Page 27 of Tair

“My thanks.” As he rose the weight of the filled bucket made him stumble against the stranger, who caught him and provided the steadying support of his arms as he regained his balance. “You neednae hold me.”

“I cannae help myself.” The stranger looked all over his dirty face. “Would you care to leave this place with me?”

Shame rose up as if to choke him from within before he could answer. This glorious being wanted to take him from here? “Why?”

“I’m in dire need of a friend,” the other man admitted, “and I’m sure you don’t wish to stay among these swine. Permit me to aid you.”

No one had ever spoken to Kiamh like this, as if he had worth. His parents had turned their backs on him and left their settlement to travel before he could walk. Those they had entrusted with his care neglected or ignored him. He had always fended for himself rather than seek the aid of others, something the elders had considered unseemly and arrogant. By the time he’d reached manhood all the other lads in the tribe had feared him as much as their parents did.

’Tis something wrong with you, his first love had told him after refusing his affections. Your heart, ’tis empty.

Since being made an outcast no one had taken his side, or even cared that he lived or died. It humbled him to realize that before this moment he had been no different than the old crone; that his short life would have ended miserably and no one would ever again think of him.

“Why should you befriend me?” he asked, angry that this intruder would even dare to offer. “I’m naught but a slave. I’ve no land, no people...” He ducked his head before he added, “And no honor.”

“You can yet live as you’ve always dreamed.” The stranger took the bucket from him and set it down before he held out his hands. “Permit me to show you how.”

When Kiamh reached for the man, he shimmered and then vanished, making him cry out. The next thing he knew icy water splashed into his face, followed by a hard kick to his ribs from the one-eyed slaver’s boot.

“Get up, you lazy bastart,” he said. “I need another grave dug.”

Cath waited until both Lucy and Beinn had gone their separate ways before he dropped down from where he had wedged himself in the ceiling of the passage. He had been watching over the outsider ever since Tair had taken her to his bed, assuming his post the moment the laird left her each morning. She had yet to see him, of course, but thanks to his sire’s training he could remain concealed from her and everyone else in the stronghold as long as he wished.

Sometimes he still considered leaving the island to disappear for good. While smaller than Elphyne there were many lands in the mortal realm where he could travel to behold their wonders. In time Tair would forgive him for abandoning the MacRune, and the clan would forget their strange brother with the monsters inked on his hide.

He had naught to live for beyond this island, however, and so he would stay.

“None shall pester Mistress Brooke in the laird’s chamber, War Master,” a mild voice chided from behind him.

Cath turned to face the Night Watch, who had already covered his eyes to prevent the brightness of the morning sun from damaging them. “Why do you come here? Shouldnae you seek your own bed?”

“Och, I’ll break my fast before I do.” Lochran fell into step beside him, making his way through the passage with the same ease as someone with full sight. “She’s settled in quite happily, dinnae you think? Aye, and the lads all seem to dote on her.”

Most of the clan had grown fond of Lucy despite orders to the otherwise from Dorchad. The Chieftain and his brother had been scheming together to frighten away Lucy, but somehow she always saw through their efforts. Cath never understood why his half-brothers behaved as they did when they desired a pretty woman. Chained to a bed, females all looked the same to Cath—except for one.

Why do you put these on me? They’re heavy and cold.

Banishing that unwelcome memory, Cath glanced at Lochran, who was smiling again. “She’s no’ a stray cat, you ken. Doting on her shall only harm her in the end, for she must leave the island before the next raid.”

“Tell that to the laird,” the big man advised him before walking through the arch that led into the great hall.

Cath smelled something that made him think of Elphyne, and followed the scent until it led him out to where the maids hung freshly-washed linens and garments to dry on the bushy plants by the inner curtain wall. The smell of enchantment lingered for a long moment and then abruptly vanished, indicating the cluet may have been part of the wash before it removed itself. He had yet to fathom why it had become active on its own; most Fae objects of power had no awareness to act independently of their master.

Something had changed to enable the cluet to make choices of its own, like moving through time to abduct Lucy Brooke—but what?

Cath also couldn’t understand why the treasure had chosen her. Other than her obvious comeliness, Lucy Brooke made no sense as a boon to him. Who would wish for a female that showed little fear and too much audacity? Indeed, she might have been a man for all her boldness.

One of the maids came over with an empty basket, and slid a sly look at him before walking into an archway. To make sure he understood, she glanced over her shoulder at him before going inside.

Following the wench appealed more to him than hovering about Lucy Brooke, so Cath caught up to her as she stowed her basket in a linen storage room. Closing the door behind him, he touched one of the light spheres to activate its amber and blue glow. What was this lass’s name? Sheena? Skena?

“Och, you look fierce today, War Master.” She sidled up to him, and trailed her fingers over the front of his tunic. She had pale brown eyes and tarnished brass colored hair, with only her lush lips relieving the plainness of her features. “Let Sheona give you some relief.”

Cath drew her down to the floor, where he propped her atop him and let her do as she pleased. Like all the maids she knew better than to remove his garments or kiss him, but guided his hands to her large chebs as she rubbed herself against the front of his trews. She made all the right sounds, and her eyes lit with pleasure as he fondled her, but his cock remained unmoved.

“Mayhap you’re weary.” Carefully she climbed off him, and started to lace up her bodice.

The pity in her voice and the way she averted her gaze made him pull her back down and put her under him.