Murtagh’s dark eyes flashed with temper before he smiled ruefully. “My gran’s a witch whose gift of water is best suited to the sea. She’s fit and spry for a woman her age, but cold, damp weather is hard on old bones, so I bundle her and the other elders up every year when the autumn winds take on the edge of winter and tuck them in the Clan house in Tir Alainn. Not that she’ll stay there. She misses the moods of the sea, so she’ll come back down and spend a few days before she’ll let me bundle her back up.” He paused. “I’ve heard a young witch with a love of the sea has recently come to Sealand.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Aiden said cautiously.

Murtagh shook his head. “I saw that ship pass. If I’d known there was a witch in the hold, I would have persuaded the captain to put in at one of our ports for a day or two.”

“The witch is content where she is,” Ashk said, stepping into the courtyard with Morag beside her.

Murtagh gave both women a long look and a small but courteous bow. “And I wouldn’t have held her if she wasn’t willing to stay. Just saying I would have liked an introduction before the lady decided on where to settle. We can offer as good a harbor as Ronat Isle.”

Ashk’s eyes searched his. “You would have offered her family safe harbor?”

“There’s more of them?”

Aiden winced, wishing Murtagh’s question didn’t sound like he was ready to scoop up any witch that crossed his path, especially when Morag said, “Answer the question,” in a voice that held a hint of the grave.

He saw Ashk shift her weight slightly and wondered what she thought she could do against the Gatherer if Morag decided to kill the Lord of the Selkies. Unfortunately, Morag had been withdrawn since they left Bretonwood, and not even Morphia had been able to discover why. But that dark turn of mood had made the rest of them cautious about dealing with the Gatherer of Souls.

Finally, Murtagh said, “I would have offered her safe harbor—and anyone she cared to bring with her. And I’ll offer it now to any witch looking for a place away from those bastard Black Coats and the Sylvalan barons who have lost their balls—or sold them in order to put more gold in their purses.” He looked away for a moment before focusing on Ashk again. “You’re the Hunter, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You’re gathering the Fae to put a stop to the slaughter?”

“Yes.”