by Hazel Hunter
Catriona backed away from the window, and whirled around to hurry into her bed chamber. She had already packed most of her things. She needed only to assure she’d left nothing behind that would show she yet lived. The highlander could not have gotten a good look at her. He would remember only the blue dress.
Maybe if Uncle heard of that, he would think the island haunted by her mother. That would please Catriona enormously.
The animals she had sent to inspect the man plagued her with images of his smile, and the gentle touch of his hand. The ducks liked his voice, and the hares considered him trustworthy enough to let him fondle their leverets. Even Jester, now safely stowed under the basket, chittered to be let out again to see the highlander.
She felt like shrieking with frustration. His kindness had to be false—a ruse, to draw her out into the open. He wanted her to think him harmless so she would be careless, and put herself at his mercy. Her uncle had been exactly the same.
No, he hadn’t. Catriona sat down on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. Uncle had smiled and spoken and even jested, but the ice in his eyes had never thawed. He’d often patted her on the head, as if she were a family pet and not a child. Each time the touch of his soft hand had made her stomach surge into her throat.
The highlander had no idea who she was or why she had come here, and she would keep it so. Catriona shoved her garments in her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. As soon as she collected herself, she would go out through the back door of the cottage, and weave her way through the others until she was safely out of sight. Then she could reach the sacred grove, and use the portal to return to Ennis and Senga.
She would never come to Everbay again.
Catriona went to the window to take one last look at the highlander. He stood waiting, his hands at his sides, his expression one of patience and understanding. He knew nothing of her, and yet there he remained, with his bare chest and feet, his hair a damp tangle, and the sunlight turning his eyes to warm amber.
He looked like everything kind, and yet he had burned the sketch of the woman. Was she one he had lost? Or was that another lie?
Something about him felt wrong, but something more felt right. The more Catriona looked upon him, the more she felt the pull of him, the goodness of him. He worked hard, he showed kindness to her friends, and he apologized for trespassing. Perhaps everything he said was the truth.
What did she truly know of him, except that he had crossed the barrier?
In that moment she knew why he had such an aura of goodness. Her knees wobbled as she turned away from the window, and she pressed her hand over her burning eyes for a moment as the realization cut through her. Mortals could not pass through the spell wall. She knew that from the few times others had tried. Her barrier had failed to keep Gavin away, and there was only one reason for that.
Somehow, impossibly, he was druid kind.
That was what had drawn her to him. Ennis had had the same effect on her the first time they’d met. Gavin shared the same blood as she had. He also might know more about Druidry than Ennis had. She would never know unless she went out there and spoke to him.
Catriona looked down at herself. Every part of her trembled with fear, and her breath rushed in and out through her nose and mouth. Since the attack she had kept from everyone in the islands. If she were to go outside and face him, first she had to calm herself. She pulled Senga’s shawl from her satchel, wrapping it around herself. The feel of the soft wool soothed her enough to stop her shaking. She had only to get close enough to him to feel his life energy, and then she would know.
All around the village the animals went still as she reached out to them with her thoughts one last time. She trusted their senses more than her own, and from what they thought back to her they believed she would be safe with the man.
Catriona took a deep breath, and marched out of the cottage. She stopped short of the highlander by several yards, and prepared to run if need be.
“My name is Catriona. I suppose that I am the Blue Lady they speak of, but this island is called Everbay, no’ Marr.”
The breeze whisked away the sound of her voice, leaving them in a palpable silence. Gavin stared at her as if aghast, his brow furrowed and his mouth shaped a word without sound.
Why did he gape at her like that? Had he never before seen a woman? As his gaze traveled over her, she took a step back. While she would never be the beauty Isela had been, she knew herself to be comely and well-shaped. Perhaps he found fault with her mother’s precious gown. To him it must seem like a bundle of rags.
“Well? Have you naught to say to my face?” she demanded.
That broke his trance. “Forgive me, I… ’Tis a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He peered at her again. “You are real.”
“Aye, as you see.” She must have given him a fright at the spring, and felt a little ashamed for speaking so gruffly to him. “I wear blue, but I am no’ a lady.”
“Mistress Catriona, then.” He glanced down at the leverets, two of which now perched on his feet. “I thought the name of this island to be Marr.”
“’Tis what mortals call it now.” Catriona jerked her chin at his skinwork. “I have never seen the like of your ink. Where does your tribe call home?”
Some of the ease left his features. “I have no tribe.”
That explained why he had come to the island alone. “Nor do I.”
Gavin’s mouth curled on one side. “The people on the other islands believe you to be a ghost.”
“Mayhap I am.” She didn’t want to like him, but already his attention had softened her. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel bonny, even in the shreds of her mother’s gown. What he thinks of me matters no’, she reminded herself. “What shall you tell them now?”
Gavin looked around the village. “You’ve been hiding from me all this time. You mustnae wish anyone to learn of you.”
Now she might say too much, and he would tell others. “I dinnae live here. I but visit this place now and then. I will go, and leave the island to you.”
“You neednae do that.” He took a step toward her, and then stopped when he saw her reaction. “Mistress, I meant what I said. Please, dinnae leave. I willnae harm you.”
Catriona had no ear for truth or lies, but her friends did. The hares eyed her as they thought of how gentle he treated their leverets, and Jester after the nestling’s clumsy attack. They too had warmed to him, and they were not easily deceived. “Why would you wish me to stay?”
“I came here from the mainland, and still have much to learn about island living.” He gestured around them. “And I can see that you have spent much time here. It must feel like your home.”
Too much. Catriona thought of Ennis and Senga, whom she loved, and the quiet little hamlet where she lived with them. She loved them both. They had generously provided her with sanctuary and comfort away from Everbay, but the highlander was right. Only when she came back to the island did she feel at home.
That he knew nothing of the islands and yet had chosen to build his cottage on Everbay puzzled her. “Why do you come to dwell here? Wouldnae you be happier in the highlands?”
His eyes darkened, and he glanced back at the cottage behind him. “I left behind too many unhappy memories to do that.”
“You cannae escape,” Catriona said without thinking, and hunched her shoulders. “We carry them with us.”
“Aye, but ’tis my hope they fade in time.” He looked all over her face. “How long do you stay for your visit?”
Her suspicions sent spikes of fear through her. Did he have some scheme to work on her? Had Uncle sent him to hunt for her? Who might have betrayed her presence? As her thoughts snarled, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Why do you care?”
“Down by the shore there are some shellfish I’ve never before seen,” Gavin said, and pointed in the direction of the cove of tidal pools. “I dinnae ken if they are safe to eat. Will you come with me there,
so I may show you?”
Catriona started to refuse, and then thought better of it. The man had to eat, and anything he took from the sea would keep him from hunting her friends. In the water there were plenty of scallops, clams and mussels to be had, but there were other cautions to take. As a highlander used to fresh water lochs he likely did not know the dangers.
“I will walk with you,” she said at last, but she let him lead and kept her distance.
They stopped first at the spring, where the highlander retrieved his garments and boots. Catriona turned away as he dressed, trying to think of something to say in the interval. She had never had to speak to anyone on the island before now, and back in the village and at work she avoided talking because her brogue was so different and heavy.
“I’m fit to be seen now,” he announced.
That was the problem. All she wanted to do was look at him. “I see you bringing fish with you when you come from the ferry.” And now he knew she had watched him, Catriona thought, cringing a little. “Do you work on the docks, or a boat?”
As they crossed the glen, Gavin spoke of the fisher out of Hrossey harbor on which he crewed. The cod he sometimes brought to the island came from the cold waters of the North Sea, which Catriona knew to be rich but often dangerous.
“My share of the catch is always more than I can eat, so I give what I cannae use to the men with families,” Gavin said. “Soon I reckon I should smoke or dry some for the cold months.”
“’Tis easier to salt,” she said, and nodded at the thick deposits of silver-white sea salt on the rocks hemming the shore. “You layer fish and salt in a crock or barrel, and leave it for a day to draw out the liquid. Then repack all in fresh salt, and ’twill keep for three seasons.” She saw the way he looked at her and shrugged. “I eat fish. So many fill the seas they can never be counted. They dinnae feel things as furred and feathered creatures do.”
“I thought mayhap you lived on rose petals and morning dew,” he said gravely.
Was he teasing her now? Catriona scowled to keep her lips from curving. “Show me your strange shellfish.”
Gavin led her down to a wide rock pool filled with oysters, anemones and other colorful shellfish. He crouched down and pointed to a colony of long, narrow gray shells with long brown fringes. Even from several paces back she could easily see through the perfectly clear water.
“What do you call these, Mistress?”
“Sandies,” she said, using the islander name for mussels. “They are good steamed with wild garlic. You can take them from this pool, but the largest shall be full of grit, and the smallest have no taste.” She glanced at his face. “Take only those that are middling, shorter than your thumb.” With her fingers she measured the proper size in the air.
He nodded. “But why from this pool and no’ another?”
Catriona led him over to a smaller pool with blue-green blooms floating around the edges. “See the scum there?” Though he came closer for a good look, she didn’t back up this time. “’Tis a sun blight. It grows where the water is too still and warm, and taints everything around it. Always look for it first. Eat from a scummed pool, and if it doesnae kill you, ’twill put you on your back to puke in your bed for sevenday or longer.”
He watched her as she returned to the clean pool, reached into the water and deftly scooped up a spiky green sea urchin. As soon as he saw what she held he made as if to step toward her but stopped himself.
“’Tis a dangerous thing to hold,” he said.
“If I clutch it too tightly, aye. You’ve only to treat it as you may a hedgehog, with care.” She took a few steps back toward him and gently rolled over the spiny ball to show him the toothy mouth circle. “You open it here, with a blade run along the outside of the teeth. Break off the spikes first so you may grip the shell as you cut, and dig out the five orange parts inside to eat.”
“Raw?” When she nodded Gavin winced. “I reckon I’ll stay with steaming the middling sandies.”
“And you a fisherman,” Catriona said and placed the urchin back in the pool. “Watch for green urchins wherever you take your shellfish. Where you see them in abundance, there willnae be blight in the pool.”
“Because they eat it,” he guessed.
“Aye.” She suspected he was clever enough to learn on his own how to survive here, but it would do no harm to show him how to fish in her waters. “Has your crew taught you how and where to net from the shore?”
Gavin had only fished from a boat deck, so she showed him the recess up in the rocks where she kept her oak-bast nets. One of the loom weights she’d tied to the corners fell on the sand, and she quickly restrung it before leading him into the shallows.
“When you see nothing in the water you must spread bait, like so,” Catriona told him, gesturing with her hand. “Chop some snails or worms to attract the most.” A bright cluster of fish swimming toward them flashed under the water. “There, now. We call those silver darlings, for they are fat and savory.”
Catriona waited patiently as the school of herring approached, and when they swarmed around them she cast her net. Most of the fish evaded it, turned and fleeing for deeper waters. But a dozen wriggled madly as they tried in vain to find a way out.
“You tuck the far end under and draw it toward you,” she told him as she pulled the net closed, and hefted it out of the water. “Cinch the weights together, and you have your catch.”
“Do you want them?” Gavin asked, and when she shook her head he took the net from her, their hands brushing briefly. A strange tingle shot up her arm, and for his part the Highlander stared at where she’d touched him. But after the briefest pause, he tossed two of the fish onto the shore before releasing the rest under water. “I’ve my firesteel in my pocket, and I’m hungry. What say we build a fire and cook those fish?”
She hadn’t shared a meal on the island with anyone since her parents had died, and started to refuse. Then she looked into his eyes, and saw her own loneliness reflected there. He didn’t want her to leave him, and there was pleasure in knowing that.
“Aye, Highlander,” she said. “I’ll gather the wood.”
Chapter Five
ONCE THE SUN set, Strabo regarded the men standing in perfect ranks on the grass cliff top. Only one in every ten were true Romans who had come to this land with him twelve centuries past. Now the legion had become rife with the likes of Norse raiders and peasant farm hands and Nubian slaves. Most could not read or cipher, and they had to be forced to bathe. Dozens of female thralls had died beneath them, for they rutted like animals without the least care for what damage they inflicted.
Still, they were his men, and train them he would.
“Look upon me,” he shouted as he pulled back his hood. “This is the best that you may expect from the highlanders. The worst will leave you as ash on the wind. You will repeat all of the fighting drills tonight and every night hence until you can perform them without mistake. These are your tribune’s orders.”
None of the men made a sound in response to his announcement, but many eyes narrowed and hands knotted.
“Run them again,” Strabo told his centurions before he turned and strode back to the steep shelf of stairs hewn into the cliffside.
Guards came to attention as he passed them on the way to his chamber, and Strabo nodded to each man. For months he had been cultivating the troops’ loyalty, which he now considered his most important weapon. Soon he felt certain the men would follow him into the bowels of the underworld without hesitation.
He had no fear of death. He wore it like a half-mask now, as if every day of his immortality would be a dark Saturnalia, and he a caricature of the two-faced god, Janus.
As soon as Strabo stepped inside his chamber he smelled the sweetness of honey. Adorning his spartan furnishings were vases filled with bunches of the tiny, fragrant white flowers that festooned the cliffs. Beside his hearth sat Bryn Mulligan, her soft white body wrapped in the scantiest of black furs.
> “Fair evening, Prefect Strabo.” As she rose she allowed her generous breasts to spill out of the fur. “I am sent to tend to you.”
“Indeed.” She would not have come to him on her own, but at least she did not avert her eyes like the other females. “I have no need of you or your gifts.” He gestured at the flowers. “Take these away.”
Bryn pouted. “I thought to brighten your dreary rooms.” She sidled up to him, her pale flesh gleaming in the firelight. “’Tis naught but a bit of pleasure, milord. How long has it been since you enjoyed a woman?”
“That is not your concern.”
“I ken you dinnae pleasure yourself.” She held up between them the sacred phallus from his private altar to Priapus. “This I found covered in dust.”
The sacrilege would have outraged him, but Strabo knew she’d desecrated his shrine deliberately, as she did everything else.
“When I want a woman, I will take one.” He thrust her away. “Get out or I will summon the guard.”
“That will no’ please the Tribune. He thinks you sullen and petulant for lack of pleasure.” Bryn wandered over to his bed. “I have made sure of that.”
“What?” Strabo peered at her. “Why?”
“To protect you. ’Tis Quintus Seneca and his lack of regard for the legion that sticks in your craw.” She turned and sat down on the edge of his bed. “He’s the reason most of your men are dead, and you maimed.”
For a moment he wondered if the tribune had sent his whore mistress to trap him into a confession. “I should kill you right now.”
“Then you would never learn what I ken,” she chided. “’Tis more than you think, Titus. The tribune grieves for the loss of that stupit cow, Fenella Ivar. Your presence, aye, your very face reminds him that he did naught to protect her, his poor love.”
Fascinated now, Strabo came to stand over her. “What more have you to tell me?”
“Much.” Bryn’s placid eyes glittered. “I despise Quintus Seneca as much as you. Give me what I desire, and I’ll help you end him.”