn’t it?”

“I’m not here for that.” She realized she had no excuse to be here. “I wondered if you were able to find some abalone shells while you were out diving.”

“You’re an awful liar.” As Lark grimaced she chuckled and opened the door wider. “Come on in, Red.”

Inside the chamber Caroline put another chair by the fire and sat down with her. She’d dressed only in a leine, which showed off her long, tanned legs. Lark noticed some faint scars on her calves and thighs, and a small tattoo of something like a three-pronged pitchfork on her ankle.

Caroline followed the direction of her gaze. “It’s Poseidon’s trident. My mom was Greek and loved the stories about the old Gods. She had the same ink on her ankle, and so did my grandfather. They believed it protected them, so after they died I carried on the tradition.”

“What a lovely way to remember your family.” She wondered if she should just go back to Fletcher, but then recalled seeing Nyall’s expression as he’d walked away from Caroline. “Earlier I saw you with the captain as you came back to the stronghold. Is everything, ah, okay with you two?”

“You mean, you saw him grab me, and are we in love and planning to get married?” The other woman laughed with delight. “That’s a hard no and no. I don’t fall in love that quick, and he’s not interested. I’m passing on getting hitched with Jamaran and joining the Finfolk, too, and I told your laird that. Once I find another place to live, I’m out of here.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Lark grimaced. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this nosy. I just keep remembering how difficult it was for me when I first got here. I’ve always been an introvert with bad luck, and stayed away from getting involved with people. If it wasn’t for Fletcher, I’d probably still be hiding in here.”

“I actually have pretty good luck, especially in the water, and I can’t think of anyone who would call me an introvert.” Caroline’s expression softened. “It’s nice that you’re worried about me, but I can take care of myself—even in the twelfth century.”

“It’s not really that, either.” She glanced at the wet suit hanging on the drying rack by the window. “Okay, here goes: do you ever wonder if the three of us coming here—you, me, and Valerie—was a completely random thing?”

“According to the captain, the ring has a thing for women in trouble in the water,” Caroline said. “How and where it shows up seems to be the big question mark.”