Highland Shapeshifter (19 page)

“I felt the bottomfeeders.” Daire’s serious blue eyes held a troubled sheen. “’Tisn’t right. They felt . . . I sensed . . . I don’t know. They just felt wrong.” The intensity of his gaze bore straight to her bones. “Paedra, you’re . . . unhurt? If I’d sensed them about, or thought they’d turn on us, I’d never have taken ye. Strike, what was I thinking? You’re certain you’re unhurt?”

He dragged an arm under her shoulder, lifting her higher. “Can ye make it to the boat?”

She nodded.

“Just stay afloat and I’ll see to the rest.”

“I’m well, really. Cease treating me like spun silk.”

Daire forced a strangled grin.

They swam to the little rowboat, Daire acting more attentive than he ever had. She wasn’t all that certain she liked this new treatment. She must have really frightened him. What if he decided she was too much of a lass now to accompany him on their forays around the hills? She couldn’t suffer the boredom of spinning wool or dipping candles.

“Here, I’ll get ye aboard,” Daire said.

“I can get myself on my own boat,” Paedra grumbled, but was ignored. Daire pushed her easily into the skiff. Her bruised limbs scraped across the side and she cursed, and was again ignored.

“Bottomfeeder!” she panted. “We were at the deepest part of the lake?”

“We didn’t go anywhere near.” Daire lifted himself into the boat, making it rock, and Paedra felt as though her insides were sloshing around “We weren’t that far down.”

Paedra knew that, but was rallying her anger against the way Daire was looking at her.

“’Twas lucky I was to find you,” Daire said. He looked hurt.

That did it. Paedra couldn’t maintain her gaze when he looked like that. She would not winnow after him the same as every female he charmed. Ignoring the dragging pain from each movement, she lifted the oars.

Daire’s expression became a mixture of admiration and relief. Which was far worse. “You’re looking mighty fit for a half-dead drowned lass.” He knelt beside her, speaking low. “Ye had me scared. Are ye certain you’re well?”

Much worse. “Aye, fine. My side hurts sorely, but no more than when Grisbain’s foul-tempered mare threw me.”

“Ah,” Daire said and took the oars from her. “Let’s get you home.”

The rain was increasing, yet the full crest of the storm hadn’t yet met them. To the east, low otherworldly rumbles echoed jagged lines of lightning. It wouldn't do well to be caught over the water in that.

Lights winked into existence above the village shore as lanterns and candles were lit. She made out Alvan Peor’s stocky form trotting up the winding path between the thatch-roofed houses that clung to the hill on layered terraces. The blacksmith managed to be the first sipping a pint in the inn’s common room each evening. The rain came harder, on a slant, colder than the lake.

“Who’s that?” Paedra asked. “There with your uncle.”

Shadowy figures stood on the quay. Paedra had little trouble picking out Ethem’s short and stocky form, arms stretched high, waving vigorously. She felt a stab of guilt that Daire’s poor uncle was out in this sodden weather because of them. And what of her da? He’d be furious. Credible excuses started sorting through her mind.

She didn’t recognize the others with Ethem. Two women and a man, wearing long cloaks that beat on their legs in the wind-driven rain. The man’s stance reminded her of the Kilkenny Bull, an irritable beast that remained in a state of constant alertness, ready to spear anyone who crossed his fence.

“Who d’ye think they are? We haven’t had visitors since well before winter,” Daire said.

Paedra shrugged. “We’ll find out soon e—”

The boat jerked and rolled, almost spilled them into the water. A long grayish spine crested on the other side and disappeared. A thick sweep of spray tunneled up from the water, and the bow lifted.

Paedra skidded toward the edge. Daire grabbed and hauled her back in. The boat rolled and he fell over the other side.

“Daire!”

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