Duncan (Immortal Highlander Clan MacMar #5)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

D uncan MacMar looked up at the lovely young woman he’d seen reflected in the red stone leaf pendant. Stepping into one of his own dreams would have seemed more real than looking upon her; her beauty made him wonder if he’d ever again appreciate the allure and charms of other females. He’d never seen another woman with such gloriously colored hair, nor with eyes as clear and sparkling as a summer sea.

“You remembered my name,” Nicole said, smiling.

The sound of her voice startled him as much as her face alighting with pleasure. Surely she could not be here on Caladh, for the island where he lived with his clan had long ago been enchanted to remain hidden from mortals. The only outsiders who could come here, survivors of shipwrecks, did not dress in gem-encrusted gowns, nor speak through magical objects.

She’s an illusion, created by a Fae enchantment.

Everything about her argued against that thought. Along his side her body heat warmed him like a gentle caress. Water dripped from her long locks, which even wet shone with luscious amber-apricot glints. Was her hair gold or red, or some blend of both? The moon lent a faint sheen to her blue eyes, which made them seem lighter than they were, and glowed along the curve of her jaw, making her pale flesh seem almost ghostly. She smelled of the sea, and beneath it some impossibly sweet, delightful fragrance that made him want to rub his face against her.

That desire, and several others rising inside him, should have invoked a sense of shame; he’d never looked upon females with such base lust. As the only healer on Caladh he had an obligation to see all their vassals as his patients.

She seems real, and she’s no’ one of the mortals that serve the clan. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and went still as she placed an arm around him for support. When was the last time a woman had touched him, much less held him—and what was this strange sensation spreading through him?

Dinnae touch me, demon’s slave, a furious woman’s voice rasped from his memory. Ye shallnae steal and devour my spirit.

“Don’t try to get up yet,” Nicole said, stroking her free hand over his head as if searching for a wound. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere?”

Duncan always absorbed the pain of others he touched, so to experience this welling of warmth and delight that radiated through him now utterly baffled him. The way her palm moved against his hair could not be called a caress, and yet that was how his scalp reacted. Indeed, they might have been entwined together, naked and in his bed. When she slid her hand over his nape a surge of something even hotter jolted through his chest and belly to knot in his groin.

“I’m well,” he said, shifting away from her to hide the bulge in his trews.

It was at that moment that Duncan noticed hundreds of gulls that had silently gathered on the sands around them, their red-rimmed pale eyes fixed on Nicole. Usually the noisy birds stayed well away from people. He then looked up at the top of the cliff, where he expected to see Meg standing and watching them, but saw no sign of her. The chambermaid had pushed him over the edge, he recalled, but he had no notion as to why. He saw Nicole peering at him again, and set aside thoughts of the chambermaid’s puzzling attack .

“’Twas but a small mishap, my lady.” He tasted blood as he said that, and caught her hand as she reached again to touch him, pushing her fingers away. From the soreness of his lower lip he must have cut it, and his ribs ached, but otherwise he seemed well enough. “You neednae fret over me. I saw a vision of you flung from a great ship. How came you here?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Nicole admitted. “Someone hit the back of my head and threw me off a boat. While I was sinking to the bottom I heard two voices speak to me, and everything changed. My injuries had healed, and suddenly I was here.”

A shadow came over them, cast by a cloaked Finfolk male whom Merrick used to deliver messages to the laird.

“Need you aid for your man, my lady?” the courier asked, frowning down at them.

“I think he’s all right, but I don’t know if he can walk,” she said, and touched the aquatic’s arm. “He may have internal injuries, too. Could you get some help?”

The male smiled at her and nodded before he hurried down and dove into the surf. Nicole stared after him, her expression confused.

Her clipped accent and the words she used assured Duncan that she had not come from the mainland, nor anyplace in this time. Around her neck she wore a silver chain, from which hung a much older red stone pendant that matched the one in his pocket. In her ear lobes sparkled newer baubles set with blue gems so finely cut they glittered with a thousand tiny lights. A glance at the silver ring set with a Fae green gem on her hand confirmed not only how she had traveled here, but from whence she had come. Like the four other women saved by the ring belonging to Lady Joana, his brother’s first wife, Nicole had likely lived in a far-off future time.

“If you’re all right to try, let me help you stand,” she said as she took hold of his hands.

Duncan frowned as the soreness of the pains from falling so far abruptly ebbed from his body. Still holding onto Nicole, he rose to his feet and urged her to hers. She began to say something, and then gasped and staggered back. As he caught her all of the birds suddenly flew off, and when he saw she had swooned lifted her up in his arms.

“My lady?” As she did not stir, he started toward the cliff stairs. Halfway there Jamaran, Merrick’s garrison commander, and the Finfolk messenger appeared on either side of him.

“I brought help,” the messenger said, looking very pleased with himself.

The commander told the male to return to the settlement, but kept pace with Duncan as he carried Nicole across the sand. “What manner of spell did that wench cast over the king’s courier?”

“Naught. She simply asked him for aid.” He glanced at the aquatic immortal. “Mayhap we should discuss the matter after I examine the lady and treat her injuries.”

Jamaran inclined his head and returned to the water. Duncan shifted Nicole in his arms before he climbed the cliff stairs, holding her securely against him. As soon as the guards saw him reach the top, two hurried over and he sent them to fetch Nyall.

The stern-faced captain of the guard intercepted him inside the stronghold halfway to the infirmary. “You went swimming, Healer?”

“Meg pushed me off the cliff. This lady found and revived me.” He met his brother’s astonished gaze. “I cannae tell you why the chambermaid attacked me, only that you need assure she’s no’ a shape-shifter wearing Meg’s face.”

“Agreed.” Nyall opened the door to the infirmary for him, and then turned and left.

Duncan placed Nicole on his exam table before he went around to attend to the lamps. Now that he had the lady in proper light he was surprised by how young she appeared; she could not have reached womanhood more than a few years past. The ear baubles she wore caught the lamplight and shimmered like his sire’s magic turned to ice. As he gently turned her onto her side to examine the back of her head, where she had been struck in her time, he saw a pale brown birthing mark on the nape of her neck that almost exactly matched the pendant in size and shape.

Holding her head steady as he brought a small lamp closer, Duncan detected some wetness on his wrist, which turned out to be blood from her mouth. Shifting her so she lay on her back, he nudged her chin down and looked carefully inside, but saw nothing to explain the bleeding. Her eyes abruptly opened, and she grimaced.

“I fainted.” She tried to sit up, and then groaned and pressed her hand to her ribs. “Oh, that really hurts. What did I fall on, a big rock?”

“I caught you before you collapsed. Hold still, my lady, and permit me inspect the injury.” He took her hand away and gently pressed his own fingertips along the area, which seemed slightly swollen. What truly surprised him was the fact that while she was obviously in pain, he experienced none of the same while touching her. “When that bastart tossed you from the ship, did you strike something before you reached the water?”

“I remember hitting my head, I think. Things are still a bit fuzzy.” Her eyes widened as she looked around him. “Where did you bring me?”

“’Tis the infirmary where I work.” As she shivered, he shook out a wool blanket and covered her with it, although he knew it would be better if he could remove the still-wet gown. “We must change your garments or you shall grow chilled. I shall summon a maid so she may attend you.”

“I’m fine. If you’ll help me with the fasteners, I can take off the gown myself.” She sat up and lifted her left arm. “The hooks are on the side here.”

Duncan could not remember how many mortal females he had undressed. Serving as the clan’s healer for centuries had revealed all the mysteries of a woman’s body to him. Yet even as he thought that his hands clenched, and heat surged through his blood. He desired to see Nicole’s body, all of it bare so he could know if she was fashioned as beautifully as he suspected.

“’Tis unseemly for me do so.” He backed away from the table. “I shall fetch a maid.”

Out in the passage he closed the door and nearly dropped. His heart pounded so rapidly in his chest it seemed as if it might burst out of its cage of bones. When he pressed a hand over it he expected his own bruised ribs protest, but no pain came. Because he and the rest of the MacMar Clan had been born to a Fae sire and a mortal màthair , they had many boons, including the ability to heal very quickly—but never had he recovered this fast. There was also the fact that he had not absorbed her pain through his touch. His mortal weakness forced him to share for some hours all the discomfort his patients suffered.

“Why stand you in the hall, Duncan?” Fletcher, the clan’s seneschal, asked as he joined him. Two maids followed, their arms filled with neatly-folded clothing. “Nyall told me of the sodden state of the lady who rescued you. I reckoned she’d want linens for washing and dry garments. The laird wishes speak with you.”

“My report, ’twill wait.” He nodded at the maids, and opened the door for them. As soon as they were inside he closed it again. “Did the captain tell our lord and Lady Valerie everything?”

“I reckon no’, for everyone’s still in the great hall celebrating our victory over the raiders and the Cait Sith. Only the laird retreated to his chamber when Merrick came demanding a word.” The seneschal glanced at the infirmary’s door. “She’s from the future, then?”

Two shrieks came from inside the chamber, and both maids rushed out, stopped long enough to bob unsteadily, and then fled. As Fletcher went after them Duncan stepped inside, and saw Nicole, dressed only in an overlarge leine that reached her knees, standing beside the table and frowning at her palm.

“I didn’t mean to scare those girls.” She held up a small pair of trews, and then held them against the lower half of her body as if measuring them. “I just wanted to know if I can make some calls to the U.S. from here. May I borrow your phone? I should really contact my family, as well as the authorities so they can call off the search for me.”

The clan had already gone through the hazards of explaining what had happened to the ladies from the future four times now. In Duncan’s opinion, completely withholding the truth was just as bad as revealing only part of it.

“I must tell you some things that shall test your reason,” he said. “I dinnae wish cause you dread or more shock, but ’tis best you ken all now.”

Nicole pulled on the trews, lacing them up before she reached down to cuff the too-long legs. When she straightened, she said, “All right, go ahead.”

“The ring on your hand belonged to our laird’s first wife, Lady Joana, who drowned herself to protect us and our home. ’Twas enchanted by her sacrifice and my sire’s magic, and of late seeks out other females facing death by drowning.” He paused, watching her face before he added, “When the ring finds a woman in such terrible straits, it saves her and transports her through time to the island of Caladh. We’re hidden from the rest of the world by the mist barrier that surrounds our island, but three hundred leagues to the south lay Scotland. You’ve come to the twelfth century, my lady, and now abide with the immortal half-Fae sons of Prince Mar.”

Nicole said nothing for a long time after that, but watched him closely as if she expected him to claim it all a farce. When he didn’t, she gathered up her wet crystal-covered gown and placed it in an empty bucket. She then sat down on the edge of his exam table.

“I’m not sure I understand. Why would your enchanted ring bring me to a Scottish island during medieval times?” she asked. “If it wanted to save me, shouldn’t it have taken me to a place of safety in my time?”

“’Tis done the same for four other ladies from the future,” Duncan admitted. “All came to aid my clan so the MacMar may keep secret our island. Didnae you hear voices when you found the ring?”

“I thought I was hallucinating. I really made a deal with them to help you and your clan, is that right?” As he nodded, she smiled. “Then, what can I do for you, Healer?”

“We dinnae ken such until the time of crisis arrives.” He couldn’t believe how calmly she was taking in all of the fantastic details of what had happened; every other woman from the future had reacted by doubting or even refusing to believe any of it. “What you may do shall depend on a boon granted you by my sire’s magic. You shall acquire a power to do such beyond the scope of mortal kind. ’Tis but we dinnae ken what ’tis until you first wield such.”

“You poor people.” Her expression grew sympathetic. “This must be as much a shock for you—the arrival of your time travelers.”

That she spoke with such compassion for others she’d never met touched Duncan, and gave him hope as well.

“We expect our visitors now,” he told her. “Our clan, ’tis been hunted by Derdrui, a wicked Fae enchantress who desires slay us all, for centuries. The Fae king imprisoned her for some time in Elphyne, but she escaped and again returned to the mortal realm so she might hunt us. She commands a horde of Cait Sith shape-shifters, and if she finds Caladh, the clan, ’tis doomed.”

“So you have a terrible villain to go with your enchanted island, your miraculous ring, and your castle.” She gestured around her. “This is the castle on the cliffs that I saw from the beach, I presume.”

“Aye. ’Tis Dun Ard, our home.” He went to his work table and took down a pot of calming herbs, although he doubted she needed them. Indeed, she completely fashed him with her calm demeanor. He glanced at her again. “You accept my word with ease, my lady.”

Her brows rose. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“The others who came from your time didnae believe our claims until they saw proof,” he countered.

“I first spoke to you through a mirror on my father’s boat,” Nicole said, coming to join him. “After I fell into the sea, the water lit up with strange lights. Some voices in my head then offered me a bargain, and when I accepted, they healed me, and brought me to you. That’s why I believe everything you’ve told me, so don’t worry.”

The fact that she had picked up on so much from him with such ease baffled Duncan, for even his brothers had trouble fathoming his concerns. Before he could reply, the door to the infirmary opened, and the laird and his wife entered with Nyall following.

“Welcome, my lady.” Connal MacMar bowed to Nicole as if she were a visiting princess, but as he straightened he frowned at her for a long moment. “I’m Laird of the MacMar Clan and Duncan’s eldest brother.” He gestured at the blonde woman beside him. “My lady wife, Valerie.”

“My name is Nicole Fairley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Without hesitation she dropped into a curtsy so elegant she might have been practicing such for years.

Atop the ridge, Meg had stood watching as the strangely-gowned woman waded out of the bay. Her garment appeared encrusted with ice or diamonds, both highly unlikely adornments unless she had come from a time when such garments could be made. She seemed upset to find Duncan MacMar in the dunes, and fussed over him before helping him to his feet. The Finfolk male that had stopped by them and then flung himself in the sea had been cloaked, so the woman would not have seen his gills or webbed hands and feet.

’Tis enough here on the island that shall scare the wits from her.

Meg suffered no guilt for pushing the healer off the seaside cliff; as a half-Fae immortal he couldn’t be easily killed. Such a plunge would simply cause him some bruises that would soon fade. If she hadn’t done so, the Finfolk might have snatched the woman before she could be rescued. At least, that was what she had been thinking when she’d spotted the woman in the water surrounded by blue-green lights, just a few moments before she’d shoved Duncan .

I hope ’twas my intention. Her thoughts at the time had been muddled, as they often grew lately.

Even as she knew the fall would not end the healer, it had given her a perverse sense of pleasure to watch him land. Duncan MacMar had always been such a lordly hairsplitter, his manner so lofty he hardly seemed like the other clansmen. Indeed, she sometimes wondered if he possessed any mortal blood at all. To see his long legs and arms flailing as he plummeted, unable to save himself, had been most gratifying.

Now you ken what ’tis, made helpless like me.

“I need go home,” she muttered as she finally retreated from the cliff, and walked through the shadowy gardens. Her arms itched, but with her thin skin if she scratched them she’d likely draw blood. “Aye, ’tis a good notion. I shall work hard at the farm and fret no more over that facking web-fingered sea-swiller.”

“Is that you, Meg?” Lady Valerie, the woman from the future who had first arrived on Caladh, appeared on the path ahead of her. With her soft blonde curls and elegant blue silk gown she seemed every inch the laird’s wife. “Goodness, what are you doing out here? Brochan has been looking for you—he said you promised him a dance.”

Would the nosy ken-all ever leave me in peace? She wondered idly, and then realized she’d wrapped her fingers around the dagger she carried in her apron pocket.

“Meg?” The other woman frowned as she peered at her. “Are you all right? You look very pale.”

Lady Valerie seemed to care for her, much as the stepmother Meg only distantly remembered. She certainly hadn’t done anything that deserved sinking a blade into her heart—she had only grabbed her dagger because she had been startled, that was all. She should reassure the laird’s wife before she ran off to hide.

“’Tis the moonlight, my lady.” She sniffed. “As for a promise to the cook, never did I offer such. Great lummox’s so clumsy, he’d smash both my feet.” She gestured casually back toward the cliff stairs. “Duncan’s found a strange female who swam in from the bay. From her garb I reckon she’s another castaway like you and the other ladies.”

Valerie looked astounded. “Another one, really? I’d better go back.” She turned and hurried toward the stronghold.

Meg retreated to the shadows again, and followed the outside curtain wall until she reached the back gate. The guards smiled at her as they raised the portcullis, and she waved as she passed under it. They did not know the crazed thoughts careening inside her head, thank the Gods. Was she going mad, then? Nothing else could explain the change that had come over her this past moon. She kept her pace slow as she followed the trail to the wide glen beyond Dun Ard. Only when she was out of sight of the watchers did she run for the hills, ignoring the tall grasses as they lashed her skin like thousands of thin whips.

The thing that had been growing inside her twisted and scratched, wanting her to do something more than simply run.

By the time she reached the slopes, Meg should have been out of breath, but instead her body seemed to glow with heat and power. Her fingers itched, and when she stopped and lifted her hands she saw blood rimming all of her fingernails. As she turned her hands over, glistening red crescents marred her palms, shocking her. She’d never harmed herself like this, nor touched a blade in Lady Valerie’s presence. She had never once in her life behaved like a crazed loon.

Except when I go near the water, Meg thought, tired and sick. Then my skin crawls as if ’twere an ocean of snot, and awakens the thing inside my belly.

Weary now, she made her way to the small cave she’d found some days past when she’d needed to escape the watchful eyes of the laird’s wife and the MacMar. She’d stolen some linens, food and drink from the stronghold, and now lay on the bed she’d made in the back of the cave, grimacing as the willow branches under the linens creaked. She eyed the jug of pear juice she’d filched from the kitchens, but the knots tightening in her throat meant she’d only puke it back up. Nor did she hunger for the food she’d squirreled away.

Meg didn’t know what she wanted. She wished to believe she was sick, perhaps dying, but the itching had always been with her, and had only grown stronger since her greedy bastart of a sire had sold her and her younger sisters to slavers.

She closed her eyes, and of course the ungodly stunning face of Merrick appeared in her head. Tall, golden-haired and jewel-eyed, the Finfolk king had long tormented her with his many charms. She’d pretended to despise him for as long as she could, and then he had confessed his love, and offered her his heart. He didn’t care that she was érieann, or that she had been sold for money like livestock. He didn’t even look down on her for serving as a chambermaid.

Merrick had plenty of his own reasons not to care for her. He was a true monarch, born to the throne, and had always been expected to mate with a female of noble blood among his kind. Among the Finfolk, females with bright red hair were considered such bad luck that they refused to mate with any mortal female with such coloring. The king was not even human, and before any mortal woman could wed him he was obliged to use his magic to change her into one of his own kind, which condemned his wife to be bound to live underwater for eternity.

Meg pressed the heels of her hands against her burning eyes. Yet try as she might she could not forget their last meeting, at which Merrick had torn at her own bruised, sullen heart with his passionate pleading.

If I dinnae kiss you, I’ll die. If you dinnae come to me, I’ll die. If you dinnae permit me change you, I’ll die. If you dinnae love me, I’ll die.

She uncorked the jug and took a long drink from it, gasping in surprise at the fiery bite of Brochan’s special spiced perry. Tasting like heaven on the tongue before burning its way to hell down the throat, the cook’s spirit was highly prized by the clan. She recalled tasting it once at the laird’s first wedding to Lady Joana, and coughing with watery eyes after one sip. This time the perry seemed to soothe the thing clawing and writhing in her, until it finally went still. She wished she could talk with anyone about what was happening to her, but the only woman she had truly trusted had died to protect the clan.

You should confide in Duncan, lass, Lady Joana had long ago advised her. She had believed Meg’s symptoms came from her female monthly troubles. He may ken a cure for the cramping.

On that day Meg had gone to the infirmary to do just that, finding it empty. She’d waited there for a few moments, until a thumping sound made her glance at the healer’s locked black cabinet where he kept the odd enchanted things that washed up on the shores of Caladh. As the door shook again, more thumps and thuds sounded, and tiny beams of green and blue light came through the sides and center seam of the doors. She’d turned and fled, and never again spoke of her affliction to anyone.

The strong spirit must have put to sleep whatever wound up inside her during such spells. If she drank whenever it plagued her, could that stop them altogether? She took another big swallow from the jug, tears spilling down her cheeks as she endured the burn of the spirit.

“Margret, come out and speak with me.”

The sound of Shaw MacMar’s voice made her drop the jug, which fell over and spilled a puddle onto the dirt. As she righted it, she thought of what she could say and do in this situation, and wondered if he’d believe her. She’d always had a friendly understanding with the most dangerous man on the island, but there was another part of him that only looked on her as it lusted for her blood and death .

Dinnae make them wait.

Meg rose and walked out to where the chieftain stood barefoot with only a pair of old trews covering the lower half of his body. Strange black tattoos, inked on him by Pritani slavers that had captured him as a lad, moved restlessly on his arm, shoulder and chest. The demon spirit that had been forced into Shaw through the enchanted ink enabled the chieftain to move like black water, and gave him incredible powers that no mortal or immortal could challenge. Although he made his brothers uneasy, and terrified the clan’s vassals, Meg took comfort in his presence on the island.

If I go mad, he shall surely end me before I may slay anyone.

“What do you here, Chieftain?” She leaned against the side of the cave’s entry, tucking her hands under her arms to hide the tiny wounds on her palms. “Surely your lady saves her next dance for you.”

Reminding him of Julianne Scott was a deliberate prod; Shaw had been saved again and again by the towering blonde woman, who had come from the future with him after rescuing him in her time. Although both had faced many trials since her arrival, they had become one of the most devoted couples on Caladh. Julianne had even somehow managed to somewhat tame the chieftain’s demonic beast .

Meg hated them both a little for being so much in love.

“My lady awaits my return at the stronghold.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the bay. “I saw you push Duncan over the cliff, and now you smell of blood. What’s gone amiss with you, lass?”

Meg knew he could easily slay her and spirit away her remains with no one the wiser. Slowly she extended her hands, holding them palm-up to reveal the harm she’d done to herself, only to discover the blood and the wounds gone. Quickly she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a small red smear.

“I mistook your brother for Merrick, come in search of me.” Why she was telling such a lie Meg had no idea, but she looked down at her boots and shuffled them as if she were embarrassed. “I’ve begged the king stay away. The sight of the healer, so tall like Merrick in the darkness… ’Twas too much for me.”

Shaw said nothing for such a long time she nearly turned and ran back into the cave. Instead she poured all her effort into giving him a pleading look. It seemed very, very important that she deceive him, although she didn’t understand why.

“Dinnae stay out here alone,” he said at last. “If you dinnae wish sleep at the stronghold, then seek a bed in the village. You’ve friends there, aye?”

“I do.” Lie after lie kept spilling from her lips, but at least they seemed to be convincing him. “My thanks, Chieftain.”

“If you dinnae wish cross paths with Merrick, then mayhap the MacKay farm, ’tis the best place for you.” He sighed. “Or you may leave Caladh.”

Meg would have taken the ferry to the mainland as soon as dawn arrived, but for one requirement of any mortal who left the island: Merrick would be called on to remove her memories of the MacMar and Caladh first. That meant forgetting Lady Joanna, who had been like a mother to her, and the Finfolk king, whom she loved so much it had broken her.

“I shall, Chieftain.” She belatedly bobbed to show him the proper respect, and then watched him turn black from head to toe and stream down the ridge like a flood of ink. “Only forgive me if ’tisnae how you wish.”