AT DAWN CATRIONA rose from her pallet and wrapped her old wool blanket around her as she went to the hearth. She knelt down and fed some bits of wood to the banked embers until they woke and flared. Another pile of dried branches brought the flames to dance, and she smiled a little as she warmed her hands. The first time she’d tried to build a fire alone she’d scorched her fingertips and singed her hair. How terrified she’d been on that day, creeping about the island as if Uncle might jump out at her from behind every rock and tree.

Now Catriona had only to contend with a highlander who drew a beautiful woman, only to burn her portrait. That didn’t frighten as much as unsettle her.

A chirp drew her attention to the mossy nest she had fashioned for the little nestling she’d rescued from a tidal pool. The bedraggled chick’s minor wounds from tumbling out of its cliffside nest had healed, and now it was a plump ball of black fluff. Only when the end of its thin beak had begun to show a little orange did she know for certain that it was a baby puffin.

“Fair morning, Jester.” She took down the bowl of fish and limpet mash she’d made last night, and came over to remove the woven-twig basket that kept the bird from wandering off. As he caught some strands of her red-brown hair and tugged, she pinched a bit of the mash. With her fingers she placed it in the hungry chick’s mouth in the same manner his mother might. “Och, you’re a greedy thing. Dinnae gulp it so fast. Aye, that’s the way of it.”

Once she finished feeding the nestling she dressed in the warmth by the hearth. The cold nipped at her skin, making her think fondly of the thick robe she’d left at her other home. She never brought any clothing to the island except what she wore for traveling: a shawl Senga had knit for her, and a gown Catriona had made by hand from old, worn linen. She had many finer garments at home, but she worried she might forget something that would betray not only her presence, but where she now lived away from Everbay.

The one gown Catriona did leave behind had belonged to her mother, and was her most treasured possession. She could still remember gathering woad leaves with Isela to dye the kirtle and long skirts, but not the name of the ritual for which her mother had made them. Something about the light of the shore, and the longest day. Losing her family before growing old enough to enter the sacred circle had left Catriona as ignorant as a newly-weaned bairn. Ennis and Senga had sympathized with her frustration, but they knew nothing of the ways in which she should have been trained.

“Senga isnae druid kind,” Ennis admitted when Catriona had spoken to him about her lack of knowledge. “I’ve the blood but no’ the learning, nor the lives past to remember. As druids you and I are babes, lass.”

Looking down at the faded, tattered linen she had clumsily repaired so many times, Catriona saw her life. She had been ripped apart, and each time she came back to the island she tried to heal, but something always tore her anew. By her second or third day she woke every morning sobbing, at least until the highlander had come. Catriona had always borne her sorrows alone, for she had never shared the island with another soul. Now each day she rose with anticipation instead of dread, eagerness instead of sorrow.

Wanting attention, Jester made a little clattering sound with its beak, and Catriona went over to sit with her hand over the chick until the warmth of her touch lulled it to sleep.

As she replaced the basket, she wished she had someone to comfort her. The pull the highlander had on her made her feel ashamed, especially for watching him from afar. Perhaps that was the only way she could love, from a distance, watching and wishing. It hurt to be so alone, but then she could never lose what she would never have.

Wrapping herself in Senga’s warm blue shawl, Catriona left the cottage. From every other house in the village creatures watched her with bright, curious eyes. Their thoughts fluttered through hers in images, for they had no words. They all shared a kind of understanding of the world and living things, and recognized her as a friend, but not in the ways of people.

To the voles and hares, she was the gentle hand that fed them grain and roots, and offered them protection from the short-eared owls and sea eagles. To the eiders and gulls, she was a clever fisher and catch-sharer, to be followed whenever she went to the tidal pools. The island’s shy deer liked her best when she ran with the herd up to the slopes. The goats still treated her like the odd, long-legged kid they had thought her as a wee lass. Even the enormous white swans, who came to the island during the winter only long enough to nest, grudgingly accepted her presence at the spring pool.

Catriona couldn’t help but care for them all, for they were her only friends and teachers she’d ever had.

Today her feet took her beyond the village and out onto the glen, where she stopped to check the horizon. Storms came to the island with little warning, but Catriona sensed nothing brewing. The animals, whom the gods had attuned to the weather as she could never be, always warned her when she should stay indoors. The thud of an ax on wood caught her ear, and she turned to see a thin plume of white smoke coming from the forest.

The highlander never made a fire on the days he left the island. The smoke meant he would spend another night.

Watching the trees, Catriona moved to a darker spot before she crossed the barrier to enter the forest. The sounds of the ax ceased, and then came the pounding of a hammer. She moved silently through the dappled light, and tucked her arms around her waist to stop her hands from trembling. This was more than foolish, it was pure madness, and yet she could not stop herself from walking up to the edge of the clearing.

The highlander had fashioned a work table from some planked timbers and two old barrels. He plied his hammer against pegs, driving them into bore holes on three-sided rectangles of wood. Beyond the table lay on the ground neatly-bundled thatching of reeds, twigs and straw. Behind him the frame of the cottage roof rose in golden peaks above the finished walls.

The man stopped hammering and hefted the thatch bundle, testing the sides before adding it to a pile of others he’d finished. That seemed to be the last, for he walked to the cottage wall and hoisted himself up, balancing on the double stone walls as he gripped a roof beam at the base and tested it with a gentle shake.

Dismay filled Catriona. He would finish his cottage this very day, and she would never be rid of him.

She felt the tug of him again, this time in her chest, and abruptly turned her back on the forest. Now he would come to live in this house he built, and spend every night here. When she came she would be obliged to always remain on the other side of the barrier, and that might not protect her from discovery. Once the highlander knew of her, he would talk to others. More would come, and word would spread.

The druids had eyes and ears everywhere. Uncle would hear of her and come. He would come to silence her. If she wished to live, Catriona would have to leave the island for good, never to return.

From the forest Catriona followed a path that made her heart heavier with each step. It led to a smaller meadow on the other side of the glen. Wildflowers nodded their bright heads as she approached the broad oval of carved stones marking the place. The first time she had come alone to the island it had been winter. The swans, who of all the island’s creatures had the longest memories, had accompanied her to the place where the tribe had been buried. They remembered the strange druids coming during their first nesting, and what the outsiders had done after finding the bodies.

Each time she came here Catriona still felt guilty.

She stopped just inside the stone oval, where gold and violet flowers grew in great profusion in the soft, sweet meadow grass. She knew the bodies in the ground were not the souls who had lived in the village, but only what had been left after they’d disincarnated.

“Our souls cannae die, sweetheart,” her mother had told her after explaining why druids were not like mortals. “When we leave one body, we return to the well of stars. Then, when it is time for us to live again, we return to the mortal realm as newborns.”

As not one of the Harals had ever returned to Everbay, Catriona suspected that they never would.

“I am here, and I think of you,” she said as she sank down onto her knees, and pressed her hand to the warm earth. “’Twill be for the last time. I must go and stay with Ennis and Senga, and live my life with them. I will be safe.”

We shall never be safe from the Vikings or the Romans, her uncle’s silken voice whispered inside her head. Only power will protect us.

The conclave will never permit you to dabble in these magics, her father had told his brother flatly. The people of the black land worshipped the dead.

No, brother, they sought true immortality. We waste ourselves hopping from body to bairn. Uncle’s eyes had glittered with a strange joy. Once I possess all of the scrolls I will ken what must be done to set us free.

Her father’s expression grew hard. I cannae permit it. You will abandon this notion, or I shall take you before the conclave myself.

Uncle had bowed his head as he agreed, but Catriona had seen his eyes fill with malice. From that day he had grown distant and cold, openly avoiding Tavish and Isela, and frequently disappearing for days on end.

You must mend this rift with your brother, Isela had told her husband. We cannae hold the summer celebration with such discord between you.

I cannot conquer his fear, Tavish said, and sighed. When he returns I shall speak with him again.

Catriona had never learned what her uncle feared, but it had not been her parents. For them he had felt only contempt and hatred, and it showed in his ugly eyes every time he looked upon them without their seeing.

Time passed unnoticed as the sun warmed her shoulders, and a breeze from the slopes cooled her hot, wet face. Slowly Catriona rose to her feet. As they ever did, thoughts of Uncle had left her drenched in sweat. She tugged at the damp linen of her kirtle, and thought of the spring. The highlander would be too busy working on his roof to intrude on her there.

She returned to the village to collect her traveling garments, some soap and a wrap for her head. Senga would scold her if she returned home with wet hair, Catriona thought as she walked out to the spring. Mortals had the oddest notions about sickness. Druids rarely suffered illness. Even when she was a wee lass, and the itching pox had stricken nearly all the children of Ennis and Senga’s village, Catriona had not fallen sick.

This would be the last time she crossed the barrier, Catriona thought as she stepped through the spell wall and strode toward the edge of the spring. After she bathed she would take the nestling back to the cliffs, and then use the sacred oak grove to make her journey to the mainland. Ennis’s birthday would come in a few weeks, so she would have to think of what she might–

The sound of a masculine sigh made Catriona freeze in her tracks. Not a yard away from her lay the highlander, dripping wet and naked, stretched out on her sunning stone.

Her throat tightened, and she clutched her garments against her chest. How could he be here? Not half an hour past she had seen him preparing to thatch his roof. The slant of the sun answered her, for it was sinking toward the canopy of trees on the west side of the island. She must have sat for hours in the meadow and not realized it.

The highlander lay with his huge arms tucked under his head, his long bronze hair shedding water from his swim. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell with the slowness of one dozing. If she made a single noise, he would look over and see her.

If he woke she could run for the barrier, through which he could not pass. She would pause only to take Jester from the cage. Left there, the nestling would starve.

She should run away, run now, this moment, but all she wanted was to look upon the man, and see all of his perfection—this once.

The highlander’s position displayed in full glory the thick length of his male member. Out of curiosity Catriona had taken two lovers since reaching womanhood, but neither of those eager lads could compare to this man. His long, vein-roped shaft should have seemed menacing, yet strangely she thought it as comely as the rest of him.

’Twill seem an unlikely business, Senga had said during a kind but blunt talk about sex. ’Tis best to trust your lad to see to it.

The lads she’d trusted had both been sweet and gentle with her, and Catriona had enjoyed love-making. Yet how did a lass give herself to such a beast? Catriona eyed the highlander and imagined him naked and on top of her. She’d be squashed for certain, she thought, but the thought didn’t make her shudder.

He had sunned himself without a tunic often enough to toast his smooth skin a golden brown from shoulders to belly. She remembered her father, who had been as tall as the highlander. Tavish had been fit but not half as wide nor padded with such powerful muscle. She could see in great detail the skinwork on the man’s shoulder, which had been inked so finely the lion seemed ready to spring from his flesh and knock her to the ground. Truly she’d had no notion of how magnificent her intruder was. It made her feel the tug of him like a hard yank, one that could send her toppling upon him.

Catriona smiled a little. Would that not be the rudest of awakenings, to find a sweaty, blushing lass sprawled atop him?

The highlander breathed in deeply, and opened his eyes. They gleamed like silver crystals in the sunlight. “Fair day to you, Lady Ghost.”

Catriona stumbled backward, turned and ran.

* * *

Gavin staggered as he dragged on his trousers, but left behind his boots and tunic as he took off after the woman. The wild mane of chestnut hair whipped behind her, and he still saw the intense, violet-blue eyes wide with shock. She’d hiked up her skirts, showing long, curvy legs that ate up the ground in elegant strides. He grinned, pouring on the speed as the distance between them shrank. In another minute he’d catch her, and then he’d find out if she were real or wraith.

A moment later she vanished right in front of him, as if she had never existed.

Gavin stopped, frowning as he scanned the open glen from side to side. He couldn’t see a single sign of where she’d gone. Yet he could still hear the light sound of her quick footsteps through the grass, growing fainter by the second. When he followed her trail through the grass the air took on a faint shimmer that engulfed him in a momentary tingling sensation. The glen around him bulged outward around him, as if he were stepping through a mirror, and then smoothed out.

On the other side of the looking glass was a very different glen, as if the one he’d been seeing for months didn’t exist.

He looked for his wraith among the cluster of old cottages, but saw no sign of her. Everywhere he looked flowers and ivy sprouted, climbing the walls of the old structures, and splashing bits of color on the ancient thatching. The familiar perfume of the blooms mixed with the lighter scent of the greenery in the air. A light chinking sound drew his eyes to windchimes made of seashells strung on vines, which hung from the corners of every eave. Surrounding each cottage were dense beds of flowers, herbs and berry bushes. From them he spotted the flash of small, watchful dark eyes. As if on cue the two mated ducks who had visited him emerged from a burrow hole and waddled over to look up at him.

They were not the only ones watching. The back of his neck had that strange tension. He could sense her, somewhere close but hidden, staring out at him.

“I’ll no’ harm you, lass,” Gavin said, holding out his arms so she might see his empty hands. “I’ve been told no one lived here, or I’d have come to call.”

The male duck shook his head and nudged his female in the direction of their burrow.

“My name is Gavin, and I come from the highlands.” He looked around until he spotted a worn stump and sat on it. “My crewmates have told me about you, but they think you a ghost.” He waited for a reply, and when none came he added, “Your village is lovely. Did you plant all these flowers?”

A shuffling sound from inside the largest cottage gave Gavin her location, but he made no move to confront her. Instead he turned toward the open doorway and smiled.

“I finished the roof of my house today. I dinnae think the thatching will drop on my head while I’m sleeping, but I’d be glad to ken your opinion of it.” He felt a bit like an idiot, talking in the utter silence. The stillness of the place didn’t make sense to him. “Where are the rest of your people? I’ve no’ seen anyone else here. Do you ken that they call you the Blue Lady of Marr?”

A brown hare crept out from beneath a thorny bramble bush, and hopped cautiously toward the male duck. Together they stood inspecting Gavin as if he had three heads.

“’Tis good that she looks after you.” He was also glad he hadn’t yet hunted anything on the island. It seemed the woman had made all of them her pets. “Do you reckon I can persuade her to talk to me, or should I leave now?”

A squawk came as a tiny ball of black down rushed out of the largest cottage. Gavin grinned as the nestling fluttered its stunted wings and puffed itself up, swelled as if trying to look bigger.

The duck and the hare exchanged an odd glance before they flanked the baby bird and tried to herd it back inside. The nestling darted between them, scurried over to Gavin and gave him a hard peck on the ankle.

The wee thing was actually attacking him.

“You’ve got spine, but I’m a bit more than you should be taking on.” He leaned over and scooped up the nestling, which settled on his palm and regarded him steadily, as if trying to make up its mind whether to try another peck.

The scent of fish, along with the triangular patch of dark skin around the red-ringed black made Gavin guess it to be a baby puffin. He also spotted newly-healed scars on the chick’s head and wing where pin feathers had begun to sprout.

“Your name must be Trouble,” he told the nestling, and gently stroked its downy black head with a fingertip. The trilling sound it made in response felt like a compliment. Gently he placed the chick back on the ground, and watched it return to the cottage.

Gavin started seeing the village differently now. The woman evidently rescued injured nestlings, and likely provided food and shelter for anything else in need. He’d kept a pair of finches for a time back home, as watching them calmed him and made his loneliness more bearable. Maybe she’d done the same, just on a larger scale.

That theory begged another question: Just how long had she been living alone here? Months, years? Back at the spring he’d gotten only a glance of her face, which had been flushed and filled with terror, but she was definitely young. He guessed she was in her twenties. Had she run away from her people? Why would she come to a place considered cursed? Was he the only other person she’d seen since coming to the island?

Gavin stood and walked over to one of the smaller cottages. He had to duck his head to enter through the open door, and once inside waited until his eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior.

Old cobwebs draped the corners of the large front room, and a thick layer of dust covered the simple handmade furnishings. On the table by the hearth lay empty wooden bowls and spoons. The cooking pot had been knocked from its hook and had landed on its side. A pile of twigs and fluff in the ashes of the fireplace suggested the chimney had become a regular nesting spot. From the amount and variety of animal tracks left on the dirt floor no human had lived here for years, possibly decades. Yet a fresh pine bough, decked with flowers, had been placed on the mantel, along with four white seashells.

Gavin walked back to the only other room, which had once been used as a bed chamber. Rotted linens lay in a tangle atop a frame of wood so old and weathered it sagged, ready to fall apart. An open trunk held mold-speckled clothing that had yellowed at every fold. A blackened wreath of what might have once been mistletoe hung over the remains of the bed.

Beneath the wreath a spray of rusty, patchy color stained the stone wall. It took Gavin another moment to realize that it was a very old blood stain.

He backed out of the door, and looked at the front room again. Now he could see more of the rusty stains on the walls and furnishings and even in the dirt of the floor. They almost screamed in the silence as he recalled what Silje had told him about Marr.

Dinnae jest about the Blue Lady of Marr. ’Tis said she seeks vengeance for her tribe. They were massacred by blood-drinkers.

Could it be true? Gavin felt his skin crawl, and hurried out of the cottage to stand in the bright sunlight. Since coming to the islands, he had put from his mind the nightmare of the undead. If Silje’s story were real then this woman lived surrounded by constant reminders of what they had done to the people here.

Why would she choose to live in such a place? Why had she planted flowers and festooned the decaying remains of a ghost village? It was like decorating a grave.

Gavin went to stand in the center of the settlement, and counted the cottages. There were twenty-seven of them, and if each had held a family, that meant hundreds had died here. If she had some connection to the lost tribe, perhaps it was some kind of memorial.

“I ken that the people here suffered,” he said, keeping his tone soft. “Blood-drinkers are terrible creatures that kill without thought or care. They are so fast and strong that naught can escape them, and they are merciless with their victims.” He turned his head and touched the scars Thora had left on the side of his neck. “I was used by one who enslaved me. In the end I escaped, but I lost everyone I loved.”

Animals began coming out of the cottages and flower beds, and for a moment Gavin wondered if they would attack him. But while they watched him with unblinking eyes, none of them appeared to be hostile, or afraid. He crouched down as a trio of small hares crept close, and offered his hand for them to sniff.

“I journeyed to the islands to start a new life,” he said as he gave the boldest leveret a gentle scratching behind its small ears. “I built my house here because I’m no’ yet ready to be around other people. I thought if I lived alone, I might heal and find some peace in myself. That hasnae happened, but I still hope ’twill.”

He straightened and looked at the largest cottage, and thought he saw a flutter of blue move across the doorway—and there was that familiar scent.

“I’ve intruded long enough, my lady. I promise, I willnae bother you again.” Gavin smiled down at the animals gathered around him. “I’m leaving for work in two days, but I will return each night. You ken where to find me.” He hesitated before he added, “Unless you’d like to come out and meet me now.”

* * *

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.”