Page 8 of Connal

“Aye, and she desires us sail her about on a boat.” Speal lumbered to her feet, and hefted the dead maid’s body before tossing Magnus’s corpse to the sisters. “Come. We’ll make use of the empty kegs in the cellar, and put them on my cart. I ken a bog where they’ll sink in an hour.”

Trusting her sisters to attend to the dead, Fiacail retrieved a large purse from her husband’s hidden cache of coin, left the house and made her way to the boat yard. There she walked slowly along the row of builder’s shacks before stopping at the largest and grandest, where a pair of old men sat watching the fishers coming in with their daily hauls.

“Maisters.” Fiacail neither knew nor cared what their names were, but made her curtsey deep and respectful. “My husband’s in need of a large vessel. He must take a noblewoman in mourning to the northern isles.”

One of the old builders squinted at her. “Magnus Haig sends his bride do his hiring? The fat bastart grows lazier by the day.”

“As you say.” Fiacail moved closer. “Mayhap you should charge my dear husband twice the going price, for I should ken none the better.” She winked. “And shall say naught to him.”

Both men grinned widely as they got to their feet, and escorted her down to the dock to show her the four boats currently for hire. Fiacail chose the largest, and handed over all of the coin she’d brought with her.

“He sets sail tonight, maisters,” she told the pair, struggling to hide her queasiness as she watched the vessel bob. “To return within sevenday.” She had no idea when Derdrui meant to return the boat, but she had no intention of returning to Aberdeen to be drowned as a murderess.

“You’re near as green as a thorn apple, Mistress,” one of the builders chided. “Good that Magnus doesnae drag you along on his journey.”

Swaddled in plaids and holding a pottery mug of strange-looking tea, Valerie tried not to stare at the deranged people coming in and out of the castle’s huge hall. The place appeared to be built entirely of the pretty golden stone she’d seen from the beach, on a scale that rivaled the pyramids. It had been here a while, too, judging by the scarred floor stones and blackness inside the fireplaces. It even smelled nice, thanks to the white and green ivy that spilled inside from the slits in the walls, in which fresh flowers had been tucked.

This isn’t upstate New York. It probably isn’t even near America.

Everyone sounded Scottish, and in keeping with the castle setting had dressed up as medieval warriors and servants. Their costumes appeared completely authentic, right down to the rough-woven fabrics and hand stitching. Most of the women wore long linen scarves over their neatly-braided hair. The men, all of whom appeared to be built like titans, had even longer, shaggy manes and ponytails that hung to the waist. Everyone had on heavy, fur-lined leather boots that vaguely reminded her of the ugly sheepskin variety that had been briefly trendy when she’d been in grade school.

At least none of them have gills and scales. Remembering the huge fair-haired being who had tried to grab her in the water still made Valerie shudder.

A very tall teenage girl with blazing red hair came and stood with folded arms as she inspected her with a frown.

“Hi,” Valerie said, trying to look friendly. “What’s your name?”

“Meg.” The woman’s sharp dark eyes shifted to the locket she wore. “You’re no’ Scottish.”

“I’m an American.” She watched Meg stalk off. “And you only like Scottish people, okay.”

Valerie had acquired a little information about her present whereabouts, although none of them made any sense, either. She had been stranded on an island called Caladh, which like the castle belonged to the Clan MacMar. The large, dark man who had rescued her apparently was the clan’s laird, Connal MacMar. She hadn’t seen him since waking up in the hall, wrapped in tartans, and being urged to drink something that smelled like hot honey and herbs. Right after that the clan’s healer, a guy named Duncan, had checked her for injuries while asking for her name and how she had reached the island.

Hoping he really worked as a medical professional, she’d told him everything.

The more details Valerie had given Duncan, the less convinced he’d looked. Handing him her license had probably been stupid, but it was the only proof of who she was and where she lived. He’d taken it and disappeared, leaving her to wonder if she should just get up and run until she found something that resembled civilization.

“Your color, ’tis better, lass.” A man with sun-streaked brown hair crouched down in front of her. “I’m Fletcher MacMar, the laird’s seneschal.” He nodded at the tea. “You should drink that. ’Twill warm and calm you.”

Great, they were trying to feed her drugs.

“No, thank you.” She shoved the mug at him and stood up, pulling away plaids until she freed herself. She hated being rude to people who might be trying to help her, but she wasn’t an idiot. “I need to use a telephone, Mr. MacMar. Right now.”

“I fear we dinnae possess such.” He handed the mug to one of the maids. “You’ve kin on the mainland, mayhap?”

“I’m an American citizen,” Valerie said as loudly as she could without shouting the words. “I’m sure there’s an embassy somewhere. Do you have a ferry boat?”

Fletcher grimaced. “Aye, but ’tisnae the time it sails. None shall take you from Caladh.”

“Are you saying I have to stay on this island?” When he nodded Valerie turned her back on him and marched toward the nearest arch, where two men crossed the long spears they held to block her exit. “And in this room, evidently.”

She moved as if she meant to go back to Fletcher, then darted under the crossed spears and ran.

Several things became apparent to Valerie as she fled past several startled-looking people. Made from the same golden stone as the hall, the castle’s passages never seemed to end but curved around and joined with others. When her legs began to ache she wondered if the place could be bigger than the pyramids. Torches stuck in wall brackets provided the only light, and here and there very functional-looking swords, spears and bows had been mounted between them. Every room she passed had been staged to look like actual medieval chambers, complete with fireplaces and clunky furnishings and tall, narrow slits in the thick stone walls that served as windows.

Science had always been her main preoccupation, and for the first time Valerie regretted that. Why didn’t I pay more attention in European History?

When she reached an empty hall she stopped to catch her breath, and heard the shouts of men and running footsteps behind her. Quickly she yanked open the nearest wooden door and ducked inside, closing it before leaning her forehead against it.