Page 14 of Duncan

Nyall recalled his own frustration with Caroline after she first came to the island, and wondered if Duncan even realized the cause of his ire. “She’s far from home and doesnae ken any of us, Brother. Give her time so she may grow familiar with you.”

The healer made a surly sound as he removed the lid to the box and took out the object. Without warning a bright blue light radiated from it, and the outer coating of scum and barnacles turned black and fell off the surface, which appeared to be carved from a mossy green stone.

“’Tis an imp egg?” Nyall asked, drawing a dagger.

“If ’tis, I’ve never found the like.” Duncan carried it over to the huge black cabinet spelled by their sire to null all magical Fae artifacts, and tucked it in his arm so he could unlock the doors.

The green stone sphere rolled down to his wrist, and there bounced off to fall to the floor. A sharp sound came from its surface, which split in a long, irregular crack that raced around its edges. Nyall grabbed a kindling stick to ignite it in the hearth, as fire was the only means by which Fae imps could be destroyed. Yet instead of cracking open to reveal one of the tiny voracious monsters, the cracked sphere simply rolled in a circle before going still.

“Dinnae burn the thing yet.” Duncan knelt down, but before he could pick up the orb a long, thin branch sprouted from it, growing so quickly that by the time he stood it loomed over him. “Oh, fack me.”

Nyall peered at the base, and saw thin pale green roots sinking into the stone floor. Seizing the trunk of the sapling, he used his dagger to cut it from its roots, which instantly blackened and turned to dust. New roots came from the sphere’s bottom, undulating like tentacles as they tried to find something onto which they could latch and bury themselves. He carried the tree sphere over to the hearth, and thrust the roots into the flame. The entire plant turned gray before it disintegrated into ash.

Julianne came into the infirmary. “Hey, dudes. Uh, what’s that weird burning smell?”

“A disaster we averted, my lady.” He shook the fragments off his hands before he regarded Duncan. “’Tis tales of melia starting forests with but one enchanted sphere tossed onto bare ground. ’Twas that, aye?”

The healer nodded. “A sporing sphere from their otherworld. The ash, oak and rowan that spring from such spread over every inch of ground to form great forests. Yet the melia claimed they used the last they possessed when they helped our sire create Caladh.”

“They lied,” Nyall told him. “Caroline saw hundreds underwater by the cove.”

Duncan grimaced. “They must stay in the water to prevent them from hatching.”

Julianne stepped between them. “It’s not a problem, guys. Listen to me for a sec, ’kay?”

Nyall nodded, and sometime later he found himself alone with Duncan. Had someone come in and spoken to them? He couldn’t remember. Nor could he recall why he’d come to the infirmary, leaving him confused. “You summoned me, Healer?”

“No, Captain,” Duncan appeared just as puzzled. “Need you my aid?”

Chapter Four

Nicole was able to take a bath the next morning, thanks to Lady Valerie sending up maids with large buckets of steaming water, a gown for her to wear after, and some linens. Two guards carried in a wooden tub just large enough for her to sit down in. As the maids filled the tub, one placed the clean clothes and linens on a table near it, and came over to offer her a small crock filled with a brown slimy substance.

“’Tis soap, my lady.” She tucked a strand of shiny black hair under her white cap. “I’m Eilihd, the head maid. If you’ve any need, bid one of the guards fetch me.” She reached into her apron pocket for a handful of flower petals, which she dropped in the tub before she curtseyed and left with the others.

Stripping out of the long shirt, Nicole grimaced at the grittiness of salt residue on her skin. She should have washed at the basin last night, but she had fallen asleep in the chair by the hearth. After placing the soap crock on the floor within reach, she gratefully climbed into the tub. The steam had prepared her for the heat of the water, but not the silkiness of it against her skin.

“This is better than I thought.” Gingerly she sank down and leaned back with a sigh. The scent from the flower petals rolled over her in a gentle wave of sweetness. “Oh, much better.”

She allowed herself to soak for a time, dunking her head repeatedly until the sticky stiffness left her hair. Once the water began to cool she reached for the soap. To her surprise the stuff smelled better than it looked, as if it had been rendered with peaches and honey. She had to use only a little for washing before she sluiced it off and climbed out to take the jug from the wash stand. Stepping back into the tub, she poured the cold water over her head to give her hair and skin a final rinse.

Just after she dressed in the cream-colored woolen gown, which laced up the back like an old fashioned corset, she heard a knock. She pulled the damp linen sheet she’d used to dry off over her exposed back before she went to answer it.

The petite woman standing in the hall looked to be about Nicole’s age, and held a large basket of spooled ribbons, scissors, cloth shoes and fabric in her arms. She had a freckled face, very bright copper-red hair, and gentle eyes.

“I’m Lark, the clan’s seamstress,” the woman said in a distinct New York accent. “Lady Valerie told me you arrived last night. If you’d like some better-fitting clothes, I can measure you and make them up.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Nicole stepped back to let her inside. “Should I take off this gown? I haven’t managed to lace it up yet.”

“If you don’t mind, yes, please. It would help me get more accurate measurements.” Lark brought a small table over to the hearth and placed some of the ribbon spools on it. “I was the second time traveler to come to Caladh. I was mugged and nearly drowned in a fountain in Central Park. You’re from New England, judging by your accent.”

“Yes, I was born in Boston.” She went to join her, and noted how the other woman averted her gaze. “It’s nice of you to preserve my modesty, but I’ve been having regular clothes fittings since birth.” She glanced down at her bareness. “Nothing too shocking here, either.”

“Since I hardly have any, I will happily trade breasts with you any day,” Lark said after giving her an impersonal glance. “Now, let’s start there.”

In no time the seamstress had her measurements. From the clothing the maids had left, she selected a different gown made of what appeared to be golden linen.

“It’s a bit short, but it will fit you a little better in the chest and hips,” she said as she helped Nicole put it on. “Our cobbler will make you a pair of boots, but until then you’ll have to wear the cloth slippers I brought.” She stepped behind her to tighten and tie the laces.