The Highlander’s Curse

by

Claire Delacroix

Book #2 in The True Love Brides Series

Cheated of his inheritance and burdened by the legacy of his Fae blood, Garrett MacLachlan believes he is doomed to be an outcast forever—until he meets Annelise of Kinfairlie, a gentle maiden with the power to turn his curse to gift. Can Garrett reclaim his stolen legacy with Annelise by his side? If Annelise defies her family to pursue true love, will that be enough to heal Garrett? And even if they triumph over mortal foes, will the Fae demand a price neither of them can pay?

The Highlander’s Curse

by Claire Delacroix

Smashwords Edition

Published by Deborah A. Cooke ISBN: 978-1-927477-33-5

Cover by Kim Killion

Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.

Copyright 2013 by Deborah A. Cooke All rights reserved

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Dear Reader;

Have you ever wanted to be more than you already are? Annelise, the heroine of The Highlander’s Curse, is so shy that people easily overlook her. She wants desperately to marry, to have a husband and children of her own, but despairs that she will miss her chance because of her nature. Our story begins with Annelise’s decision to be bolder, a choice that sets her on a path to encounter Garrett MacLachlan, a handsome Highlander whose kiss feeds the new resolve in Annelise. Garrett, too, wishes to be more than he is—Garrett is half-Fae and cursed with the ability to hear the thoughts of others. He has been denied his legacy as a result of his apparent madness, but his desire for Annelise sends him in pursuit of his rightful due in order to offer for her hand. Annelise becomes his strongest defender and partner on that quest. I really enjoyed how these two worked together to overcome the obstacles before them and create their future together. I hope you enjoy their story, as well.

The Highlander’s Curse is the second book in my True Love Brides series, which picks up the story of the Lammergeier siblings from the Jewels of Kinfairlie series. Like The Renegade’s Heart, this book is a medieval romance with paranormal elements, which is my favorite kind. By the end of The Snow White Bride, Alexander had resolved to let his younger sisters marry for love and at their own choice. Even though there have always been stories of a portal to the realm of the Fae at Kinfairlie, Alexander did not count on the Fae meddling with his sister’s futures. In each of the books in the True Love Brides series, the couple in question will be challenged by the Fae in a different way.

A series of linked books results in a large cast of characters. That there are eight siblings in the Kinfairlie family is one thing, but as they marry and have children, the list of characters becomes more extensive. As a result of this, I’ve added a Cast of Characters at the end of each book in this series for your reference. In this digital edition, it is linked from the Table of Contents.

There is also an excerpt from the next book in the True Love Brides series: The Frost Maiden’s Kiss is Malcolm’s book and recounts his return to Ravensmuir after serving as a mercenary on the continent. Malcolm is a bit of a black sheep, at least in Alexander’s view, but is determined to rebuild Ravensmuir to its former glory. As I write his story, Malcolm is learning that the coin he earned with his blade will not be sufficient to see that task done—some tasks require a greater sacrifice.

In other news, I will be making a quick trip back to the future this fall. My Prometheus Project trilogy features fallen angel heroes fighting to save humanity in a gritty future. Of course, love changes everything for each one of them. I had a wonderful time writing these books, but at the end of the trilogy, there was one character without his happy ending. I’ve been worried about Tupperman ever since Rebel, book #3, was completed. Fortunately, I now know Tupperman’s story. I will be republishing Fallen, Guardian and Rebel in new editions this fall with wonderful new covers by Kim Killion. Tupperman’s story is entitled Abyss and takes place after Rebel, when Tupperman thinks he has nothing left to lose. He accepts a challenge from Lucifer to retrieve a lost angel—only to fall in love and realize he has many reasons to survive, if he can. There’s an excerpt from Abyss in the back of this book, as well.

Until next time, I hope you are well and have plenty of good books to read.

All my best,

Claire

Prologue

March 1424

Killairig, on the west coast of Scotland

Rowena marched through the hall of Killairig, following the summons of the castellan that there was a man at the gate.

One glance at him and her heart stopped cold. The stranger’s hair was as gold as sunlight. His eyes were blue, and he was built tall and broad. He was a handsome man, handsome enough to be of Fae lineage, but Rowena did not have to rely upon such vague clues as that. She could smell the Fae blood in him.

Given his age and his coloring, there was only one man he could be.

And only one reason he had arrived at Killairig’s gates.

The time of the reckoning had come.

He appeared to be discomfited slightly and Rowena recalled which ability her sister had chosen for her half-blood son. The gift of hearing the thoughts of mortals, both man and beast, would soon be a curse for this man.

Rowena could ensure it was so.

She had been prepared for this day for so long, and naught would go awry.

She snapped her fingers and sent several servants scattering. “Quickly, now, bring a cup to refresh our guest.” The castellan hastened to do her will, even as she unstoppered the small vial that was always on her person. She turned to accept the chalice, disguising her actions from the new arrival. She murmured a spell three times under her breath as she poured the contents of the vial into the ale therein. The surface bubbled for a moment, but had subsided by the time she turned to present the cup to their guest. “Welcome!” she said. “I am Rowena of Killairig. I regret that my husband is not so well that he can greet you.”

The stranger who was no stranger smiled. “I am Garrett MacLachlan and I thank you for the welcome.” He bowed, his gaze dancing over the high walls and parapet of the keep. “I came to speak with your husband. I heard a tale…”

Rowena smiled as she interrupted him. “I beg of you, sip and be greeted, then we shall talk of such things.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes vehemently blue, and she recognized his surprise. But he took the cup, for he could not hear the malice in her mind and her long sleeves ensured he did not see the marks upon her flesh.

If he even knew what they meant.

Garrett sipped and Rowena smiled, knowing the game had just turned in her favor. She would send Bartholomew to warn her son that the challenge had come, and between them all, the threat of Garrett MacLachlan would be dismissed before it truly began.

Chapter One

June 1424

Seton Manor, in the Highlands of Scotland

Annelise strode through the village of Seton Manor, blind to the activity that surrounded her. It was early summer in the Highlands and the weather was fine. The holding blossomed under the hand of Murdoch and his new bride, Annelise’s sister, Isabella. The mood in the village was joyous, for all saw that their future was improved.

Annelise did not share this happy view. Indeed, she was irked, much more so than any who knew her might have thought possible. She was vexed with her situation and thus with herself. It troubled her beyond belief that Isabella, her younger sister by two years, had wed before Annelise had even snared the interest of a man.

Annelise would die alone.

Tending to the children of her sisters, no doubt, and dependent upon the goodwill of their respective husbands. As kind as the husbands of her sisters had been, that was not the life Annelise had ever desired. She wanted a husband of her own, and children of her own, a hearth of her own and a garden of her own. She did not want to sit by the fire, complete her embroidery and watch the world slide past her in all its glorious activity. She wanted a busy life herself.

But she knew not how to begin upon it.

It was her shy nature at root and Annelise knew it well. She could see the evidence in the fortunes of her sisters, each of whom had been rewarded for audacity. Her eldest sister, Madeline, had boldly fled an unwanted match and won the ardor of Rhys FitzHenry. Her next sister, Vivienne, had audaciously tempted a lover to come to her, and had won the heart of Erik Sinclair. Isabella had rashly chosen to believe in the integrity of an apparent villain, and thus was now Lady of Seton Manor. Even Eleanor, the wife of Annelise’s brother Alexander, had fled an abusive household and won true love by taking a risk.

Sadly, Annelise had thus far in her life been incapable of either boldness or taking a risk.

Her disgust with herself was made worse by the compassion of others. Isabella’s husband, Murdoch, had invited many men to his board, his intent in finding Annelise a match openly understood by all. They knew she could not manage this feat alone and deigned to help her, though in a way, their assistance was condescending. It was clearly necessary, though she might have preferred otherwise. The fact was that even though Annelise knew the men in question had come to meet her, she was so wretchedly timid that she had not spoken to a one of them.

She would die alone, and it would be her own fault.

She was a fool. Should she not be able to change her manner and thus her fortunes, perhaps she deserved to die alone.

The very notion gave her purpose. Annelise reached the edge of the village, but kept walking, her chin high. She could not go back to the hall, not yet, not before she had made some change in her circumstance, however small it might be. As the forest closed around the road and the road curved out of sight of Seton village, Annelise knew what she would do.

She would visit the glade with the natural spring, the place where people came to pray for healing. It was an old place and she had been there with Isabella. The locals called it a clootie well. Isabella had prayed there to quickly conceive Murdoch’s son, and four months into their marriage, she rounded with child. It was clear that the well had power, and equally clear that Annelise had need of assistance. It was not far and the well had been filled with people when she had visited it with Isabella.

Annelise would go there this very day and pray that she found boldness, and thus a husband.

And that she gained both very soon.

*

Annelise was surprised to find the grove deserted.

It had been like a market square on her earlier visit, filled with people and their laughter. On this day, even with the sun shining, it seemed that she had stepped into another world.

It was quiet. Although Annelise knew this was a trick of the hills and their shape, for valleys were oft sheltered from outside sounds, the stillness cast a spell upon her. There were thousands of ribbons and lengths of cloth hung from the trees, and they were more tightly clustered the closer she drew to the water itself. She proceeded carefully down the slope to the water. She realized a bit too late that if she fell, no one would know where to look for her.

The vegetation was lush in the glade, verdant green and abundant. The trees arched high overhead, casting a dappled shade over the valley. There was no sound, not so much as a whistle of birdsong, only the trickle of water from the spring far below and the faint rustle of the leaves overhead.

Annelise could easily convince herself she had stepped into a magical realm. She recalled all the tales she had heard at Kinfairlie’s hearth over the years. Her favorite tales were those of Arthur and his knights, and their adventures. They were noble and good men, quick to defend maidens and conquer monsters. The Lady of the Lake, she who granted the blade Excalibur to Arthur, was said to abide in an enchanted glade.

Could she be the one who fulfilled the requests of all these pilgrims? Annelise could readily believe it to be so.

She halted beside the spring and took a deep breath. It made her feel bold and strong simply to stand in such a place, especially when she considered the valor of the women in the tales of Arthur. She could be like one of them and fight for her desire.

The pond was but ten feet across and roughly encircled by large stones. The source bubbled through the rocks, making a faint trickle as it flowed into the pond. The surface of the pond was smooth, like a dark mirror, and it reflected the leaf canopy and sky overhead. Strips of fabric or clooties were densely clustered around its perimeter, most of them red and many of them hanging into the water itself.

Annelise closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. She removed a ribbon from her hair and dipped it into the water, ensuring that it was fully soaked. She knew that when the ribbon dried and then disintegrated, her ailment would disappear along with it. She reached up and bound the ribbon to a branch overhead. It hung straight down, dripping.

Annelise surveyed the peaceful spot and inhaled deeply of its tranquility. She brushed off a rock, then dropped to her knees, closing her eyes to pray again.

It was then that she realized she was not alone.

*

Garrett MacLachlan darted through the forest in pursuit of the wolf, not caring that he left all he knew far behind. He had always found peace in the forest, but now he wanted no part of men.

He had been shamed, discredited and denied.

Worse, all those he loved were dead.

He would make his future in the wilderness.

His pursuit of the ravenous wolf suited his foul mood perfectly. The beast had eaten well at the expense of many others, several of them dear to Garrett, and Garrett would see it pay for its crimes. It had led him on a long chase, but soon, the hunt would end.

He had discerned that this wolf was uncommonly elusive. It was larger than most, but moved with astonishing speed. Further, this wolf was silent in the forest and could disappear into shadows, as if it were not truly of this earth or as if it had never been. It was cunning even beyond its fellows.

Even now, he caught only glimpses of it moving ahead, a fleeting shape against the patterned shadows of the leaves.

Garrett would have lost it a hundred times, if not for his curse. It was his awareness of the thoughts of others that gave him an advantage. For once in his life, his legacy had value. Still, he had had to resort to listening to the thoughts of other creatures in the forest to find this wolf. Either his ability was fading or this wolf was wily. Garrett knew which of those choices he would favor.

On this day, Garrett felt the wolf’s acute thirst and guessed its intent.

He was aware the moment it smelled water. He was not surprised when the wolf slipped over the ridge and descended into the hollow between the hills. He heard the bubbling of the water as he crept behind the creature and realized the wolf had found a spring.

The wolf glanced back more than once, pausing beneath a shrub or in the shade of a tree, its eyes gleaming as it sniffed the air. Garrett knew it sensed it was being stalked, and he dared not let it perceive him. It was hungry beyond belief.

It would rip out his throat for coming too close.

It would rip out the throat of any creature it could. The wolf had not paused to eat in a week. Now, hunger made its belly growl, and hunger—Garrett hoped—would drive it to err.

Garrett was not even certain where he was, only that he was close to his prey. It did not matter. Once the wolf was dead, he would disappear into the forest forever.

In the view of many, he already had.

Memories crowded his mind, making him wince at what he had endured these past months. Grief welled in his throat, threatening to choke him, and Garrett struggled against its assault. He would grieve when the wolf was dead.

When justice had been done.

Garrett was suddenly aware that the wolf had a keener sense of him. Anxiety would draw the wolf’s attention, and his concerns had no place in this hunt. All was simple in the forest. There were hunters and prey.

He knew which he would be.

The wolf’s wariness faded, perhaps because of its thirst. Garrett saw it leave the shadows. On quick feet, it entered a glade dappled in sunlight, a serene place of rich green. There were rags of all colors hanging from the trees at the bottom of the valley, a sign that people came to this place to pray for healing. The wolf hesitated, as if momentarily disconcerted by the scents of so many humans, but it made its choice and headed for the water.

Garrett waited and watched. He could see the light on the pool around the spring, turning it to a silver mirror. He could see the wolf clearly from this position, and he was downwind of it. He reached out to sense the wolf’s thoughts and felt its confidence.

The wolf was silvery grey, its snout and paws darker than its back, its tail lush. Its pelt should adorn a lady’s bed, Garrett’s lady’s bed, a token that was proof of his intent to protect the woman pledged to be his own. But Garrett had no woman and he doubted there was a woman alive who could accept his curse. His life was lonely and he feared it would remain so, particularly as his ailment had suddenly become so much worse.

Perhaps it was simpler to choose to be alone.

The wolf stepped into a patch of sunlight, glanced about itself, then bent to drink.

Garrett raised his crossbow to fire, then froze when the wolf straightened. He felt its heartbeat accelerate. It raised its head and folded its ears back, sniffing and scanning, then snarled.

That was when Garrett saw the woman. She was on her knees as if in prayer, her head bowed and her hands folded before herself. He had not seen her at first because her cloak was green and her hood pulled over her hair. She was utterly still, as few people in his experience could be.

Her thoughts were so quiet that even he with his gift had not been aware of her presence. That astonished him.

At the wolf’s snarl, though, her head snapped up and terror flooded her mind. Garrett had time to see that she was lovely before the wolf leapt toward her with teeth bared.

Without hesitation, Garrett lifted the crossbow and fired.

A lesser hunter would have struck the maiden instead of the wolf. The angle was against him and the wolf moved quickly. But Garrett’s arrow went straight through the wolf, and he knew he struck its heart. The wolf’s body jerked, and the beast howled as it fell. The cry turned plaintive and faded, even as the blood streamed through its fur to the ground. Garrett grimaced at the explosion of pain and fury that filled the beast’s thoughts. He staggered a bit under the intensity of its reaction, for he had never felt the like, but the wolf’s anguish already began to fade.

Garrett strode toward the fallen wolf, pulling out his knife.

The lady had not moved. Garrett was surprised that she had not screamed. As he bent over the wolf and ensured that he finished what was begun, he was aware that she seemed to have been struck to stone. There was a prospect that was less than ideal. The wolf’s pain ended, a void of silence filling Garrett’s mind where his awareness of the wolf had been.

Where were the woman’s thoughts?

Was she simple? Was that why her mind was still?

He had never met anyone who exuded such tranquility and now that the wolf was dead, he could consider the mystery. Was she mute? This was a place where one prayed for healing, so she might have some ailment.

’Twould be a crime for one so lovely to be less than perfect. Garrett did not dare to look directly at her, not before he had composed his features. He knew the torment he experienced at the sound of other thoughts could be read in his expression—particularly when one died as this wolf had done. He wiped his knife blade on the hem of his cloak before returning it to his scabbard. He would remove the pelt from the carcass when she was gone, lest he shock her.

Still he marveled that he sensed no tumult of thoughts and questions. She had been frightened and now he knew she was relieved. No more than that. Slowly, so as not to alarm her, he raised his gaze to meet hers. He was aware of the blood on his kilt and on his hands, the grim finality of what he had done. He was aware of the dirt on his boots and the mire on his skin, for he had been stalking the wolf for many weeks.

She was watching him, but not with horror or disgust. Her breath was coming quickly, her eyes wide. They were a magnificent shade of green and thickly lashed, her features lovely and fine. Her hood had fallen back to reveal that her hair was auburn, and neatly plaited. Her hair was uncovered though and she wore no wimple, indicating that she was a maiden. Her slender hands were still raised, her fingertips upon her lush mouth.

“Are you injured?” he asked, when still she said nothing.

She shook her head, her gaze darting to the wolf and then to his sheathed blade. She studied his hands for a moment, then looked at his face and swallowed. “You moved so quickly when I could not move at all.” Her voice was low and soft, filled with a gentleness that made Garrett yearn to protect her.

Not simple, then, and not a mute.

She must be one who had come to pray here, one who did not understand the forest and its ways. What did she pray for? Garrett wanted very much to know. Why was she alone and undefended?

Only then did he hear the soft whisper of her thoughts, a stream of questions and impressions no more intrusive than the murmur of a brook. He sensed her curiosity about him, her awareness of him. But her presence did not trouble him, as that of others did. He could stand and be aware of her thoughts and not wish to flee. Indeed, he was intrigued by all that he sensed and saw. He wanted only to draw closer to her and learn more.

Why was she so different from others he had known?

Could Mhairi’s promise have been right?

Could this beautiful maiden be his future? Garrett doubted a man as cursed as he knew himself to be could ever see such fortune.

“The choice was easily made between the lady and the wolf,” he said with resolve. “I knew that if I did not act quickly, the wolf would make its own choice—and that on this matter, as on so many others, the beast and I would not agree.”

He had hoped to tempt her smile and was disappointed when he failed.

“You have tracked this wolf then,” she said, her gaze falling to its corpse. “You are a hunter.” He nodded, feeling her respect for that task. “How long and how far?”

“Too long and too far.” Garrett dared to take a step closer. “Though I cannot object to where the path has led me.” He dared to meet her gaze and let her see his admiration of her beauty.

She caught her breath. He sensed her desire to flee, a flutter of panic within her, then she mustered a determination. She held her ground and lifted her chin. He was fascinated that this exquisite creature might fight an inner battle that was in any way similar to his own.

“Do you know where you are?”

Garrett smiled. “I stand in the company of a lovely lady.” It was no lie. He realized that he had previously had no luck with uttering the words of a courtier because he did not believe them to be true. In this case, he was surely snared.

And he did not wish to be free.

“I would do the same again, if only to see her smile.”

She regarded him, her cheeks burning crimson. “I apologize, sir, for I am poorly practiced in this game.”

“Surely not. A lady so lovely as yourself much have many ardent admirers.”

She smiled then, and Garrett was dazzled by the sight. “Surely so!” she argued, her eyes twinkling. “I am routinely struck mute in the company of others and overlooked by most as a result. I have no suitors, sir.”

Garrett smiled. “Yet you speak with me, quite readily it seems.” He felt lighter in her presence, at ease in a way he seldom did. Indeed, it seemed that killing the wolf had changed his prospects for the better.

The maiden surveyed him, then exhaled. “Indeed. Perhaps I should imperil myself more often.”

Garrett laughed for the first time in months and her smile broadened. She seemed to sparkle before him, her delight in their conversation as great as his own. “Perhaps the reward is not worth such a sacrifice. Perhaps there are other ways to coax your words forth.”

She flicked a glance at the spring, then back to him.

“Surely you cannot have come to pray for a suitor?”

“I came to pray for boldness, sir, and a measure of it seems to have found me.” She grimaced. “Either that or terror loosed my tongue.”

Garrett pretended to consider this. “If you mean to imperil yourself again as a test, perhaps you will have need of a protector.”

She smiled at him so warmly that his heart clenched. “Sadly, I do not have one, sir.” She was blushing furiously and he could not imagine what made her heart race so. “Truly, it would safer to first ensure that the effect was not wrought by your presence alone.”

“You think me safer company than a hungry wolf, then,” he teased. “I am much reassured.”

“Only because I am not a hungry wolf myself,” she retorted. She caught her breath, as if surprised by herself, then knotted her fingers together and blushed yet more. “I wonder, sir, if you might come to Seton Manor this night. I would see you rewarded for killing this wolf on the lands of my sister’s husband.”

The very suggestion sent terror through Garrett’s heart, for he remembered full well what had happened the last time he had entered a keep.

At the same time, he could not imagine losing this enticing maiden, not before he knew far more of her than was already the case. Perhaps that one experience had been an exception. Perhaps her family were as tranquil in their thoughts as she.

Perhaps the reward of her company was worth any price.

“I would ask a boon of you first, my lady.” Garrett took a step closer to her and fairly felt her quiver. He held up a finger. “One kiss, then all is balanced between us.”

Her breath came quickly at his suggestion and he could fairly taste her uncertainty. He wondered whether she had ever been kissed by a man before. He could not look away from the intensity of her gaze and her uncertainty made him feel uncommonly protective of her.

“Why?”

“Your sister’s husband may believe you owe me much more than a kiss for this deed on this day,” he said softly. “But if ever you come to me, my lady, I will not have it be because you were commanded to do so. I would have you come to me by your own choice.”

She swallowed and he watched her throat work. “I think your terms most fair,” she whispered and he knew she spoke the truth. He sensed the anticipation within her, the attraction mirroring his own, and again, was amazed that her presence was so serene.

Garrett stepped closer and touched a finger to her chin. He was aware of her desire to flee and hide. At the same time, he was honored by her trust. She struggled to overcome her uncertainties and he admired her all the more. He moved slowly, not wanting to startle her, though he yearned to crush her against himself and kiss her thoroughly.

He slid his thumb across her skin and felt her shiver. Her eyes shone as she studied him and those ripe lips parted in invitation, making him recall her determination to be bold. Garrett’s chest tightened at the sight of her vulnerability.

Then he bent and gently captured her mouth beneath his own. She shook like a new tree, and he thought for a second that he had lost her. But her newfound audacity carried the day, for she closed her eyes and placed her hands on his shoulders.

Welcoming his touch.

It was enough to make him dizzy. As he deepened his kiss, Garrett knew Mhairi had been right and he had finally found the woman who could quiet the tumult within him.

Even though he had yet to learn her name.

*

The rewards of boldness were not to be underestimated.

Annelise closed her eyes as the hunter kissed her, unable to fight the pleasure awakened by his touch. If she had ever guessed a kiss could be this wondrous, she might have taken a risk sooner.

As it was, she never wanted him to stop.

Even with her eyes closed, Annelise was aware that he was so much taller and broader than she, that he had strength far beyond her own. He was a practical and competent man, one who hunted wolves and killed them. It was easy to see that he took responsibility for those beneath his authority and did not shy away from a difficult task. She could envision him as laird of his own holding, a man who could be relied upon to provide protection and justice, one who would never abuse his authority or take more than his due.

He was a man in truth, rugged and tanned, his clothing simple but well made. There was a practicality about him, and she sensed that he carried no item that was not of use to him on a regular basis. His hair was dark blond and that, combined with his tan, made him look golden. His eyes were so vivid a blue that they seemed to reflect the sky. She was not so bold as to look directly upon him, but she had noticed how his laced leather jerkin showed the muscled breadth of his chest to advantage, how the undyed linen of his shirt made his tan look deeper. His kilt was woven in the colors of the forest, one end cast over his shoulder like a cloak. His boots were high but she could still see the powerful strength of his legs. Just a glimpse of his body had been enough to weaken her knees.

His kiss completed what that glimpse had begun. Annelise felt as close to swooning as ever she had and wondered how any soul resisted such pleasure as this. The hunter held her gently but firmly, one hand tilting her face upward for his kiss, his fingertips just beneath her chin. His other hand rested on her waist, steadying her but not claiming her. She was free enough that she could step back and stop the embrace if she so desired, but Annelise did not so desire.

She wanted more.

All she had ever wanted was an honorable man for a husband, a home and children. She knew little of this hunter, not even his name, but his sure touch and his tender kiss told her all she believed she needed to know.

Her choice to be bold had already borne fruit.

Annelise was not surprised when he ended their kiss, nor by the ruefulness in his smile when she dared to look up at him. She was disappointed that such pleasure should end, but hoped for another kiss. She bit her lip shyly, still tingling with the warmth of his caress.

“You would tempt a saint, my lady,” he whispered. “And I am no saint.”

“Do not speak thus!” Annelise protested, feeling her cheeks burn. “I am no temptress.”

“Your kiss entices me as no other.”

“It is not due to any amorous skill on my part.” She dared to tease him. “Perhaps you tempt my reaction, sir.”

His smile was quick. “Or perhaps we awaken something in each other.”

Annelise caught her breath that his words should so closely echo her own thoughts. “Destiny,” she whispered in delight.

“I do not like that notion,” he said with a shake of his head and she felt crushed. He raised his hands to let them rest lightly on her shoulders and Annelise could not look away from the warmth in his gaze. His fingers curled, his thumbs moving against her shoulders in a slow and beguiling stroke. “It implies that we have no choices to make, that all is set in stone from the moment of our birth.” He took a breath, then stepped back so there was a space between them. “I make choices and act upon them, my lady.”

Annelise was confused. Did he mean to turn away and leave her? She could not believe it, but could make no sense of his retreat. “You reject me?”

“I protect you,” he replied gently. “Even from myself. Even against my own desire.”

“Why?”

“You are innocent. You are noble. You already have said that we are on the lands of your sister’s husband. I would not willingly choose to place myself in his court of justice or sully your name with whispered rumor.” He lowered his voice. “No man of honor takes more than his due.”

His words made Annelise smile, for there was no one to see them in this place much less to gossip about her choices. “If not destiny, what power is at work?”

“Recognition,” he answered without hesitation. “I believe we see more keenly with senses other than sight. I believe that you and I perceive something in each other, though we cannot name it as yet.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged and glanced away, as if intent upon hiding his thoughts from her. Annelise dismissed the idea as it made little sense. “Who can say? In old tales, one of us would have a strength to compensate for the weakness of the other.”

Annelise was delighted by this. He loved old tales as much as she did! “The other way, as well,” she said.

He nodded. “Together a pair is greater than the sum of the parts.” Annelise nodded happily. He was watching her, his eyes bright and his firm lips curved into a slight smile. He seemed enchanted by her, which was a wondrous thing, for Annelise was certainly intrigued by him. She had never met a more alluring man, never come under the protection of one, and certainly had never been kissed by one. She studied his mouth, unable to help herself, remembering the feel of his lips against her own. Something fluttered in her belly and she felt warm in a way that made little sense.

She spoke quickly, wanting only his promise, and immediately feared she had demanded too much. “Then you will come to Seton Manor tonight?”

“I will try,” he said, his reserve unmistakable.

“It is not far. I walked from there myself just now. The road will take you to the very gates…”

His warm fingertip landed across her lips, silencing her. Indeed, the roughness of his skin, so different from her own, sent a surge of heat through her. Her heart skipped and her mouth went dry.

How she yearned for another kiss.

The hunter leaned close, his voice low with intent. “It is not distance that will keep me from your side, my lady.”

Annelise stared at him, uncertain what to think.

“I will try to come to the hall,” he pledged, then bent and replaced his fingertip with his mouth. Annelise closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him even as she savored his caress. She felt the dappled sunlight on her head and heard the quiet murmur of the stream. The wind moved through the trees, and the glade seemed to hold the moment still in time. His mouth moved against hers once more, provoking an even greater response than before.

When he broke his kiss this time, Annelise kept her eyes closed, wanting to be sure she never forgot this moment. She hoped that it was but the first of many they would share, then opened her eyes.

The hunter was gone—as surely as if he had never been.

Even the carcass of the wolf was gone.

There was blood on the ground, proof that she had not dreamed this interval.

Annelise turned in place, straining her ears but hearing nothing beyond the usual sounds of a sunlit glade in a forest. Her lips still tingled and she could taste his skin upon hers. He was no figment of her imagination, but a man skilled in moving silently in the woods.

Surely he would come to the hall?

Annelise had to believe it would be so.

Which meant that she had to tell Isabella, to ensure that the hunter was made welcome when he did arrive. Annelise picked up her skirts and hastened back to Seton Manor, anticipation making her journey quick.

Chapter Two

Murdoch, the laird of Seton Manor, paused in the act of donning a clean shirt and turned to look at his wife. “Annelise met a suitor in the woods?” he repeated, certain that his opinion was more than clear. “Why was she even in the woods alone?”

“She went to the glade to pray.” Isabella smiled at her husband, clearly undaunted by his skepticism. “I met a suitor in the woods,” she reminded him. “It seems to me the marriage resulting from that encounter is working out rather well.”

“It was not the same,” Murdoch insisted. “And the first time I met you was in your brother’s keep. It was the second time we met in the forest.”

Isabella waved off this detail. “I think she is quite smitten.”

Murdoch gave her a look. He was feeling the burden of his responsibility in taking Isabella’s sister into his care. He had pledged to his wife’s oldest brother, Alexander, Laird of Kinfairlie, that he would treat Annelise with as much care as if she were his own sister. Murdoch knew he would have frowned upon any sister of his having a courtship like that of himself and Isabella. His tone sharpened slightly. “And what does she know of him?”

“I gather he is handsome and tall. Fair of hair and blue of eye.”

“As if his appearance is the only detail of import!”

“Not the only detail, but it is of import.” She smiled at him, mischief making her eyes dance. “Annelise wishes for children, after all.”

Even though it was clear she was with child, Isabella could look like a young girl bent on making trouble. Murdoch fought to urge to smile at her and endeavored to remain stern. “What of his family?”

“I do not know.”

“His name?”

His wife shrugged. “You are beginning to sound like Alexander.” Isabella spoke quietly, almost as if to ensure her words passed unnoticed, but Murdoch knew his wife would not have made her comment aloud if she had not wanted him to hear.

He gave her a quelling look.

She flung out her hands. “He saved her from a wolf! Surely that stands to his credit.”

“And where is the wolf’s corpse?”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “In the woods, I suppose. You could hardly expect Annelise to carry it here.”

“Nay, but I would have liked to have seen proof of his deed. It is easy to be valiant when there is no one to witness as much.”

“You know naught of the man, but already deem him to be a liar.”

“Not necessarily.” Rather than voice his suspicion, Murdoch strode to the door of the solar. A squire waiting in the corridor leapt to attention as soon as the door was opened. “Would you please ask Breac and Kerr to go to the woods, near the glade, and look for anything out of the ordinary?” He heard Isabella’s quick intake of breath and knew she had guessed what he’d been thinking.

“Have you an idea what they might find, sir?”

“I do, but I would prefer they simply see what is there.”

“Before the evening meal, sir?”

Murdoch nodded. “I will ensure an extra helping of venison for them both.”

“Very good, sir.” The boy bowed and hastened away to do his master’s bidding.

Isabella had propped her hands on her hips by the time Murdoch closed the door. “Are you suggesting that my sister is lying?”

Murdoch grimaced. There was no kind way around this. “I am suggesting that she might be trying to escape our efforts to introduce her to eligible men. If she created a suitor we never met, we might leave her in peace.”

“But she wants to marry!”

“Then she might try to be more enthused when introduced to an eligible man,” Murdoch complained. “Instead, she has looked beleaguered, as if she would rather be anywhere than in their presence.”

“Annelise is shy!”

“It is not easy to bring such suitors to this hall. Seton Manor is comparatively remote and to entice them to our board takes considerable effort. That she does not even lift her gaze from her hands does not help the matter.” Murdoch saw Isabella’s lips set, but made his last suggestion anyway. “Perhaps it would suit her better to become a bride of Christ.”

“Nay!” Isabella’s eyes flashed. “Annelise has always been shy, and she adores children.” She followed Murdoch across the room and he knew she had more to say. “She simply needs some encouragement, a man who understands her, talks to her, makes an effort.”

“Kills a wolf?” Murdoch suggested.

“It is not a bad way to impress a maiden.” Isabella drummed her fingers on her elbow. “That could have been it, you know. She might have been so frightened that her shyness was overwhelmed. They might have spoken to each other.”

“Well, we shall have to coax more wolves to our woods, then. Perhaps I should have one or two loosed in the hall when next a suitor comes to dine.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes to survey him. “You are in a foul mood about all of this. What is the matter?”

“I pledged to your brother that I would treat Annelise as my own sister. He asked me to find her a husband with all haste and I have tried. Not only has she shown no interest in the men who came here to see her, but now she would choose a man in the woods we have never seen!”

“You do sound like Alexander.”

“I come to understand why he finds his sisters so vexing.” Isabella smiled so brightly at that comment that Murdoch surveyed her warily. There could be only one reason for her delight. “What do I not know?”

“Annelise has invited her champion to the board this night, so you will have a chance to meet him yourself.” She donned her circlet and spun in front of him so the hem of her kirtle flared. “You could even ask him his name.”

Murdoch shook a finger at his wife. “If he has touched her, he will not leave this hall unharmed.”

“Then you had best be warned that he has kissed her.” Isabella chose a wrap and tugged it over her shoulders.

“More than that?” Murdoch demanded, his voice rising.

Isabella smiled at him. “I do not believe there was time.”

Murdoch was suddenly very glad that he did not have a sister—much less five of them, as did Alexander. He strode to the door before he paused, took a deep breath and offered Isabella his elbow.

She smiled up at him as she slipped her hand into his arm and leaned against his shoulder. Pregnancy suited her very well. She looked rosy and hale, but there was no denying the growing curve beneath her gown nor the fact that she was more tired of late. He felt a surge of love for her that vastly improved his mood.

“I like that you are protective of my sister,” she murmured to him, her eyes shining. “And I like that you would ensure she wed well. It bodes well for the futures of our own children.”

Murdoch smiled. “Would you kindly ensure that you only bear us sons?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Isabella laughed. “You are right, now that I think of it,” she said, her tone full of mischief. “I did meet you first in my brother’s hall, when you came to quarrel with him. So, since you would quarrel with Annelise’s hunter, I cannot help but think this a most auspicious beginning.”

At that, Murdoch, despite himself, gave a wry laugh. “Very well. I will meet him.”

“And you will be charming.”

“And he will have the opportunity to prove himself worthy of courting her,” Murdoch concluded sternly. Isabella smiled, seemingly content with that, and they descended to the hall together.

*

Garrett was well aware that time was passing.

The vivid blue of the afternoon sky had faded to twilight, the last light of the sun lingering on the western horizon. The first stars were visible in the eastern sky and the shadows were deeper within the forest. Creatures of the day had returned to their burrows and nests for the night, and the nocturnal residents of the forest were stirring. He saw a bat circle high above the clearing and heard mice scurry in the undergrowth.

And with every passing moment, his own uncertainty increased.

He should go to the hall.

She would be waiting for him.

He wanted to go. He wanted to be in her presence again. He could see her in his mind’s eye, her hair a rich auburn, her eyes filled with awe and merriment. He wanted to hear again the stillness of her thoughts, to feel the welcome she offered him and his touch. He wanted to feel as vital as he had when he had kissed her, when it seemed that her sweetness flooded him and made him whole.

He had no real desire to live alone, much less to be an outcast.

But in her absence, his optimism had faded. As the light of day dwindled, it was all too easy to recall what had happened the last time he had stepped into a nobleman’s holding. Three months was not sufficient to forget that humiliation.

Much less to be certain it would not happen again.

He had not been able to explain himself that time, or to make a coherent defense, not when he was assaulted by the anguished thoughts of so many men and women. He had felt the crushing press of a venomous malice, one unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Had he become more sensitive as he grew older? What had changed? Mhairi had said there would be a test, and Garrett did not want to fail it before his lovely maiden.

He did not wish to fail her.

The very possibility made his breath hitch and his palms damp.

What would the maiden think of him, if she knew the truth of his curse? Would she accept his nature and still regard him with admiration? Or would she condemn him as others had done, and turn away?

The questions plagued him all the day long.

Garrett gutted the wolf and left the innards for other hungry creatures in the forest. He skinned the hide from the body, scraping it clean with care. He built a frame and stretched the hide taut, then hung it from a tree, ensuring it would dry and cure. The light was fading but he worked steadily, unable to compel himself to stop. He had a vision of his bold maiden, her hair loose, the firelight dancing over her bare skin as she awaited him. In his bed. Atop the wolf’s pelt.

His bride.

His salvation, if Mhairi’s tale could be believed.

Garrett spared a glance to the darkening sky. If he waited much longer, his maiden would never be his bride. His chance would be lost, maybe forever. By remaining in the forest, he would fail. If he went to Seton Manor, he might, by some miracle, succeed.

That made the choice. Garrett had to go. He glanced down at himself, at the blood on his kilt and boots, at the dirt he had accumulated in weeks of tracking the wolf. He looked like an outcast or even a madman. He ran a hand over his chin and felt his short beard with dismay. She must have thought him a wild man of the woods.

But nay, she had not.

All the same, Garrett could not meet her family like this.

He peeled off his shirt and bathed hastily in the river, sensing that an opportunity was slipping away. He worked quickly to make himself as presentable as possible, his heart racing with the certainty that his sole chance could be lost. He knew the shape of his own face well enough that he was able to shave the growth from his chin with his sharpest knife.

The reflection in the surface of the water seemed to be of a different man, one with a new spark of hope in his eyes. He carried little, but he had another shirt in his pack. It was not a fine shirt, but it was cleaner than the one he wore and it would have to do. He noted the blood on his kilt and rinsed it out as well as he could before wrapping it around his waist once more. He laced his jerkin over the shirt and cast the end of his tartan over his shoulders, then bent to buff the toes of his boots. His crossbow was hung over his shoulder, his quiver on his back.

He was hardly a prince, but he was as clean as he could be.

And the prize was well worth any risk.

Garrett strode through the forest to the road before his confidence could fade. He swallowed when he first set his booted foot upon the road, but steeled himself to emerge from the shadows of the forest. He exhaled and told himself that the experience at Killairig would not be repeated.

There was no doubt where the manor had to be. This smaller track branched from the road that led from east to west and sea to sea. Although Garrett had followed the wolf through the forest, he guessed that Seton Manor must lie as this road’s end point.

As he walked, Garrett heard the chatter of a hundred minds increase before him. It grew rapidly in volume, just as it had when he visited Killairig. His instinct was to turn to the right, but he recalled the way his maiden had fought her own impulses.

Surely he could do as well.

He walked along the road, taking measured steps as he drew steadily closer to the manor. He forced himself to take the tone of the thoughts he overheard, to sample some of their ideas and concerns. In that he found relief, for this holding was different from the last: the people of Seton Manor were contented.

Even so, there were more of them than he had expected. Perhaps a hundred souls were gathered within the walls ahead of him, a group that far outnumbered him and could easily overpower him if they turned against him.

Like the last time.

And she would witness his humiliation.

Dampness gathered on Garrett’s palms as the whisper of voices grew louder and more numerous. Their thoughts echoed in his own: their anger, their fear, their passion, their demands all resonating within his own mind. The chorus seemed to feed itself, multiplying in volume with every step he took.

Garrett rounded a bend in the road, his mouth dry, and was assaulted by another burst in volume. With proximity, the press of the thoughts of others grew stronger, and he wondered how he could endure it. Already, the cacophony made it hard to place one foot in front of the other and to maintain the grasp of his own thoughts. It was all too easy to recall his last humiliation.

She would see if he failed, and his chance of salvation would be lost forever.

Even as he bolstered his own resolve, Garrett paused in the road. He could see the silhouette of the manor against the night sky and the sentries’ torches burning brightly in the night. He could hear the guards talking to each other, hear them audibly over even the tumult in his thoughts. He felt sweat bead on his temples, slide down his spine, yet he walked onward. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched. The chattering grew louder and louder, a cacophony fit to drive him to madness.

He had to do it. He had to make it there.

He thought of the maiden, of the serenity of her thoughts and the prize he might win if he earned her hand. Surely this ordeal was worth enduring.

Garrett walked onward, his body stiffening as he fought against the voices. And in his weakness, doubt took hold of him. The boldness that he had found in her sweet kiss ebbed away and faded, like a tan beneath winter’s light. He began to stagger.

What would be achieved by his appearance in the hall, if he was so snared in his curse? He would not be able to speak to his maiden, not when he was like this. He would not be able to answer her family’s questions. They would all think him mad or simple. He would be laughed out of the hall, if not worse, and she would be disappointed. That slim opportunity would be cast to the winds, sacrificed forever.

He would lose her before he even had a chance to win her.

He had already lost one opportunity, thanks to his curse.

The gates were close, the one guard looking toward him.

It could cost him everything to approach her like this.

Nay, he had to draw her back into the woods. He had to court her away from other people. He had to win her heart before he met her family, for then she could fight for what they both desired.

Garrett thought of the perfect solution, just as the guard raised a hand.

The pelt. He would wait until the pelt was cured. He would send it to her as a gift, and she would seek him out. He would meet her in the glade again, apologize, win her trust and love.

And then, with her hand in his, he would conquer this most daunting challenge.

“Hoy, there!” shouted one guard, and the other turned to look.

Garrett plunged back into the protective shadows of the forest. He sensed the second guard’s confusion.

“Who do you hail?” demanded the second guard.

“There was someone approaching. I am certain of it.”

The second guard laughed. “And he has vanished into thin air, as quickly as that?” He laughed again. “Do not think you can convince me to jump at shadows on this night, just to see yourself amused. I am not so readily misled as that.”

But Garrett heard the first guard’s uncertainty and knew he would not forget what he had seen very soon. It was hard to care, though, for each step into the forest quieted the chaos a little more and soothed away his agitation.

By the time Garrett reached the curing wolf pelt, he was calm again.

If disgusted with his own weakness.

There in the stillness of the forest, he pledged to himself that he would see his maiden’s trust repaid somehow.

*

He did not come.

Annelise sat at the board, overwhelmed with disappointment.

Her champion did not appear. He sent no word.

Her hunter had lied to her.

She had heard Breac report to Murdoch that there was naught amiss at the glade, even though the men had tried to keep their voices low. Her face had burned then, out of surety that Murdoch thought she concocted a tale of her defender. She had yearned for the hunter to arrive then, but there was no sign of him.

Not then. Not later.

The meal was served, savored and cleaned away. There were a few songs, then the fire on the hearth burned low. Isabella tried to hide her exhaustion, but the babe was tiring her greatly. The candles were gutted.

Annelise could not believe it. He had not come.

Murdoch looked between the two sisters, then rose to his feet. He offered his hand to Isabella with a smile that seemed too bright. “My son demands your rest, my lady,” he said and the company smiled with affection.

Annelise excused herself, rose to her feet, and fled to her room. She hoped Isabella did not come to her on this night, because she did not want to talk about her disappointment.

She had been a fool, and the only mercy was that she had surrendered no more than a kiss to the hunter.

*

Annelise dreams.

She is in the glade, the dappled sunshine touching her shoulders, the stillness of the sacred place filling her with tranquility. She hears the faint trickle of water, the leaves stirring overhead in the breeze, the melody of birdsong. She prays for strength and boldness, for audacity and a change in her fortunes.

She hears a stealthy footstep.

Had the silence surrounding her not been so complete, she would not have noticed the minute sound.

She hears a snarl.

She pivots in time to see a wolf leaping toward her, teeth bared and eyes wild. She throws her hands up before herself, for it is too late to run. She braces herself for the wolf’s attack, then screams when its weight lands against her. Its teeth rip at her throat and she fights, even as her own warm blood flows. The wolf shreds her flesh from her bones even as she struggles to survive, and Annelise knows she has met her end.

As she falls to the ground, she looks into the shadows of the forest. She is seeking some sign of the hunter, but instead she sees a second wolf, a wolf as white as the new snow. That creature is watching her, with eyes of clearest blue, and to Annelise’s astonishment, the white wolf is weeping.

Annelise awakened, heart pounding, and stared around her quiet room in confusion. The night was still but dark, for the moon was new. She could hear the goats bleating in the pen and someone snoring in the hall below. She exhaled shakily and unclenched her hands, feeling how her nails had dug into her palms.

She was safe.

Because the hunter had saved her.

Why the nightmare, then? Did she relive her fright, or was the hunter himself in danger?

And what of the white wolf? Had it been in the glade as well? If so, she had not seen it. How could a wolf weep? She had never heard the like, even in old tales.

Annelise could make no sense of it, though she laid awake all the night struggling to do so.

*

“All you must do, Andrew, is watch me and learn,” Orson declared. The two knights rode side by side as the shadows grew long, Orson’s squire behind them. “It is the simplest of matters. My uncle wishes an alliance with Kinfairlie, but has no more children of his own. The Laird of Kinfairlie yet has two unwed sisters. I will wed the elder, then you can follow my example and wed the younger. That feat will please your father just as much as mine will please my uncle.”

“The Laird of Kinfairlie dismissed us from his gates,” Andrew felt obliged to observe. “I fear he does not approve of your plan.”

“He is merely protective of his sisters,” Orson insisted, his confidence unshakable. “And that Elizabeth is a finely wrought creature, to be sure. You will be a lucky man to claim her hand.”

Andrew only trusted himself to nod. Buxom and pretty, Elizabeth was ripe enough to feed every lewd thought he might have had. Andrew had plenty such thoughts. He had considered the merits of Elizabeth on several nights already—two of them in particular—and was much encouraged by Orson’s confidence that he might make her his wife.

“But you chose not to pursue her,” Andrew said.

“I know a barricaded portal when I see one,” Orson replied. “Nay, she will be last to wed, and I must move with haste. I need a bride immediately to show my uncle my subservience.” He wagged a gloved finger at his companion, who did not dare to laugh at the very idea. “And truly, I believe it may serve me very well to wed the older one.”

“Why?”

“She must be plain. Murdoch Seton wed the one younger than this Annelise.” He grimaced. “And they say her hair is red.”

“She might be ugly.”

Orson laughed. “So the Laird of Kinfairlie will be indebted to me for wedding her. I believe it could turn much to my advantage to take the elder plainer one.”

“Save that you will have a plain wife.” Andrew winced. “How will you get a son upon her?”

Orson shook his head with mock disappointment. “Andrew, Andrew, I could get a son upon a sow if it were to make my fortune, and this Annelise can do that easily. Simply watch how the old man opens his coffers, once I return with the alliance he most desires. My future will be secured.”

“A title?”

“At least one, with a castle, to be sure. Perhaps he will give me Bamburgh. I could argue a case for ensuring that my beloved is close to her family.”

Bamburgh! Andrew stole a glance at his companion, but Orson was utterly confident. In fact, he seemed to be considering what changes he might make to that holding.

“Percy!” Orson roared at his squire. The boy hastened forward on his palfrey. “Where is the gift? I want to see it again. I need to remind myself of my generosity.”

“The gift, sir?”

“The gift for my intended.”

Percy continued to look blank.

“The necklace!” Orson bellowed. “The string of amethyst beads, alternated with pearls and garnets.”

Percy paled. “But that was the lady Ermengarde’s gift…”

“Ermengarde!” Orson was clearly shocked. He pulled his destrier to a hard halt, almost falling out of his saddle as he turned to face the boy. The stallion fought the bit, much displeased with such treatment, and began to stamp. Orson, a most competent horseman, held the reins tight and continued his conversation with Percy. “You gave it to Ermengarde?” His tone was so incredulous that Andrew feared matters had gone awry.

And Percy would pay.

Percy licked his lips, perhaps sensing the same thing. “You, you said it would look well upon her…”

“That is not the same as saying it was for her! Do you know how much that necklace cost me, boy?”

“But, but, but she came to the stables before we left, and she asked if I had a token for her from you, and you had just said how it would look so well upon her…”

Orson flung down his reins, leapt from the saddle and stepped in front of the palfrey. It was an admirable feat, done with grace. Orson seized the palfrey’s reins and glared at his squire. “Get down,” he commanded, his voice dark with intent.

It was all very familiar to Andrew.

Percy was shaking as he slipped from the saddle, and he fell to his knees before his knight. Orson removed his leather gauntlets with care, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord. I misunderstood. I, I will return and retrieve it from her…”

“And she will never part her thighs for me again. No, that will not do. Lift your head, Percy.” The boy did as he was bidden and Orson slapped Percy across the side of his head with his leather gauntlets.

The boy winced but kept his chin up.

Orson’s lips tightened, then he slapped Percy again from the other side. Harder. Again, Percy showed unexpected fortitude. He kept his gaze lowered, but did not fall to the ground to beg or try to flee.

“You are unrepentant.” Orson flicked a glance filled with consideration at Andrew. “You think you have done right.”

“I I, I am sorry to have misunderstood you, sir. In truth, I thought your scheme most clever.”

“What scheme?”

“You always favored the lady Ermengarde, my lord, and the gems will suit her well.”

“And what do I care about that?”

“I had assumed, sir, that you wished her to tell her husband of your loyalty and good service in your absence.” Percy risked an upward glance when Orson remained silent. “I thought it a scheme to ensure your own advancement in Lord Rothen’s favor, sir, and a clever plan at that.”

Orson blinked and looked into the forest, slapping his gloves idly against his own palm. “It was, of course, my original scheme,” he said and Andrew knew that to be a lie. He turned a cool smile upon Percy. “We are close to Seton Manor. I do not wish to be further delayed, despite your error. Find me a gift, Percy, or I shall be compelled to beat you senseless and leave you to the wolves.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Andrew knew as well as Percy that Orson greatly enjoyed the beatings he administered. In truth, Orson was the ideal companion, for his tendency to petty violence made most people assume that Andrew was the more noble and honorable of the pair. Few guessed the darkness in Andrew’s heart.

The boy fled down the road, looked left and right, then leapt into the forest. His terror might have been comical if Andrew had not seen Orson in a fury before. Andrew thought it might be wiser for Percy to continue to run rather than return empty-handed, but he kept that thought to himself.

The older knight sighed as he considered the height of his saddle, then shrugged. “Wretched boy. He is never around when I need him.” He turned a considering glance upon Andrew.

But it was Orson who had taught Andrew not to ever step below his station. Taking the role of a squire for this particular knight was a mistake Andrew would never make and showing obeisance to any man was out of the question. Andrew remained in his saddle.

“I doubt he will be long,” he said.

Orson laughed, then turned a cold glance upon Andrew. “What gift do you imagine Percy will find in these woods? We have traveled beyond civilization, Andrew. If he is lucky, he will be devoured by wolves quickly.”

Andrew was surprised. “You do not mean to wait for him?”

“Of course not.”

“You knowingly sent him to his demise?”

“I did no such thing. I assigned him a quest. If he fails, due to a lack of resourcefulness, honor or character, there is little I can do about the outcome.”

“But you pledged to train and defend him when he became your squire.” Andrew was intrigued. He knew Orson to be petty and selfish, but had never thought his companion knight quite so wicked. Had he infected the other knight without intending to do so?

“And he pledged to serve me faithfully. It seems to me that he is the one who broke the agreement.” Orson appeared to have no remorse in this choice, beyond regretting some inconvenience to himself. He looked up and down the road, but no mounting block had miraculously appeared. He peered down the road toward the manor, but his expression revealed his opinion of the merit of walking. “How unfortunate that you sent your squire away.” Orson glared at Andrew. “Why did you send Bart away? He had only just arrived.”

“With the tidings he brought, I had to send a message. There was no one else to take it.”

Orson pursed his lips. “I suppose he will return to you in due time.”

“I can only hope,” Andrew acknowledged. It was most unlikely that the squire would return in time to help Orson back into his saddle.

Orson clearly reached the same conclusion. He seized the reins of Andrew’s destrier, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to force his seniority upon the younger knight.

Andrew nearly winced. If Orson asked outright, would it be folly to decline? He knew a refusal to be of assistance would not be received well and braced himself against Orson’s temper.

He did not dare to loose his own, even to defend himself.

He was saved by Percy’s shout.

“My lord!” the boy cried. “My lord, I have found it!”

Orson’s astonishment was complete. “What have you found, Percy?”

“A wolf pelt, sir.” Percy stumbled out of the forest, his hair disheveled and dirt on his clothes. His face, however, was lit with relief. “A beautiful wolf pelt, stretched and cured, all silver grey with black tips. It is huge, sir, and luxuriantly thick. I should think a lady might believe it a fine gift.”

Orson smiled, his gaze dancing over the forest on either side of the road. His distaste for the region was clear. “A perfect gift for a bride in these parts. Well done, Percy! Bring it quickly.”

The boy faltered for only a moment, his surprise at the unusual praise more than evident, then disappeared back into the forest again.

Andrew was skeptical about the quality of the pelt, for he could not believe any soul would abandon such a prize. But the pelt proved to be every bit as magnificent as the boy had claimed. Indeed, it was the finest Andrew had ever seen.

And it was familiar.

The sight of it put a cold weight in Andrew’s belly, though he hid every sign of his reaction from his fellows.

Who had committed this travesty? Andrew would ensure that whoever had killed this wolf paid a high price.

Meanwhile Orson smiled as he fingered the luxuriant pelt, the sight of his fingers in the fur enough to sicken Andrew. He knew the other knight would not only give the pelt to the lady, but concoct a tale of his own valor to accompany it.

“We should agree, Andrew, upon how many wolves we have killed upon this journey,” Orson said. “It would not do for our tallies to differ when the tale is told.”

“Three,” Andrew suggested impulsively, not really caring about the detail. Perhaps the hunter was at Seton Manor, for there were not many holdings in this vicinity. If Orson took the pelt and presented it as his own kill, the true hunter might argue the matter with him.

Orson considered Andrew’s suggestion, then nodded. “Three. It is a fine number. Not so many that we appear rapacious; not so few that we appear incapable. I took this one, and the female he defended. You took the male who came to his aid. That one was mangy and the female was small, so we did not keep their pelts.” He flicked Andrew a cool glance. “The tale will travel from one sister to the other, upon that you can rely.” He whistled and Percy fell to his knees before him, creating a mounting block with his body. Orson ascended to his saddle, as regally as a king.

Orson wagged a finger at Andrew. “I shall show you, my friend, how the most can be made of an opportunity seized.”

Andrew made no comment upon that.

Chapter Three

It was a fine Sunday, although there was no sunlight in Annelise’s heart. It had been two weeks since she had met the hunter in the woods, two weeks since he had failed to come to the hall, and she had not managed to drive him from her thoughts.

Much less his sweet kiss.

Her nightmare of the wolf continued each and every night, leaving her awake and terrified in the dark. Some nights, she was snared in the dream until she died. Others, she managed to awaken at the beginning of the attack. The hunter never came to her rescue in these nightmares, and Annelise feared the portent of that.

But the white wolf appeared in each dream and always it wept.

It was most odd. Annelise had never experienced a recurring dream before, and she wondered at its meaning. She would have felt foolish asking Isabella, for her younger sister was both busy and pragmatic. If she had confided in any of her sisters, it would have been Elizabeth, for Elizabeth could see the Fae and was inclined to be less skeptical of matters not easily explained. But Elizabeth remained at Kinfairlie.

Annelise thought that revisiting the glade might have been the next best choice, albeit in daylight and not alone. She wished to see if there was any trace either of the white wolf from her dream or the hunter whose kiss still heated her skin. But that was impossible. Once Murdoch had heard the tale of the wolf, he had forbidden either Annelise or Isabella to leave the enclosure of Seton Manor.

After a fortnight of such close quarters, Annelise felt trapped.

She lingered in the chapel after the others left the morning service and said an extra prayer for the hunter.

She decided he must have a good reason for not keeping his pledge to her. Perhaps he had tracked a second wolf, and it was one not so readily defeated. Perhaps it had led him far from Seton Manor. He was the manner of man to willingly undertake a noble quest, she was certain of it, and one who would not be swayed from his objective by temptation.

Was temptation all she had offered?

Annelise wanted to be so much more. Had he already forgotten her? Annelise could not bear the thought, although she imagined a man of such handsome appearance would have known many fascinating women.

She rose from her knees when her prayer was done, brushed off her skirts and made to return to the hall. She did not even reach the threshold of the chapel before Isabella flung open the door and peered around it. Her sister’s eyes were alight with some tidings and Annelise immediately feared that another suitor had come to dine.

She could not bear it. She knew that Murdoch was disappointed in her shyness, but it was not within her to charm men at will.

Isabella surprised her. “Your admirer has finally arrived!”

Annelise’s feet seemed to become fixed to the floor. Her heart stopped then raced as she was filled with a mix of fear and anticipation.

“I do not understand,” she said, as calmly as she could. She could not bear to be teased by her sister, not about this.

“The hunter!”

“How can you be certain?”

Isabella stepped fully into the chapel and pulled her hands from behind her back. Annelise gasped when Isabella revealed that she held a wolf pelt.

Annelise ran to her and seized the pelt, not caring if Isabella teased her for her enthusiasm. It was a beautiful pelt, the fur thick and wrought of a thousand shades of silver and pewter. It had been cured by someone who knew how to do such deeds, for there was no scent to it. She remembered that afternoon all too clearly, the spark of hunger in the creature’s eyes and her relief when it had fallen dead. There had been blood, but there was none on the pelt.

Was it from the same wolf? Was it from him? It was as large as the wolf she remembered, that much was certain. She turned the pelt in her excitement, her fingers sinking into its luxurious softness. Her heart stopped when she saw that the fur was darker at the head and the legs.

The same wolf.

“He is here!” she whispered and pushed past Isabella. She heard Isabella laughing at her, but did not care. Her footsteps flew as she raced out of the chapel and across the small courtyard in the core of Seton village. Seton Manor did not have a full bailey, but there was a yard near the stables and Annelise heard voices there. She ran toward the sound, the timbre of men’s voices becoming clearer as she approached.

Murdoch glanced up when Annelise raced around the corner and came to a sudden halt. A smile touched his lips and Annelise knew she must look disheveled. Two men stood before him, both in chain mail, and an unfamiliar squire was leading a large bay destrier into the stable. The shorter man still held the reins of his destrier. The third horse, a palfrey, drank from the barrel of water kept for the horses while its reins dangled loose.

But this was all wrong. Annelise halted in confusion.

These men were knights.

Her hunter had worn a kilt. He was no knight, though his valor was not in question.

More than that, her hunter had been taller than either of these men, and broader of shoulder. His hair had been dark blond and his skin tanned, while these men both had dark hair. The taller one, who seemed more senior, had chestnut hair, while the shorter had hair as black as ebony. Annelise clutched the wolf pelt in her uncertainty.

Where was her hunter? Knights did not run errands for woodsmen.

How had these men gotten the pelt?

And why had they brought it to her?

The two knights turned to face her, the taller one bowing deeply. “Fair Annelise. How enchanting to meet you.” He stepped forward and claimed her hand, bestowing a kiss upon its back as Annelise watched in silence. He was handsome enough, but there was something about him that Annelise intuitively disliked. He smiled at her with a confidence in his own allure that made her eyes narrow. “I trust you like my gift.”

She frowned, pretending to be confused. “Gift?”

He looked pointedly at the pelt. “Which you have received.”

“You brought this?”

“Of course. A tribute to your beauty, a wolf slaughtered by my own hand.” He arched a brow, even as anger rose within Annelise. “It is evidence of both my valor and my intentions.” He bowed again. “We battled three such fearsome creatures, Andrew and I…”

Annelise took a step back, fighting to keep her tone polite. “But I do not know you.”

The knight chuckled, even though she had interrupted his tale. “Not so well as you will, my fair maiden, that much is certain.” He reached for her hand again. Annelise locked her fingers in the pelt, evading his touch, and saw the flash of irritation in his eyes. Then he smiled, as if all was well, but Annelise noted the tightness around the corners of his mouth. Here was a man accustomed to winning his way, one who did not like to be declined.

Yet she, meek Annelise, would defy him until her dying breath.

He bowed deeply. “Orson Douglas at your service, my lady.”

Annelise indicated the pelt. “Where did you get this?” she asked, knowing she was being rude but needing to hear the fullness of this rogue’s lie.

“I have told you already.”

“Tell me again, if you please.” Annelise was aware that both Murdoch and the other knight were watching her closely, but she did not care.

Orson straightened and his smile turned chilly. “I scraped it from the hide of the monster himself, of course. After I killed him.”

Annelise was outraged. This knight lied! He stood in Murdoch’s courtyard, a guest of the holding, and lied to her very face. It was a violation of his vows, of Murdoch’s hospitality, and of every trait that made a suitor desirable. It was audacious and appalling—and disgusted Annelise.

She knew who had killed this wolf. She would wager that she knew who had cured the hide. The pelt had been stolen from her hunter.

Maybe he had been killed for it. Annelise would not put such an act beyond the abilities of this knight. She took a step back and saw again the anger light in his gaze. She would die alone before she accepted the offer of a man like this.

But Annelise doubted that Orson would readily accept her refusal.

“I do not believe it,” she said, lifting her chin.

The knight inhaled sharply at the implication. His squire developed a fascination with the tending of the horses and the other knight watched Annelise closely.

“Orson has ridden far to court you, Annelise,” Murdoch said, a warning in his tone.

“How very kind,” Annelise said, lifting her chin. “I am sorry, but I am not convinced of your tale. I saw this wolf killed and I know you did not do the deed.”

Color rose on Orson’s neck. “And who did strike the blow, my lady Annelise?”

“I do not know his name. A hunter.”

“A nameless hunter.” Orson chuckled, his disbelief in her word vexing Annelise. “And where might I meet this mysterious man?”

Annelise found herself flushing. “I have not seen him again.”

“And perhaps never will,” Murdoch interrupted smoothly. “Perhaps you should forget this hunter who no one has seen but you, Annelise, and thank Orson for his gift.”

Isabella had confided in Annelise that Murdoch thought the hunter a fiction, but Annelise had never expected him to challenge her on it. “He is real!” she insisted, but Murdoch only smiled tightly.

“And Orson is here.”

Annelise looked between the intent knight and her host, and knew she was not believed. “I fear I am not well, sir,” she said to Orson. “If you will excuse me.”

Orson looked as if he might not do so. Annelise did not wait to hear his protest, but marched into the hall, hearing Murdoch make apologies for her behavior. The knights laughed, as if much amused by the folly of women, and Annelise’s anger grew yet more. How could any soul believe she could wed a man who lied to her and discredited her own word so readily? She took the stairs two at a time, showing unladylike haste, then retreated to her chamber. She slammed the door behind herself and locked it, her heart thundering at her boldness.

Of course, her sister followed her.

Annelise closed her eyes and did not answer Isabella’s knock. She buried her nose in the soft pelt, easily imagining her hunter cleaning the hide. He wielded a knife with grace and power. He would have worked slowly and methodically, making each gesture count. He would not compromise. He would not hasten a job.

He would perform any task with the same attention to detail that he gave to a kiss.

She felt uncommonly warm at the recollection of his touch, yet this incident made her fear for him. He could not have given away the pelt, not after doing the labor to see it cured. She had to somehow verify that he was well. She had to know the truth of his intentions toward her, however unappealing that truth might be.

“Annelise?” Isabella asked from the corridor when there was no reply. “Is something amiss?” She knocked louder. “Annelise! Let me in!”

Annelise spun around to stare at the door, knowing that she could not admit her sister. Isabella was far too perceptive, and Annelise herself could not risk honesty with her sister. It would be unfair to expect Isabella to deceive Murdoch for her, or even to put the couple at odds. Aye, something was amiss, but Annelise had to resolve it herself.

She had need of that boldness, once again.

“I feel unwell,” she lied. She closed her eyes, certain her inexperience with telling anything other than the truth could not have been more clear. Every syllable resonated as a falsehood, at least to her own ears.

She had to do better.

Isabella jiggled the door latch. “Well, I am the healer here. Let me help you.”

Annelise summoned her most confident tone. “I would not trouble you with such a trifle. I had a restless night and simply need to sleep.” She spoke firmly, backing away from the door, as if distance would make her lie more plausible. “I will see you at the midday meal, I am certain.”

Annelise did not need to open the door to be aware of her sister’s disapproval, much less to feel compelled to make amends for her own words.

“Let me see you,” Isabella insisted.

“I will not concern you with something so minor when you have guests newly arrived.” Annelise dropped her voice to a confidential tone, having thought of the perfect distraction. “Murdoch does not have noblemen visit Seton Manor often and I fear I may have given offense. Should you not ensure that all is well?”

Isabella exhaled. “I did not realize they were knights.”

“Most affluent ones, I believe.”

“Yet you are hiding from them.”

“I am not!” Annelise coughed. “I am unwell.”

Isabella muttered a curse that was not entirely suitable for a woman of her station, then her footsteps hastily retreated. Annelise heard her sister descend the stairs, calling for the servants. She turned her back on the door and considered the wolf pelt.

Her hunter would not have given it away.

He would not have sold it.

That knight, though, could have stolen it. Such a feat would be in his nature. He was the manner of man to see what he desired and take it, regardless of who might stand in his way.

How vigorously would her hunter have clung to his prize? Was he injured? Had he been abandoned in the forest, wounded and left to die?

Or had he been killed outright, defending what was his own?

That thought was enough to encourage Annelise to search for him immediately. If he were injured, she might find him in time to be of aid. She seized her cloak and shoved on her boots. She held fast to the pelt, determined to keep this token at all costs. She listened at the door, but she could hear louder voices from below. They had come into the hall, then, and Murdoch would call for refreshment for his guests.

Seton Manor was a small hall of simple construction. One staircase led to the second floor of chambers, and one entrance graced the hall. Annelise could not descend the stairs and leave the manor without everyone in the great hall seeing her pass that way.

She was quite certain she would be compelled to join them.

The very notion annoyed her.

It also filled her with uncharacteristic purpose. Annelise went to the single window in her room, unfastened the shutters and pushed them open. The window was large and there was a roof below it, one that sheltered the kitchens. The forest pressed against this back side of the manor and Annelise could hear the goats bleating in their enclosure, which was out of sight.

It was a long way down. Annelise swallowed. Years at her embroidery had not prepared her for such a leap, but there was no time to lose. She eyed the drop from the edge of that roof, recalled her resolve, then swung her legs over the sill.

Her heart insisted that the hunter had need of her.

*

The pelt had cured so perfectly that Garrett had known this must be the day he sought out his maiden. Somehow he had to manage this feat, for it was clear she would not come again to him. He had gone down to the river to shave and wash. The day before, he had washed his clothing and polished his boots. He was nervous and uncertain, but he had to go to the hall.

He felt stronger since meeting the maiden. He had a curious sense that all turned in his direction, after opposing him for so long. Garrett felt an uncharacteristic sense of promise.

Perhaps he would find the maiden alone, in a garden or outside of the manor. Perhaps he could speak to her and give her the gift before he was overwhelmed by the voices.

Perhaps having her beside him would help. He thought of her stillness and his sense of peace in her presence. He had to trust in his instincts, take a chance and secure his own salvation.

As prepared as he could be, Garrett returned to the tree where he had left the pelt, filled with purpose.

The pelt was gone.

Garrett could not believe it. How could this be? No animal would take it, not after it was cured, and Garrett was alone in the woods.

Or so he had believed when he went to wash. He looked again and noted the broken undergrowth and snapped twigs, the path of careless passage. He followed it with care, not surprised that it led to the road. It was a sign of a person’s passing, someone who weighed much the same as his lady, he would wager. For a moment, his heart skipped in anticipation.

Then Garrett saw the boot print. It was wide, too wide to be that of his delicate maiden. He guessed a young man had stolen his pelt. He spied a tuft of cloth caught on a thorn and fingered it. Linsey-woolsey, dyed dark, woven finer than usual. The cloth of servants, at least in the south. No one wore the blend of linen and wool in these parts and few could afford dark dyes. Homespun wool in the color of the sheep was more common. Garrett reached the edge of the forest, where the undergrowth was thinner, and listened.

Hoof beats.

Three horses. Two were much larger. Destriers, perhaps. That would be consistent with arrivals from the south. Few in the Highlands could afford horses, and expensive destriers were ridden by knights. Garrett was generally glad there were few such men in these parts and, on this day, he would have been glad to have these men absent.

Garrett crept out of the forest enough to see, but still clung to the shadows. He could just barely see the silhouette of a party down the road. Two knights and a squire was his guess. Why were they here?

That was not much of a mystery, when he considered it. They were riding toward Seton Manor, the sole destination they could reach before nightfall. His maiden was a noblewoman, with no ring on her finger.

Worse, these knights carried the pelt he had intended to give to her.

Garrett could guess what they would say about it. An uncommon fury lit within him at the prospect. He was on the road, striding toward Seton Manor with purpose, before he thought twice about his choice.

He would not be cheated by a nobleman again.

He might be different from them, but that did not make him less.

Garrett rounded a bend in the road, as far as he had managed to come that last time, and the assault of voices was like a slap inside his mind. He clenched his fists and forced himself to continue onward, narrowing his eyes against the chaotic din. He had only taken half a dozen steps before his own thoughts began to sink beneath the flood of others. His familiar panic began to rise, but he pushed himself onward.

This was not like the other time. All was at stake, but his maiden could aid him. He had to reach her and to win her—before the knights stole her away.

And that meant he dared not stop.

He felt the clouding of his thoughts and cursed his legacy. He concentrated on putting one foot before the other, fighting to fill his mind with the memory of his maiden. He tried to keep the cacophony of intruding ideas and feelings, of voices screaming for attention, at bay. He felt the sweat bead his brow, felt his grip on sanity begin to loosen. Garrett marched on, staggering slightly in the road, but determined to reach her.

A sudden stillness startled him to a halt. He could feel a tide of serenity drawing close, ever closer, and barely dared to believe she came to him. Garrett opened his eyes and looked down the road, squinting against the restless din.

Hoping.

His heart was clenched so tightly that he could not breathe.

Then joy lifted his heart. His maiden was running toward him, her auburn tresses flowing like a glorious banner behind her. The majesty of her hair fairly took his breath away, for it had been braided tightly when he had met her. Now he saw that it would fall easily to her waist, a cascade of deepest copper. Her eyes were wide with concern and her ripe lips parted. She was every bit as beautiful as he recalled. She clutched the wolf pelt to her chest, as if it was the most precious gift in all the world. Garrett could have stared at her for days.

“You are not dead!” she cried when she was a dozen steps away, and he realized that her concern was for him alone. His heart pounded with fervor.

“Not yet!” Garrett impulsively opened his arms and, to his delight, his maiden leapt into his embrace. He caught her close and folded her against his chest. He bent and touched his forehead to hers, breathing in deeply of her sweet scent and savoring the gift of tranquility she brought. Her thoughts were like a cool balm to him, soothing and welcoming at the same time.

And when she touched her lips shyly to his once again, a tide of sweetness surged through him. The voices were quieted, the maiden’s serenity pushing into his own thoughts, soothing his mind like an herbalist’s balm. He kissed her back, wanting her with all his heart and soul. He wanted to lose himself in her and the solace she offered, even with the small encouragement of this kiss. He wanted to prove himself worthy of not just the gift she brought him but of the lady herself.

Having her in his arms prompted a most earthy response from his body, one that was not appropriate for a maiden to know. With great reluctance, he broke their kiss but he could not bring himself to release her. Her lips were swollen a little from his kiss and she smiled at him with sparkling eyes, looking so beguiling that Garrett was sorely tempted to take more.

He moved to put a little distance between them, but she slid one arm around his neck. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and when she lifted her head, he could see the creamy skin of her throat. The sight sent a hot jolt of desire through him.

The marvel was that he felt stronger and bolder, more in control of his own mind. He could still hear the voices of others but they were muffled, at a volume he could tolerate.

She brought him this gift.

It was just as Mhairi had vowed.

The maiden’s gaze searched his, and he feared she had noticed his body’s reaction to the sweet press of her against him. If so, there was no accusation in her expression, but rather a welcome. Her eyes were a magnificent green, her concern for him clear. The tranquility of her presence filled him and soothed him.

She raised a fingertip to his temple, touching the dampness there with tenderness. “But you are ill,” she whispered.

Garrett nodded, for he would not deceive her. He could not tell her everything, not with the price such telling would bear, but he would confess what he could. “I have not been well. That was why I did not come. I intended to come today, to bring your gift to you.”

She smiled and lifted the wolf pelt between them. From this angle, it appeared that her bare breasts were nestled against it, the front of her kirtle hidden beneath the fur. He could imagine her nude upon the pelt all too easily, a notion to which his body responded with enthusiasm.

If she were his lady, he would seduce her slowly. He would introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh as if they had all the time in the world, and he would show her that she was a treasure of the rarest kind. His mouth went dry, his arousal pressing against her belly, and he did not have it within him to pull away from the temptation she offered.

Garrett nodded at her guess, unable to summon a word to his lips.

“I knew it.” Her full lips tightened. “He lied. That knight lied and I knew it. He stole this from you, did he not?”

“The boy did.” Garrett swallowed and frowned. “I suppose he might be the knight’s squire.”

“Vermin! He said he had killed the wolf.” Her outrage was so clear that it warmed his heart. “He stood in the holding of my sister’s husband, accepted his hospitality and lied! Odious man! Villain and cur!”

Garrett found himself smiling at her indignation. “Does he have a name?”

His maiden had to think for a moment, and he liked that she had cared so little about the arrival of a knight to have taken much note to his name. That was no good sign for the man’s suit, if indeed he came to court the lady.

“Orson. Orson Douglas.” She frowned then and bit her lip, peering up at him again. “But he offered the pelt to me as a gift. He knew my name before he arrived.”

This was a tiding to prompt Garrett’s suspicion. “Do you know him? Or was he dispatched to collect you?”

“I cannot imagine that.” She shook her head, clearly thinking. “Never have I seen him before. But my brother’s holding, Kinfairlie, is near that of the Douglas family.” She spared Garrett a rueful glance. “Alexander is often challenged to keep peace with the Earl of March, without sacrificing too much of his own suzerainty. They are powerful and demanding neighbors.”

“Ah.” Garrett said, for this made all clear.

His maiden stared at him. “You think he has been sent to court me.” There was no question in her voice and he assumed she had come to the same conclusion.

“It seems most likely.”

Her disgust was apparent. “Yet he begins the task badly. What manner of man launches a courtship with a lie? Not a knight whose vows have any meaning for him, much less one who intends to treat his lady wife with honor.” Her reaction delighted Garrett, for it confirmed to him that they had more in common than a kiss.

“Perhaps he will have competition in that regard,” he said softly, loving how her gaze flew to meet his. “But only if it suits you.”

She smiled with such pleasure that Garrett’s chest tightened. Then she stretched to her toes, dropping her voice to a whisper. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her expression was worried. “But there is violence in him. You must be careful. I see already that he does not like to be crossed and he will not cede anything with grace. That was why I feared for your welfare when he presented the pelt.”

It had been a while since any person had feared for Garrett’s welfare and never had such a lovely maiden done so. Garrett bent and stole the merest kiss, brushing his lips across hers. Even that minute touch lit a flame within him and he simmered with desire. He knew he should not take more, but she locked her hand around the back of his neck.

“Kiss me truly,” she demanded in a whisper. “More ardently even than before.”

Hers was a demand Garrett could not deny. He angled his mouth over hers, swallowing her sigh of contentment, then kissed her deeply. He saw that she closed her eyes and felt how she leaned against him, surrendering completely to his touch.

Her trust humbled him.

Once again, he felt that honeyed course of new strength flow into him, a gift she did not realize she gave him and one that made him so much stronger. He could have become addicted to her touch in a heartbeat.

Even without the peace she gave his mind.

He caught her close and lifted her against his chest, easing his tongue between her teeth. She responded in kind, mimicking his every gesture so that his blood fairly boiled. He speared his fingers into the thick splendor of her hair, and cupped her nape, holding her captive to his pillaging kiss.

She not only let him take what he desired, but offered him more.

It was long moments before Garrett recalled that he should not dishonor the maiden he meant to take to wife. With an effort, he caught her shoulders in his hands and put an increment of distance between them. She sighed with such evident regret that he smiled at her. She cast him a rueful glance, even as her hand landed upon his chest. “You are right, of course.” Her eyes shone. “But never did I know that a kiss could give such pleasure.”

“Still, I would not have you believe me to be of the same ilk as that knight.”

“Never!” Her defense of him was heart-warming. “You are a man of honor and already I know it well.” That she could be convinced of his nature so soon could only be a good portent for the future, and his suit.

“I would never wed a man like that, but he will not take a refusal well.” She cast a glance back to the hall, her hand sliding into his. Her hand was small, her fingers delicate, and her skin was warm. “You must come to the hall now. You must meet my sister’s husband on this day.”

Hers was a reasonable request. If he meant to offer for his maiden and win her over the knight, Garrett knew she was right. All the same, he felt a prickle of dread. He did not wish to embarrass her and feared he could not make it all the way to the hall and be coherent on this day. “You know little of me, my lady. We could talk more, walk in the woods and learn more of each other before you make a choice.”

Her lips tightened. “I know I can talk to you. I know that you defended me from harm. That is far more than I know of Orson Douglas.”

“You know his name, though, and not mine.”

She laughed, a most delightful sound. “You are right, of course. It would not do for me to always call you the hunter.”

Garrett smiled down at her. “I am Garrett MacLachlan.”

“And I am Annelise Lammergeier.” She extended her hand to him as if they met at a king’s court. Garrett bowed over her hand and kissed the back, a deed which seemed to please her mightily, given the sparkle of her eyes. “My brother is Laird of Kinfairlie, which lies south and east of Edinburgh, on the coast.”

Her family name was familiar and gave him encouragement. “Near Ravensmuir?”

“That holding is ours, as well, though the keep lies in ruins. My brother, Alexander, holds Ravensmuir’s seal in trust for my brother, Malcolm.”

“Is he ill?’

“He has gone to the continent to make his fortune, if he may.” Annelise winced and Garrett guessed that Malcolm’s choice had not been endorsed fully by his siblings. Then she turned a bright gaze upon him. “How do you know of Ravensmuir?”

“I have heard it spoke of, on occasion.”

Annelise wrinkled her nose. “Our family reputation has preceded us, then.”

“Not a poor one, if that is your meaning.” Garrett recalled Mhairi’s mention of Ravensmuir well. “I was told that the Lammergeier were rumored to have unusual powers, but more than that, they defied convention in their choices.”

Annelise studied him. “Was this good or bad in the view of the teller?”

“Very good. Mhairi had no patience with convention and easy answers.” Garrett nodded in recollection, both cheered by his memory and saddened by the realization that he had spoken of Mhairi in the past tense for the first time. “She told one tale of a Laird of Ravensmuir who could understand the conversation of the ravens who lived on his holding.”

“Oh, that is an old tale, although I do not know if it is true.” Annelise laughed at his obvious disappointment. “If you have heard the worst of it and are not deterred, then perhaps there is hope for us.”

“Or perhaps we have common ground, you and me. Perhaps we might make unconventional choices and still be happy.”

She studied him, her gaze flicking over his kilt and jerkin, and he knew she was comparing his status with that of the knight who awaited her at Seton Manor. Her expression revealed that he did not fare badly in the comparison. She stretched up and kissed his cheek, her cheeks burning pink with her boldness and her eyes dancing with a delight that captivated him completely. “Please come to the hall with me, Garrett.”

When she appealed to him, it was not within him to refuse her anything at all.

Garrett had agreed, her hand was resting on his elbow and they had taken three steps before he realized the fullness of the gift she had brought him. Not only had her kiss soothed him, but its influence continued. He could still hear the voices that tormented him, but even as they grew louder, the stillness of her thoughts continued to offer him a haven

Perhaps in her presence, he could achieve what he had not been able to do in the past. Perhaps she did offer the cure to his woes, just as Mhairi had forecast.

Filled with new optimism, Garrett fixed his attention on the maiden by his side, on the tranquility of her mind. He steadily put one foot in front of the other, astonished to discover how much easier it was to approach Seton Manor in her presence.

The sound of the thoughts of others grew steadily louder, but Garrett was newly convinced that with Annelise by his side, he could succeed. He believed it fully, until the malice stabbed into his mind.

The viciousness of one individual’s thoughts nearly took him to his knees. That mind was filled with hatred, and that hostility was directed at him. The toxin of those thoughts reverberated in his mind, so evil that Garrett clung to Annelise in desperation.

It was like the last time, all over again.

But infinitely worse.

Chapter Four

What was happening to Garrett?

Annelise watched his agitation grow as they walked closer to Seton Manor. His reaction made her doubt that illness was the real reason for his absence. He was clearly distressed about entering the manor.

She could readily believe he was no longer accustomed to people, if ever he had been. He lived in the forest. He was resourceful and practical, but she could imagine that he was less familiar with the expectations of even a small hall like Seton Manor. He might have been ill, but perhaps his reticence had been the greater deterrent to his visit. She decided that he had not wanted to make a poor impression, so had stayed away rather than disappoint her.

Her compassion redoubled at this realization. She adored that despite his discomfort, he had intended to come to her on this day. She would see that he managed to speak to Murdoch.

But Garrett’s breathing quickened, and Annelise saw his agitation sharpen into terror. He truly appeared to be ill, and most oddly, his symptoms worsened the closer they became to the hall. She had never seen the like.

What illness could overcome a man so quickly, especially a man so young and hale as Garrett?

He had closed his eyes and stopped talking to her. He did not stride forward with the confidence and surety she associated with him, but moved with hesitation. His grip had tightened on her arm and she could see the beads of perspiration on his temples. Was it her imagination that his hand shook within hers?

“What is amiss?” she whispered, but he merely shook his head.

He became pale beneath his tan and shook. He stumbled through the gates like a drunken man, leaning on her more than he had thus far and grimacing as if in pain.

The sentries exchanged glances, then one came to Annelise’s side.

“Have you found an outcast, my lady?” he asked, his opinion of that more than clear.

“A madman in the woods?” asked the other.

Though Annelise could not blame them for making such a conclusion, she wanted to defend Garrett. “No, he is a hunter. He has only just become ill. I cannot explain it.”

Garrett moaned and halted, one hand rising to his forehead. He shuddered from his head to his boots and wavered so that she feared he would fall. Annelise spoke to him, leaning closer to him as she murmured his name. He did not reply, only shook his head and clutched at her hand.

“He does indeed appear to be stricken, my lady,” the sentry said.

“He was hale but moments ago.”

“I saw you talking to him in the distance, my lady. He stood taller then.” The second sentry frowned, looking down the road as if the source of Garrett’s affliction might be discerned there.

“It is most odd,” Annelise agreed. “I must fetch Isabella. She will know what to do.”

“Most wise, my lady,” agreed the first sentry.

Annelise pried her hand free of Garrett’s grip and raced toward the hall, concern giving speed to her feet.

She was shocked to a halt when Garrett screamed.

Annelise spun, horrified to see him writhing on the ground between the two guards, his hands locked over his head. He moaned in such obvious anguish that Annelise did not know what to do. He muttered to himself but made no sense, then rolled on the ground.

He might have become a different man.

A madman.

“Who is he and what ails him?” Isabella asked, touching Annelise’s shoulder from behind.

“I do not know what is wrong. The malady came upon him so suddenly.”

“Do you know him?” Murdoch demanded from her other side.

“He is a hunter,” Annelise said. “His name is Garrett MacLachlan.”

“The one you met in the glade,” Isabella said. “Who killed the wolf.”

“Aye,” Annelise agreed. She realized she still held the pelt and fixed her sister with a look, dropping her voice to a whisper. “This wolf.”

“This is the man you insist killed the wolf?” Orson asked with obvious derision. Annelise disliked that he, too, had arrived. He laughed, which seemed most inappropriate to Annelise. “Bravo! We shall have a gathering of wolf-killers, here at Seton Manor. Assuming your valiant hero can rise to his feet.”

Isabella caught her breath, her eyes narrowing in a sign that she shared Annelise’s view of the knight.

Orson sipped from a chalice of wine, his expression skeptical. “I must note, my lady, that he looks incapable of killing a fly.” He laughed again, his fellow knight chuckling along with him.

Murdoch was watching Annelise, his expression grim, and she realized that he knew she had fled her room. She had disobeyed his edict that neither she nor Isabella should leave Seton Manor without accompaniment, and she had accused his guest of being a liar. Annelise felt her color rise, but she did not back down.

“He killed this wolf, all the same,” Annelise retorted. “I was there and I saw the deed done.”

Orson’s lips thinned. “You must be mistaken, my dear lady,” he said, his words tight. “As maidens so frequently can be.” He bit out the words. “It must have been a different wolf, for I killed the one whose pelt you clearly treasure.”

Annelise wanted to argue with him, but Garrett moaned then, drawing her attention to the greater issue.

“He is taken ill,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. “I was bringing him to meet you and he fell sick. I hope Isabella can aid him.”

Isabella gave Murdoch a look, one that Annelise recognized well, then went to Garrett’s side. Murdoch’s lips tightened briefly and Annelise knew he would have preferred to have denied Garrett admission to the holding. He clearly also knew the import of Isabella’s expression, and that she would not be stopped when she was determined.

Murdoch exchanged a glance with Stewart, his most trusted man-at-arms. His gaze flicked over the sentries and the men in his household. Annelise realized that Murdoch did not like having so many strangers in his hall, whoever they might be, and Stewart liked it even less. Murdoch gave Annelise an intent look, no doubt signaling that she should remain where she was, and strode away to speak to the sentries. The gates were closed then and secured, Murdoch murmuring quietly with his men.

Annelise remained in place, though she wished desperately to go to Garrett. She did not wish to defy Murdoch again, not when he was striving to defend her, and she trusted Isabella. All the same, she watched avidly as Isabella crouched beside Garrett, her fingers on his throat.

Orson took a sip of the wine in his chalice as he considered the scene, then winced at its tartness. Annelise wondered if he realized that he drank from the sole cask of wine in Seton Manor’s cellars, one that had been opened as a gesture of hospitality for him. Though it was apparent he thought little of the merit of the vintage, she did not doubt he would have much to say when he had consumed it all. He looked as if he made rapid progress on that quest, despite his opinion of the wine.

“So, charity is of great import at Seton Manor?” he drawled.

“I do not understand your meaning,” Annelise said coldly.

Orson shrugged. “He is an outcast, obviously, or one who has surrendered his wits. Perhaps he is even a felon. Yet, here he is, within Seton Manor’s gates. The lady’s charity is boundless.” He said this with a sarcasm that indicated he thought Isabella foolish.

“I think it of merit for a lady to care for something other than herself and her own frippery,” Annelise snapped. “Would you prefer my sister sat in her chamber and combed her hair, rather than giving aid to others?”

“Of course, she should do as she will, but…”

Annelise could bear no more. Disregarding Murdoch’s intent look, she went to her sister and crouched beside her.

“His pulse races,” Isabella said, apparently confused by this. “As if he has run far.”

“He did not.”

“Then it is a poison he has consumed,” Isabella said. “Such a sudden and violent reaction can come from little else. What has he eaten?”

“I know not.”

“Such self-sacrifice,” Orson mused. Apparently, he had followed and now stood behind Annelise, drinking wine. “And the lady with your child.” He smiled coolly at Murdoch, who also joined them.

“My lady wife is a healer,” Murdoch retorted. “She oft cares more for her art than her safety.”

“But what of you?” Orson asked. “What do you care most about?”

Murdoch did not reply, but merely averted his gaze from Orson and spoke to Isabella. Annelise noted his choice and feared its import. Why would Murdoch be unwilling to offend Orson?

Unless she and Garrett had guessed Orson’s mission correctly.

And Murdoch knew it was intended to succeed. Anger flooded through Annelise, for Alexander had promised his three younger sisters their choice in marriage.

“Well?” Murdoch asked his lady wife.

“I believe he is poisoned,” Isabella said, then looked up at him. “We must aid him. Time will be of the greatest import.”

“Can you aid him without knowing the cause?”

Isabella winced. “Only in the most basic way. I assume he has ingested it…”

“So you will ensure that his innards are emptied,” Murdoch concluded. “Fair enough.” He raised his voice, shouting for Fionn and Helga, the two who most commonly aided Isabella.

Orson raised his voice slightly. “What great risks you take when such undesirable men are afoot. Perhaps he brings a malady to your gates, and his presence will see you all sickened.”

“Think of the plague,” Andrew agreed, his tone hard. “No soul knows how it arrives or why it leaves, but clearly some soul unwittingly carries it from city to city.”

“And thousands are left dead in its wake,” Orson agreed. He made a face and shuddered. “Have you heard tell of the pustules that form upon their bodies?”

“A horrific way to die,” Andrew agreed, looked over Garrett and took a step back.

“He shows no signs of plague,” Isabella said tightly. “That malady is said to begin with the swelling in the neck and groin, with the buboes. He has no such.”

“But seizures follow,” Orson insisted. He seemed to believe that the consumption of wine would protect him.

“And fever.” Andrew nodded, as if he were the healer.

“And death to all who have touched the victim,” Orson concluded with a flourish. “Why not cast this undesirable from the gates and see the health of all of us assured?”

“You are not being of assistance in this,” Isabella said sternly.

“He is not undesirable!” Annelise snapped.

Orson’s brows rose and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his fellow knight.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to return to the hall,” Murdoch said, his manner smooth, even as Fionn and Helga arrived.

Annelise could not believe how her hunter had changed, and how ill he looked.

“Garrett,” she whispered and knelt closer to him. His eyes flew open and his gaze locked upon her. He seized her hand so quickly that she was startled. Murdoch’s hand gripped his knife’s hilt, but Isabella stayed him with a touch. Annelise dared not release Garrett’s hand, for she saw some of the anguish leave his expression.

Instead, she folded both of her hands around his. His skin felt clammy, both sweaty and cold, and she could feel him trembling deep inside. Yet when his hand was fully within hers, he exhaled and his eyes closed once more.

This time he seemed to be relieved.

“Your touch consoles him,” Isabella said almost under her breath. “I cannot explain that either, for no poison I know responds to touch, but you must hold fast to him.”

Annelise nodded agreement, more than happy to do as much.

“I would take him to the hut behind the kitchens.” Isabella turned an appealing glance on Murdoch, whose lips tightened even as he nodded.

Orson waved a hand and drained his chalice, as if he would dismiss their folly, then turned to saunter back to the hall. His fellow knight began to discuss horses with him, and they apparently forgot Annelise, Garrett, and their fears of plague.

Annelise did not care about the knights’ view. There was only Garrett and his pain. He had saved her once; she would do all in her power to help him now.

*

His was a curious affliction, indeed.

Isabella watched the hunter as he slept. The violence of his reaction had passed before she could mix a potion to empty his belly, so she had chosen not to administer the emetic. Once his color had returned and he had been breathing normally, she had insisted that Annelise leave her alone with Helga and Fionn. Helga had healing skill of her own, and Fionn was both young and strong. She knew she would have to have Fionn undress the hunter to seek clues to his ailment, and it was not fitting for Annelise to see his nudity.

It had not been easy to convince her sister to leave Garrett, nor to unlock his own convulsive grip upon her sister’s fingers. Isabella had been intrigued by the way he had swooned as soon as the connection was broken, as if he had been overcome by his illness again in her absence.

It seemed that Annelise’s touch had helped him to keep it at bay.

Or perhaps, he merely fought against it harder in her presence.

Either way, Isabella had never seen the like of his condition. Now he slept like an exhausted child, his skin cooling beneath her touch and his breathing becoming more even, and that with no intervention on her part. He might have endured a trial or a test, but Isabella could not imagine what it might have been. She could believe now that he was capable of killing a wolf, for he looked strong and healthy, if tired.

“The knight is right,” Helga said with her usual dour practicality.

“How so?”

“He must be mad, or a criminal. Why else would he choose to live in the forest?” Helga demanded.

“He would not be the first man who had good reason to shun the company of men.”

Helga snorted and rolled her eyes. “No one of sense chooses such a course.”

“Your laird did as much,” Isabella said tightly. “Would you call Murdoch a madman?”

“No, my lady.”

“A criminal?”

“No, my lady.”

“Yet he was an outcast all the same.” Isabella watched Garrett sleep, considering. She was aware of Helga’s frown, but was more interested in the hunter’s malady. What truly ailed him? Was he afflicted by the will of the Fae as Murdoch had been? Or was there a more mundane explanation?

“Why, my lady?”

Fionn’s question recalled Isabella to their conversation, though she did not understand the question. She met the boy’s gaze in confusion.

“Why was my laird Murdoch an outcast?”

“He was cursed by the Fae,” Isabella admitted. “He had ventured into their realm and earned his release, but the Elphine Queen did not wish to surrender him.”

“Cursed!” The young man crossed himself.

The serving woman rolled her eyes. “A fair excuse that is for a man to evade his duty,” she said, half under her breath and earned a hard look from Isabella for her trouble.

“There are more things on this earth than ever we will understand,” Isabella said firmly.

Helga dropped her gaze but the set of her lips did not change. “Yes, my lady.”

“Our concern is this man’s ailment. Another possibility is that he was bitten by some creature,” Isabella said. “A toxin in the blood could cause such a quick and devastating result.”

“Yet he appears hale enough now,” Helga noted. “How did he recover as quickly as he was felled?”

Isabella did not know, but she would rule out mundane causes first. “His body might have been able to overcome the toxin. His boots, Fionn, if you please. A snake would be most likely to bit his leg or ankle…”

“Not through that leather,” Helga contributed. “They are fine heavy boots, and cost him a fair bit of coin.”

She was right in that. Where would an outcast gain such fine boots? Either he was not an outcast in truth and the boots revealed his origins, or he had stolen them from a victim and was a criminal, after all.

“Or his hands,” Isabella continued with impatience. She noticed that all of Garrett’s garb was fine and sturdy, if unembellished. Where was his home? What was his tale? How had he come to be in the woods of Seton Manor? What did he want? As much as Isabella had disliked the insinuations made by the knight, she could not deny that they made some sense. Garrett had entered Seton Manor under guise of illness and now that he was within the gates appeared to have recovered. That fed Isabella’s suspicions of his motives.

It did not reassure her that Annelise was prepared to argue his side at any cost.

Isabella had to learn the truth about this hunter and his attack. His body might tell her more than he was inclined to share by his own choice. She peeled off his gloves and pushed up his sleeves, peering at the flesh in search of a bite. She found none, either there or on his neck or his ankles.

“He might have ingested something,” she continued. “A fruit or root unfamiliar to him, which was poisonous.”

“Then he would have vomited,” Helga said. “Or worse.”

Fionn rolled his eyes.

“There is yet time for that,” Isabella told the younger man and he grimaced.

“I can manage all of it but that,” he muttered and Helga laughed at him.

“Then mind you do not become a father,” she teased. “Babes spew from one end or the other for most of their early years.”

Fionn looked appropriately horrified. His gaze fell to Isabella’s rounded belly and he took a breath to steady himself.

Meanwhile, Isabella stared down at Garrett. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. He might have been sleeping peacefully, but she had the definite sense that something had just quickened in him.

As if he had awakened, but pretended to be asleep still.

Listening.

What manner of man did not trust those who would assist him? The choice did little to reassure her concerns. She checked his pulse at his throat, but did not comment upon its slightly increased pace. It had settled but now leapt anew.

He had a secret, she would wager.

“I will make him a posset,” she said, watching him carefully. “The recipe will empty his innards quite quickly, which will ensure any poison has no chance to work more deeply.” She heaved a sigh. “I regret that it evokes such a violent reaction, but there is no other way to be sure he is safe.”

He gave no indication that he had heard her, but Isabella was not convinced.

“Fionn, you shall have to endure it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Helga cleared her throat. “You should cast him from the gates instead, my lady, and bar them against him. He is a hunter; let him heal in the forest he knows so well.”

“It may not be safe to keep him here, my lady,” Fionn agreed.

Isabella could not dismiss her sense that he was listening to her every word. “I fear any chance of safety is behind us,” she said briskly. “Look about yourselves. Seton Manor is a small holding and one that gains its safety by isolation. It is not even fully fenced.”

“The forest provides defense,” Fionn said loyally. “It is not easy to pass through it on the back side of the holding.”

“Passing through forest is this man’s trade,” Helga said, her voice hard.

Isabella nodded. “If this man had wanted to gain entry to our hall, he could have done so before this day and not through the gates.”

“Similarly, if he wished to return,” Helga concluded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Better to know his desire first,” Isabella said and the older woman nodded.

“So, you mean to let him remain?” Murdoch asked from the doorway.

Isabella spun to face her husband, seeing an echo of her own curiosity on his face. He leaned in the doorway, his expression watchful. Isabella knew he would move with the speed of lightning to defend any of them, should the hunter attack unexpectedly.

“I want to know why he came,” she said. “I want to know what ails him. When he awakens, as he no doubt shall after my posset, we can ask him for the truth of it.”

Murdoch’s gaze lingered on the sleeping man. Isabella dispatched Helga to fetch the herbs she needed, and Fionn to his usual duties in the kitchen. With the knights’ arrival, there would be more at the board this evening and more food would need to be prepared.

“What ails him?” Murdoch asked quietly.

Isabella shrugged. “I am not fully certain of the cause or the cure, but he reminds me of you.”

Murdoch held Isabella’s gaze for a long moment, then crossed the small hut with quick strides. He unfastened the lace at the neck of Garrett’s shirt, and spread the cloth wide. Isabella knew he was looking for marks on the hunter’s flesh, the dark whorling marks like the ones that had graced his own skin and indicated the Fae’s possession of a mortal man. The flesh on the hunter’s chest was tanned, but otherwise normal. Murdoch glanced up, a question in his expression.

“His is not a normal illness, or at least not one I recognize,” Isabella said softly. She was aware that the hunter listened intently, even while he feigned sleep. “I believe he suffers from a curse of some kind, which is what reminds me of your situation. And somehow, Annelise is of aid to him.”

“Nay,” Murdoch said, straightening with vigor. “He cannot have come for Annelise. I forbid it.”

Isabella, though, had seen her sister’s expression when the hunter had been overcome. “There are things you cannot change, husband.”

“There are things I will not allow,” he replied, his tone resolute.

“She can be of aid to him, just as I was to you!”

“Nay, Isabella. Annelise is gentle and so shy that it is painful to watch her in society. She needs protection more than any maiden I have ever known.” He must have seen Isabella’s doubt for his voice rose. “I have made a pledge to Alexander!”

Isabella bit her lip. She knew very well how she had saved Murdoch when no other person, man or woman, would dare to even attempt to help him. Could Annelise do the same for this hunter?

Isabella was a healer. If Annelise could cure or even diminish the effects of Garrett’s malady, Isabella did not believe she could obstruct her sister’s choice.

Murdoch clearly saw the direction of her thoughts. He shook a finger before her. “Annelise is not you, Isabella. She has not your fortitude or your nature.”

“We are equally stubborn. Do not underestimate her in that regard.”

“I will not risk her future.”

“Not even if she wishes to take a chance herself?”

“Not even so. This man, be he cursed or no, is not a fitting match for her.” Murdoch’s eyes flashed and Isabella knew her husband’s thinking would not be easily changed. “The hunter leaves at dawn, if not before, never to return to this abode.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement, Murdoch left the hut, striding back toward the manor. Isabella lingered, watching the sickened man.

Who no longer appeared to be ill. He looked like a man asleep, but Isabella knew better.

She also knew her sister. Annelise was quiet and quick to accommodate others, but there was iron within her. It was not often that she set her sights upon some goal, but when she did, Annelise was more steadfast and determined than any soul Isabella had known. Her conviction, once won, was unshakable—and Isabella had noticed her concern for this hunter. She feared Annelise had decided, and Murdoch’s command would make no difference at all.

“Am I right?” she whispered.

Garrett’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking immediately with hers. He spoke quietly, so quietly that Isabella barely heard his words, and truly his lips did not even seem to move. “I would die defending her,” he said with a conviction that echoed Murdoch’s. “For you are more right than you can know.”

“Will you tell me of it?”

He shook his head. “The telling has a high price.” His gaze held hers and she believed him. “I can confess the truth to no one.”

Isabella nodded. It was a curse, then. Her hand fell to the ripe curve of her belly as she considered her choices. She had much more to lose than once had been the case: a husband who adored her, a comfortable home, a babe on the way. She could not take a risk for Annelise as once she might have done, yet at the same time, she could not deny her favored sister a chance at happiness.

“Do you know the cure?” Isabella asked quietly.

He met her gaze. “I believe the maiden Annelise holds the key.”

“I will not stand in whatever path she chooses,” she vowed in a whisper. “But Annelise must choose for herself.”

Garrett nodded, his determination seeming to grow before her eyes.

Isabella touched his shoulder. “You should sleep while you can.”

Garrett smiled, the image of a man refining a plan. He closed his eyes then, as if to heed her counsel, but Isabella did not imagine that he truly slept.

At least not before she left him alone.

*

Garrett lay on the pallet in the small hut at Seton Manor and tried to put his body at ease. He could hear the thoughts of those people in the hall, but they were sufficiently distant that they did not disable him.

Or maybe it was the pool of serenity he sensed from Annelise that allowed him to endure the sound of those thoughts.

The one who despised him had quieted his or her thoughts, which also made the din easier to bear.

Garrett was exhausted beyond belief, but feared that rest in this place might be a foolish choice. He was exposed in this hall and unable to hide. He had spent weeks tracking the wolf, sleeping little as he pursued his prey, and now felt hunted himself. A lack of sleep encouraged such whimsy, but that stab of malice in his thoughts left Garrett unprepared to risk sleep within the walls of Seton Manor.

Instead, his thoughts flew. He had not dared to take the time to grieve for all he had lost months ago, and he had thought even less about the tidings and events that preceded that horrific morning.

He dared not indulge his memories yet, but he thought again of Mhairi’s tale.

How could he be the son of a laird?

How could a laird have denied his own son and never sought him out in twenty-five years? The tale defied belief, so Garrett had gone in search of the truth. Mhairi had named his father as Laird of Killairig, so Garrett had journeyed to that keep.

Only to be mocked, ridiculed and cast from the gates in shame. Even his curse had been more vehement in that place than ever before, as if his own mind mocked what he wished to believe.

What if Mhairi’s tale were true?

Perhaps Garrett had abandoned the battle too soon. In truth, he had not intended to abandon it fully, but had returned home in search of more detail, only to find himself upon another, grimmer quest.

Annelise brought him clarity. Garrett knew what he wanted. He wanted to have Annelise by his side forever. He wanted to sip of her lips and feel that welcome tide of mingled desire and relief flood through his body. He wanted to feel invigorated and be strong, and he wanted to ensure that she was treated with the honor she deserved.

He knew that Mhairi and Seamus would have loved her, too.

Garrett wanted to leave Seton Manor with Annelise as his wife. This was the conundrum. On the one hand, he knew that her family history was what allowed her to consider an unconventional choice. She might even be able to make her peace with his curse, or figure out its symptoms without him telling her of it. She eased his malady greatly, whether she could heal it fully or not. The solace was enough for Garrett.

Yet she was nobly born and had at least one knight seeking her hand. No man of sense would choose a hunter over a knight as a spouse for a maiden in his care. He did not blame Murdoch for his doubts and indeed, he admired that the laird of Seton Manor took such responsibility for the welfare of his wife’s sister.

But if Garrett truly was heir to Killairig and could prove it with Annelise by his side, his dream had a fair chance of success. The notion grew in appeal the more he thought about it, leaving him too excited to rest.

How could he prove the identity of his father? It seemed one man’s word against Mhairi’s and the laird’s view would undoubtedly prevail in his own holding.

How could he go to Killairig with Annelise, if he had to go there to win the right to ask for her hand in the first place? He doubted mightily that Murdoch would willingly let her accompany him, no matter how noble the cause, and Garrett would not dishonor his maiden by stealing her away.

It was a riddle with no solution.

It was as the afternoon shadows were drawing long that Garrett realized he was not the only one troubled within these walls. He heard the thoughts of the creatures not far from his hut.

The goats had not been milked. Garrett turned his attention to their discomfort and impatience. He was accustomed to listening to the thoughts of goats, though that realization prompted an unwelcome memory.

It made sense that the milking had been delayed. There were guests arrived in the hall. Seton Manor was a small keep, and Garrett would guess that servants were few. Whoever milked the goats each evening must have other labors to perform on this day.

He could help.

He was not a man who liked to be idle, and it was possible that the laird might look upon him more favorably if he showed himself to be useful.

Garrett could only imagine that it would serve him well to have Murdoch Seton an ally rather than a foe.

Chapter Five

Elizabeth missed her siblings.

She never would have imagined it possible. As youngest of eight siblings, Elizabeth had spent most of her life yearning for a moment alone.

Now that she had solitude aplenty, she found it less desirable than she had always imagined.

She and her four sisters had shared a room all their lives, at least until her older sisters had married and left Kinfairlie. As the youngest girl as well as the youngest of all, Elizabeth had lost every battle and every claim for supremacy. Madeline was the best horsewoman, Vivienne was the most daring, Isabella was the most indulged when she insisted upon remaining abed on cold mornings and Annelise did the finest embroidery.

Alexander was the oldest and the heir, although one would never have guessed as much in their younger years. He had always been first with a prank and the one who could be relied upon to enliven even the most tedious day. These days, it seemed his life was naught but tedium, for he was laird himself. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Alexander seemed to relish his responsibilities, for he had even taken to spending time with his ledgers. That pleased Anthony, the castellan, a great deal, but Elizabeth found it a dull choice.

Alexander’s wife, Eleanor, was a fine woman and one Elizabeth liked very well, but their two young children consumed much of her time. She also was a healer, who had taught Isabella her skills, and much concerned with the welfare of all within Kinfairlie’s village. Elizabeth helped Eleanor on occasion, but even that was a lonely business. When she delivered a posset to the baker for the lady of the manor, there was much gratitude expressed but not much conversation. She was of the family of Kinfairlie, and thus to be treated with respect and deference.

When Elizabeth desired most to talk.

Or even to gossip.

Her remaining two brothers were gone abroad, and she even missed them. The chamber once shared by all the sisters seemed large and empty, echoing with silence and shadowed with memories. Alexander was so consumed with the business of the king’s return, that there were few guests in the hall these days, as well. The only guests who had visited had been a pair of knights, on a mission from the earl. Orson Douglas had been seeking Annelise, and Elizabeth felt sorry for her sister that the knight in question might find her. She did not trust him a whit, and neither had Alexander, though he had not been able to avoid telling the knight of Annelise’s location. Orson’s companion, Andrew, had been even worse. He imagined that he flattered Elizabeth but she was well aware that he spoke only to her breasts. She had been glad to see them ride out from Kinfairlie and wished they would never return again.

Despite her boredom.

Within a week, though, her mood had eroded to the point that she would have welcomed a frog in her pallet.

She even missed the spriggan, Darg. That Fae had provided a great deal of vexation to Elizabeth but at least it was lively. Since the second collapse of Ravensmuir the previous winter, there had been no sign of the spriggans in Kinfairlie’s hall.

Elizabeth was beginning to fear she would spend her entire life in boredom.

And so it was that she begged Eleanor for a task on a sunny June afternoon. She did not care what it was, so long as it took her from the hall and the village. She hoped it might promise some company and that Eleanor might send her on a quest to another village, but her brother’s wife misunderstood her. Eleanor clearly believed Elizabeth simply needed a breath of air, for she dispatched her to collect strawberries from Kinfairlie’s forest.

“You should go where the fire was,” Eleanor said. “Where the trees burned, the land is clear to the sun. It is said that the Fae plant strawberries first when the land must be sowed again. A basket of berries would be a most welcome addition to this night’s fare.”

Elizabeth smiled and agreed, feeling as if she had been sent on a quest like a troublesome child. Isabella would have been sent for a proper herb, trusted to harvest it properly as well as identify it correctly. But not Elizabeth. Nay, she had no talents, save the gift of being able to see the Fae, although that seemed lost these days as well. She dutifully fetched a basket, donned her boots and cloak, and marched out of Kinfairlie’s hall toward the forest.

More solitude. The forest offered exactly what Elizabeth did not desire. Even the sunlight and the chatter of birds could not console her. The light wind from the sea did not lift her spirits as usually it did, and the silhouette of broken Ravensmuir only made her want to weep. She trudged to the clearing where the forest had been razed, and sure enough, she spied small green plants growing there. She picked a few, confirmed that they were strawberries and ate a great many before setting to work.

She had picked perhaps half a basket of the small fruit and shed her cloak beneath the sun’s bright eye, before she became aware that she was being watched. Elizabeth straightened with care, her curiosity alight, and turned in place. She was not truly surprised to see the man seated on the far side of the clearing, fingering his beard, but her heart leapt at the sight of him.

Finvarra.

The Fae king smiled slightly at Elizabeth, utterly at ease while he waited for her to acknowledge and recognize him. She had first seen him when he had ridden his stallion into Kinfairlie’s hall, a large charcoal steed with silver bells in his dark mane. Elizabeth had known from the first that it was an uncommon steed, not only because no one in the hall saw it other than herself, but because its eyes glowed in a most unnatural way.

As before, Finvarra had rings on his fingers and a golden crown upon his head. His beard was as dark as midnight and flowed down his chest, where he fingered it, his rings glinting. Elizabeth could see even at this distance that his eyes were just as dark as his beard. On this day, he wore a robe of emerald green, trimmed with golden embroidery, which blended into the hues of the forest remarkably well. His boots were made of gilded leather, supple and gleaming.

As before, a cluster of winged creatures fluttered around him, like a cloud of gilded dragonflies. They were Fae, though, tiny perfect creatures serving their laird.

Elizabeth remembered his words, the ones he had uttered into her own thoughts on that night and which still echoed in her dreams. One day, beauteous Elizabeth, you will come to me. I already grow impatient.

It was as if she had been waiting for him, even though she had forgotten ever having seen him. Her mouth went dry and her heart quivered. Her basket of strawberries dropped at her feet, for she both knew and feared what Finvarra wanted.

When he smiled, she straightened. Here was adventure and to spare.

When he beckoned to her with one finger, Elizabeth could only obey. She crossed the clearing quickly and decisively, more than ready to have something change in her life, and paused before the king.

On impulse, she bowed. Like every child who had ever heard a tale, Elizabeth knew it was not wise to offend the powerful Fae, and Finvarra was the most powerful of all his kind. “Well met, my lord Finvarra.”

He smiled with pleasure and gestured to the chess board before him. “I seek another player, Elizabeth. Will you join me for a game on this fine day?”

“But what stakes, my lord?” she asked, knowing that one did not engage the king of the Fae without knowing what was at risk.

It could be everything.

It could be naught at all.

It could be the laugh of a child, the weight of a feather, a glimmer of sunlight through the clouds. It could be the fate of a sibling or the destiny of true love.

“This time, let us just play, the better to understand each other.”

It was an invitation Elizabeth could not refuse. She sat down, noting that he took the black side while she was granted the white. He gestured to her with grace, the Fae attendants flying closer to watch, and Elizabeth chose to move a pawn.

She was glad indeed that Anthony had taken great pleasure in teaching her to play chess, though she did not doubt that Finvarra was a more experienced player.

As king of the Fae, he had had centuries to hone his game.

*

It was outrageous.

Annelise simmered, well aware that her sister and husband were keeping her from Garrett. She had been compelled to sit beside Orson at the midday meal and now listened to his endless tales about his marvelous self and his many feats of valor. She was certain they were no more true than that of his killing the wolf, but Murdoch’s quelling glance had silenced her.

For now. She clenched her fists in her lap and did not even endeavor to smile or encourage him, a choice that had no obvious effect upon Orson’s determination to woo her.

Annelise was disgusted. Simply because he had earned his spurs and had noble birth, Orson sat at the high table and was granted a chamber in the manor itself, albeit one to share with his companion knight. He was treated with the utmost courtesy, even though he was a complete stranger to every soul in Seton Manor.

All Annelise knew of him was that he had lied about the wolf pelt, and that was no commendation.

Garrett, on the other hand, had saved her life from that same wolf. He had acted with valor and strength, but upon coming to the gates, he was dispatched to a hut beyond the kitchens, suitable only for a goatherd. He, too, was a stranger, but one whose deeds spoke mightily of his nature.

Yet he was a hunter, not a nobleman, and therein was the difference.

It was wrong. It was unjust. In terms of his merit as a man, his honor, his nature and his morals, he was a veritable prince compared to Orson, who cared only for his own importance and comfort. Annelise could not believe that she was the only one in the hall who saw the truth of it.

Was this a mark of how any choice on her part would be treated? Would they compel her to wed Orson or another man of his ilk, just because of his rank? Annelise cared little for comfort and wealth, at least not in contrast to happiness and love. A stubborn conviction was growing within her that she would have Garrett and no other, even if she were obliged to live out her days in the forest.

She would be by his side, which would be compensation enough.

She would have excused herself as soon as the meal was completed, but Isabella thought more quickly. Annelise was bidden to take Orson to the stables, that she might show him her mare, Yseult. When that task was finally completed—for Orson made a feast of a morsel—there was yet another task assigned to her. Isabella invited Orson to admire Annelise’s embroidery. The afternoon proved to be an ordeal beyond belief, and one that showed no signs of reaching its end.

Finally, Annelise managed to excuse herself to change her garb for the evening meal. Once in her room, she had no doubt that Isabella would check upon her. One glance out the window proved that Stewart was sitting idly behind the kitchen. The faithful servant of Murdoch’s cast the occasional glance at her window, proving why he had taken that position and for what purpose. Murdoch was aware of her earlier escape route.

Annelise folded her arms across her chest in vexation. What was wrong with all of them? Alexander had agreed that she—and Isabella and Elizabeth—could each wed by choice. Isabella had been married to Murdoch before any had known he would hold the seal of Seton Manor. She could not understand why Murdoch was so determined to keep her from Garrett over the question of property.

It only meant that she would have to create her future by choice, rather than sit by and let others choose her fate for her. It had not been in Annelise’s nature to make such demands, but her boldness had already been rewarded.

She would simply have to be more bold. Annelise waited an eternity, then crept to press her ear to the door.

Silence in the corridor.

She opened the door and listened. The voices from the hall below were muted, and Isabella said something about returning to the chapel. Annelise listened and resolved that Orson had gone with Isabella.

Annelise crept to the top of the stairs and paused to listen again. She descended slowly, one step at a time, alert to any sound. She heard a dog barking at the gate and another snoring in the hall. She heard Andrew talking to the ostler in the yard and Orson laughing—probably at his own jest—far away. She heard the maids gossiping in the kitchens and the pots clanging.

She took a deep breath and hastened down the last of the stairs. The hall was empty for the moment. Annelise fled down the corridor that led past the kitchens and toward the hut where Garrett had been taken.

If anyone asked her, she would say she wanted to check upon his illness.

But when Annelise reached the hut, her breath coming quickly, she was dismayed to find its door propped open. It was dark inside, with no sign of anyone. Surely, Garrett could not have left? Surely, Murdoch could not have cast him out?

She spun in place, distressed beyond compare, when she heard a man’s low words.

“There, now,” he said quietly. “Just a moment and all will be better.”

Garrett!

Annelise raced toward the sound of his voice. She turned the corner to the pen where the goats were kept, and smiled at the sight of him milking one of the nanny goats. His movements were sure and gentle despite his size and strength, the milk squirting into the bucket at steady intervals. He sat on a stool, his kilt pushed up over his knees, and she admired the lean strength of his legs. The goat herself chewed and looked around, apparently content. The other goats in the herd milled around them, nursing their own kids, eating hay, and bleating.

The doe’s kid ducked under her other side and clamped on to one of her other teats, as if afraid Garrett would take all of the milk. “There is sufficient to share,” Garrett murmured softly and the doe bleated, as if to agree. She nuzzled her kid with an affection that made Annelise’s heart clench, then turned a steady yellow gaze upon Annelise.

Garrett glanced over his shoulder at Annelise and smiled. She knew he was not surprised by her presence and assumed he had heard her approach.

Annelise smiled. “I did not know you could milk goats.”

“Once you have the rhythm, it is not so hard, and they are uncomfortable if they become too full. I have milked many a goat in my time.”

“There is a girl who milks them. Bess.”

“She must be busy at the hall, with so many guests.”

“And you were thirsty?”

Garrett shook his head. “Nay. I decided to make myself useful.”

Annelise walked toward him, struck by the difference in his manner from earlier that afternoon. He looked just as he had in the forest. Purposeful and strong. Hale. “You feel better, then?”

Garrett nodded once.

She paused beside him, hesitated, then put her fingertips on his shoulder. He lost his rhythm with the milking for the barest moment, and Annelise smiled that he should be as stirred by her presence as she was by his. “Was it because you are not accustomed to being with people?”

He looked up, apparently surprised.

“You seemed to be alarmed.” Annelise bit her lip, trying to find a way to explain what she meant without comparing him to an animal. Garrett was watching her mouth, as if fascinated by her lips, and the intensity of his gaze made Annelise blush in memory of their kiss. Did he also yearn for another?

“My family raises horses,” she continued and was surprised to hear her own breathlessness. “When first a foal is taken into the village, it may respond much the same way. It is not accustomed to the sound and smells of a village, the noise or the activity. It can become confused or frightened.”

Garrett smiled. “Do you compare me to a horse?” His tone was teasing, but still Annelise flushed more red.

“Nay, but it seemed to me that it might be similar after a man has lived for a long time in the forest. Even a small place like Seton Manor might be overwhelming.”

His eyes glinted as he watched her. “You thought me overwhelmed?”

“By something. I merely attempt to guess by what.”

“And you think Seton Manor small?”

“Very small.” Annelise laughed. “It would fit in the bailey of Kinfairlie.”

Though she had thought he might share her amusement, he looked more grim and determined. Annelise crouched down beside him. “Where did you live before the forest?”

“In a small abode.”

“With goats.”

Garrett nodded once and continued with his task.

“Alone?”

He shook his head. Was he wed? Did he have family? Annelise wanted very much to know but he remained silent. “Will you tell me what troubled you earlier?”

His sidelong glance was quick and hot, sufficiently piercing to make her heart skip a beat. “I dare not, my lady, for I would not place you in peril.”

“Not even that I might understand you better?”

He smiled. “But you do. Already you have guessed that I prefer the company of animals and the solitude of the forest to men and their villages.”

“Will you tell me why?”

His lips tightened. “Because animals do not lie. They do not pretend that anything other than the truth is so. These goats were full and their udders sore. They needed to be milked. When I came to milk them, they were uncertain, because they did not know me, but as soon as I began my task, they understood. The exchange is simple.”

“But not all exchanges are so. A wolf is deceptive.”

Garrett shook his head. “Nay, my lady. A wolf is what he is. He is a predator. He hunts, then kills in order to survive. I may take issue with what he kills and where, but he is what he is. He does not pretend otherwise.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“In contrast to a wolf, a man who is predatory will never be satisfied with what he has claimed for his own; he will always lust for more.” Garrett fixed her with a steady look. “There is no wickedness in animals, which is why I prefer their company to that of men.”

Annelise did not know what to say to that. She stared into Garrett’s eyes, half certain he was telling her something of himself and of his past, but not certain how to ask for the fullness of the tale.

He smiled slightly. “I will not tell you of my curse, sweet Annelise, even if you do ask. The hearing has too high a price.”

If his words were meant to dissuade her curiosity, they had exactly the opposite effect. There was much of interest in a man who acted with such bravery and honor, yet called himself cursed. Annelise was sure he had endured some great injustice and wanted only to make it come right. “May I try to guess it?”

“Of course.”

“Does my presence diminish it?” She placed a fingertip on his arm and he caught his breath.

“Aye,” he whispered.

She ran her fingertips over his arm, watching how he swallowed as she touched him. His skin was warm and even this light caress sent a thrill through her. His gaze locked with hers, his intensity making her heart pound and her mouth go dry. She helped him.

She wished to help him even more.

Annelise’s gaze dropped to his mouth. She leaned closer, thinking only of the power of his kiss. Garrett inhaled sharply but did not move, simply waiting for her to kiss him. Annelise could not believe her own boldness, yet she had no desire to stop. She leaned against his arm, parted her lips…

The cry of the goat girl made her draw back in surprise.

“Do you mean to steal the milk?” Bess shouted in dismay, her raised voice making the goats scurry to the far side of the pen.

Annelise straightened with annoyance. Was it necessary that everyone believe ill of Garrett? “You should thank him for aiding in your task,” she said with an asperity uncommon to her.

Garrett spared her a glance, winked, then stood up to carry the pail to the girl. “The lady speaks aright. I merely began your labor for you. Take this to the kitchen for the cook.”

Bess hesitated, her gaze flying between Garrett and Annelise. “But you are the man who had a fit at the gates…”

“The very same,” Garrett said firmly and offered the pail.

“Take it,” Annelise commanded with a tone that astonished even herself. “I will bring the rest to the kitchen when the milking is done. Cook probably has need of you to prepare for the meal this night. It seems that we have guests for whom no honor is sufficient.”

The girl gaped at them for a moment, then seized the bucket and bowed so low that she nearly spilled its contents. “Yes, my lady,” she said, then hastened to the kitchen.

“They will all know of your deed in moments,” Annelise said, still fighting her annoyance.

“Worse, they will know you are alone with me.” Garrett flashed her a smile that made Annelise’s heart leap. She glanced at his arm again, reassured to see how her touch had aided him.

“I do not care. I choose to be here.” Annelise felt her lips tighten. “I am forbidden to leave the enclosure of Seton Manor. I am compelled to sit beside that man and expected to entertain him. When I manage to evade that responsibility, I shall be where I like within Seton Manor.” She met Garrett’s gaze. “I would much rather have a kiss.”

He seemed to find her amusing, but there was admiration in his eyes as well. “Have you ever milked a goat, my lady?”

Annelise shook her head, disappointed that he had not acted on her suggestion.

“Then, come here and learn. It is a useful skill for any soul to have, regardless of station or rank.” He offered his hand to her and she liked how his eyes twinkled. “You will have to abandon your vexation, though, for no doe likes to be milked in anger.”

Annelise took a deep breath and exhaled, summoning her usual calm mood. Perhaps this would be her fate; to live simply with Garrett and milk goats.

It sounded most inviting.

She put her hand in his, liking how his fingers closed protectively over hers. His skin was warm, and his grip was firm. At Garrett’s gesture, Annelise sat on the stool he had abandoned. He guided another doe to her and her attempts to hold the goat steady made them both laugh. Finally, the doe stood before Annelise and Garrett crouched behind her.

“Now this is temptation indeed,” he murmured, his breath fanning her skin. Annelise smiled. She could feel his thighs against her own and the heat of his chest against her back. She felt his arms around hers and his breath in her hair.

“Indeed,” she agreed quietly. Annelise closed her eyes, thrilling at the sensation. She did not care who found her thus. She did not care who saw.

Indeed, she wished there had not been so much clothing between them, for she yearned to feel the warmth of his skin against her own. The very idea was so bold as to make her blush, but still Annelise did not move.

And when Garrett touched his lips to the side of her neck, any vestige of resistance she had to him melted to naught.

She was his for the taking, and she did not care if he knew it.

*

Annelise smelled like a summer field.

Garrett crouched down behind her as she sat on the stool he had occupied. He put his arms around her and guided her hands to two of the goat’s teats. Her fingers were small and delicate, her skin so soft that he should have been reminded of the difference in their situation.

Instead, he was enchanted. Her throat was so close to his rough cheek, her scent so enticing that he could not resist placing one chaste kiss beneath her ear. She shivered and sighed, then leaned back against him.

Inviting more.

She was a nobleman’s daughter, the sister of a laird and the ward of another.

He remembered Murdoch’s warning, but could not deny the lady’s allure. Indeed, he remembered her request more clearly than any warning. A kiss. Her hair was like silk against his cheek, her sweet feminine scent arousing him as no other woman had ever done. She had seen his curse at work, and yet she still desired him.

He put the bucket between her feet, then eased up the hem of her kirtle.

“You will see my legs,” she whispered. She sounded scandalized, but she did not stop him.

“There is no other way, unless you would soak your garments.”

Annelise flicked him a mischievous glance, then pulled her kirtle up to bare her knees. Her legs were fine and shapely, fair and strong. Garrett could not help but look, then found her watching him. She smiled when their gazes met, her playful expression sending desire through his body. Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a moment, then she parted her own lips.

“I have remembered your kiss often,” she said, her own boldness making her cheeks turn pink.

“As have I remembered yours,” Garrett whispered. “The recollection has kept me warm on many a night.” He bent then and brushed his lips across hers, swallowing her sweet gasp. It was intoxicating to share even the smallest touch, though he was tempted to take more and more. “Perhaps we should share another as a reward for a task completed.”

Annelise’s eyes danced. “Perhaps we should share another to commence the task.”

Garrett could not resist her when her eyes sparkled so, although he knew he should.

Annelise, though, had other ideas. She abandoned the goat and spun on the stool, her knee colliding with Garrett’s arousal and making him catch his breath. Before he could recover and pull away, she had twined her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his.

The moment her lips touched his, he was lost. The tranquility of her thoughts cascaded over him like a spring rain, or a balm to a wound he had forgotten he endured. Annelise slid her fingers into his hair to pull him closer, her silent demand enflaming him. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, almost certainly unaware of the temptation she offered, then opened her mouth to him.

Garrett was utterly overwhelmed. He caught Annelise closer and slanted his mouth over hers, deepening their kiss. Her sound of satisfaction left him hungry for more, and he could smell her arousal. He slipped his tongue between her teeth, loving the way she shivered and pressed closer to him. She was utterly pliant and trusting, so welcoming that he could have taken her in that moment. He caught her face in his hand and held her near, kissing her with increasing demand. To his delight, she responded in kind, learning from his every gesture, mimicking him and demanding more passion in response.

He could imagine her in his arms, in his bed, beneath him every night and astride him, too. He wanted to take her in sunlight and moonlight, in darkness and in daylight, from every possible angle and in every possible way. He wanted to hear her gasp with her release and swallow any cry of delight. He wanted to fill her and honor her and to do so for every day and night of his life.

She gave so much and gave it willingly—Garrett was tempted to feast upon her all the day and night long. He ran his hand over her slender curves, cupping her breast in one hand and swallowing her moan of pleasure. Her nipple was already taut and he fingered it through the cloth, teasing it to a peak as she whispered his name. He looked down at her and smiled at the flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She considered him and swallowed, then reached up to kiss him again.

“What an unusual way to milk a goat,” Murdoch said, his tone wry.

Chapter Six

Garrett spun to his feet, urging the lady behind him. The laird himself stood at the side of the enclosure, leaning upon the fence. Although his posture made him appear to be at ease, Garrett was not fooled. Murdoch’s eyes were snapping with anger. This man would see him punished for taking more than was his due.

He was aware of Annelise’s agitation, even as she straightened her kirtle and stood up behind him. His heart pounded as she slid her small hand into his, and Garrett knew from the scowl that claimed his brow that Murdoch had noted the gesture as well.

“Fine behavior from a guest.” The laird folded his arms across his chest and glared at them.

“I do not intend any dishonor to the lady. I would ask for her hand in mine.” Garrett heard Annelise’s quick intake of breath and felt her squeeze his fingers slightly.

“And I would decline,” Murdoch said flatly.

“Murdoch!” Annelise cried, but the laird ignored her.

“Have you a holding?” Murdoch asked Garrett.

“Nay.” He would not claim what might come to be his own, not until he held the seal himself.

“A home?”

“A modest hut could be made mine own.”

Murdoch’s opinion of that was clear. “A fortune?”

“Nay.”

“An occupation or trade? As pleased as I am that you apparently killed a wolf near Seton Manor, that is no way for a man to support a lady.”

“None other,” Garrett admitted.

“Apparently,” Annelise echoed, her disdain clear.

The laird inhaled sharply at her impudence, but continued to address Garrett. “It appears that you have no means to support a wife accustomed to the life of a noblewoman, and your manner of conduct since arriving here does you no credit.”

“Murdoch!” Annelise cried. “I would ask that you give Garrett a chance. He is recovered now.”

Murdoch looked between the two of them, then squared his shoulders. “One meal,” he stipulated, though Annelise was quick to show her delight. “You are invited to join us at the board this evening, as a guest of Seton Manor.”

The very prospect sent horror through Garrett, but he knew he had to survive this test to win his lady. He reminded himself that it would offer good practice for the challenge that awaited him at Killairig.

“He will sit with me at the high table,” Annelise said.

He had but a moment to feel relief before Murdoch shook his head. “He will not. He will sit below the salt, as befits a hunter of no rank, at the very base of the table where I can watch him.”

“Murdoch!” Annelise protested, but the laird kept his gaze fixed upon Garrett.

“Below the salt will be fine,” Garrett said, his manner stoic. “I thank you for the invitation. I shall be gladdened to look upon my lady from that vantage.”

“Garrett,” Annelise whispered. “It is not fair.”

“Annelise,” Murdoch said. “Isabella seeks you.”

His maiden was clearly uncertain what to do. Garrett appreciated that she did not want to leave him alone with the laird, but he knew little would be achieved by making an enemy of Murdoch. “Go,” he whispered. “Do not make the lady wait.”

Annelise spared him a searching glance, then left his side. She hesitated beside Murdoch, but the laird kept his gaze fixed upon Garrett. She cast one last look at Garrett, then hastened toward the hall. Garrett watched her progress, certain he had never seen a maiden so lovely or so sweet. He felt the haven offered by her presence draw away and the laird’s displeasure press upon him.

“Garrett MacLachlan,” Murdoch said softly. “What do you want?”

“To wed my lady Annelise and honor her as my wife.”

Murdoch’s lips tightened. “You must see that it is impossible.”

“You must guess that I have hopes that it will become possible.”

“Will you tell me of them?”

Garrett shook his head. “Only if they come to fruition.”

The laird nodded then stepped into the goat pen, considering Garrett with care. “I would not have Annelise hope for something that cannot be. If you care for her at all, you must agree that it would be unfair to mislead or endanger her.”

“I do,” Garrett said, seeing Murdoch’s surprise.

“You will dine with us on this evening, and you will leave after the meal. I have no fear that a woodsman like yourself can survive in the forest at night, and indeed, you might prefer it to any hospitality we might offer.”

It was a fair offer from a man who would prefer to see him gone immediately, and Garrett respected that Murdoch chose to be gracious. “And Annelise?”

“You will never see my wife’s sister again.”

Garrett could not accept this injunction. “No man can command Fate or the future. Who can say if our paths will cross again?”

Murdoch’s expression hardened. “None, but you will not compel them to cross. You will not seek her out.” Murdoch strode toward Garrett, so that they stood toe to toe. “She is my responsibility and I mean to defend her. There is an air of danger about you, Garrett MacLachlan, and I would not see Annelise caught up in its web. Do you understand me?”

Garrett nodded. In fact, he was encouraged, for he saw that Murdoch acted out of a desire to see Annelise safe, the same desire that motivated Garrett. “Indeed, I do. But I ask that you understand me, sir, and recognize that I will not rest until I have earned the right to request the lady’s hand. When I do, I shall return to offer for her.” Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment, the laird’s skepticism pressing upon Garrett’s thoughts.

Garrett believed that, in time, Murdoch would be convinced, and he held the laird’s gaze, showing his determination.

It was Murdoch who averted his gaze first, Murdoch who took a step back to survey Garrett’s attire. “I would suggest you wash before the meal. My wife keeps a fastidious hall.”

With that, he pivoted and marched away, leaving Garrett to consider how he might turn the evening to his advantage. Bolstered by Annelise’s potent kiss, he might be able to endure the meal without making a spectacle of himself.

But could he learn more of who opposed him?

And could he find the way to win Annelise for his own? No deity could be so cruel as to show him a glimpse of his salvation, then snatch it away.

Which meant that Garrett simply had to find the solution to the puzzle, before Orson Douglas claimed Annelise’s hand for his own.

*

“Of course, the key to ensuring quality of service from one’s minions is to bolster their loyalty,” Orson said. He leaned close to Annelise as he confided his brilliance in all such matters and she wished heartily that he would simply cease to speak. “Small gifts are of great value in managing this feat. Even the trinkets we hold in little regard can be put to tremendous use in building a servant’s bond.”

“Indeed.” Annelise found her gaze trailing to Garrett, who did sit at the very foot of the table. She was relieved in one way that Stewart sat across from Garrett—the presence of that trusted man-at-arms at the foot of the table lessened the sting of Garrett being seated there. On the other hand, Annelise did not doubt that Stewart was there to watch Garrett closely. She saw the older man try to draw Garrett into conversation, without success.

In Seton Manor’s hall, the high table was actually at the same level as the main one. It was set across the back wall, and the low table was set at right angles to it, extending toward the door. The salt dish was positioned at the junction of the two tables. There were far fewer souls abiding at Seton Manor than at Kinfairlie, and most ate in the laird’s hall for the main daily meal. That meal was served in the evening, for there was much labor to be done during the day. It was a different routine than Annelise had known at Kinfairlie, and one that promoted greater intimacy. Within a week of her arrival, she could have named every soul who labored beneath Murdoch’s hand, whereas there were still some in Kinfairlie’s village of whom she knew little.

Garrett appeared to be composed but discomfited. Even from this distance, Annelise could see that he was not entirely at ease, although he strove to hide it. Was it simply that he was unaccustomed to the company of men? Or was there some other issue at work? Either way and even in his condition, he was easily the most alluring man in the hall—the tallest, the broadest, the strongest and Annelise was certain, the most noble.

Murdoch sat above the salt at the high table, Isabella to his left and Annelise to his right. She did not doubt that he was listening to her conversation with Orson. Orson sat to Annelise’s right, and the other visiting knight to Isabella’s left. The priest sat on the far side of the second knight. Candles burned high, on the table and in the torches mounted on the wall. In cooler weather, a fire was lit on the hearth to the right of those sitting at the high table, but on this night, the ambient heat from the kitchens behind was sufficient. The hounds were sprawled on every side, watching with interest as the meal was served.

Garrett reached down to pat a hound, and the beast’s tail thumped against the floor. Annelise smiled, liking how he could be both gentle and strong. He glanced up in that moment and their gazes met, Annelise feeling that strange heat rise within her even at such a distance.

It was as if he had awakened something with his kiss, a fire that burned hotter in his presence and with his encouragement. Annelise wanted very much to learn how hot that fire could burn.

Orson cleared his throat and Annelise started, realizing she had been too obvious in watching Garrett. He snapped his fingers at his squire. “Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last? I have quite forgotten.”

The boy froze in place and stared at his knight. Either he was terrified of his master, or the last gift was one that would not suit to recall.

“Come along, Percy,” Orson said with impatience. “If you are to be silent in the presence of a beautiful woman, you will never win a lady’s hand for yourself.” He chuckled at his own wisdom, even as Annelise wondered whether he was chiding her for her own comparative lack of conversation. “What was it?”

“Um, a small knife, sir.” Percy fumbled at his belt and produced an eating knife. “This one, sir.”

Orson squinted at it. “Truly?” He shrugged, then turned another smile on Annelise. “Such a rough trinket that I cannot even recall ever possessing it,” he murmured, then winked at her as if they conspired together.

Annelise fixed her gaze upon her hands and said nothing.

Then she risked a glance at Garrett, only to find him staring at Orson’s squire. He looked shocked and was pale again. She might have risen to her feet, but Murdoch stayed her with a gesture.

Orson’s squire stepped back as the stew was brought from the kitchens, making way for the dish to be carried to the laird. Murdoch and Isabella were served, then the dish offered to Annelise and Orson. The squire reached to ladle a serving onto the trencher. To Annelise’s dismay, she had been compelled not just to sit beside the visiting knight but to share a trencher with him. The half loaf of bread used as a platter was deemed to be of sufficient size to be shared, and she knew well enough that some seized such opportunity as a means of courtship.

She was not truly surprised when Orson did as much.

“That is a fine piece of venison, Percy,” Orson said, his tone unctuous. “It is fitting fare for a lady’s lips.” He picked up the choice chunk of venison with his fingers and offered it to Annelise. His eyes glinted with anticipation and he smiled at her.

He looked like naught more than a hungry wolf. Annelise wondered why this man was so determined to woo her when most other men in Christendom could so readily overlook her charms.

She took a breath, seeking a measure of her boldness. “There is no need to feed me like an infant, sir. I am quite capable of seeing to my own meal.”

“But what rapture it would give me to feel the barest touch of your lips on my fingers,” Orson said in a whisper that any soul in the hall could hear.

Annelise found herself blushing at his unwelcome attention and well aware that many were watching her.

“How unfortunate then that I have no appetite on this evening.”

Orson moved the piece of venison even closer. “Surely I can tempt you, my lady.” He smiled, evidently thinking that his appeal could not be denied.

“Surely not,” Annelise said.

Orson’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he ate the meat himself. “No more than that, Percy,” he snapped at the boy. “There is no need to waste our host’s generosity, if the lady has no desire to eat.”

He had rather less to say about Murdoch’s hospitality when he held out his cup for more wine and Percy shook his head. “It has all been consumed, sir,” the boy whispered.

Orson’s shock was so complete that Annelise was tempted to laugh but she dared not do so. “They brew a fine ale here at Seton Manor,” she said. “And our host is equally generous with it.”

“Ale?”

“Aye. I think it better than the wine, to tell the truth.”

“That would not be such a feat,” Orson muttered, wincing as his cup was filled with ale. He sipped, grimaced, then drained the cup. By the time the meal was completed, he had had three more sups of ale and his face was growing ruddy.

Annelise hoped the indulgence ensured that he slept badly.

Indeed, she could not recall disliking a man more, and certainly not on so little acquaintance. She stole yet another glance at Garrett to find him sipping of his ale and giving his attention to the hound at his feet. He did not look to be comfortable, but at least he was not in torment.

She glanced down the table to find Murdoch watching Garrett, his expression inscrutable, then caught a quick glance being exchanged between Orson and Andrew.

“Andrew!” Orson shouted, as if he had forgotten that his companion was at the same table. “After such a fine repast, we can only thank our host and hostess for their generosity.”

Annelise doubted that Orson wished to thank Murdoch for either the wine or the ale. She looked between the two knights with suspicion.

“Indeed!” replied his fellow knight with such cheer that Annelise knew something was afoot. “But what gift could we bring to this hall that would suit?”

“A tale!” Orson declared.

*

‘Tell the lady, Percy. What did I give to you last?’

A bruise, my lord.

The squire’s thoughts thrust into Garrett’s mind, filled with mingled terror and awe. He glanced up, noting how the boy stared at his knight.

A bruise?

Garrett had been clinging to the stillness of Annelise’s mind, using her as an anchor for himself in the hall. Even though the hall was comparatively small and the number of people within it quite few, the merciless tumult of their thoughts was unnerving. Garrett tried to look composed, knowing full well that Murdoch’s eye was upon him and that this was a test he could not fail.

Not if he was to have any hope of winning Annelise.

He could not eat. He could not converse with his neighbors. He barely replied to the inquiries made by the old warrior opposite him. It took all within him to remain in his place, to keep himself from shuddering, and to appear to be sane. He was well aware of the questions in the minds of his companions, their curiosity and their doubts about him.

The sole advantage of his earlier attack was that they were not persistent in engaging him in conversation. When he did not reply, but gave the hound his attention, they turned to their fellows. He heard their conclusions easily. Several decided he was shy, even more shy than the lady Annelise. Others decided he had a lofty view of himself, though not as high as that held by the knight Orson of his own magnificence.

He had been convinced he could endure the test, until this. A bruise. And that was not the least of it. The squire’s thoughts were so filled with fear that they fairly stabbed into Garrett’s mind. He heard as the boy flicked through his memories of Orson’s beatings, filling Garrett with fear for his lady.

This was the man who would court Annelise?

Whether she chose Garrett or not, he could not let Orson win her hand.

The boy’s dilemma was that the bruise was clearly an inappropriate answer to deliver before the entire hall. Garrett felt the boy’s panic that the truth would not suffice. All the same, the boy had no gift for deceit and Garrett sensed his awareness of that, his fear that he would never fulfill this knight’s expectations. He heard the boy’s growing conviction that he would be left for dead or killed in some remote corner of Christendom for his failure to share his knight’s dark nature.

As the squire panicked, his thoughts followed the course of the day. His memories flew so quickly that Garrett’s mind was flooded with them. He saw the boy dispatched and his discovery of the pelt. He felt the subsequent administration of the bruise in question, felt the boy’s heart pound and heard the knight’s low command.

Find her. I must know all.

Through the boy’s eyes, Garrett saw Murdoch at the enclosure for the goats. He heard his own name upon the laird’s tongue as he was warned away from the lady, then saw the boy flee back to his knight with tidings of Annelise.

Why did Orson desire Annelise for his bride so much? Garrett considered the merit of listening to that knight’s thoughts apurpose, but before he could do so, that malice grew like a dark shadow. He did not dare to seek its source, for it was wicked to its marrow.

As would be the one who thought it. He bent to pat the hound again, his bile rising and the trembling beginning deep within him. He listened to the still thoughts of the dog, its interest in the remaining meat, its concern about an itch in its ear. All the same, he flinched when Orson raised his voice at the end of the meal.

“A tale!” Orson declared. “We must have a tale! I understand my lady Annelise is greatly fond of a tale, and no one recounts one so well as you, Andrew. Have you heard a tale of merit that you might share, to favor my lady’s ears?”

That tide of malice swelled with sudden vigor, doubling and redoubling, filling the room with its taint before Garrett could guess its source. He feared the hall would burst with its power, or that his own mind might become unhinged.

Or poisoned.

He scanned the hall covertly for the source, even as the younger knight stood up.

There was something familiar about him. Garrett was certain they had never met. Perhaps something in his features reminded Garrett of another person he had met, but such was the tumult in his mind that he could not make the connection.

The truth hovered, just beyond his grasp, tantalizing him with a ready solution he could not discern.

Meanwhile Andrew bowed deeply. “I did indeed, sir, and would be delighted to entertain the ladies with its telling.” The knight glanced to Isabella, who nodded encouragement. He folded his hands behind his back and raised his voice, even as the hatred pounded upon Garrett’s mind, as merciless as the waves crashing on a rocky shore. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”

The tide of hatred redoubled in the same moment, assaulting him like a dozen mercenaries in the night, as if it were determined to take him to his knees. Garrett could feel the strength Annelise had given him ebbing away, eroded before the onslaught of this malice. He was determined, though, not to humiliate her in her sister’s home.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Though it cost him every vestige of strength that remained within him, Garrett stood and bowed to his host, then turned and walked steadily out of Seton Manor’s hall.

He was shaking and sweating as his heart pounded wildly. Who so despised him in that hall and why? Did Orson believe a hunter so much of a threat to his scheme to win Annelise? How far would Orson go to see his end achieved?

Garrett feared that truth, but he had to defend his lady.

He retrieved his crossbow, quiver and knife from the sentries at the gates and made every appearance of leaving Seton Manor forever. He walked down the road, knowing full well that they watched him, hearing their speculation about him—whether they gave it voice or not. That strange malice faded with distance, making it easier for him to continue.

After the bend in the road, when he was out of view, Garrett ducked into the forest. He took a deep breath, then made his way back toward Seton Manor. The forest was still, clouds already gathering overhead. There would be a storm on this night and the creatures of the woods were already seeking cover. He saw a glimmer of white in the forest to one side, but by the time he turned his head, it was gone.

Garrett did not trust his senses in this moment, for he had nearly been overwhelmed. He could trust only his strange ability, his curse, which might on this night prove to be a blessing. For the first time in all of his days, he deliberately listened to the thoughts of others, heading directly toward the malice that targeted him. He heeded all that emanated from Seton Manor’s hall.

And he did it for Annelise.

*

Annelise had wondered what was truly afoot. There had been something odd about the way Orson had called for the tale. He had made it sound like a whim, but she had the sense that some scheme had been arranged in advance. Andrew had cast his fellow knight a little smile, one that appeared conspiratorial to Annelise, and she had tried to figure out what these two had planned.

Beside her, Orson had leaned back and sipped his ale, as contented as a cat waiting on a mouse to take the bait.

Annelise had turned to watch Andrew again, trying to hide her suspicions of the knights’ motives.

Andrew had begun, his voice flowing readily over the company. “A tale it is of the wilds of Scotland, a tale of a man who escaped the trap of a Fae temptress and claimed true happiness for his own.”

Annelise noted the glance exchanged between Murdoch and Isabella. Truly, their tale was of a similar triumph over the desires of a Fae queen—was that why Andrew chose his story? How could Andrew know Murdoch’s tale, though? Even she did not know the fullness of it, save that her sister had been key to his salvation.

She could not dismiss it as coincidence, not with Orson looking so smug.

In that moment, Garrett rose to his feet, looking like a man who had seen a ghost. His face was pale and his hands shook as he put his cup back on the board.

“Again, he shows himself to be less than vital,” Orson mused. “It would be a foolish woman indeed who bound her fate to such a sickly man.” Annelise clenched her fists in her lap lest she strike this irksome knight.

She might have followed Garrett, but Murdoch again stayed her. “Remain here,” he said, his tone authoritative. Annelise realized that others were watching her, including her sister. Isabella shook her head once in warning, very quickly, and Annelise settled back into her place.

Garrett meanwhile retreated toward the door. He bowed to Murdoch, as if to thank him for the meal, and she could see strain in the line of his lips. He did not so much as glance at her, and she was disappointed. His illness returned, whatever it was, and certainly it consumed his thoughts.

He pivoted and left quickly, nearly running in his haste to be gone.

“There is a man who cannot be relied upon by any lady,” Orson noted with a certain glee. “Look at his inconstancy. You should count yourself fortunate that he has left, my lady Annelise.”

Annelise did not. She was thinking of how Garrett had fallen ill upon entering Seton Manor and then again in the hall. What was his affliction? It was more than an awkwardness with the company of others. He seemed to be in pain.

She was certain that if she could figure it out, she could heal him.

Meanwhile, Stewart looked to Murdoch, who shook his head. Annelise was glad Murdoch had not sent the older warrior after Garrett. Stewart lifted his cup, apparently at ease. “I thought we were to hear a tale,” he called and the company applauded the notion with enthusiasm.

“Andrew, if you will resume,” Murdoch said and the knight nodded.

“Once upon a time, a man came ashore on the coast of Scotland to make his mark and his future. He was a brave and powerful warrior, a handsome and a valiant man, and one who could swing a blade with force. He swore service to a king and fought at that man’s side, defending him from every blow with such valor that soon every man and maiden in the land knew of him. His name was Ruaraidh, a name that came to mean all that was good in a man.”

Andrew did have a fine way of telling a tale. He stood straight and tall, his hands folded behind himself, his voice carrying easily over the hall. Annelise had not paid much attention to him earlier, but noted that he was a finely wrought man, if one easily eclipsed by Orson.

Perhaps it was because he did not draw attention to himself. Perhaps he was shy, like she herself. If she had not met Garrett, she might have found Andrew attractive. That was not to be, but she felt a new kindness toward him, for she sensed they shared that tendency to draw back. Thrust forward, though, he managed the attention better than she would have done.

“Now, the king had long wished to secure a particular point of land, but had never managed to do so. It was a strategic point that would enable him to command a natural harbor much favored by his people, as well as to guard the western approach to that inlet by sea. The lands were wild, though, and the forests filled with ferocious wolves. People whispered that the Fae held sway in that wild territory. No man had ever survived an attempt to establish a holding there.

“The king offered his loyal warrior a challenge. He said that if Ruaraidh could build a home on the point and survive there for a year and a day, then he would wed the warrior to his own daughter. She was a beauty of great repute, and the king knew that with such a marriage, he would be able to rely upon the warrior’s power forever. There was no better way, to the king’s thinking, to ensure the loyalty of a man than to have him become kin.”

“There is clear thinking,” Murdoch said, raising his cup and all within the hall drank a toast to the wisdom of this king. Orson touched his cup to Annelise’s, sparing her a sly wink, and she wondered at his own alliances. Was that why he came so far to meet her?

Where had Garrett gone?

Had he truly left Seton Manor and her behind?

Annelise fairly itched to pursue him, but she dared not leave the board while Andrew recounted his tale. Surely it could not be very long?

“At midsummer, Ruaraidh went to the point, with no more than an axe, his sword, his cloak and one loaf of bread. The king’s company all bade him good luck and the king’s daughter even granted him a kiss on his cheek. He went at that time of year to ensure there would be time to build an abode before the winter. And the first night he was there, sleeping beneath the stars, a large wolf attacked him. Ruaraidh had anticipated this and had remained awake, waiting. He sprang up from his apparent slumber to cut down the wolf with one blow. When the wolf was dead, he made a fire. He removed the heart from the wolf, roasted it and ate it all. Ruaraidh’s mother had told a tale of a man gaining the strength and cunning of his enemy by eating that man’s heart, so he believed this deed would aid him in defeating the other wolves. While it roasted, he skinned the wolf and set its hide to cure. He left the meat for the wild creatures. When he had eaten all of the wolf’s heart, he kicked down the fire, rolled himself in his cloak and slept soundly until the morning.”

“A rest well deserved,” Orson murmured.

Annelise shuddered, recalling the wolf that had attacked her and Garrett’s defeat of it well enough. Though she had been terrified, she could not imagine eating the heart of the wolf. It seemed a barbaric deed.

“The next day, Ruaraidh began to build his abode, thinking all the while of what the king’s daughter might like best to see in her new home. And so his days and nights fell into a pattern. Each day, he worked on the house. Each night, a wolf attacked him. Each night, the warrior defended himself, and each night, he ate another wolf heart and stretched another wolf hide. Whether it was because his mother’s tale was true, or because living alone on the land made him think like a wolf, the warrior became more adept at anticipating the wolves.

“So it came to be that at the end of a year, the king and his men made a visit to the point of land. As the months had passed, the king had come to regret his choice and to fear that he had sacrificed his best warrior on a quest that could not be won. His delight was complete when he strode to the best vantage place on the point, only to discover that Ruaraidh had not only survived, but had thrived in the wilderness. The abode was simple but complete, a solid structure with a small hall on the ground floor and a chamber for sleeping above. The floor of that chamber was thick with wolf pelts, cured and soft, making a bed fit for a queen.”

Orson leaned closer to Annelise, dropping his voice low. “And so I should imagine you, my lady Annelise, sleeping upon the pelt I brought to you.”

“Oh, but you should not,” Annelise protested, feeling herself blush.

Orson smiled. “I agree it is not entirely appropriate, at least not yet.”

He lingered on this last word, giving it an import that made Annelise’s heart still.

“But in time, it will be most suitable,” he concluded.

“But not possible,” Annelise replied calmly. Orson looked at her in confusion but she smiled even as she lied. “I no longer have the pelt. I do not wish to insult you, but it smelled.”

Orson inhaled sharply. “How can this be? It did not smell this morning!”

“Perhaps it needed only to become warm.” Annelise shrugged. “I gave it to my maid, for she could not discern the scent.” She offered the knight a cheerful smile. “Perhaps she sleeps upon it.”

Orson paled and sat back, his lips drawn in a line of disapproval. “All this for a maid,” he muttered and took a great draught from his chalice.

Chapter Seven

Andrew continued, while Annelise bit back her smile. “There was great joy in the company, for Ruaraidh had been missed by his fellows and the king had not been the only one fearful of his fate. Ruaraidh was stronger than he had been before, and indeed, he even seemed to be taller. There was a new glint in his eyes, one that hinted he could not be readily surprised, and he moved with new silence, even in the driest bracken. The king’s daughter looked upon him with shining eyes.

“When Ruaraidh was asked about the wolves, he admitted that there were none left. He told the king what he had done, and from that point on, he was called Ruaraidh the Wolf. The king kept his vow and married the warrior to his daughter. They not only lived long in that abode and kept their fealty with the king, but they had many sons and prospered in that place. They bred a line of warriors, men who could not be defied. People said it was because of their family tradition.”

He paused and Orson raised his voice. “Tell us of the tradition, Andrew.”

“As each son came of age, he undertook a hunt to prove himself worthy as an heir to the holding. Only when a son had stalked and killed a wolf was he considered a suitable candidate for the lairdship. I do not doubt that many ate the heart of the wolf so killed, for they remained a valiant line.”

Annelise found this a somewhat unpleasant detail, but most in the hall regarded Andrew with smiling approval. They might have savored his melodious voice for its own sake, or perhaps they were too polite to challenge any detail of his tale. Perhaps they had little affection for wolves, but Annelise thought of the white wolf weeping in her dream.

“The years passed, and so the good fortune of the Wolf’s kin continued. The sons married women as filled with beauty and valor as the king’s daughter, and they were blessed with so many sons that the line of the Wolf continued down the centuries, uninterrupted. For their service to the king, they were made lairds in their own right, commanding the fealty of that entire rich valley.” Andrew paused to sip from his own chalice and the company awaited his next words in silence.

“Then all went awry,” Andrew said, his tone low. The company leaned forward. “One fine spring, not that long ago, a son was born to the then-laird. It was this laird’s first child, and both he and his wife were delighted that he was born so hale and handsome. The old midwife who had ushered the child into the world, though, was a seer, and she warned the mother. ‘The Fae will seek their vengeance upon this one,’ she decreed. The mother was fretful and wished to confine the boy to ensure his safety. The laird, though, dismissed the warning as the nonsense of an old woman. He did not believe in the Fae, for he had never seen any, and even if there had been Fae, he saw no reason why they should wish to avenge themselves upon him.”

“And so it was that this son, named Coinneach, grew to manhood. He was a fine boy and a finer man, taller and stronger than any father could have hoped, as honorable and handsome as any mother might desire. That his mother never bore another son was of less concern than it might have been, for no soul doubted that Coinneach held the future in his hands. Some said he was the Wolf returned, for his valor and power could not be denied. A healer came to Coinneach’s hall in those days. Her name was Rowena and she was beautiful and kind. She was very fond of Coinneach and would have welcomed his advances, but he was proud and believed her to be too low-born for a man with his destiny. His pride opened the portal to the Fae realm and made his destruction possible.

“The day came that Coinneach’s father lay dying in his bed. He summoned his son and gave him a bow and a sword, bidding his son hunt a wolf to prove his valor. Coinneach knew the import of this and he kissed his father farewell with a heavy heart. Rowena wished to give him a token, but he spurned her, then marched into the forest surrounding the hall. He traveled many days and many nights, seeking a wolf to hunt, but he found none. One night when the moon was full, he heard a woman singing in the most wondrous clear voice. Coinneach was a man enthralled and knew he must see the lady who sang so beautifully. That she sang of a noble knight battling for his lady’s love seemed to be an invitation intended for his own ears. He managed to track the sound to a clearing and nigh froze to the spot in awe when he saw her.

“She was beautiful, more beautiful than any maiden Coinneach had ever seen, and might have been wrought of moonlight herself. You can believe that he rubbed his eyes to look again, so great was his wonder. Her hair was long, falling all the way to her knees, and was so fair a blond as to look white. Her eyes were clearest blue, her face most fair and her lips as red as blood. Her kirtle was made of a shimmering cloth and thick with embroidery on the hems, its cut revealed that her figure was both lushly curved and slender. She seemed to discern his presence immediately, for she turned to face him and sang directly to him.”

“Or perhaps she had been waiting for him,” Orson murmured darkly. When Annelise looked at him, he smiled, but his smile was hungry and made her shiver.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” Orson hissed, his eyes shining. Annelise turned back to Andrew, feeling fearful. Why had Andrew chosen this tale?

Those gathered in the hall of Seton Manor were rapt, their attention fixed upon Andrew as he recounted his tale. The torches were burning low and the hour was late, the darkness outside the hall nearly complete. But no one dared to leave before they heard the end of the tale.

“Coinneach was utterly enchanted. He learned that night that the lady’s name was Florine and, even better, she welcomed his attentions. Each morning, she disappeared, but each night she returned to sing for him. Coinneach forgot his quest completely, so enthralled was he by his lady Florine and her song. The sweet heat of her kisses drove all else from his mind but her. And so it was that the moon was full again when Florine agreed to be his wife. He returned home with his lady and wedded her before every soul in the hall. Coinneach was certain he was the happiest man in all the world.

“The only sadness was that his father had died in his absence. While this was a loss to mourn, Coinneach became laird in his own right and could offer more to his Florine. To his dismay, his mother took a great dislike to his new bride, blaming Florine for Coinneach’s failure to hunt a wolf on his journey. She prophesied doom from this choice, feeding whispers and rumors in the holding, before she died herself. Coinneach mourned his mother, but hoped that her absence would let the whispers fade. He also hoped his bride would be more content. For the fact was that Florine was not happy and Coinneach could not unearth the reason why. She spent much time alone, and he found her often in the woods outside the hall. She declined to speak to him of whatever ailed her but she sang no more, no matter how he entreated her.

“The healer Rowena came to Coinneach and told him that his wife was Fae and bent upon his destruction. She insisted that he should see his new wife burned, but Coinneach believed the healer to be jealous. Rowena even blamed Florine for the death of Coinneach’s mother, a charge Coinneach refused to give credence. She confessed to Coinneach that the Fae have the ability to hear the thoughts of other mortals, men and beasts, and that Florine had used his own desires to ensure his entrapment. Coinneach dismissed this as nonsense. He bent his attention upon entertaining Florine. He had some success, for she was rounding with his child at the Yule, and Coinneach dared to believe that all would be well when the babe was born.”

Andrew paused to sip his ale, then continued. “Coinneach’s son was born during a strange storm that following June, when snow flew against the walls of the keep and the first new growth of crops froze in the ground. Even the wind was unnatural, blowing harder and colder than ever any soul could recall, then swirling around the keep so that it was almost hidden from view. Rowena declared the portal to the realm of Fae was open and that the Fae meant to steal both wife and child, but no one heeded her. Florine labored days and nights to deliver their son, and there were those who feared the weather was a portent of her demise.

“To Coinneach’s relief, the boy was born robust, and his wife survived. While Florine could have been said to have been wrought of moonlight, his son was as golden as the light of the sun. The boy’s eyes were of the same clear blue as those of his mother, and his father was beguiled by his son. When he held his son in his arms and sat at his slumbering wife’s side, once again Coinneach dared to believe that all would be well. Summer, he knew, would come. He dismissed the superstitions of those who doubted as much and showed his son to them with pride.

“But summer did not come that year, not to the lands claimed by the Wolf. The wind remained bitter and the hail fell at intervals. The seed did not grow and illness plagued those who were pledged to Coinneach’s hand. There were whispers of the prophecy and the vengeance of the Fae. Some whispered that Florine was Fae as Rowena insisted, and that she would bring ruin to them all. When he heard the slander against his beloved wife, Coinneach knew he could not leave the matter be. He believed the fault was his own, for failing to keep the tradition of hunting a wolf and set out to make the matter right. He cast Rowena into a prison, where she could speak to no one. He then armed himself with an axe and his sword, donned his cloak and strode out of his keep at night to hunt the wolf. He aimed to repeat Ruaraidh’s deed to secure the future.”

Andrew smiled, clearly relishing that he held the company in thrall.

“Coinneach hunted for days and he hunted for nights. He found evidence of a wolf, but never spied the creature itself, not until the night of the full moon. For then it was that he stepped into a clearing and saw a wolf, a wolf as white as new snow. It was a female wolf, for she was suckling, though it was late in the year for that. Though he could not see the pup clearly, Coinneach hesitated. His own father had taught him that no infant of any kind should be left without its mother before it could care for himself. The wolf looked up and he saw that it had eyes of blue.”

Annelise straightened at this detail.

“He saw also that it suckled not a pup, but a human child,” Andrew continued. “That travesty was too much for Coinneach. He threw his knife at the wolf and it lodged in the beast’s shoulder. The white wolf fled, leaving a trail of blood and abandoning the child. Coinneach went to retrieve the child, only to note its resemblance to his own son. He thought the matter most strange, but took the child with him, then tracked the wolf.

“The path of blood led to his own keep. There was no denying the truth of it. Coinneach checked its course again and again, arriving home just after the dawn. He followed the drops of blood through the hall and up the stairs, his heart pounding as he approached his lady’s chamber. The bloody trail disappeared under the door.

The company leaned forward, their eyes alight. Annelise found herself doing so as well, wanting to know what happened next.

“Coinneach knocked, then opened the door to Florine’s chamber, not wanting to give her the chance to refuse him. His lady was in bed, and there was blood on the linens. The child in his arms awakened and cried out then, prompting the lady to awaken. It was then that Coinneach saw that the cradle was empty, then that he realized he held his own son, not one much like him. Florine smiled at Coinneach and reached for her son, as if naught was amiss, but only with one arm. The other shoulder was bandaged, and his own knife was half-hidden on the table by her bed.

The company gasped at this revelation.

“Coinneach understood in that moment that Rowena and his mother had both been right. They had tried to warn him, but he had been snared by the spell of Florine’s voice. His wife was Fae, a Fae who could take the form of a white wolf, a Fae who had snared him by being able to hear his thoughts. His son was half Fae, if the babe was his son at all, and who knew what would be the child’s legacy from his mother.”

Annelise felt a sudden surety that she would not like the end of this tale.

“In fury and fear, Coinneach cast the babe at Florine, then locked the door of her chamber against her. He stuffed cloth into his ears even as she began to call after him, knowing that he had to shield himself from her voice. He forced all of his men from the tower and freed Rowena from the prison. Florine sang, even as the pyre was built around the tower, and her song halted the efforts of many a man. Those men stood as if struck to stone, powerless to destroy her or to aid in her destruction. In the end, it was Coinneach who set the tower of his own hall alight, Coinneach with cloth in his ears who could ignore her spell, Coinneach who ensured that the deceitful Fae was burned to cinders.”

Annelise gasped in horror at Coinneach’s choice. What about his son?

“Coinneach turned from the sight of his ruined home to see Rowena, tears of joy on her cheeks, Rowena who had served him faithfully from the first. She fell to her knees before him in gratitude that he had done right by his holding, and the people cheered that Florine’s spell over their laird was broken.”

Nay! Annelise could not believe this travesty of a tale. Florine had been given no chance to defend herself or to explain her choice. It was unjust.

But Andrew continued the tale with a kind of glee and Orson nodded approval beside her. She saw that Isabella gripped Murdoch’s hand and recalled Murdoch’s captivity by the Elphine Queen. Perhaps they, too, thought poorly of the Fae, but Annelise wished to defend Florine.

Andrew continued, his tone filled with satisfaction. “Coinneach was humbled by his error and its price, and knew he had to make all come aright. When the fire had spent itself and the tower was no more, Coinneach strode into the ashes. He found the body of a white wolf where his wife’s bed should have been. He cut out the heart of the wolf and had it roasted for his meal. He had fulfilled the tradition, and he would never be deceived again. Of his son, there was no sign, and Rowena said the boy must have been claimed by the Fae. The weather changed after the fire, all returning to normal, and Coinneach was convinced that the portal to the realm of the Fae was closed.”

“So all could be well,” Orson mused. “Order was restored.”

“Coinneach took Rowena for his wife, for her counsel had been true, and together, they saw the holding prosper. She bore a son to him, a son so fine and strong that all knew he would be a fine heir to his father.” Andrew held his cup high. “And so it must be that they are happy still, that the crops prosper and the weather is fair, that the Fae are banished and the wolves hunt elsewhere, for I have not heard otherwise.”

The company lifted their cups with a roar of approval, saluting Andrew for his tale. The knight bowed, his pleasure clear, then the steward filled his cup to brimming.

“So we hear of the value of a sound marital choice,” Orson said smoothly beside Annelise, and she realized he had been watching her closely. “For the fortunes of his holding changed when Coinneach wed a woman who was not of his own kind.”

Annelise dared to speak her mind. “It says little good that he would condemn his wife without granting her a chance to explain herself.”

Orson laughed. “Such a deceitful woman would have simply lied.”

“But he granted her no chance! What if she loved him in truth? What if his son could have been saved?” Orson’s smile faded even as Annelise straightened. “I think it no good mark of his character that he was so quick to cast aside his wedding vows.”

“Does the boy’s disappearance not indicate Coinneach was right about his nature?”

“He could have been saved. His mother could have ensured his escape, whether she was Fae or not. A mother will risk much for her children, as I understand it.”

Orson’s lip curled. “Could you call such a creature a mother?”

“I do.” Annelise spoke with a decisiveness that was unusual for her. “I also call her Coinneach’s lawful wife, and I am appalled that any man would find credit in such a decision.”

“Burning is the old way of ensuring a taint does not spread to others.”

“I do not believe a man of merit condemns any creature without a fair hearing.

Orson sipped from his chalice. “Your soft heart does you credit, Lady Annelise.” He smiled, his eyes glittering as he watched her. “You will make a lord or laird a fine wife.”

“I hope so, sir. It would not be my intent to reward a man’s pledge to defend me by becoming a poor or faithless wife.” Annelise took a breath. “Just as I would expect any man who took my hand in his to give me fair hearing if accusations were made against me.”

Their gazes locked and held for a moment, one in which Annelise knew she might have said too much. “I should tolerate no secrets in my lady wife,” Orson said flatly. “And no defiance of my will.”

Annelise again glimpsed a resolve in him, one that made her shiver. “Then you had best seek a meek maiden to take your hand,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Indeed I shall.” Orson sipped from his chalice again. He appeared to be most satisfied with himself, though Annelise could not be certain why. She had been certain he would have no affection for a woman who challenged his views, but he seemed to dismiss her perspective as irrelevant.

This was no good sign, to her thinking.

To Annelise’s further dismay, Orson addressed their host. “My lord Murdoch, might I demand a moment of your time?”

Annelise might have wished that Murdoch would decline, but he did not.

The two men left the board, their manners solemn. Annelise watched them leave and feared what Orson wished to say. Isabella moved closer to talk to her, but Annelise could barely concentrate on her sister’s comments.

When Orson returned to hall long moments later, his mood clearly exultant, Annelise’s heart sank to the floor. It was long moments before Murdoch appeared, and when he did, his grim countenance gave her no encouragement.

When the laird of Seton Manor summoned her with a glance, Annelise rose immediately. She had to know the truth of it.

*

After his discussion with Orson Douglas, Murdoch paced the length of the small chamber that held his records and seals. He doubted he had ever been granted a more delicate task than the one before him, save perhaps for the winning of his lady’s hand in marriage. He wished that he might have been a better diplomat than he knew himself to be.

But he knew what he was and what he had to do. He beckoned to Annelise, who seemed to be awaiting his summons. The small chamber he kept for his own was located behind the hall, not so close to the gates, and its portal was heavily reinforced. On the kitchen side of it was the larder, locked securely with its spices and stores. Only those who lived within Seton Manor knew of the trapdoor in the floor and the large room beneath it. There, every soul in the keep could take refuge during an assault or a fire.

In the room itself, there was a brazier lit, for it had no window and tended to be chilly. Murdoch gestured Annelise to a chair beside the brazier, certain she would be cold, but she stood resolutely before him, her hands clenched together.

“Tell me the worst of it,” she demanded.

Murdoch saw no reason to pretend the truth was other than it was. “Orson Douglas has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Annelise lifted her chin, showing a determination new to Murdoch. “I do not like him.”

Murdoch was intrigued by the difference in the younger woman’s manner. Isabella had warned him that Annelise could be stubborn, yet this was his first glimpse of that side of her nature. What had instigated the change? He feared it might have been the hunter and his kiss, a prospect that did not bode well for the pledge he had made to Alexander. “Yet he likes you,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

Annelise was dismissive of this. “He does not know me.”

“He likes the appearance of you, then, and the status of your family.” Murdoch tried to sound persuasive, though he guessed this battle was lost. “That is sufficient for many to consider a match.”

“He cannot like me,” Annelise insisted. “We have just disagreed about the ending of Andrew’s tale.” She propped her hands on her hips and Murdoch had to admit that her liveliness only made her more attractive. Though Orson might not care for any dissent, he might well be beguiled by the new fire in her eyes.

Murdoch exhaled. “He admitted as much to me, for I noticed your exchange. He believes that in time, your views will become reconciled to his own.” He did not add Orson’s reasoning that a woman was tamed by a good bedding, for he doubted it would do much to improve Annelise’s view of the knight.

In truth, the comment had done little to earn Murdoch’s favor, either.

Annelise’s eyes flashed. “Tell me that you did not accept an offer from him!”

“Nay, but I heard one and pledged to consider it.” Murdoch watched Annelise pace the width of the room, her agitation clear. She was a maiden awakened. Where once she had been so mild and quiet that any man could overlook her, now she drew the eye. The hunter might have made it easier for Murdoch to find a husband for his wife’s sister.

Assuming that she would accept any man other than the hunter.

“Alexander pledged that we three could wed for love,” Annelise said when she halted before him again. “He said we could choose. Isabella chose. She chose you.”

“Indeed.” Murdoch let his voice drop low. “But think of his name.”

“Douglas.” Annelise nearly spit it.

“Indeed. And think of their holdings.” Murdoch held Annelise’s gaze even as her lips tightened in defiance. “The lands of the Douglas family nearly surround Kinfairlie to the south and that family certainly controls any passage in that direction. The Earl of March himself is a Douglas.”

She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. “And Alexander is always caught in the balance of ensuring the earl’s satisfaction while not ceding too much. I remember that.” She turned a hot look upon Murdoch. “I know they are a powerful family. That does not mean I can or will love him.”

“But Orson is here. He traveled this distance in search of you and has stated his desire to wed you.”

“If he were the King of Sicily, I would not care how far he had come to seek my hand,” she retorted.

“Annelise!” Murdoch hissed. “I similarly do not care how far he came. Listen to me. Why he came is clear. Who dispatched him in pursuit of you is not.”

Annelise stared at him, and he was glad to have made his concern clear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You think Alexander sent him?”

“I do not know. It is possible that the Douglas family have Alexander and Kinfairlie at disadvantage. Alexander may be stalling for time. He may have hoped you would find Orson appealing and that matters would be simply resolved. I cannot be certain until I hear from Alexander himself.”

“I will not wed Orson.”

“Because you have chosen the hunter.”

“And what if I have? Alexander granted me the right to choose. He must keep his promise!”

Murdoch winced that she did not deny his conclusion. “It is not easy for a hunter to support a wife, much less children. You must see, Annelise, that it would be most unsuitable for me to encourage any idea of this hunter courting your hand…”

“You had little to your name when you courted Isabella.”

“I had no intention of courting her, not at first. Indeed, it might be said that she courted me.”

Annelise smiled at the truth in that.

Murdoch touched her arm, dropping his voice low. “I know what you desire, Annelise, though I fear such a choice would not make you happy in the end.” He raised a finger when Annelise would have argued. “All I ask is that you wait until we know more of what hangs in the balance. Speak with Orson. Allow him to court you.”

“He will not win my heart!”

“But he does not need to know that he has already failed,” Murdoch said in an urgent whisper. “Not until we are certain of how matters stand at Kinfairlie.”

“You ask me to lie.”

“I ask you to not yet speak the truth of your heart.” Indeed, Murdoch hoped that Annelise’s choice might change. She was young and in the absence of the hunter, she might find Orson more appealing.

“And what of Garrett? I will not forget him.”

Murdoch frowned. “The question, Annelise, is whether he will forget you, or whether he will accept the challenge to prove himself worthy of your affections.” She looked up at that, her gaze filled with a hope that he feared would only be shattered. “All I ask of you is patience. A fortnight perhaps, less if the courier is swift. Think of all those at Kinfairlie whose welfare may be affected by your choices.”

Annelise dropped her gaze in apparent concession.

Murdoch did not truly expect an enthusiastic agreement. He feared Annelise was becoming more outspoken and determined like her sister, which was both good and bad. Once she had been quiet and biddable, and while he thought that unnatural, he could have done without defiance in this matter.

“I shall send word to Alexander in the morning,” he said, forming a plan to ensure that Annelise was kept safe. He wondered whether Isabella would be easier to convince than her sister. “Until we hear back, I ask you to be polite to Orson and feign, at least once in a while, that his attentions are not unwelcome.”

Annelise sighed. Then she nodded agreement.

“Promise me that you will comply.”

Annelise sighed. “I vow that I shall try.” She looked up at him, resolve in her gaze. “I do not wish to jeopardize Kinfairlie or any soul there, but I will not wed against my own choice. I will do my best to wait until you have a response from Alexander.”

Murdoch nodded agreement. With that steel in Annelise’s spine, he knew better than to expect more. He only hoped it would be enough.

*

Although Murdoch sounded most reasonable, Annelise did not believe he understood her older brother that well. Kinfairlie at risk? It could not truly be so. Alexander cornered? She could not believe it. Alexander had become very good at balancing the powers that surrounded his holding and ensuring that his suzerainty was not compromised.

At root, she could not believe that Alexander would insist she wed Orson Douglas to ensure an alliance, not when he had promised that she could wed the man of her own choice. She could believe that he might have sent Orson this way, just in case Annelise found the knight appealing, but her choice was made and Alexander would support it. He would find another way to sate the earl, even if Murdoch’s notion was correct.

Alexander would never force her hand. In addition, she did not trust Orson Douglas. There was something dark within him, something that did not bode well for any soul beneath his hand. She saw the way his squire cowered when Orson was irked with him and had not missed the flash of fear in the boy’s eyes. She did not like that Orson thought a wife accused of deceit should be burned, without being granted the chance to explain herself, or that a half-blood child could be dismissed and forgotten.

He would not suit her well.

In fact, she disagreed with Murdoch’s strategy. The longer she remained in Orson’s company, the more fixed he would become upon her. In a fortnight, he might not be swayed to abandon her, no matter what Alexander said.

The sooner she left him behind, the sooner he would hie himself away after another biddable bride of suitable family.

And the sooner she could find Garrett. Annelise knew what she desired, and she was prepared to ensure that it was hers. She would find Garrett and take him to Kinfairlie. There they would appeal to Alexander, and Annelise knew her brother would not break his vow to her.

She would not be troubled by doing what Murdoch did not desire. She had pledged to do her best, not to follow Murdoch’s bidding precisely.

Annelise was resolved.

After speaking with Murdoch, Annelise returned briefly to the board and gave every indication of following Murdoch’s advice. She laughed at Orson’s comments, as if she indeed found him amusing and noted how Murdoch watched her response. Then she feigned exhaustion, beginning a steady campaign of yawns of increasing vigor.

When Orson suggested she might retire, she thanked him profusely for his consideration, then climbed the stairs as if she might not manage to make it to her bed. She dismissed her maid at the bottom of the stairs, using her apparent exhaustion to keep from arousing the girl’s suspicion, and climbed to her chamber alone.

She felt Orson watch her until she was out of view.

At the summit of the stairs and out of view, Annelise made a remarkable recovery. She stepped into her chamber quickly, planning as she closed the door behind herself. She packed a bag with haste, certain she would not return. She would wear one chemise to bed and folded her second-best one into the bag, along with a thicker kirtle. She had her heavy cloak and would wear her boots rather than the embroidered slippers she wore in the hall. She had a good sturdy pair of gloves, too. A second pair of stockings would ensure that she was not cold at night, although she doubted Garrett would let her become chilled.

Annelise smiled at the memory of his kisses and the heat that had flooded through her body at his touch. She felt warm inside at the prospect of intimacy ahead and knew all would be well. She rubbed the wolf pelt against her cheek, then jammed it into the bag as well. Her eating knife was the only thing she possessed that resembled a weapon, so she would have to take it. She left her bit of jewelry and her embroidery on the table, as if she meant to return to them the next morning. She had only just concealed the bag beneath her cloak when the door to her chamber was flung open.

Isabella smiled from the doorway. Her hair was unbound and she wore her only her chemise, a lantern in her hand. “Still awake?” she asked brightly, although it was clearly so.

“Indeed. Although only just. I am so very tired,” Annelise lied. In truth, her heart was pounding in anticipation of what she would do. “Is something amiss?”

“I am so restless with the babe each night that I fear I keep Murdoch awake,” Isabella said with an elaborate yawn. “I shall sleep with you instead and give the man one night of peace at least.” She advanced into the chamber, shutting the door behind herself, her smile unwavering. “It will be like old times. We shall giggle and gossip and be awake nearly until morning.”

Annelise bit back a smile at her sister’s concocted tale. The truth was that Isabella could sleep anywhere at anytime. She slept longer and more deeply than any of Annelise’s sisters and could scarce be roused in the morning when she wished to linger abed—which was virtually every day.

Annelise did not doubt that Murdoch had sent Isabella to watch her.

She closed the shutters against the chill of the evening, noting that dark clouds were gathering. It would rain during the night, which would obscure the trail of her departure. Perfect.

Annelise gave no indication of her thoughts as she brushed her hair and braided it. “You are, of course, welcome to stay, but I doubt I will be good company,” she said, then yawned again. “You could dance on the pallets and I would still slumber.”

Isabella gave her a sharp look, but Annelise calmly tied the lace on her braid. She snuffed the candles and laid down on her pallet, closing her eyes immediately and sighing with contentment. “What a long day this has been,” she murmured sleepily.

Isabella hovered over her with her lantern. “You do not wish to talk for a bit?”

“About what?”

“Garrett the hunter.” Isabella dropped to the pallet beside Annelise. When Annelise looked, her sister’s eyes were dancing with curiosity. “Murdoch said you were kissing him in the goat pen today.”

“He kissed me.”

“And?”

“It was most pleasant.” Annelise rolled over and nestled into the bed, as if fighting off slumber.

“Yet he has left Seton Manor at Murdoch’s insistence. You must be annoyed with my husband, if not more.”

Annelise shook her head and yawned again. “Nay. Murdoch speaks good sense. He explained all to me after the evening meal. What life would I have in the forest with a man who has naught to his name? Perhaps I should be happier pledged to a knight.” She felt her sister staring at her and dared to push her deception a little more. “Orson is very handsome, is he not? It must cost a great deal of coin to keep such a horse and to be so finely garbed.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you looked most bored when he was talking to you.”

“I was told once that feigning disinterest would encourage a man to try harder in his suit.” Annelise stole a glance at her sister. “It must be true, for Orson was very determined to entertain me.”

Isabella watched Annelise, her expression thoughtful. Then she glanced around the chamber. “What happened to the wolf pelt?”

Annelise shuddered. “It smelled. I gave it to Bess, for she liked it well. I don’t think she could smell it, although it was most awful.” She sighed as she let her eyes closed. “I suppose one could not expect Orson to know how best to cure a pelt.”

Isabella’s voice sharpened. “You said Garrett killed the wolf.”

Annelise shrugged as if indifferent. “Maybe it was a different wolf. Maybe I erred. Whoever cured this pelt did not know his craft, and I would think a hunter would have been skilled in that labor.”

At that, Annelise pretended to be falling asleep. She let her breathing deepen, well aware that Isabella was watching her closely. Finally Isabella extinguished the lantern and laid down on the pallet beside Annelise. The two sisters lay in the dark for long moments, even as Annelise heard the wind rise.

There was a storm coming.

But she would be safe with Garrett.

Chapter Eight

True to her tale, Isabella fidgeted for a while, tossing and turning as if she could not find a comfortable way to sleep. Annelise breathed steadily and deeply, praying her sister could not hear the thunder of her heart.

It seemed an eternity before Isabella’s breathing slowed, as well.

Annelise waited, listening to the creaking of the wooden manor in the night, its familiar sounds and rustlings. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Annelise thought about the story of the white wolf and its ending. She wondered why Andrew had chosen to tell that story. Was it because it featured the killing of wolves and he and Orson claimed to have done the same? Or was it a mere fiction, like the tales told of Ravensmuir and its laird who spoke to ravens? Perhaps he wished to show the rightful place of a wife in his reckoning, or to prompt a conversation between herself and Orson on the subject. Annelise felt there had been some collusion between the two knights, although she did not know why. It was a macabre tale, in her estimation, one that left her dissatisfied and troubled. She wished she could discuss it with Garrett.

And that was when she realized the import of what she had heard. The Fae could hear the thoughts of others, according to Andrew, and that had been the talent that had given Florine the ability to enchant Coinneach. She had been able to discern his every desire and anticipate his every objection. According to Andrew’s tale, even a child half-Fae would have some Fae ability.

Florine’s son had been blond with blue eyes.

Just like Garrett. Annelise nearly sat bolt upright at the realization. Had this been a tale about Garrett? Was the ability to hear others what ailed him when he entered Seton Manor? It made tremendous sense, for he had seemed to be in physical pain. Annelise was sorely tempted to leap out of her bed and find him, but she forced herself to wait.

Would he be able to find her, because of her thoughts?

She had to know.

Finally, Annelise could bear the waiting no longer. She eased out of her bed. Her heart was pounding and her palms were damp. She backed away from the pallet, her gaze locked on Isabella, and reached beneath the cloak for her dark kirtle. She tugged it on and laced it hastily, cast her cloak over her shoulders and donned her boots. She walked on the tips of her toes to the window, wincing when the shutter creaked a little. She glanced back at her sister before she cast her bag over the sill.

Isabella slept on.

Annelise blew her sister a kiss, swung her legs over the sill and hastened across the kitchen roof as silently as she could. Her heart was racing at her own audacity, but she was making her future her own.

Even as she fled, Annelise realized that boldness could prove to be a trait difficult to abandon.

*

As soon as Annelise had slipped out the window, Isabella opened her eyes. She bit her lip, praying that she had not erred. Thunder rumbled overhead and she rose to close the shutter. The sky was rolling with dark clouds, filled with such tumult that she watched the sky for a long moment. It reminded her of the storm that had broken when Murdoch had tried to escape the Elphine Queen.

She looked down into the yard and saw her sister’s fleeing figure and hoped she had chosen aright.

A faint sound had Isabella spinning in place. Had that been the door to the chamber? It was closed in this moment, but she crept across the room, listened, then opened the door. The corridor was empty, and once again, she believed her imagination had the best of her. The wood of the building merely creaked in the wind.

Isabella latched the door firmly just as there was a great crack of thunder. The clouds broke and rain began to pelt down on the roof. She wished the brazier had been lit on this night, for it was damp, but she did not want to return to Murdoch’s warmth. He would learn soon enough that Annelise had fled, and Isabella wanted her sister to have time to make her choice.

Isabella had need of more time to decide how much to confess to her husband, too.

*

As Garrett drew closer to Seton Manor, the thoughts of others grew louder in his thoughts. To his relief, the malice was diminished, perhaps because that person believed him to be gone. He listened as the sentries speculated about him, hearing the doubts in their thoughts as to his sanity. He stood in the shadows of the forest and listened to the tale that Andrew told. He could not hear Andrew’s voice, but he heard the knight’s words echo in the thoughts of those who listened, mingling with their questions, doubts and suspicions. The story might have been told by a chorus of voices, each slightly different, the result more chaotic than harmonious. Still, Garrett understood the gist of the tale and recognized its similarity with the one that Mhairi had told him.

Which was the truth?

Or which parts of which tale were true?

Garrett wondered. He listened to the thoughts of those who attended Andrew’s tale, most of whom liked it. Several found it familiar and he considered their notions, seeking a kernel of truth in it all. It was an exercise in futility, like sifting through a wagon of grain in search of a pea, but Garrett could not help himself.

Darkness fell and the night sounds of the forest surrounded him. There was a storm brewing, the wind stirring the undergrowth and driving dark clouds to gather overhead. It was easy to move close to the manor as time passed, for most of the people within its walls slept. Their dreams were not so coherent as to trouble him, save for that one pulse of malice. It had diminished now, no more than a current running deep below the surface of the murmuring thoughts. That it disguised itself was no good portent, to his thinking.

Then he heard a thought that startled him.

One way or the other, I claim my bride this night.

Orson. Resolve and anger rode in those few words, making it all too easy to recall the knight’s inclination to violence. Garrett heard a command uttered to the squire, gleaned the boy’s understanding of what the knight would do.

It was clear that Orson suspected that Annelise would flee on this night. As a result, the decision was made. Abduction was not an uncommon way to claim an unwilling bride from what Garrett understood, but he found it offensive as the tactic usually included rape.

That Orson planned to do as much to Annelise was horrifying.

Garrett had to stop him. But how? The sentries stood vigilant at the main gate, chatting to each other about Andrew’s tale. Garrett knew he could not walk past them. Was there another way into Seton Manor? Garrett searched the thoughts of those within its walls.

He heard a carpenter regret that the back gate had not been repaired on this day, and his conviction to remember the task on the next day. Garrett had not even realized there was a back gate to Seton Manor. The carpenter fell asleep, so Garrett sought some thought of it. He heard Bess, locking the goats into the shed, thinking of wolves in the forest and fearing for the goats. She silently cursed the carpenter who repeatedly had forgotten the task of repairing the gate. She vowed to herself to seek him out the next day and see it done.

As human thoughts faded into sleep, Garrett listened to the animals. The goats bleated softly, some of them sleeping and others nuzzling in the hay. Few of them thought of much beyond their bellies and their udders. One disliked the shed and thought about its preference for the pasture that was beyond the gates. Garrett saw the pasture in the creature’s mind from its vantage point.

The wolf had led him through that very meadow. He was certain of it.

Garrett strode through the forest, his footsteps quick and silent. The storm built overhead, the wind becoming more violent and the dark clouds gathering. The moon was obscured from view, the forest seeming to mirror Garrett’s agitation. He found the pasture and it looked much like the goat’s memory. Garrett crossed the meadow openly, for it was quicker and he would take the chance that no sentry kept watch so far from the hall. He could not hear one.

Just as the goat recalled, there was a small path leading out of the pasture on the far side. Garrett fairly ran along the path, hearing the thoughts of those in Seton Manor grow in volume. The path ran beside a brook, which led to the millpond at the back of Seton Manor. He spied an opening in a wall, one that could be missing a broken gate. Cautious now, Garrett eased closer and listened.

The yard beyond the gate was quiet. He could see the kitchens, the hut where he had been taken, the back of the stables. The dogs were dozing outside the stables, their bellies filled with scraps from the kitchens. One snored in contentment, but a second was partly awake. Garrett listened, knowing dogs to be most observant. He was aware of the dog’s conviction that they were all safe and felt its wariness rise as he slipped into the yard. The dog identified passing scents dispassionately as it dozed: manure, horse, straw, eggshells and vegetable trimmings cast to the pigs, a stranger.

The dog lifted its head, sniffing, and Garrett was relieved the moment it realized it knew him. It was the hound that had slept at his feet in the hall, and its tail thumped against the ground as he approached. Garrett paused to scratch its ears before slipping into the stables.

There were at least a dozen horses stabled there and they regarded him with drowsy curiosity. Horses were even more inclined than dogs to be interested in those they knew, and these horses returned to their drowsing when they realized they did not know Garrett. Two of the destriers he recognized as belonging to the knights, as well as the one palfrey. There was another pair of destriers that he did not recognize, and he assumed these belonged to Murdoch. There were also two large black steeds, magnificent and proud creatures, one a mare and one a stallion. They were striking for both their size and their beauty. Were these Murdoch’s steeds? The stallion’s nostrils flared as he assessed Garrett; the black mare snorted and returned to her feed bin.

He heard her dismiss him in her thoughts—for he was not Annelise.

If Orson meant to abduct Annelise, he would take his destrier and command his squire to follow. As much as Garrett did not want to condemn the boy, he had to protect Annelise. He found the knights’ trap, for it was not just finely made but flamboyant. The leather of one saddle had been dyed to match Orson’s caparisons. Garrett seized the trap for both knights’ destriers and that of the squire as well, though he could not easily imagine that Orson would stoop to ride a lesser horse.

Garrett knotted the reins repeatedly, creating a great mess of all the trap, so that it would take precious time to untie it. He removed every part of Orson’s saddle that he could, then scattered caparisons, stirrups and straps around the entire stable. He dropped some parts into the water reservoir provided for the more humble horses, doubting the knight would look there. He removed the bridles from the destriers, casting them into the manure piled behind the stable, then using his booted heel to bury them in the fragrant heap.

He slipped into the stall with the black mare, well aware of her uncertainty. He brushed her with long steady strokes, calming her with his touch, even though he knew that time was fleeing. He had her saddled when thunder boomed overhead. The rain began to fall upon the roof, echoing so loudly that he barely heard the door to the stable creak open.

But he felt Annelise. The serenity of his lady’s nature revealed her presence, although she was agitated on this night. Garrett spun to face her.

He might have spoken, but fury roiled behind her.

Garrett hid himself in the shadows of the mare’s stall, in the very nick of time.

*

Annelise made it to the stables just before the skies cracked open and the rain began to fall. Her heart was leaping, but she was certain she had not been seen. How would she find Garrett?

She would go first to the glade. If he could hear her thoughts, he might guess her destination, then come to meet her there. It was a thin plan, but the only one she possessed. It would have to do. Then they could ride to Kinfairlie to speak to Alexander. Annelise knew her brother would not deny her choice.

Once in the stable, Annelise strode toward the stall where Yseult was tethered. She realized that the horses were all watching her very keenly. They should have been asleep or dozing, but perhaps the storm had wakened them.

Though perhaps it was something else.

Annelise heard the dog sleeping by the entry growl, then the door to the yard was opened again. She recognized Orson, even silhouetted against the silvery rain.

“I was right,” he snarled. “You do intend to flee.” He advanced into the stable, and his squire slipped into the building behind him. The boy hauled the door shut behind him, making the shadows deeper.

When the latch dropped into place with a clang, Annelise shivered.

Orson stepped closer and she took a step back from the anger in his expression. She felt chilled to her very marrow, simply from that glimpse.

She feared he would strike her, then told herself he would not.

“Since you are so inconstant, my lady, we shall see this resolved here and now.” And Orson reached for the lace of his chausses, even as he advanced upon her.

Annelise backed away, astonished. “I think not,” she said. She could not believe that Orson would force himself upon her, but he closed the distance between them with purpose.

If anything, his brow became darker with each step. “I think so.” His eyes narrowed. “You will learn this night, Annelise, that what I think will be what you think.”

“Nay!”

Orson’s eyes flashed at her defiance. Annelise realized this was no jest, no challenge she could win with words.

She lunged for Yseult’s stall. She could ride without a saddle, in a crisis. She had to flee in truth!

She had no chance to reach the horse. Orson snatched her up from behind, his leather glove locking over her mouth. He held her above the ground even as she struggled against his grip. “Bind her ankles, fool!” he commanded his squire, and Annelise realized he did not care how much he injured her.

A cold resolve settled within her. She had to fight him, instead of being fearful. She would have but one chance to surprise him.

This was it.

Annelise let herself go limp, as if she surrendered. Orson chuckled and loosened his grip slightly. “I see you can be taught. That bodes well for our future, Annelise.”

No sooner had he said as much than Annelise twisted and kicked him hard in the groin with her heel. She had never done such a thing, but she had seen a man felled by a horse’s kick in that place. There was no man she wished to see felled more than Orson.

He howled in pain and dropped her. “Bitch!” he cried and would have grabbed her again.

But Annelise was prepared for his move. She had hit the ground hard, but immediately scrambled toward Yseult’s stall. The squire blocked her path so she changed direction. She dared to glance back and her heart faltered. The squire held the rope and Orson’s expression was furious, the pair of them closing in on her. Annelise was terrified as she backed away.

Annelise was more terrified when she realized she was in a corner. She stood then, trembling, even as she tried to fathom how she might escape this man.

It was like the wolf in her dream. She would be ravaged by him.

But unlike her dream, Annelise would fight. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be struck across the face by the knight. Annelise fell to her knees in shock, then looked up at him with new fear.

Orson offered his hand to her, anger simmering in his eyes. “Another lesson: if you scream, I will beat you senseless.”

Annelise kept her mouth closed, for she believed him. She took his hand, for she knew he expected her to do as much, and rose to her feet again. Her cheek stung and her defiance had multiplied tenfold.

There had to be a way to escape him.

To Annelise’s relief, a way made itself clear. A man’s shadow appeared behind Orson, and it was a familiar silhouette, too. It was all she could do to keep her expression the same when relief was weakening her knees. Garrett had stepped out of Yseult’s stall. He moved silently behind the knight and she knew she could not reveal his presence.

Garrett came to her aid. He did not look entirely well, and she knew he was experiencing that same strain.

But he bore it for her. Her heart thundered at the import of that.

She kept her gaze fixed on Orson, then, and her expression mild.

“I shall teach you your place, Annelise,” Orson vowed, working the lace free of his chausses. Annelise was not entirely innocent, for the breeding of horses was a major undertaking at Kinfairlie, and she understood more of such matters than Orson clearly expected. She let her eyes widen as if she was awed and fearful.

He smiled at her reaction. “Your place is beneath me, with your legs spread wide,” Orson continued. “You shall learn it on this night.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It will be easier for you if you do as you are told from the outset.”

“I understand,” Annelise said quietly and he reached for her.

The squire gasped when Garrett seized him from behind. The boy pivoted, but Garrett flung him out of the way. Orson spun, but Garrett was not so gentle with the knight. He punched him in the face, and Orson cried out as blood spurted from his nose.

“Villain!” the knight shouted and leapt for Garrett. The two fought hard, Garrett landing blow after blow on the knight, even as that man battled viciously.

“Flee, my lady!” Garrett commanded.

Annelise hastened to Yseult’s stall, only to find the mare already saddled. She grabbed the reins and would have climbed into the saddle.

But the squire leapt out of the shadows to seize her arm. Annelise pulled herself free of his grip and pushed him hard. He fell back, his expression shocked. Yseult stamped and whinnied, having no patience with a ruckus in her stall. The mare kicked backward and the squire yelped in fear. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away. Annelise took advantage of his dismay and snatched the rope out of his hands. She had bound his ankles together before he could move, then tied his hands.

“Nay!” he protested.

“Be silent, lest all realize your master’s intended crime,” Annelise instructed. The boy regarded her mutinously but held his tongue. Annelise spun, as she realized that someone loomed behind her.

She turned to find Garrett holding Yseult’s reins, a smile curving his lips. “Well done, my lady,” he murmured and Annelise looked past him to see Orson unconscious on the stable floor. She liked very much that he had fallen into a pile of manure.

Garrett handed her the reins, then stepped past her to shove a cloth into the squire’s mouth. “He will be comfortable enough here,” he said, then turned to fit his hands around Annelise’s waist. He began to lift her into the saddle, but Annelise saw the lines of tension around his mouth and the way his eyes were narrowed.

She stayed him with a touch, framing his face in her hands as she looked into his eyes. “You are in pain again,” she whispered. “You should not have come.”

Garrett shook his head. “I could not stay away, not when I knew what he meant to do.”

Annelise smiled. “You can hear the thoughts of others, just like the Fae in the tale.”

Garrett only held her gaze. He neither confirmed nor denied her guess, but Annelise was certain she was right. She would have asked him more questions, but he moved to lift her to the saddle again. “My lady, you are in peril. You must ride out.”

“I will not leave without you.”

“You will leave without me, for this battle is not done.”

Annelise studied him, knowing she trusted him fully. “We will go to Kinfairlie,” she said. “And I will speak to Alexander. He vowed I could wed at my own choice, and I choose you.”

Garrett seemed to have not heard her. “You must flee!”

But Annelise was not prepared to go as yet. “I would thank you first,” she said, then touched her lips to his. Garrett caught his breath, then his mouth slanted over hers in silent demand. His kiss was quick and hungry, a possessive and a potent embrace for all its brevity.

All too soon, he lifted her to the saddle. Annelise felt that fire kindled within her once again and she knew she was smiling. Was it her imagination that Garrett appeared to be more at ease? She dared to hope that her kiss could be of aid to him.

Even if it wasn’t, she wanted his kiss again. Yseult pranced in impatience to be away from this chaos, seeming to share Garrett’s desire for haste.

Garrett grasped the reins and led the mare into the rain. Yseult snorted and tossed her head, unhappy with the weather, and Annelise was glad that Garrett was leading them. To her surprise, he led the mare to a back gate, the one used to take the goats out to graze. She remembered now that the gate itself had been broken the week before. She could barely discern the path in the darkness beyond, but she knew it led to a pasture. Yseult balked, for she was not fond of darkness or solitude.

Garrett led her through the opening in the wall, then caught Annelise’s hand beneath his and squeezed her fingers. His gaze bored into hers again. “I will find you, wherever you go,” he vowed and her heart thrilled at it.

There was a shout from within Seton Manor and they both looked back. Garrett slapped the flanks of Yseult and the blow made the choice for Yseult. The mare began to trot down the narrow path, even as Annelise turned back for a last glimpse of Garrett. He had already disappeared, but she knew she would see him again. She wondered what he intended to do and prayed for his safety.

The path was quickly becoming muddy, so Annelise let the horse choose her own pace. They passed through a dark patch of woods and into a meadow. Yseult raced across the pasture even as the rain teemed down upon them and the thunder cracked overhead. Flashes of lightning illuminated the clearing and Annelise was glad when they plunged into the cover of forest again. She was already soaked to the skin.

Just ahead was the winding road that led to Seton Manor, and Annelise knew Yseult would run more quickly on that surface. She urged the horse to greater speed even in the forest, fearing pursuit. Yseult leapt on to the road, well content with such a familiar surface, and Annelise turned her hard to run away from Seton Manor. As the mare began to gallop, Annelise hunkered down over the saddle.

She could not see Garrett any more, but she trusted him to keep his vow. She knew he would ensure her safety.

As she rode, far to her right, she caught glimpses of white in the forest. At first, she thought it a reflection, but it kept pace with her, disappearing from view then appearing once again. It never drew close enough to the road that she could see it well, nor did it disappear into the forest.

Some creature matched its pace to hers.

A white creature that could run as quickly as a horse. Annelise gripped the reins even as she recalled her strange dream.

*

Percy stumbled in his haste to reach the chamber that Orson and Andrew had shared. He had been told that he had one small opportunity to avoid a beating, and though he knew that his knight might be lying about that chance, still he had to take it.

All he had to do was fetch Andrew and convince the household of Orson’s fabricated explanation. Percy prayed that he could manage it.

He did not even attempt to be quiet, for Orson had said it would be better if the entire household was roused. His footsteps pounded on the stairs as he ran, and he flung open the door to the chamber so hard that it struck the wall behind.

The shutters were open, admitting some measure of light, and the rain was slanting through the window, pooling on the floor. Andrew was snoring softly in his pallet, oblivious to the storm. The chamber smelled of ale.

Percy shook the knight by the shoulder, at first gently and then with greater force when Andrew was not roused. “Sir! You must awaken! We must save the lady Annelise!”

Andrew opened his eyes, then winced. “Oh, my head!” He fell back on his pillow and looked at Percy as if he did not know who he was. “It is the middle of the night,” he said with care.

“Indeed, it is, sir, but the lady Annelise has been abducted!” Percy began to set out the knight’s garments, his hands shaking. “We must make haste!”

“Sadly, we made merry,” Andrew complained and Percy looked to find that the knight’s eyes had closed again.

“Sir! My lord Orson bade me fetch you with all haste. He will ride out to defend the lady.”

Andrew yawned. “For he would wed her above all others,” he said, his tone sleepy. “I know this, Percy, but it has naught to do with me.”

“You must ride with him, sir, to defend the lady’s honor and ensure that justice is served.”

Andrew opened one eye. “I assume there is a villain in this tale.”

Percy nodded and leaned closer. “The hunter, sir. The outlaw!”

Andrew appeared to be skeptical. “That invalid?” At Percy’s nod, he rolled over, thumping his pillow into shape. “In that case, I am certain Orson can defeat him alone. I cannot fathom why he believes the man such a threat to his plan.”

“But, sir!”

“It will make a better tale for those at Kinfairlie, Percy,” Andrew concluded, then yawned mightily.

To Percy’s dismay, this argument made some sense, though he doubted his knight would see the matter that way. For Orson, Percy’s failure to bring Andrew would simply be a failure.

To Percy’s further dismay, Andrew began to snore anew. He shook the knight’s shoulder once more, but to no avail.

But what made Percy’s despair complete was the sound of a man clearing his throat behind him. He spun to find the laird himself leaning in the doorway, his eyes glinting with suspicion. “What is this?” he asked softly, and Percy knew this man would not be readily deceived.

“The lady Annelise has been abducted, sir.”

The lady Isabella pushed past her husband, her fair hair unbound and her expression filled with concern. “By whom?” she demanded, her gaze darting to the empty pallet Orson had occupied. Her lips thinned and Percy took a step back.

“By the hunter, my lady.” He saw immediately that they did not care for these tidings and detected their skepticism. Before they could ask a question, he blurted out the one thing he knew to be true. “She said they would make for Kinfairlie, that she might ask Alexander for his approval.”

The lady of Seton Manor smiled at that. “Abducted?” she echoed. “It sounds as if my sister has made a choice.” She leaned closer. “Who bade you say she was abducted, Percy?”

Percy looked between the lady and her silent husband, and swallowed. “My lord knight, madam, for he interrupted the fiend in the stables.”

“I assume he means to give chase?” the laird asked.

Percy nodded, relieved that there was no deceit in this part of the tale. “His trap has been badly tangled, my lord, but as soon as I have set it to rights, he will ride out to save the lady.”

“Save,” the lady echoed under her breath, but a gesture from her husband kept her from saying more.

“I would ask you to return to bed, Isabella,” he said, resolve in his tone as he held Percy’s gaze. Percy felt that the truth would rise from within him of its own volition and insist upon being heard by the laird. “And I will go to the stables to speak to Orson myself.” He gestured to Percy. “Come, Percy.”

The last thing Percy wanted to do was go to Orson, without having completed his instructions. “I am to bring Sir Andrew, sir.”

The knight in question was snoring loudly again, apparently too inebriated to be roused soon. Percy had a moment to fear Orson’s reprisal for a failure to do his whim, then the laird’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“I doubt that will be possible.” Murdoch smiled slightly. “I shall explain the situation to your lord knight, Percy. Not all men can hold their ale.”

Percy spared one last glance for the sleeping knight and dared to hope that the laird could diffuse his knight’s certain fury. He had not much choice, either way, so he did as he was bidden and hoped for the best.

*

When the door was closed securely and the sound of boots on the stairs had faded, Andrew ceased to snore. He rolled to his back and considered the ceiling, formulating his plan.

Garrett would not make for Kinfairlie. He would ride for Killairig, to make his pathetic plea for suzerainty again, for winning that holding would allow him to offer for Annelise’s hand.

Sadly for Garrett and Annelise, Andrew had far too much to lose to allow the pair of them to ever reach that abode.

*

There was sorcery in Annelise’s kiss.

As before, a tide of tranquility had surged through Garrett at her touch, lingering even after he broke her kiss. Her kiss had fortified him and cleared his mind, pushing back the thoughts of others with fearsome force. He felt hale when she kissed him, revitalized and convinced of the truth of Mhairi’s tale.

It had not been easy to send her on her way and trust that all would come right, but he dared not leave Seton Manor without knowing Orson’s plan. He hoped the squire would remember what Annelise had said, for he had no intention of letting her ride for Kinfairlie as yet.

He had to win the right to ask for her hand first, and that goal could only be achieved by riding west instead of east.

Garrett crept back toward the manor as she rode into the night, listening with care. He heard Orson berate his squire, and his eyes narrowed at the knight’s planned deception. He did not wait to hear the household’s reaction, but hastened in pursuit of his lady.

Their advantage might not last long and he would make the most of it.

Because Seton Manor was nestled in the hills that rose on the eastern side of the Highlands, the road to both east and west tended to switch back upon itself. A path through the forest—the kind of path a wolf might take—would be far more direct and take less time. The clouds made it impossible to consult the stars, but Garrett knew the shape of this land sufficiently well, as well as the wind. He strode into the forest with purpose. When he had crossed the meadow and reached the road, he noted the indentations from Yseult’s hooves in mud of the road.

The rain would be their ally on this night, for the mare’s tracks would become obscured by the time Orson managed to lend chase. Garrett had time to feel a moment of satisfaction before he heard consternation from the gates of Seton Manor.

He listened and was shocked.

Orson would ride out with tack borrowed from Murdoch.

And he would do so within moments.

At that, Garrett lunged into the forest on the other side of the road. He raced down the slope of the hill, listening for the sound of hoof beats, both ahead of him and behind. He leapt fallen logs and splashed through streams; he was soaked by the falling rain and slapped by wet leaves and branches. Each time, he crossed the switchback of the road, he listened, and his fear rose as time passed and he did not sense his lady. Garrett did not slacken his pace, fearing only for Annelise.

Had she ridden a different way? Had she changed her mind about going to Kinfairlie? He knew only that she had not turned back, for he would have passed her on his way. How quickly could Yseult run? It seemed impossible that she had come so far as this—then his fear was stopped cold.

She was just ahead and to his left. Garrett leapt over the road, racing toward the next point it crossed his path. He burst out onto the road ahead, running in the same direction Annelise was riding.

There was a fork ahead and he ran full out to reach it before his maiden did.

Chapter Nine

Annelise saw the man standing in the road ahead. Her heart leapt with fear, but he simply pointed to her right as if indicating the path she should take. Annelise already knew she should take that path—it was the larger route and the one that ultimately would lead her to Kinfairlie.

Was he a villain? How had he guessed that anyone would ride this road at this hour? He was tall and looked to be strong. He was standing on the far side of the road, half shadowed by the forest, his boots in the undergrowth.

When he spoke, she realized it was Garrett.

He had found her! He was panting from the run and even more wet than she was. His hair looked dark and was flattened to his head, and all of his clothing appeared to be dark as well. She realized that he would easily disappear into the shadows.

“Do not slow the horse’s pace,” he called to her. “For the change will show in her tracks and someone will want to know why.”

Yseult barely spared him a glance as she charged past him and took the turn. The mare was galloping with her neck arched and her hooves flying high, her nostrils flaring at the indignity of running at night, alone, in the rain. Yseult much preferred daylight, the solace of company and sunshine.

Garrett began to run beside them. “In a hundred paces, ease her to this side of the road,” he commanded.

Annelise nodded and did what she had been told. When Yseult was trotting in the undergrowth at the side of the road, her flanks wet with rain and perspiration, Garrett indicated that Annelise should stop the horse. She watched as he surveyed the road behind them, then nodded approval.

“The tracks will be fading by the time they arrive. They will assume you continued on this course.”

“But I will not,” Annelise guessed and Garrett smiled. He took the reins and led Yseult into the cover of the forest. If he followed a path, Annelise could not discern it. Yseult, for all her dislike of darkness, evidently trusted Garrett. She snorted only once and tossed her head, but she did allow Garrett to lead her into the shadowed forest. She was more accommodating than Annelise ever remembered.

Could he hear a horse’s thoughts, as well? Was that how he knew how best to soothe her?

Annelise had a thousand questions, but before she could utter a word, Garrett glanced up at her and touched his fingertip to his lips. Annelise understood that they were already pursued.

She never would have guessed as much without his warning. It was peaceful in the forest and good to be out of the full assault of the rain. The canopy of leaves overhead sheltered them from the downfall, turning it from a torrent to a sprinkle. Annelise pushed back her hood and wiped the rain from her face. She was uncommonly relieved that Garrett had found her and trusted him to ensure her welfare. For his part, Garrett moved quickly and quietly, clearly intent on some destination. They continued in silence and shadow, and Annelise could have believed that time had stopped—or that they were the only souls in all of Scotland.

Much later, Garrett led Yseult back toward the road. Annelise knew he had led them westward in an arching path, and she guessed that they stood well to the west of Seton Manor. This section of the road did not look familiar to her, and it was more steeply sloped. Garrett stood on the lip of the road for the longest time, apparently listening.

Annelise could see that the sky was becoming lighter in the east. The rain had slowed to a steady grey drizzle and the clouds were turning to pale silver overhead. She shivered inside her wet clothing, knowing this would be a long and chilly day. Being cold was naught, though, at least not in comparison to being raped and claimed by Orson. The recollection of his intent made her shudder.

She glanced up to find Garrett watching her with concern. “You are cold,” he said. He used a fallen tree as a mounting block and swung into the saddle behind her. “I would ride all this day, though, with your permission, for I would have more distance behind us.”

Annelise nodded, even as his warmth touched her back. She nestled against him instinctively and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Garrett clicked to Yseult, guiding her on to the road and letting her find her own pace. The road climbed steadily up into the Highlands, a steeper road than the one Annelise had taken down from Seton Manor. She had the sense that this one curled farther to the north.

“I promise you a fire and a meal this night, my lady.”

“You sound as if you have a destination in mind.”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me of it?”

Garrett shook his head. “I cannot confide in you, for the truth would put you in peril.”

Annelise studied him, making no effort to hide her dissatisfaction with this plan. “I have so many questions!”

“But you do not know the price of asking them.” His fingertip fell to her lips and his gaze was deadly serious. “Do not ask, my lady. I beg this of you.”

“You said I might guess,” Annelise replied and he fought against a smile.

“So long as you do not mind whether I confirm or deny your accuracy.”

Annelise pursed her lips. “I would be a part of any effort to create our future,” she said. “Will you tell me of your plan?”

Garrett frowned for a moment, considering her request, then shook his head. “There is too much at risk.”

“Aye, there is!” Annelise declared, for she had had enough of his mystery. “For I shall not go without some measure of the truth.”

“I explained this, Annelise. Confidence has a price and I would not see you pay it.”

“You cannot imagine that our match will proceed well if there is not trust between us.”

“I trust you!”

“Then tell me.”

“Annelise, that is not the root of the matter. The telling could have dire consequences…”

“I do not care. I insist upon knowing.”

He eyed her, his concern clear. “What if I tell you a story?”

“Not like the one I heard last night,” Annelise said. “I disliked the ending of it very much.”

“The two tales have much in common, actually. This is a tale my mother told me.” Garrett gave Annelise an intent look and Annelise understood that there would be truth buried within it. “She had a great talent with telling a tale.”

“Then tell me of it, please,” Annelise said.

And Garrett did.

*

Stewart was displeased.

Though it was not in his nature to be merry all the time, on this particular morning, the warrior was more sour than was his wont. He knew that Murdoch had few choices before him, and that his laird’s resources were stretched thin.

But still.

Stewart rode in darkness and rain, his steed slogging through mud and mire, in the company of the most offensive man he had encountered in years, on a quest that he believed to be misconstrued. It was an abominable waste of a good night’s sleep. He was soaked to the skin and colder than he had been in years, but he held his tongue and rode.

Stewart had disliked from the first that a pair of knights had arrived without announcement at Seton Manor. He did not care for the addition of armed men whose alliances were unknown within the walls of the holding. Seton Manor was small and peaceful, but those sworn to it relied upon the laird’s protection. Given the nature of the holding, there were few men at arms in Murdoch’s employ, fewer still in this particular summer. The king’s court held an unholy allure for men whose blades could be bought, and many had ridden to Edinburgh to pledge their loyalty to the new king.

Whether they had permission to do so, or nay.

Orson and Andrew arrived at Seton Manor when defenses were low, and Stewart distrusted that. He was not a man to believe in coincidence or the intervention of the Fates. He did, however, believe in the scheming of men. That these two sounded so different from each other was also troubling. How could one have an accent of the English courts, while the other endeavored to hide his accent? That Orson should sound of London made sense, given his surname, for the Douglas family spent much time in the south. But why did Andrew’s Gaelic cadence appear and disappear? It was almost as if the knight wished to hide his origins, which was no credit to him in Stewart’s mind. How did they know each other? There had been no mention of alliance or common relations, which fed Stewart’s suspicions.

Plus how many men of the Highlands trained for their spurs? Stewart was certain he knew of all of them, but he did not know this Andrew. The knight’s tale reminded Stewart of something, a tale he had heard long ago and which lingered just out of memory’s grasp in a most frustrating way.

Now, he rode in the dark and the rain, accompanying Orson in pursuit of Annelise, his presence at Murdoch’s dictate. Though it was good for one of them to keep an eye on this knight, Stewart still was not content. Why had Andrew not accompanied his fellow knight? It was troubling to leave an armed man at Seton Manor, with one less blade—his own—prepared to take Murdoch’s side.

Worse, Stewart did not like Orson. The knight was assertive and domineering, a trait common to knights but seldom present in such vigor as it was with this man. Orson seemed to care only for his own objective, and Stewart believed that if this man had to choose between his vows and his desire, lust would carry the day. That the squire flinched whenever the knight simply glanced his way told much of the knight’s nature, in Stewart’s view. That Orson had borrowed Murdoch’s trap to ride in pursuit of Annelise with all speed was as salt in the wound. Stewart doubted Murdoch would see his harness again, for Orson was the manner of man to conveniently overlook all debts to others.

Orson would die young with a knife in his back, in Stewart’s view, and rightly so.

Which made him no good candidate for Lady Annelise’s hand.

Finally, this claim of Orson’s irked Stewart mightily. Stewart did not believe that the hunter would abduct Annelise. Such violent intent did not seem to be in his nature. He did not know the malady that plagued the hunter who had come to the gates, much less how it could be cured, but he had seen the lady Annelise’s concern for him. He had watched as that man had struggled with his ailment to appear at the board, and Stewart believed that Garrett did not wish to disappoint the lady he admired. This was a good impulse, in his view, and one of promise.

It was also inconsistent with the notion that Garrett had stolen Annelise forcibly away. Stewart suspected that Orson had embellished the truth or lied outright, for the lady’s glances gave him cause to believe that she would have left willingly with the hunter.

What had Orson seen in the stables?

What had he done?

Most importantly, was the lady Annelise safe from harm?

Stewart pulled his steed to a halt, even as the first light tinged the sky ahead of them. He dismounted and checked the road, dissatisfied with what he saw.

Orson rode back toward him, his destrier stepping high as the knight pulled hard on the reins. Perhaps he would die with a hoof print on his back, Stewart considered, or bitten by a steed much abused. The stallion was unhappy with his situation, it was clear, and looked feisty enough to take action upon it.

“Why do you stop?” the knight demanded. “Must I leave you behind? Can you not see that time is of the essence in this matter?”

“I see no sign that any horse has ridden this road of late.”

Orson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “They said they rode for Kinfairlie, which lies in this direction. Percy! Is that not so?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“So, return to your saddle. We ride, lest we arrive too late!”

Stewart considered the knight, even as the destrier pranced in place. “You are much concerned. Is your suit so ill-favored that you believe the Laird of Kinfairlie will wed his sister to a hunter with no coin?”

Orson leaned down, his eyes blazing. “He will rape her and force the laird’s hand. If we pursue them hotly, he will have no chance to do as much. I hasten for the sake of Annelise!”

Percy developed a fascination with his reins, dropping his gaze so quickly that Stewart wondered at the reason. He walked to the boy and put a hand on his palfrey’s pommel. “Is that what you fear, Percy?”

The boy flicked a glance at him, then to the listening knight. “I fear for the lady’s welfare, sir.”

“Why, Percy? What did you see?”

The boy’s agitation increased but he stared fixedly at his hands.

“Tell him, Percy,” the knight commanded.

The boy flushed and Stewart knew he would tell only part of the truth. “The lady was nearly abused, before my very eyes.”

“But someone intervened,” Stewart guessed.

The boy nodded eagerly.

“How fortunate that I was there,” Orson declared. Percy cast his knight a quick glance of such loathing that Stewart guessed the truth. Orson missed this look, so busy was he admiring his gauntlets. “The lady owes much to me, that is clear, and I can only hope her brother sees fit to reward me. Now, mount your steed, Stewart. Time is wasting!”

“They rode the other way,” Stewart said softly.

“You cannot know this,” Orson protested. “They would ride for Kinfairlie…”

“Why? If you are such an inevitable choice of spouse as to expect the approval of Alexander of Kinfairlie, why would the hunter take the lady to her family abode? Why would a man who evidently dislikes the company of others ride south, where the lands are more populous? Kinfairlie is a considerable holding and a populous one. Why would he make haste to go there?”

“Perhaps the inducement is worth the inconvenience,” Orson said tightly. “But doubtless you believe he did otherwise.”

“He is a man of the forest. He would be more likely to take to the woods and hide her from all of us, at least until his claim was secured.” Stewart nodded at his own rationale. “He might take her to a refuge he knows well, a place where he feels secure.”

“You speculate and your speculation costs us time…”

“They rode the other way,” Stewart said with finality. “I will return to the last place I saw signs of Yseult and look again, more diligently. There was a fork in the road just before that place. I do not doubt they took to the forest to return to the other road.” He swung into his saddle. His concern for Annelise overwhelmed any possibility that Orson might accompany him. Indeed, Stewart believed the knight would take the easier route and continue to the south.

“You may ride as you wish, but I will seek the lady.” He did not wait for Orson’s decision, for truly, it would suit him well for the knight to continue to Kinfairlie. Stewart would prefer to be left to follow Lady Annelise himself, knowing there was one less knight in the environs of Seton Manor.

But that was not to be. His horse had not cantered a dozen steps before he heard the knight swear before barking a command at Percy.

Then the sound of two horses riding through the muddy road echoed behind him. Stewart did not care. He was too busy scanning the growth on either side of the road for signs of a horse’s passing.

He alone of the three was not surprised when he found it.

*

Garrett chose his words with care. Mhairi’s warning was clear in his mind. He appreciated that Annelise was curious and did not wish to have any secrets from her. The problem was that he was not certain how much of his truth he could tell her, not without putting her in danger. But Annelise was no fool: she had already guessed the nature of his curse, and perhaps she might guess the rest if he told his tale correctly.

He took care to mention naught of the Fae, their role or their powers.

He cleared his throat. “Once there was a noble warrior who won himself a holding through his valiant service to a king. This holding was in France, in the enchanted forest of Broceliande, although the knight did not believe the tales told of that place. As in the tale we heard last night, the men in this area prided themselves upon hunting wolves. When they killed a wolf, they roasted and ate its heart, for this was their tradition. This knight hunted a wolf, but he did so in the forest of Broceliande. He came upon a silver lady singing in the moonlight, as well, and lost his heart to her.”

“There is much similarity between the tales,” Annelise said when Garrett paused.

“Indeed.”

“Was the lady a Fae, as well, and one who could become a white wolf when she so chose?”

“That detail was not included in my mother’s tale,” Garrett said with care. “She said only that the lady’s song utterly beguiled the knight, and that he could not rest until he had won her as his wife.”

“Because she was Fae,” Annelise said with resolve. “And there was sorcery in her song.”

Garrett neither agreed nor disagreed. “When the knight courted her, she asked him to promise to never to look upon her at the full moon. When he made that pledge, she agreed to wed him.”

“And so they were wed, as in the other tale.”

“There was a healer in the knight’s abode who desired him to be her own husband.”

“As in the other.”

“But this healer had a daughter of her own. She wanted her daughter to be raised as a nobleman’s daughter, with every advantage and an inheritance besides. She had believed that she might win a place as the knight’s wife, for the healer was beautiful and the knight had looked upon her with favor. But once he had heard the lady sing in the forest, he forgot all about the healer and her charms.”

“Because he was enchanted by a Fae,” Annelise murmured.

Garrett shook his head. “I believe he was in love, not that the lady with the splendid voice enchanted him.”

Annelise smiled at that.

“And so, the knight brought home his lady and wedded her with great ceremony, and kept his pledge that he would never seek her companionship at the full moon. He thought little of this, for he did not believe in the Fae. He thought only that his wife had need of a measure of privacy. One night per month was a small concession in his view, for he wished his lady to be happy.”

“I like his ability to compromise,” Annelise said.

“The healer saw all of this and did not approve. Her heart became darker as her jealousy grew. She took note of every gift the knight gave to his lady and every courtesy he showed her, convincing herself that the lady had stolen all of this from her. The healer knew much of the lore of herbs and resolved to use her knowledge to aid her cause. When the knight’s mother spoke against the new bride, the healer seized her moment. The knight’s mother had believed that no woman would be of sufficient merit for her son, so the knight encouraged his mother to come to know his wife better. He knew her well enough to understand that her view would change in time. The healer also guessed this, so acted quickly. She provoked the mother to speak out in the hall, then gave her a potion that would make her ill. When the mother retired to her chamber, the healer would have had the new wife deliver the supposed antidote. The lady, though, refused to touch it.”

“For she could read the healer’s thoughts,” Annelise said with satisfaction and Garrett was proud of her perceptiveness. “She knew it was poison.”

“But the healer lied. She took the potion to the knight’s mother and loudly declared that the lady had given her the formula. She gave much credit to the lady for her generosity and confessed her lack of knowledge of these herbs. When the mother died, the healer did not have to accuse the new bride of killing her. Others were prepared to do so. There were some who distrusted the healer and others who turned against the knight’s lady, but the knight stood true by his lady wife.”

“I like also that his love was true,” Annelise said.

“The healer was most vexed in her failure to see the knight’s new lady condemned by all. When the knight’s wife ripened with child, the healer feared her daughter would be cheated of opportunity before it had been gained. She contrived to be the midwife at the child’s birth, and the knight agreed, for her skill in such matters was well known. The lady protested, but the knight insisted that he knew best, and so it was the two of them in the chamber. A great storm broke on that night, one that echoed the battle between lady and healer. For as the lady labored to bear the knight’s son, the healer endeavored to kill the child before he saw the light of day.”

“That is evil,” Annelise whispered in horror. “The storm must have been the forces of the Fae, mustered to defend one of their own.”

“Again, good triumphed, for the boy was uncommonly strong.”

“Because his mother was Fae,” Annelise interjected. “Are the Fae not said to be stronger than mortals?”

Garrett did not answer that, though he smiled. “When the boy gave his first cry, despite her efforts to ensure he never did as much, the healer knew she had to act quickly. The boy was as golden as sunlight, golden as his mother was silver, and the knight was much enamored of his new son. The healer feared that once the boy began to grow, he would eclipse all others in the knight’s affection and her daughter would be overlooked forever. She did not doubt that the knight would lavish attention upon both son and lady wife, and she burned to ensure that never occurred.”

“She planned to see the boy dismissed or discredited before he could defend himself,” she guessed, her view of that most clear. “She feared he could hear her thoughts and had to be rid of him before he was old enough to act upon them and defend himself.”

Garrett was delighted with Annelise’s conclusions, but dared not confirm that particular guess.

She nodded, untroubled by his silence. “And the best way to do that was to condemn his mother.”

“It seems most logical,” Garrett allowed.

“I hope this tale ends with her destruction,” Annelise muttered.

“And so, the healer noticed that the lady went to the forest alone on the nights of the full moon. No one knew what she did and the knight forbade any to follow her. His trust in his lady wife was complete. The healer vowed to change this. She followed the lady one moonlit night, but soon lost sight of her. In a clearing, she was confronted by a white wolf, a wolf with blue eyes.”

Before him, Annelise caught her breath, although Garrett could not guess why. He continued with his tale. “She thought she had lost the lady and her infant son, but then she saw that the wolf suckled an infant with golden hair. The healer could not get close to the wolf, for it snarled at her, but she had seen enough to guess what had happened to the lady.” Garrett bit his tongue, fearing he had said too much, but Annelise remained decidedly flesh and blood.

Indeed, she smiled at him, confident in her interpretation of the tale. “The lady had changed shape, as the Fae are wont to do.”

Garrett continued, endeavoring to take more care. “The knight did not believe any of the tales associated with the forest of Broceliande. The healer concocted a tale of more practical concern. She told of a marauding white wolf, falsely attributing crimes to it, and creating fear throughout the holding. She bade the knight not speak of this threat to his wife, lest she become frightened, and the knight agreed. She reminded him repeatedly that all knew that the lady went to the forest each month by herself and confessed a fear for her safety. By the end of a month, the healer had convinced him that the wolf must be hunted and killed to ensure the safety of his people. The healer suggested he go on the night of the full moon, the better to see his prey, and the knight agreed. He instructed his wife to remain in her chambers on that night and placed a lock upon the portal. He thought he would deny her once and guarantee her safety forever.”

“He cannot have killed his wife,” whispered Annelise. “Not in ignorance of what he did.”

“On the night of the next full moon, the knight armed himself and went into the forest alone to hunt the wolf. Unbeknownst to him, his lady went also to the forest with their son. It was not within her to remain at the knight’s abode when the full moon shone and she managed to escape her locked chamber. The healer followed the lady, but this time, when she lost sight of her, she sought the lady’s clothes. When she found the garments piled with care, she burned them to cinders, for she knew that the Fae had need of the clothes to change back to a lady. Then the healer returned to the knight’s holding to wait.”

Annelise gripped his arm, her fear for the lady most clear.

“For three days and three nights, the knight was absent. The wind was high all that time, slamming the shutters and whistling in the chinks. Those in the hall thought they would go mad with the constant sound, but suddenly the wind ceased. The knight returned home that very morning, weary and covered in blood. He carried the heart of a wolf, and he gave it to the cook to be prepared. He went to his lady’s chamber, full of anticipation, only to discover that she was gone, along with his son. The window was open and the wind blew into the room, which was devoid of life.

“Nay!” Annelise whispered.

“The knight sought his lady far and wide. He appealed to all who traveled through his holding, desperately seeking news of his wife and son. But she was gone, as surely as if she had never been. He became convinced that she had abandoned him because he had broken his vow, by confining her on that one moonlit night. From that day, no one ever saw a white wolf in Broceliande or the knight’s holding again. The healer drew close to the knight, comforting him in his grief, and after a year and a day, he took her to be his own wife. He adopted the daughter as his own. She bore him a son, and the knight made the boy his heir.”

“That is not just!” protested Annelise. “This tale is no better than the first.”

“It is said that the knight still goes into the forest alone on the night of the full moon, seeking his lady wife. It is said that a wolf can be heard to howl the night before the death of any soul at the knight’s estate. And it is said that one day, the knight’s first son will return to claim his rightful due, that his father will welcome him, and that justice will be served.”

Garrett fell silent, letting Annelise consider his tale. The rain had slowed to a silvery mist, and the road rose steadily before them. He wished they were miles farther, but knew Yseult had need of a rest. He could fairly hear Annelise thinking but remained silent, certain he had told her much.

“You can hear the thoughts of others because you are half-Fae,” she said, no real question in her tone. She twisted to consider him, her gaze searching his. “Are you this golden son, Garrett? Do we ride to see justice served?”

Garrett could not help but smile, though still he did not answer her directly. “I must have the right to ask for your hand. I must have a holding to my name.”

Annelise smiled and cast her arms around his neck, her jubilation so complete that his heart thundered in his chest. “But why did you not do this sooner? Why did you not seek your inheritance the very moment you knew the tale?”

Garrett would have confessed that tale to her—for the Fae had no role in it—but he was suddenly aware of Yseult’s fear.

The horse was terrified.

Garrett tightened his grip on Annelise but had no time to assess the reason for the mare’s mood. She shied but an instant later, casting them both easily from the saddle, then galloped back the way they had come.

“Yseult!” Annelise cried.

Garrett took the brunt of the fall, landing on his back with Annelise sprawled atop him. He grimaced as the mud splashed over them, though it did not make the road appreciably softer.

Then he heard the mare’s panicked thought and he looked past his lady’s shoulder.

Wolf.

“Fool horse,” Annelise muttered, making to rise, but Garrett lifted a finger in warning.

Annelise followed his gaze to the road ahead, then froze. A white wolf paced back and forth in the middle of the road, its teeth bared in a snarl and its eyes flashing like sapphires. He had a moment to believe that crisis could be averted, then the wolf leapt toward them to attack.

*

Annelise cried out in dismay when the wolf lunged toward them, teeth bared. She had no time to respond, for Garrett responded for both of them. She was flung to one side with dizzying speed as he bounded to his feet. He had his dagger in his hand in the blink of an eye, his movements fluid.

But the wolf leapt past him, racing after Yseult. The mare whinnied in terror, then turned and galloped back down the road. Garrett swore and ran after her. He threw his knife after the wolf, then reached back for his crossbow.

“Nay!” Annelise cried, but the wolf seemed to anticipate Garrett’s move. She had only a heartbeat to fear for the creature before it ducked into the woods and disappeared.

Garrett’s knife landed point down in the muddy road. He had not even had time to load his crossbow, though he did so now.

He swore. “If only I had grabbed my crossbow first,” he muttered with an anger rare in him. “I would not have missed.”

Annelise was glad he had.

Yseult halted in the distance, stamping her feet nervously as she watched Garrett approach. The reins hung loose over her neck, dangling on the ground, and her ears were folded back. She clearly was torn between approaching them and fleeing. The wilderness held no charms for Yseult and she was clever enough to know that food and protection came from Annelise and her kin. Still, she was spooked. The wolf had been where they stood, which challenged her desire to come to them, yet the road behind might be filled with greater danger were she to flee alone. Annelise remained still, letting the mare consider her choices as she calmed down. Garrett retrieved his knife and wiped it clean with a decisive gesture before jamming it back in the sheath.

“Why would you wish it to live?” he demanded of her, his frustration clear. “Have you forgotten what a wolf can do?”

“Then why did it not kill any of us?” Annelise demanded, when she reached his side. “It could have at least injured Yseult, but it did not.”

Garrett sobered and looked into the forest where the creature had fled. There was no sign of it, but the mist would have helped it to disappear, given the color of its coat. “It could have changed its mind.”

“It could have been warning us.”

“Of what?” Garrett was impatient with this notion.

Then Annelise had a thought. “Do you not know what it was thinking?”

Garrett shrugged with some irritation. “The wolf might have been surprised that we were three. Perhaps it is not sufficiently hungry to take such a risk.”

Annelise turned to look at him. “You do not know,” she guessed and Garrett shook his head. “That is why it surprised you. But that means you could not hear its thoughts.”

His expression turned grim.

Annelise looked into the forest where the wolf had fled, wondering at its choice. In the tales, the Fae could hear the thoughts of mortals, man and beast. If Garrett could not hear the white wolf’s thoughts, was it Fae? Could it truly be a Fae woman snared in wolf form? If there was truth in the tales she had heard, this wolf might be Garrett’s mother.

But nay. The wolf in Garrett’s story had died, and Garrett had been told the story by his mother.

Had the wolf meant to aid them or injure them? Given her past experience, she had to believe that the wolf could readily have killed at least one of them, if it had desired to do so. Once Yseult had thrown them and run, it could have pursued the mare and attacked her. But it had merely chased away Yseult, then fled.

“If it was protective, then it did not want us to follow this road,” Annelise mused. “Why?”

“It is a wolf,” Garrett said with impatience. “Such creatures do not think with such subtlety.” He gave her a hard look. “It must have changed its mind.”

“Why could you not anticipate it?”

“I will not discuss it.”

“Could you hear its thoughts? Aye or nay?”

He pivoted and marched away.

“You could not!” Annelise cried but he did not reply.

She had to be right. Where were they? She spun in place. The forest surrounded them, the trees lush and dark. There was a bit of mist at this high point on the road, and she could not see into the distance. She looked in the direction they had been riding and took a deep breath. They had crested a rise, although she had not been certain it was the summit. Now she noted that the air had a crisp edge that reminded her of Kinfairlie.

The sea was ahead.

“This is the road to that holding,” she guessed. “The one that featured in Andrew’s tale, on the point that perched above the sea.”

“Killairig,” Garrett supplied.

“Your mother’s tale was a tale of Killairig, albeit disguised as Broceliande,” Annelise guessed, though there was no doubt in her tone. “Which means you are the golden son and rightful heir, and we go to claim your legacy. But the wolf wanted to stop us. Why?”

Garrett ignored her words, but she had expected as much. He was fingering the hilt of his knife, his attention fixed on the very skittish Yseult. Annelise was certain he was listening to the mare’s thoughts, deciding when best to give chase. Yseult tossed her head and strode back and forth, her step high and her eye fixed upon them. Garrett stood and watched the mare, content to grant her time. Annelise admired his patience.

“But if you know the name of the holding, why have you not gone there before?”

“I did,” he murmured softly. “But I could not argue mine own case.”

Annelise remembered how he had been afflicted at Seton Manor and nodded understanding.

“It will not happen again,” Garrett said with a resolve that reminded Annelise how his state had become worse when she left to fetch Isabella.

“Because I will be with you.”

Garrett took her hand, lifting her fingers to his lips. “I have greater incentive this time, and the power of my lady’s kiss to strengthen me.”

She saw the doubt in his gaze and had to ask. “Is it sufficient?”

“We shall find out soon enough,” he vowed, just before he bent and captured her lips beneath his own. Annelise could not resist his kiss and stretched to her toes to taste him more fully. How wondrous it was that the pleasure only increased each time he kissed her, as if each time was the first.

And what a fine promise that gave for their future together.

Was that why the wolf had barred their path? Did it know that her affection was not sufficient to see Garrett healed? Annelise could not lose him. She would not lose him.

It was then she realized that she could not leave the future to chance.

She would seal their fates together, and she would do it this very day.

Chapter Ten

Once again, when he kissed Annelise, a healing power surged into Garrett. Annelise’s touch was all he desired and more. He drank deeply of that which she willingly gave, then reluctantly lifted his head to regard her. Her eyes were shining and her lips swollen, a faint flush staining her cheeks. She was so lovely a maiden that her next words astonished him.

“We should be intimate,” she said with nary a pause to take a breath.

Garrett stared at her. “I believed that we would meet abed after we were wed. You know that I cannot ask for your hand honorably until I reclaim my birthright.”

Annelise’s lips set. “I know that Orson would have compelled me to wed him, by forcing himself upon me last night.”

She was right, and that did little to please Garrett. “Orson is far behind us…”

“Are you certain? We might well be pursued.”

“I would know of it. He took the other way, the road to Kinfairlie. He believed our ruse.”

Annelise nibbled her lip as she regarded him, the movement of her teeth making him think of claiming another kiss. “I am not convinced that we have time,” she protested. “And I do not see the cause for delay. We could make love and guarantee the matter!”

“And your brother would think me no better than Orson,” Garrett replied, his annoyance rising. “I would have your family think me a man of honor.”

“I would ensure that my choice carries the day.”

“Annelise, I ask only for patience.”

“Everyone asks only for patience,” she said with disgust. “Once I had an abundance of it, but I find myself lacking in it now.” She fixed him with an indignant look. “Perhaps you do not truly wish to wed me.”

“Not if you would be better without me,” Garrett said, for this truth he could confide in her. “And until I claim my due, you would be.”

Annelise propped her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing in a most beguiling way. “I would not!” she argued. “I would live with you and be happy, even if you had naught to your name. You would care for me and treat me well, and that has more value to me than the seal for a holding in your hand.”

“You might change your mind when you have a babe in your arms, my lady.” Garrett leaned close to her, letting her see his determination. “You will not be my lady wife until I am certain you will have comfort in my home. I will ask for your hand honorably and I will commit no deed that will compel you to wed me either way.”

“Honorably,” Annelise echoed, her dissatisfaction clear. “You care more for honor than for love.”

“I know love can fade without honor to defend it. I know that love will not feed a family or build a roof over our heads.”

“Did you not have love as a child? Was it not sufficient?”

“I knew little then, and I lived with no noblewoman.”

“So, it is my birth that is at issue! Were I a goatherd like Bess, would you think your love sufficient?”

“It does not matter, for you are no goatherd. My lady, you must trust my way.”

“And you must cede to mine.” Her resolve was clear. “Orson could pursue us, surprise us, and rape me, even before your eyes to see his will triumphant.” Garrett was appalled by the thought. Annelise glared at him. “The only way to ensure he cannot do that is to anticipate him. You must take my maidenhead.”

“Not until our wedding night!”

Their gazes locked and held for a charged moment, each as convinced of their argument as the other. Then Annelise smiled so coyly that Garrett could think only of her sweet kisses. “I shall have to seduce you,” she vowed. “I shall come to you in the night and you shall not be able to resist me.”

Garrett smiled despite himself, amused by the idea of Annelise claiming him against his will.

“Do not laugh at me,” she chastised, her own eyes dancing. “I know little of the art of love, but where there is a will, there is a way.”

“You might be innocent, my lady, but that does not mean you are without allure.”

She blushed then, although he could see that she was pleased. “Then you confirm that my strategy might work,” she whispered with delight.

“I confirm that you have beguiled me completely.”

“Just like the silver maiden, Florine,” Annelise said with satisfaction and his heart sank. He would hear no more about the goodness of wolves this day. “Though I am not Fae, if you betray me as the laird in that tale betrayed his lady, it will be your heart roasted for the evening meal.”

Garrett bowed before her teasing tone. “I take fair warning. Just as you should take warning that I will not show myself to be like Orson.”

“We shall see,” Annelise said softly.

Garrett, however, had no intention of spending a night in any place where she might launch her plan. He indicated the mare, who had now calmed enough to graze cautiously at the side of the road. She still watched them with care and was less concerned with her meal than with them. “Now, what of Yseult?”

Annelise grimaced and folded her arms across her chest, even as she surveyed the mare. “If only I had an apple. She will do much for one.”

Garrett heard how the mare associated apples with Annelise. Part of the reason she scrutinized them so closely was her conviction that Annelise must have one.

Oblivious to the mare’s expectation, Annelise sighed. “There is one in my bag, but it is tied to the saddle.” She turned a bright look upon him. “You are better suited to fetch it and her, as you can anticipate what she will do.”

Without granting her an answer, Garrett moved toward the horse. He put out his hand as the mare watched him and heard the echo of her interest. Her tail swished and her ears pricked. He moved slowly down the road, so as not to startle her and felt the mare’s curiosity overwhelm her fear.

Garrett opened his satchel slowly, as if he had a treat, strolling forward all the while. The mare tossed her head, but he could hear that she was intrigued. She took a step toward him and whinnied softly, stretching out her nose to try to discern what he carried. He removed his hand, as if holding a prize within it, and her ears pricked forward. He was so close that he could almost seize the bridle. Two more steps and he would have her.

She leaned closer.

He took another step, slowly.

She bent to his hand and bared her teeth as if to bite.

Her nose moved as she realized he had naught to offer her.

Garrett knew Yseult intended to bolt an instant before she did so. He leapt forward and seized her bridle, even as her nostrils flared.

The mare backed away and tossed her head, disliking that she had been caught. She snapped at the reins and fought the bit, then regarded him warily. A nip on Garrett’s shoulder seemed to satisfy her, then she burrowed her nose against his satchel in demand. He carried nothing, and she gave him a look of disgust that spoke volumes.

By that time, Garrett had retrieved an apple from Annelise’s bag. He offered it to the mare on the flat of his hand and her mood improved. Yseult accepted it with delight, chewing noisily as he led her back to Annelise.

Annelise was watching him, her expression thoughtful. “So you can hear the thoughts of other creatures as well,” she said.

Garrett neither agreed nor disagreed. “You sound certain of it.”

“That is Yseult’s favored trick. You anticipated her as if you had ridden her as many times as me. Your gift proves most useful in this.”

Garrett fitted his hands around her waist and lifted her to the saddle. “It is a curse and always has been.”

She looked down at him with surprise. “It is a talent that can be used to aid us.”

“It has a dark burden, my lady,” Garrett insisted, even as he swung into the saddle behind her. “And one that became more onerous of late.”

“Yet one you will not confide in me.” The lady’s dissatisfaction with that was clear, as was her confidence that he would not change his mind.

Garrett gave Yseult his heels. The mare galloped down the road, perhaps wanting to put the interlude with the wolf as far behind her as possible. The mist was thicker on this side of the crest, as if it had been piled against the peak by the wind from the sea, and the road ahead was obscured in white.

“I shall unearth your secrets,” Annelise said lightly. “Truly, I might know all of them before we are even wed.”

But Garrett could not reply, except with a gasp. Without warning, that malice shot into his mind like a dagger cast into his brain. He grimaced in pain, even as he lost the ability to reason clearly. He could not so much as sit up straight, the force of the hatred making him sway in the saddle. His grip faltered on the reins and he shook like a man diseased.

“Garrett!” He felt Annelise’s fingertips on his face, but could not open his eyes. “What did you hear?” she whispered, but he could only groan.

He felt his consciousness slipping away and feared the worst.

“A trap!” Annelise said. “Our path has been anticipated. The wolf did try to warn us, but you were too stubborn to pay it heed.”

Garrett could not defend himself.

Annelise, however, showed a decisiveness he had not expected. She swung her leg over the saddle and kicked his feet from the stirrups. She seized the reins from his hands and turned Yseult with expertise, showing her familiarity and skill with horses. He was shifted from rider to baggage in the blink of an eye, his shy maiden taking command of the steed with ease.

“Hold on, Garrett, for I shall not be able to lift you if you fall,” she instructed firmly.

Garrett was lost in a haze of agony. He held fast to his lady’s waist, even as he labored beneath the crushing force of hatred. He closed his eyes and leaned his brow upon her shoulder, trusting her to see them safe.

And glad beyond all else to have an ally in this.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should seal their fates together and ensure that she would be his bride, whatever his fortune might prove to be. But Garrett fought against that notion, fearing that it was selfishness on his part, and that his lady would be the one to pay the price.

He could not bear to ever see her disappointed, no less because of him.

*

Annelise did not know who pursued them, but she trusted Garrett’s gift implicitly. She also was convinced that the white wolf was their ally. He suffered from some affliction, exactly as he had at Seton Manor. His breath was shallow on her shoulder and he had turned pale. She had seen the perspiration on his temples and felt the quivering in his hands.

It was up to her to ensure their safety. Annelise had turned the mare and they fled back the way they had come. Yseult was surely tired, but must have sensed Annelise’s fear. She ran as urged, exceeding even Annelise’s hope of speed. They reached the fork at the crest of the hill where the wolf had appeared, and Annelise headed back over the crest of the hills toward Seton Manor. She silently praised the dense fog, then urged Yseult into the forest on the side of the other branching path. She would steal Garrett’s trick.

Annelise rode deep enough into the shadows that they would not be easily noticed from the road, then dismounted. She could still discern the road and knew she would catch at least a glimpse of any soul who rode past. Garrett slumped forward, but she ensured that he was over the front of the saddle and balanced there. She then put her hand over Yseult’s snout, holding the reins tightly as she watched and waited.

It was not long before she heard the sound of hoof beats. Yseult looked up with interest, but Annelise made sure the mare could not nicker a welcome to another of her kind. A horse raced past, taking the road back toward Seton Manor.

They would have crossed paths if they had continued.

Annelise’s heart froze when she saw the glint of chain mail. It was not common for a knight to be in this vicinity. If they were pursued by a knight, she had not much time to ensure their escape. Yseult ran faster than a palfrey, but not as quickly as a destrier. If the knight sought them, it was likely he would double back at some point and search for clues of their path. Even if he did not seek them, Orson might pursue them to this point.

Annelise decided to trust the wolf. The road had forked just before they encountered the wolf, and Annelise chose to believe that the wolf had wanted them to take the smaller path that branched to one side. She had to hurry. She led Yseult through the woods a goodly distance before she dared to lead the mare up to the more narrow and rough path. They were around a bend and out of sight of the fork, by Annelise’s design, when she stood by Yseult, listening.

All she could hear was the water dripping from the trees.

“Gone,” Garrett whispered. “For now.” He sat up with an effort and passed a hand over his eyes. Though he still looked troubled, Annelise was glad to see him better.

“There is not a stump to be had,” she said, as if naught was amiss. “You have awakened in time to give me a hand.”

Garrett smiled thinly and reached down to help her into the saddle before him. Once again, Annelise claimed the stirrups.

“I am sorry, my lady.”

“You are ill and I will find us a haven,” she said flatly. “We have need of rest and warmth. Yseult cannot run much farther and you must be as cold as I am. Do you know this region?”

Garrett shook his head, then leaned his brow upon her again. He took a deep breath and Annelise hoped he was drawing strength from her. “Not so well as that.”

“You have been to that holding only once,” she reminded him.

“I both arrived and departed by another road, one near the sea.”

“It is clear that someone does not wish you to return there.”

Garrett was silent, and in this, Annelise knew he agreed.

“Do you know who?”

She felt him shake his head. “I know only that I am despised.”

“Is it the same as at Seton Manor?”

Garrett nodded and Annelise considered this. Someone had been at both places and despised Garrett. Someone with chain mail. Was it Orson? Andrew? But how would either of them manage to be on the road ahead of them when they were in pursuit? Perhaps there had been another soul there, one who had not worn chain mail in that company.

Annelise did not know. “The rider wore chain mail,” she told Garrett and he caught his breath. “And he anticipated your goal. Perhaps the detail of the son has merit, and he would see you dead lest he lose all he hopes to gain.”

Garrett did not argue that it was but a tale, which told Annelise much.

“But who is the son?” he whispered.

Annelise had no answer to that.

*

Yseult was climbing the rocky path, making steady progress although she was clearly tiring. There was no sign of a dwelling and even the road was so thin as to leave much to the imagination. Annelise might have believed they had ridden beyond civilization.

“We must halt soon,” she said to Garrett.

“If we pause, they will find us.”

“We should find a village or settlement, one where we can be hidden.”

She glanced back to see Garrett grit his teeth. “I would stay in the wilderness.”

“And I understand why.” Annelise shivered, then abruptly sneezed. “We are wet beyond belief and chilled. We have need of a fire, but how will you light one in the forest in the midst of this rain?”

“It can be managed,” he asserted, but with less conviction than before.

“And it will smoke greatly,” Annelise said flatly. “Do you not think such a sign will be discerned? Within a village, there is always smoke from a fire. It does not draw attention in itself.” She held his gaze. “You must master the art of enduring those competing voices and discern how much aid you can draw from my presence. You must test yourself where it matters less, before going to Killairig.”

He eyed her, but did not immediately deny her suggestion.

Annelise chose to be encouraged by that, though she knew how she might coax him to her view. “They know of your gift.”

“My curse,” he corrected.

Annelise continued. “They will not think you can endure to be in company, so they will not seek us amongst others.” Consideration dawned in his eyes at her words. “We can hide best in a crowd, Garrett.”

Garrett considered her for a moment, then nodded once. “You speak good sense, lady mine,” he muttered, then pointed to another path that snaked to the left. “I hear men over there.” The road climbed upward again then over the hills, becoming more rocky with every step.

To Annelise’s relief, each passing moment seemed to strengthen Garrett. He even dismounted to lead Yseult when the land became rougher. He paused at intervals to glance back and listen. Annelise heard naught, but she trusted him to discern more than she.

After they had crested yet another rise, the land began to fall away. They passed through the last of the forest and into welcome sunlight. A valley filled with heather was spread at their feet. The sunlight felt wondrous and warm, a most welcome change after their wet ride.

Garrett looked back as they rode down into the valley, and Annelise did not need the ability to read his thoughts to recognize the reason for his concern. They were in the open and could be seen from a great distance. Only when they had entered a wood on the opposite side did the tension ease from his shoulders, though still he kept a brisk pace.

At the top of the next lower ridge, Annelise spied the ribbon of smoke rising from a settlement below. She pointed, but Garrett had already closed his eyes and shuddered. Indeed, he had chosen the path that brought them to a settlement.

“How many are there?”

“Twenty men, perhaps. There might be more, for their thoughts seem uncommonly tranquil.” He squared his shoulders and peered down the hill, the discomfort showing in the line of his lips. He flicked her a glance. “I would ask you to remain by my side, Annelise.”

“You can rely upon my doing so,” she said with a smile that appeared to do little to encourage him. “Can you hear any hint of pursuit?”

Garrett shook his head. “Still I would be out of view as soon as possible.” His arm was locked around Annelise’s waist, drawing her close to his heat and strength. Yseult must have sensed that food and rest were ahead for she began to canter toward the settlement.

It was wrought of wooden timbers, with a wall enclosing a cluster of small buildings. A river ran past it, with gardens near that flowing water. Annelise saw the crucifix on a church and noted the long undyed robes of the men working in the garden in the same moment. One straightened and tipped back his hat to regard them.

“It looks to be a religious house,” Annelise said, worrying about the import of that. “I hope they will allow a woman to take refuge here.”

Garrett did not reply. He leaned his brow upon her shoulder and Annelise felt the perspiration at his temples. “There must be forty of them,” he whispered.

“I will see it all resolved.” She entwined her fingers with his, knowing he would be irked by what she would claim, but determined to say it all the same. She would not be separated from him, not when he was unwell and they were being pursued. “In fact, it might be easier if you are ill.”

“I am not ill, Annelise.”

“You certainly look to be,” she whispered. “You might contrive to look even worse so that I am not forbidden to tend you.” Before he could argue, she raised a hand to wave to the man. “Good brother, can you be of aid to us?”

The stocky older man strode to meet them at her call. His garb showed him to be a monk, as did the crucifix he wore around his neck. He reminded Annelise of Father Malachy, who was the priest at Kinfairlie, for there was a gleam in his eye that made him seem uncommonly perceptive. The monk took the mare’s reins, showing a comfort with horses that convinced Annelise of his trustworthiness. Yseult nuzzled him, as she oft did with those who cared greatly for horses.

The man smiled at the mare’s affection. “You ride a fine steed, my lady,” he said and Yseult arched her neck before his admiration. “I have seen its ilk only once before.” Annelise felt a moment of alarm that he might guess her identity, but the monk only admired the mare.

“In my fighting days, I rode a destrier as black as you,” he murmured to Yseult. “And what a fine creature he was.” He ran a hand over Yseult’s flanks, soothing her with his touch, and Annelise did not doubt that he saw much that others might miss. When he looked up at Garrett, the monk frowned. “Your companion is taken ill.”

“Most suddenly, brother, and I fear to continue with him in this state. I saw the smoke from your kitchens and hoped you might give us shelter for a few hours.”

The monk glanced over Annelise’s kirtle, his perusal lingering for a moment on the narrow band of embroidery at the hem and her fine leather gloves. Then he considered Garrett, who was dressed more simply, and Annelise saw his conclusion made.

“It is not our way to turn away any who seek our aid, and you are welcome here. I apologize, my lady, but it is not allowed that a woman pass within the walls of our simple abode. You can, however, seek haven in our chapel, while your servant is tended in our dormitory.”

“It cannot be so,” Annelise said, her voice firm with an authority she had not known she possessed. “I will stay with my lord husband and aid in his care. Might we both remain in the stables, if I do not speak to your fellows?”

The monk looked to be startled, but he nodded and bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

Garrett stirred behind her, as if rousing himself with great effort. He took her hand and put it upon his purse. “Not beggars,” he murmured and she understood his meaning.

She smiled at the monk. “Even in illness, he is most practical.” She opened Garrett’s purse, hoping there was some coin within it, and was delighted to find two silver pennies. It was more than sufficient compensation for a day and night of lodging and food.

Annelise offered it to the monk, who bowed again as he accepted it and blessed her. He raised his voice slightly then, beckoning to a younger boy who must be in training to take his religious vows. “William, take our guests to the stable, and see this fine creature—” he patted the mare’s flank “—brushed down and fed. You will have to aid his lordship here, while I send for Fraser to aid him.”

“Aye, Father.”

Annelise looked to the older man in surprise, for she had not realized that he was the priest, but he smiled at her. “Father Thomas,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome, my lady.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, Father.”

“The fare will not be of the quality you know, but there is plenty of it. Again, I must apologize for not inviting you to the board, but I will send a meal to you in the stables.”

“Thank you, Father. You are most kind.”

“If you will excuse me, my lady, it is time for prayers.”

Annelise smiled at the priest, more than content with their situation. William led Yseult to the stables and the mare was mightily spoiled by the attention and good care of the monks. Fraser bodily carried Garrett into the loft, and Annelise saw only the barest glimpse of blue between Garrett’s lids. To her relief, he continued to feign illness, though his malady puzzled Fraser.

In the end, Fraser simply declared that Garrett should be allowed to sleep and left the loft. A meal was brought for them both, the monks went about their business. In the silence of the loft, Annelise knew that the time for her seduction had come.

She desperately hoped that Garrett did not decline all she offered.

She feared there was more at stake than even he realized.

*

Stewart seldom found himself surprised, but he was shocked when another knight appeared in the road ahead of them, riding toward them. Stewart recognized the insignia on his caparisons as Andrew’s. The approaching knight did not wear his helmet and his hair was of the same remarkable dark hue as Orson’s companion.

But how had Andrew contrived to be in this place, riding toward them?

They had ridden most of the morning and as the rain halted, even Orson had become convinced that Stewart’s choice had been correct. The indentations of four large shod hooves were clear in the drying mud, and Stewart knew that only a horse the size of Yseult could have made them. She was galloping, too, galloping for so far that it was clear her rider wished to reach some destination quickly.

The road had climbed all the morning and they were nearing a crest when the other knight came into view. Like them, he rode with vigor and speed.

The other knight must have ridden out immediately after their own departure, but ridden west instead of east. Evidently he had doubled back, as well.

Even then, it made little sense. Perhaps it was not Andrew.

Stewart had no sooner thought as much than Orson gave a shout of welcome. “Andrew! Well met!”

Andrew’s expression darkened slightly, as if he were not so pleased so see his comrade. But then he smiled and that impression was dismissed. As he drew near, Stewart noted that the destrier was slick with perspiration, a sign that it had been ridden hard. Stewart wondered if there was a more direct route than the one they had taken. It would not have surprised him to learn it was so.

“Orson!” Andrew declared. “Dare I guess that your maiden is not upon the road between here and Seton Manor?”

“Indeed not. The villain rides west, with her in captivity.” Orson frowned. “But how came you to be riding back to Seton Manor?”

“I thought to check the other direction for you,” Andrew said with a smile. “But there is no sign of her upon it.”

“No sign?” Stewart echoed. “What of these hoof prints?”

The younger knight was visibly astonished. “But they were not there when I rode out!” he declared. He looked around them, peering into the shadows of the forest. “If neither of us passed them, they must have left the road.”

“Are there other roads in this vicinity?” Orson demanded of Stewart.

“A thousand paths of no great size cross the Highlands,” Stewart admitted. “A horse could be led on any of them, but would not make great speed.”

“Then we are foiled,” Andrew said with a sigh. His defeated tone seemed premature to Stewart. “They could be anywhere. I fear your lady lost, Orson.”

Stewart regarded the knight with surprise. “I do not think the quest so clearly failed as that,” he said sternly. “I would follow the tracks to see what might be learned.”

“Indeed, Stewart could be a hunter himself,” Orson declared to his fellow knight. “He tracks his prey very well. We should have been close to Edinburgh by now, if not for his keen eye.”

“Truly?” Andrew echoed, as if in wonderment.

But Stewart heard a note in that knight’s tone that troubled him. He followed the tracks, leading the knights westward again. He walked the horse, not wanting to miss any sign and did not doubt his steed would appreciate the reprieve. All the while, the knights chatted. Actually, Stewart noted that Orson dominated the conversation, speaking endlessly about the advantage he would gain in wedding Annelise and giving Andrew advice as to how best promote his career.

“Have you no holding, then, Sir Andrew?” he dared to ask.

Orson laughed. “He has a legacy, Stewart, and will one day be a laird in his own right.”

“One cannot rely upon such things,” Andrew said quickly and with apparent modesty. “An inheritance is claimed only when the seal is placed in a man’s hand and the signet ring on his finger.”

Stewart nodded at the truth in that. “One should not count upon the future before it is the present,” he said, eyeing the ground all the while.

“Nonsense! You will win Killairig and you will rebuild it,” Orson said with confidence. Andrew shot a glare at the other knight, which Orson did not notice. “For you will have powerful friends to aid you.” Evidently Orson counted himself in that company.

“Killairig,” Stewart echoed and knew what story had evaded his grasp all the night long.

“You have heard of it?” Orson asked with delight.

“Aye, a little.”

“You see, Andrew, you shall be a man of repute throughout all of Scotland!”

“I have never seen it, though,” Stewart acknowledged. The younger knight feigned disinterest but Stewart was not fooled.

The tale Stewart had heard of Killairig was that the holding was cursed, for the laird had murdered his wife and cast out his young son at the behest of his lover, then wed the lover and named her son as his heir. The son in question might well have doubts about the security of his legacy in that case. Stewart slanted a glance at Andrew and wondered.

Killairig was not so far away.

Now that he considered the matter, Stewart realized that Killairig was located near the end of this road, the road the hunter had chosen to ride with Annelise. Could he be the lost son seeking his stolen legacy?

Or was that merely a romantic fable?

Stewart pondered all of this as he followed Yseult’s tracks. The horse had been slowed to a canter, undoubtedly because the rider believed he was not pursued. He wished he could have been certain that Annelise was safe, but there was no way to know for certain.

Until the horse’s tracks stopped abruptly. Stewart dismounted to study the prints, noting how the horse had pranced in place.

As if afraid.

Of what? Stewart returned to the road to study its surface. He spied the wolf prints in the mud. The creature had pursued the horse then fled into the forest. The horse had stood its ground, prancing, then had been ridden onward. There were two pairs of tracks, those of a man and of a woman. Stewart strode back to the spot where the horse had left the road and followed its tracks in the undergrowth.

He followed with care. The plants were downtrodden by the horse, the branches of the shrubs on either side bent from its passage. He guessed from the height that the horse had had a rider, then he crouched when he spied a print that gave him much satisfaction.

It was the mark of a lady’s boot.

Annelise!

She had turned the horse in this place. Stewart turned and looked back. She had watched the road, he guessed, then led the horse onward. He had not lied: there were a thousand paths in this forest and his chances of finding her were low. As the wet mud dried on the road, even Yseult would leave no signs of her passing.

Stewart looked down. Annelise had chosen to leave the road. And Andrew had galloped past this place, racing toward himself and Orson. Stewart did not believe that Garrett would injure Annelise, and he recalled her annoyance with Murdoch the night before. She had called Orson a liar about the wolf pelt and insisted that she would wed the man of her choice as Alexander had pledged she could. He had heard her determination and guessed he knew the truth.

Annelise had chosen the hunter. He must have been in the saddle, perhaps afflicted as he had been before, but Annelise had not abandoned him. She had not hailed Andrew or chosen to ride back toward Seton Manor. That choice told Stewart all he need to know. She was safe and he would assist her in any way he could.

Orson had lied again, in declaring that Garrett had assaulted Annelise. It seemed he would take credit for all of the hunter’s good deeds and blame the hunter for all the foul ones of his own.

Stewart was thinking of a legacy denied and could think of only one reason why the hunter would have chosen to ride this way. If the man’s intent was honorable, he would wish to have a legacy to ask for his lady’s hand and provide a future for her. Why, too, would Andrew have guessed to seek him in this direction, unless Stewart was right?

The answer to many questions would seem to lie at Killairig. If Stewart’s suspicions were right, wherever the hunter had gone, he would arrive at that holding in time. If he were wrong, he could still see his curiosity satisfied.

“Well?” Orson shouted from the road, his impatience clear. “Do not tell me that we must ride through this savage forest.”

Stewart deliberately stepped on Annelise’s tracks, obscuring them forever. “Nay, my lord, I was mistaken. It must have been a wild animal that passed this way, perhaps a bear.”

“Or a wolf.” Orson shuddered as Stewart regained the road. “What now?”

Stewart sighed and tried to look discouraged. “I fear Sir Andrew speaks aright. We have lost them truly.” He rubbed his brow with apparent exhaustion. “I cannot imagine that we will find them in time to save the lady, much as it pains me to admit as much.”

Orson sighed. “That is a pity. She showed such promise, but I will not accept a soiled bride.”

Percy winced visibly at this comment, though only Stewart noted as much.

“A shame it is that Seton Manor is so long a ride from here,” Stewart said, filling his voice with regret. “The horses have need of food and rest, and I would be a happy man to have a warm meal in my belly. How many miles do you think we have covered, Sir Orson? A man could welcome a break from the saddle.”

“There is little that can be done,” Andrew said crisply, turning his steed toward Seton Manor. “There are no inns in this territory.”

Orson’s features lit. “And you know as much because you have taken this road before!” he declared with delight. “Andrew, Killairig must be near this place. Could we not impose upon your father for a night or two and see ourselves refreshed?”

“I think it too far a ride…”

“Nonsense! Even if it is farther than Seton Manor, I would see the place of your origins. Think, Andrew, that if I were more aware of Killairig and the challenges it faces, the better disposed I will be to assist you when it becomes your own.”

Andrew did not appear to be swayed by this.

Orson dropped his voice. “I could even aid you with a bride, especially if my favor has been won with a good night’s sleep.”

Stewart allowed his anticipation to show. “Truly, Sir Andrew, it would be most gracious of you to invite us to your father’s home.” He bowed low, even as Orson dropped his voice to a hiss.

“This is what I have been trying to teach you, Andrew. You must show grace in every situation, even if hospitality is not precisely yours to offer.”

Stewart bit back a smile as Andrew raised his voice, knowing the younger knight had been cornered by the older.

“Of course,” Andrew declared. “I should like very much to take the opportunity to visit. I only wished to save you any inconvenience in the journey.”

“Inconvenience, thy name is Scotland,” Orson declared. “Truly, Andrew, there is naught so barbarous as a night spent in the forest. Even if it is late when we arrive, I shall be so delighted to reach Killairig that I may kiss the threshold in my relief.”

Chapter Eleven

By the time they entered the monk’s settlement, the press of the malice had disappeared. Still the tumult of the many thoughts around him confused and disoriented Garrett, making it difficult for him to get any sense of his surroundings. He might have been lost in a dense fog, striving to escape a dark menace. It was strange how his curse had become so much worse after he visited Killairig.

He was keenly aware of Annelise. Her presence was like a light in the oblivion. He drew strength from the feel of her hand upon his and the radiance of her thoughts. He did not know how long he dozed, taking solace from her touch. He was warmer than he had been, and his clothing was different. Dry. He could smell and hear horses, their thoughts at peace as they ate and dozed. A prayer came to him, one uttered in unison by several dozen men and echoing at the same time in the thoughts of all of them.

Garrett heaved a sigh. He felt much recovered, though not yet fully himself. He knew this was because of Annelise and felt a profound relief that he was no longer alone. He opened his eyes, wanting only to thank her.

Instead, he was confronted by a vision of loveliness that stole his breath away. Garrett thought at first that he was being visited by an angel, for that prayer was still resonating in his mind. The loft in the stable had fallen into darkness. There was no lantern lit, only a little silvery light from the moon, painting a patch on the floor and giving some illumination to the interior. The light glinted off the long hair of the maiden before him, which fell in loose auburn waves and hung past her hips. Her feet were bare and she wore only a sheer chemise, one that offered tempting shadows of the curves hidden beneath it.

Annelise. Garrett’s mouth went dry. She was more lovely each time he saw her. He had been entranced at first glimpse, but she had changed since then. She stood a little straighter and taller, and her smile held more confidence in her choices. Her gaze locked with his more often, instead of dropping demurely, and her eyes flashed with emerald fire. His heart pounded that she had chosen to be with him and he yearned to prove himself worthy of her.

She watched him with a smile as she pulled the comb through her silken tresses. Garrett could have stared at her for all the days and nights of his life.

Annelise put down the comb and reached for the tie of her chemise. “Good evening, husband,” she whispered. Garrett had a vague recollection that she had claimed that falsehood earlier. He might have argued with her about it, but she untied that lace and let the chemise fall over her shoulders to the floor.

Garrett could not help but look. Her breasts were sweetly rounded, her waist slim and her legs slender. She had curves enough to tempt him truly, but was so delicately wrought that he feared to injure her. He thought of Fae maidens, of flowers in the sunlight, of butterflies and small birds. Her skin was so fair that it seemed to glow in the moonlight, and her auburn hair was like a river of fire.

She dropped to her knees beside him and laid a hand upon his chest. Her hair spilled over her shoulders to tumble against him and Garrett could not keep himself from touching it. It was soft, so very soft, that he wanted to bury his fingers within it. She bent and touched her lips fleetingly to his, sending heat firing through his veins.

“Annelise, you must not,” he whispered, remembering her intent to seduce him. He wanted to claim her so much and knew that he was in no state to deny temptation. He yearned to possess her and feared that if she touched him more than she had thus far, he would not be able to resist her.

“I must,” she said firmly. “I told you of this once but ceded to your notion of what would be right. And so it is that we are pursued and no stronger in our situation than before.” There was a thread of steel in her voice, one that astonished him as much as the determination in her eyes. “We will do this, Garrett, for I have decided. It will ensure that Alexander cannot deny my choice.”

“But we are not wed. I would not dishonor you, Annelise…”

He managed to say no more for she silenced him with a kiss.

“Marriage is the sole sacrament for which we have no need of a priest,” she said, her fingers unlacing his jerkin with distracting speed. “I trust you or I would not choose you for my husband.” She had pushed the jerkin from his shoulders and untied his chemise before he could stop her—and indeed, he was losing what little resolve he had to halt her deed. Her hands were on his bare chest, her fingers looking small and delicate against his skin. She ran the flat of her palms over him, admiration in her eyes. “You are well wrought, husband,” she whispered, mischief in her expression.

“Annelise, you dare too much.”

“And you argue too much.” Her eyes sparkled. “I might come to believe that you do not truly desire me.”

Garrett opened his mouth to argue that, but then her fingers fell to his waist. He caught his breath at her sure caress, then glimpsed her smile.

“But I know you do,” she confessed.

Garrett did not know what to say. The combination of her confidence and her innocence left him thrilled but wary of moving too quickly. He resolved to let her set the pace, that she might better discover the differences between their bodies.

She stood and reached for a bucket that he only noted now and dipped a sponge into the water within it. As he watched, transfixed, she washed herself from head to toe. Garrett watched the soap lather against her skin and the water run in rivulets over her body. He braced himself on his elbow and would have risen to assist her, but Annelise halted him with a fingertip.

“I want you to see all that I am,” she said.

Garrett reluctantly remained in place, wondering what his maiden had planned. She turned before him as she washed herself, casting him glances filled with temptation even as she blushed. He looked upon her and admired her, his desire doubling and redoubling. He could smell her and see her, and there was naught in his thoughts but Annelise.

And how he would make her his own.

When finally her skin was clean and glowing, she dried herself with much deliberation. Then she returned to kneel beside him again, that playful smile curving her lips. Her hand slid under his tartan to close over his erection and Garrett was overwhelmed by her touch. He whispered her name and she laughed.

“Do you cede to my demand, husband?”

“I am powerless to do otherwise. And it would be churlish to deny a lady.” He could not help but tease her. “If you were not a maiden, I might have thought you planned to make it impossible for me to resist you.”

Annelise laughed. She stroked him with her fingertips, her touch making him dizzy. “I am not so innocent as you might expect, husband,” she whispered, her eyes dancing. “I have witnessed the breeding of the mares at Kinfairlie and have heard much in the whispers of my wedded sisters.” Her fingers stroked him with surety, making him gasp. “I know what is here and where it must go.” She bit her lip, her anticipation clear. “Though this will be the first of a man that I have seen.”

It was all Garrett could do to lie back and let her explore him. Annelise hesitated only a moment before she unwrapped his kilt and spread the tartan wide. Garrett inhaled sharply as his erection was freed from the constraint of the cloth. Annelise’s lips parted as she looked upon him. “So large,” she murmured, her gaze darting to his as her confidence faltered.

He needed no more encouragement than that to take command. Garrett caught Annelise in his arms and rolled her beneath him, capturing her lips beneath his. He had been sleeping on a heavy cloak, nestled upon a bed of straw. Annelise’s skin was as fair as moonlight in contrast to the dark wool. Or perhaps she was a pearl in a rough setting. Either way, Garrett would ensure that she had no regrets. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, enticing her to enjoy the pleasure they could share. Her fingers wound into his hair, pulling him closer, then her arms wound around his neck. She opened her mouth to him and he partook of the feast she offered, using his lips and tongue and teeth to make her gasp with pleasure.

“There is no need for haste,” he whispered in her ear, delighting in her shiver. “For this is a deed that is better for being anticipated.”

“Show me,” she whispered and he could not refuse her.

“First, we must learn of each other,” he said, running his hand down the length of her. Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him. He kissed her lips with leisure, then trailed a row of kisses to her ear. “And there is no better way to do so than with the lips,” he confided, nipping at her earlobe, then flicking his tongue across it. He blew softly on her ear, making her shiver, then speared his fingers through her hair. He kissed her temple, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, then her mouth again, savoring how Annelise melted in his embrace. He kissed her chin, her throat, then feathered kisses over first one shoulder and then the other. Her collarbone received similar attention, a trio of kisses landing in the hollow of her throat. Annelise kept her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes, surrendering to him so completely that Garrett’s breath caught.

Her breasts he caressed first, cupping each in one hand and sliding his palms across her taut nipples. Then he followed the path of his hands with his lips, kissing each in turn. Annelise shivered, then gasped as he took one peak in his mouth. He suckled her, working the nipple to a tighter bead, then grazed it with his teeth. She whispered his name, but he held fast to her waist as he bent the same attention upon the other breast. He could smell the heat between her thighs and was determined that she should be as ready for him as possible.

He abandoned her breasts with reluctance, then trailed kisses to her navel, holding her hips captive as he rolled his tongue within the hollow. Annelise, it was revealed, was ticklish and his move made her giggle and squirm. She protested, bracing herself on her elbows to watch him with sparkling eyes. Garrett smiled at her, pressing a kiss to the mound at the apex of her thighs. He watched her swallow and her smile fade, then he turned to consider her feet.

His maiden had need of a little more encouragement. Garrett caught one perfect foot in his hand and kissed her arch, discovering another ticklish spot. There was still water between her toes and he eased it away with the cloth, holding her fast as he ensured that her feet were dry. She protested, for that tickled as well, but he liked how she laughed and was put at ease. When he kissed the soft flesh on the inside of her ankle, her laughter died and her gaze locked upon him. He held her gaze, even as he trailed kisses up the inside of her shin. He paused to caress the backs of her knees, but Annelise was ticklish no longer.

He held her gaze as he knelt between her ankles, and placed his hands upon her knees. He gently pushed her thighs apart and she spread them wide even as she watched him, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. He smiled at her, then ran a line of kisses up each thigh.

When he closed his mouth over her sweetness, she gasped, then sighed in capitulation, falling back against the hay. When he caressed her with his tongue, she moaned, and then Garrett knew that all would be well.

*

Annelise had never felt such sensations. Her skin could have been set afire, for she burned with a need she could not name. There was a heat inside her belly as well, and a greater fire between her thighs. She felt a yearning that could not be denied, and one she did not know how to sate.

She knew enough to guess what must happen, but the size of Garrett had given her pause. She loved that he took the time to set her fears at ease and conjure her desire. His thousands of kisses had seemed to awaken her body in increments, making her keenly aware of his every touch. The warmth of his lips upon her body felt both new and delicious.

When his mouth closed over her secret heat with surety, Annelise knew that all would come aright. Indeed, she could think of nothing but the pleasure that was coursing through her body, even as the yearning grew more acute. She felt his hands upon her, holding her so that she could not evade his marauding tongue, and she welcomed his possession of her. She found her back arching and her agitation growing, that yearning becoming more sharp with every flick of his tongue. The heat built within her so that she thought she might be set aflame by her desire, then Garrett touched what seemed to be her very core. A piercing release shot through her and she cried out at the tumult that flooded through her body. She found herself trembling from head to toe even as he continued his amorous assault, feeding that pleasure until she could bear no more.

She fell back, her heart racing and her breath so quick that she might have been running hard. When she opened her eyes, Garrett was before her, smiling, a very satisfied gleam in his eyes. “I wonder how many within these walls recognized the import of that cry,” he mused and Annelise felt herself blush.

“You should have warned me.”

“In future, I shall take care, wife. I was not aware that you would be so loud in your passion.”

Annelise cringed, even though she could not have regretted that experience for any prize. “What will they think of us?”

“That we are happily wedded, that I must be recovering. Perhaps a few will regret the taking of their vows when they are reminded of what they have abandoned.”

“Are you not embarrassed?”

“Nay.” Garrett became serious. “I could never be ashamed that you are my lady, or that I can give you pleasure.”

At that, Annelise was reassured. “But in future?”

“You might wish to bite down on a piece of cloth.” He smiled at her, then shed his jerkin and chemise. He tugged off his boots and set them aside, then paused to consider her. “Would you rather watch or aid me?” he asked, his words so low that Annelise’s heart fluttered.

“I would touch as well as see,” she said, rising to her feet. “For I have been told that lips are the best means of exploration.”

Garrett smiled and shed the last of his garb. Annelise surveyed him, knowing he was giving her the opportunity to do so. She had never seen a man fully nude, and her gaze strayed repeatedly to his erection.

“I will fit, Annelise,” he said softly. “We shall be slow about it, and you will be able to halt the deed if you desire. I promise it to you.”

“You want me to like it.”

He laughed for the first time in her experience. “Aye. I think it would be better if you did, and that goal merits some patience on my part.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Though you test my resolve sorely.”

“You desire me?”

His sidelong glance was hot. “Can you doubt it?” He turned to face her, propping his hands on his hips. “Was that not why you washed yourself before me so seductively? To ensure that I could not deny you again?”

Annelise felt her cheeks heat. “I have chosen, Garrett. I will not allow Orson Douglas to steal my desire from me.”

Garrett sobered. “Nor will I.” He offered a hand to her and she went to his side, stepping into his embrace so easily that they might have done this a thousand times. She trusted him with all her heart, and when his bare skin was pressed against hers, she felt a rekindling of that yearning.

’Twas then she knew that only the feel of him inside her would sate that desire.

Garrett kissed her with the same deliberation he always showed in an embrace. He was slow and thorough, his kiss deep and wonderful. He demanded of her only when she melted against him, only when she parted her mouth to him and offered her all. His hand was at her nape, his fingers in her hair, and Annelise loved the combination of strength and tenderness in his grasp. She knew she could halt him with a fingertip and he would step away, regardless of the price to himself, for his determination to treat her with honor was absolute.

It also was what made her trust him fully.

When he lifted his head, she could see the pace of his heart at his throat. He smiled at her and lifted the sponge out of the bucket then squeezed it. “I shall follow your lead.” At Annelise’s nod, he dipped the soap into the water and began to wash himself. He did his face first, giving her ample opportunity to look. He was well-proportioned, strong and muscular, tall and broad. There were no scars upon his body and naught that was less than ideal. There was fair hair upon his chest and upon his legs. He moved with the economy and grace of one well aware of the power of his body and how it might best be used. It was not long before he stood clean before her with his hair wet, rubbing himself down with the cloth.

Annelise found her mouth had gone dry and her heart was fluttering when he smiled at her. She reminded herself of her resolve to be bold. She thought also of Garrett’s promise and trusted him. Even now, he looked as if he would wait through eternity for her to decide how to proceed.

At that realization, Annelise reached out to touch the hair upon his chest. She ran her hands over it and through it, feeling the hard muscle beneath the tangle of hair. Remembering his deed, she bent and touched her lips to one flat nipple. Garrett caught his breath and she felt the peak tighten against her lips. That she could give him pleasure like this was a marvel, so Annelise teased his nipple precisely as he had teased hers.

It not only responded, but his erection grew larger and harder, pressing against her hip. The evidence that she had some control in this was exciting to Annelise. She ran her hands more boldly over Garrett, feeling his arms, his shoulders, his back and his hips. She followed her hands with her lips, kissing and tasting as she progressed, gripping his buttocks and stroking his thighs. She felt the tension grow within him with her every gesture, then changed her course.

His feet were not as intriguing as one other part of him. Annelise reached out and closed her hand around his erection. Garrett fairly jumped from his skin at her touch and she knew he had not expected as much. Indeed, she felt a quiver building within him, and knew that this was how she could please him best. She explored the length and breadth of him with her hands, then took a deep breath and bent to touch her lips to the hardened shaft. Garrett inhaled sharply and caught her chin in his hand, lifting her to his kiss. His eyes were glittering and his nostrils flared, proof of her affect upon him. He kissed her then, his kiss more demanding than it had ever been before, and swept her into his arms, bearing her back to the cloak. He kissed her there once more, his ardor and her surety of what would happen next making her heart race.

“We need your chemise,” Annelise said and he looked at her without comprehension. “There must be proof.”

Garrett spun and seized his chemise, spreading it beneath Annelise. Then he stretched out beside her, gathering her against his chest. One arm cradled her shoulders and held her fast, while his other hand eased down her belly to the top of her thighs. “Do not lose your boldness now, my Annelise,” he whispered with a smile. “Not just before the reward is yours.”

Annelise smiled back at him, then parted her thighs. His fingers moved against her much as his tongue had earlier, and she was surprised to feel that urgency build within her once again. She caught at his shoulders, wanting something she could not name, and he caressed her until she thought she might die of desire. She whispered his name and he moved between her thighs. At his touch, Annelise lifted her knees, holding his gaze as she felt his strength against her.

He bent and caught her lips beneath his own, kissing her sweetly even as she felt the pang she had dreaded. She might have cried out but he swallowed the sound, and then the gasp that followed. Annelise felt him move within her, felt him ease deeper and fill her with his strength. She felt a warm trickle that she knew must be the blood of her maidenhead, but that detail did not trouble her. Mostly she felt a wondrous sense of communion with Garrett, that they two had become one with this act. She held fast to his shoulders, so overwhelmed that a tear slipped from her eye. When he broke his kiss and looked down at her, he frowned and kissed it away.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, then held her tightly. “Just this once, it must be this way.”

Annelise had no time to tell him that she was not so injured as that, for Garrett rolled to his back smoothly and quickly. Annelise was surprised to find herself straddling him, sitting atop him, with her hands on his chest. He set his hands on her waist lightly and smiled at her.

“I am all yours, my lady. Take as much or as little as you please.”

Annelise’s heart clenched with the conviction that she had chosen aright. She smiled at Garrett and shook out her hair, knowing from his expression earlier that he liked when it fell loose around them. Then she spread her thighs wide, took a deep breath, and pressed herself against him. She accepted the fullness of him in steady increments, watching with pleasure as he was astonished by her choice.

And when he was fully captive within her, Annelise leaned over him, framing his face in her hands. “Husband,” she whispered, then kissed him fully.

*

Garrett could not believe Annelise’s choice.

He was in awe of her and dazzled by her, as well. She sat atop him, her hair spread across her shoulders, her gaze so bright that he could not help but smile at her. She had selected him—and more, this maiden who had claimed she had no ability to be at ease in the company of men had seduced him completely. He would never meet her like, and truly, he did not care.

Annelise was more than sufficient, and with her by his side, Garrett believed his fortune had to change. Not even a deity could turn aside from the opportunity to make such a beautiful lady smile.

She held him so tightly within her that he barely dared to breathe, for he did not wish to hurt her. But Annelise moved tentatively, even that increment a challenge to his control. He gripped her hips, watching her smile broaden as she realized she held him in thrall. He liked that she felt powerful in her beauty, for he believed she should, and he was more than happy to be her possession forever.

He slipped his hand between them, though, loving her surprise when he touched the hard bud of her desire again. She caught her breath and flushed, then rubbed herself against his fingertips. It was Garrett who caught his breath then, and they smiled at each other. Annelise leaned over him, her hands braced on his shoulders and her breasts nearly touching his chest. She stared into his eyes, even as her hair fell to surround them like a curtain. They moved together, each understanding and anticipating the other. Their gazes held, and Garrett imagined that she struggled to endure more pleasure, even as he did. He saw the pulse of her heart, he heard the quickness of her breath, and he saw the flush spread over her breasts.

The passion rose within her again, and he coaxed it higher, knowing that there could be no greater pleasure for him than to watch her attain her release while he was buried inside her. They moved more quickly, rocking against each other as desire burned more hotly. Garrett felt the tide rise and knew he could not last. He felt Annelise clench around him even as she reached for him. Garrett caught her close and rolled over, pinning her beneath him and kissing her as she convulsed in pleasure. He swallowed her cry, barely noting the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, then buried himself deep inside her with one last thrust.

She locked her legs around his waist, drawing him yet deeper, and Garrett was lost. The tide swept through him, and his release seemed to last forever. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him, a smile on her lips and another tear on her cheek. He kissed away the tear, then kissed her lips, before he told her all she needed to know. “I love you, my lady Annelise,” he whispered. “My heart is yours for all time.”

Then she wept fully, but he knew these were tears of joy. He drew her into his arms and held her tightly, still astonished by the pleasure they had given each other—and this was only the first time. He knew that as they came to know each other, their encounters would become even more potent.

Garrett felt himself to be the most fortunate man in the world. He could never have believed that such a lady and such a future could have been his.

And that redoubled his determination to prove himself worthy of Annelise. She had not said she loved him, but he would earn her love and respect.

When his lady had exhausted her tears and he had kissed her fully, Garrett washed them both. Annelise was wilting visibly then, exhausted by their journey, her vigil and their reward. He retrieved the wolf pelt from her bag and nestled it around her shoulders to ensure her warmth. She granted him a sleepy smile. Garrett gathered her into his arms and wrapped the cloak around them both, smiling when she nestled against him, buried her fingers in the soft fur, sighed, and slept.

To have Annelise as his lady was his every dream fulfilled. From this day forward, he had to fulfill hers.

With dawn’s light, he would take her home. He would confide in her the one tale that he could tell her, and then they would go to Killairig.

This time, their arrival would not be anticipated.

This time, he would be shielded against the hatred that aimed to strike him down.

*

The next time Elizabeth went to the clearing, the sky was overcast. She hurried from Kinfairlie’s hall, surprised to find herself so fearful that Finvarra might not be there. In one way, she imagined that he merely amused himself by taunting her, yet in another, she was certain he meant to tell her some secret of great import. She had managed to best him once at chess, and he had defeated her once, as well. She felt as if all hung in the balance on this day.

She ran through Kinfairlie’s forest, her fear that Finvarra would not be there multiplying with every step.

To her enormous relief, he was there, seated by the table and chess board, waiting for her as if time had no meaning to him. Perhaps it did not. He was dressed in silver raiment on this day, his robe of deepest blue and the embroidery as bright as moonlight. He smiled and inclined his head in greeting when she took her seat, so regal and composed that she was keenly aware of how flustered she must look. Her heart was racing and she had yet to catch her breath.

“Who is first on this day, my lord?” she asked, although she knew it was her turn to make the first move. She had lost the day before, and that was Finvarra’s habit.

He gestured to the board with one hand, his move languid and elegant. He braced his elbows on the board and steepled his fingers together, his dark eyes glittering as he watched her and waited.

Elizabeth had planned for this day, for she was determined to win. She had spoken to Anthony, Alexander’s castellan, at length the night before, querying him so persistently about winning strategies for the game of chess that he had nearly become suspicious of her motives. She reached for a knight and made a bold beginning.

“Once upon a time,” Finvarra said softly. He did not move or touch the chess pieces on his side of the board. He was utterly still, only his lips moving and Elizabeth was transfixed.

Chapter Twelve

“Once upon a time, there was a pair of Fae lovers,” Finvarra said. “She loved to sing and to dance, and the earth so shared in her joy that flowers sprang forth wherever her feet had trodden. He was able to shift shape to a wolf, but so favored the form that he was seldom seen in any other. They shared a determination to savor the joys of the world, and to ignore change.”

His tone hardened on that last word, which made Elizabeth sit back. “Change?” she echoed.

Finvarra frowned. “We are in a time of transition, Elizabeth. For many years, the changes were small, but now they multiple and gather with such speed that irrevocable change is inevitable.”

“What kind of irrevocable change?”

“The kind that closes portals and demands that choices be made.” Finvarra’s lips tightened and he surveyed the board. “Once, my Elizabeth, we Fae owned this realm as our own and your kind were the intruders. Once we humored you mortals, perhaps because we pitied you, but now the balance of power has shifted.” He glanced up. “Now you would exile us.”

“I would not exile you.”

He shook his head, unconvinced. “How many in Kinfairlie believe in the Fae?”

“I am not certain, my lord.”

“All?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Most?”

Again, Elizabeth had to reply in the negative.

“Few?”

At this, she nodded, although Finvarra’s disapproval was clear. “We become little better than a children’s tale or source of amusement. Yet there was a day, not long ago, when all mortals believed in the Fae, when all mortals respected the Fae, and when the intersections of our worlds were potent places.” He considered her, his eyes impossibly dark. “What we believe creates our world, Elizabeth. If you believe a thing can be done, you are much more likely to be able to do it. If you believe the Fae exist, you are infinitely more likely to see us.”

“What if people do not believe in the Fae?”

“Then slowly, we fade and disappear.” His voice hardened once more. “I cannot permit that to happen.”

“What will you do?”

Finvarra turned his attention to the game and made a decisive move. Instead of answering her question, he continued with his story. “This pair spared no consideration for change. They believed their love was timeless and that they, in loving, were timeless, too. The fact remains that we, too, can die.” He fell silent then, scanning the board although she knew he was not truly thinking of their game.

“What happened to them?” Elizabeth prompted finally.

“They avoided change. They fled from it, perhaps believing distance or oblivion could deflect its effects. They laughed and ran and savored every joy that came to them.” He lifted a brow. “But change either followed them or anticipated them, as change is wont to do.”

“They faded,” Elizabeth guessed with horror.

“He was killed, by a mortal who believed him to be a wolf,” Finvarra said with more bitterness than she would have believed possible. His eyes flashed like lightning and she drew back in fear. He leaned over the board and bit off his next words. “Then that fiend saw fit to cut out the heart of the Fae wolf and devour it.” Finvarra straightened and glared down at the board.

Elizabeth knew he was reigning in his temper, so she waited in silence.

“Meanwhile, the Fae dancer bore two daughters after her lover’s demise, one dark as midnight and one as fair as dawn. This world had no joy for her in his absence, although she lingered to see her daughters raised. She made them pledge to avenge his death, then chose to follow him into the shadows from whence no one returns.”

“What did the sisters do?”

“They were as different in temperament as in appearance. The fair one believed that their father should be avenged by the breaking of the mortal man’s heart. The dark one believed that their father should be avenged by the mortal man losing all his material goods and wealth. They argued before they parted, but time, you must remember, passes differently for the Fae. In our terms, they were young. In yours, many years had passed. By the time each went her own way, the fiend had been dead for decades and a descendant ruled the affluent estate. It had prospered and grown, and these barbarians attributed their success to each son’s hunting a wolf, then eating the heart to prove himself.”

“Was it because the first one ate a Fae heart that he was fortunate?” Elizabeth asked, but Finvarra only gave her a quick glance in answer.

He cleared his throat. “In seeking to make a mortal ally, the dark sister bore a daughter by a mortal man. As is our custom, she was obliged to choose which gift of the Fae her daughter would possess, to the exclusion of all others. She asked that her daughter have the power to shift forms and become a wolf at will, like the mother’s father. As is our custom, the half-Fae child could never confess her gift to a mortal, without turning that mortal to a pillar of stone. The dark sister’s scheme did not come to fruition, for the father of her child had no desire for a daughter and cast her aside after the child’s birth. She then journeyed to the holding of the fiend, determined to see vengeance served.

“The fair sister, meanwhile, had enchanted the descendant of the killer. She conceived his child, and when her half-blood son was born, she chose for him to hear the thoughts of mortals, so that he could better defend himself. She had thought to make the descendant of the killer love her, then break his heart, but her scheme also failed. She fell in love with him and could not bring herself to betray him. Once in his household, she did not immediately recognize her dark sister, but that sister knew the identity of her lord’s wife and resented that her sister might be happily wed when she was not. The dark sister seduced the laird and beguiled him, turning him against her own sister. The laird exiled his lady wife and she was so anguished that we intervened for the sake of the son.”

“We?”

Finvarra smiled, but it was a cruel expression. “The boy was hidden, by a Fae who had chosen to abandon her heritage for the love of a mortal man. Mhairi had sympathy for the bride and more for the son, and she raised him as her own. In parting ways with us, Mhairi had requested the removal of her marks.” He pulled back his cuff to show the dark swirls on his flesh. “She had her wish granted, but in exchange, was forbidden to conceive a child by this mortal, Seamus.”

“So, she took this half-blood child as her own.”

“She did.”

“What happened to the dark sister?”

“Her power was considerable, and I had no real desire to check her, for I, too, wished her father to be avenged. She wed the laird after she bore his son, and she ensured that her son would be made heir.”

Finvarra paused, but Elizabeth had a question. “What power did she request for him from the Fae?”

“She wished him to appear as much like a mortal as possible. He was handsome, skilled in many pursuits, and would live long. He would have a beauteous voice. Beyond that, she requested naught.” He fell silent again, leaving Elizabeth with more questions.

“What happened to them? How did the tale end? Or has it yet?”

Finvarra smiled. “The dark sister continued to seek her sister’s son, for he was the only one who could cheat her son of what she believed he deserved. She was relentless in this quest.”

“Did she ever find him?”

Finvarra nodded. “She did.”

“What did she do?”

“First, she cursed him. She increased the volume of the thoughts of others in his mind, so that the tumult was deafening. She meant to force him to become a recluse with her curse, and perhaps to drive him mad.”

“He would not have been able to rule a prosperous holding with such a malady.”

Finvarra shook his head. “But that was not sufficient for her. She dispatched her daughter to kill him.”

“In the guise of a wolf,” Elizabeth guessed. “The son would die for his forebear’s crime. As the man had killed the wolf, the wolf would kill the man.”

Finvarra did not immediately reply. He gestured to the board and the pieces came to life. A rook on his side of the board turned into a dark grey wolf, one with paws and head that were almost black. The wolf leapt at the pieces arrayed on Elizabeth’s side of the board.

She saw with horror that her queen was the very image of her sister, Annelise, and that the wolf was raging toward her with teeth bared. Elizabeth gasped, for this was no idle tale. The wolf moved directly toward its prey, ignoring the grid on the board. Annelise stood frozen in horror, her hands before her lips.

“Nay!” cried Elizabeth and leapt to her feet. A knight on her side of the board, a blond man in a kilt, stepped forward. He raised a loaded crossbow and shot at the wolf.

The wolf fell, snarling, its blood running across the board as it died.

Knight and queen embraced, and Elizabeth had a moment to believe her sister had found a man deserving of her love.

“Why Annelise?” Elizabeth whispered, raising her gaze to meet Finvarra’s.

He smiled. “Because many a Fae curse can be broken by the power of love. I thought you had the power to see such things.”

Elizabeth looked and then she squinted. Sure enough, she saw the ribbon emanating from the queen on the board that looked so much like Annelise. It was of pale blue and mauve, edged in silver. It tangled with a ribbon of deepest blue and the pair of ribbons wrapped around the two pieces as if to bind them together. “She is his destined love,” Elizabeth whispered. “Just as he is hers.”

“Thus she is the only one who can heal him.” Finvarra snapped his fingers and the ribbons disappeared from Elizabeth’s view.

The black queen on Finvarra’s side of the board lifted her finger to point at Annelise and her partner. The dark knight on Finvarra’s side of the board nodded at the queen’s gesture. He was in mail and had ebony hair, and Elizabeth was shocked to recognize him.

“That is Andrew, one of the knights who came lately to Kinfairlie!”

He pulled his knife and began to stalk across the board. The embracing pair were oblivious to the danger.

“I have to warn her!” Elizabeth cried, having no doubt this was a fair representation of Annelise’s situation.

“But how?” Finvarra murmured, leaning back to watch her. The trees rustled behind him and around them, stirring in some strange wind and the clouds seemed to seethe overhead. His eyes shone, as if he knew a joke Elizabeth did not.

“Help me to help her!” Elizabeth implored.

Finvarra smiled. He swept to his feet and his cloak blew wide and it seemed that all the world was trapped within its lining. He gestured and the air swirled more quickly around them, a wind that snatched them up and plunged them down.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to find herself on the parapet of the castle, a dark tower perched on a cliff. An angry sea pounded the rocks far below and the wind was stiff. Rain slashed down upon her and she spun in place, wondering where she was and why.

When she saw a couple in the courtyard below, she knew. It was the same blond man in kilt and boots and jerkin, the same man with the crossbow, though he held Annelise’s hand fast within his own. He turned to her and Elizabeth saw the adoration in her sister’s expression. She knew that whoever this man was, he had claimed Annelise’s heart, and knew she would do whatever was necessary to ensure love conquered all.

But they had forgotten the dark knight.

Elizabeth saw him slip out of a dark portal, his knife gleaming in the shadows, as he stalked the happy pair. “Annelise!” she screamed, to no avail. “Annelise!”

“What price?” Finvarra whispered from behind Elizabeth. His hands hovered over her shoulders, but he did not touch her.

“Any price!” Elizabeth declared in her fear. “I will pay any price you demand to see Annelise warned!”

Finvarra laughed again. Elizabeth spun to confront him, but her protest never crossed her lips. Instead he caught her face in his hands and held her captive, his move startling her so that she hesitated.

Then she looked into his dark gaze. His eyes seemed to be filled with a thousand stars, just the sight of them rendering her speechless.

“Welcome, my Elizabeth,” he whispered, then he kissed her on the lips.

As soon as his mouth touched hers, Elizabeth swooned.

*

Annelise dreams.

She is in the clearing near Kinfairlie, the one created when the forest was burned the previous winter. To her surprise, her sister Elizabeth is playing chess with a stranger, a man with dark hair and darker eyes, a man garbed as a king.

She hears the tale he recounts.

She sees the board come to life.

She recognizes herself and Garrett amongst the pieces, sees the dark knight draw his blade, and is afraid.

But before she can discern the knight’s face, the dream fades to mist.

*

Elizabeth awakened in her own chamber in Kinfairlie’s tower. She sat up in her pallet and held the linens to her chest. The fire in the brazier had burned down to glowing embers, and the shutters on the window were open to the night. The breeze was pleasantly cool and all seemed to be at peace. She could hear the sea lapping at the coast and see the stars in a clear night sky. There was a murmur of voices from the hall below, and some chatter rising from the kitchens, but all seemed normal.

How had she returned to the keep?

When?

What had happened when she had swooned in Finvarra’s embrace?

What had he claimed as his reward? This last question troubled her deeply, for she was certain he would not forget any pledge like the one she had made. She lifted away the linens, not even certain when she had disrobed to retire, and then she saw it.

On her chest, between her breasts, was a dark whorl. It looked to be blue or black, stark against the fairness of her skin. She could see it through the front opening of her chemise.

She tore open the knotted lace and pulled off the chemise, surveying herself as best she was able. There was only the one mark, no bigger than the circle she could make with her finger and thumb.

It might be small on this night, but Elizabeth was fearful it would grow. She could not bear to imagine what would happen then, but she remembered Finvarra’s resolve.

The world was changing. He would not permit the Fae to fade.

Portals would be closed.

Elizabeth shivered, then blew on the coals to coax them to burn more brightly again. She was chilled to her very marrow, and the shadows seemed to be filled with threats she could not name. Finvarra would come for her, she knew it, just as she knew there would be little any mortal could do to stop him.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed that true love might find her first.

*

Annelise awakened with a pounding heart, her dream vivid in her mind. She reviewed it, seeking more detail, and recognized the truth within it. It was a gift.

She understood why Garrett had not been able confide in her.

She understood his curse and the threat against him, as well as what awaited them at Killairig.

Even better, Annelise knew that she alone could save him.

Her love was the key.

But who was the knight who threatened Garrett? Annelise wished she had glimpsed his face. It had been a knight riding toward them on the road: she had seen the glint of his mail.

Was it Orson?

Andrew?

Annelise wished she knew. Why had the dream stopped so suddenly? How had Elizabeth sent it to her? Was Elizabeth well?

The dream left Annelise filled with both questions and a new sense of purpose. She had been given this information and had to act upon it to secure her future with Garrett.

She could save Garrett, but needed these details to do so.

Annelise realized that the wolf pelt was nestled around her shoulders and beneath her cheek. She sat up abruptly and pulled it away. Now that she knew what it was in truth, she did not want to touch it.

It had ceased to be a symbol of Garrett’s bravery and become one of his curse.

She slipped from the warmth of Garrett’s embrace and studied the pelt, uncertain what to do with it. Did it carry some Fae sorcery that could reveal them, or lead another to them? Was it best left behind or would they have need of it in future?

“You no longer like the pelt?” Garrett asked, his voice deep with sleep. Annelise turned to smile at him, liking how his eyes gleamed as he watched her. His hair was tousled and his chest was bare, that half-smile tempting her to return to bed.

“I had a dream,” she said instead, keeping her voice low. “It was yet another tale of the two Fae sisters, but in this one, the fair sister had a son who could hear the thoughts of other mortal creatures.” Garrett frowned, but Annelise continued. “The dark sister had a daughter, who could become a wolf, a wolf of silver grey with black paws and snout.”

Garrett rose from the pallet, his gestures decisive. He did not interrupt her, but Annelise feared he gave little credence to her dream.

Still she carried on. “The dark sister also had a son, a son she would see inherit his father’s holding over his older brother.”

Garrett examined his chemise and checked that the blood had dried. He folded it and placed it in the bottom of his satchel with care. “And had he a Fae gift?”

“Not beyond good looks, skill in many pursuits and long life.” She frowned. “A beauteous voice.”

“And what has this to do with a fine and thick wolf pelt?”

“The dark sister sent the daughter after the older son, the golden one, in the guise of a wolf to kill him.”

Garrett gave her a steady look, and his skepticism was clear. “You think this wolf was a Fae shape shifter?”

“In the tale, she chose to attack a woman, a woman who looked just like me, because that woman’s love was the sole thing that could save the older brother.”

Garrett shoved a hand through his hair, clearly impatient with this tale. “Annelise, it was a wolf. It was a hungry wolf that attacked you, and I killed for its deed.”

“What if it was a Fae woman who could become a wolf?”

“Nay.” Garrett’s conviction was clear. “I will hear no tales of wolves becoming women or women becoming wolves. They are wolves, Annelise. They are predators. They kill when they choose and without remorse, and I will not have you believe them to be more than they are.”

“But I dreamed…”

“It was a dream!” Garrett’s eyes flashed and Annelise realized she had never heard him raise his voice so. He shook his head and frowned, then appealed to her. “Annelise, I have lost much to wolves, more even than you know. I will not lose you. Believe what you must, but I would not hesitate to repeat my deed in your defense.”

“Could you hear this wolf?” she demanded, holding out the pelt.

“I tracked it,” he said tightly.

That was not sufficient for Annelise. “Was it the same as other wolves?”

Garrett frowned and turned away.

“The same as the white wolf yesterday?” she demanded.

Garrett shook his head immediately, then his eyes flashed with concern. He came to her side and bent to give her a sweet kiss. “Let us not argue,” he said, his gaze searching hers. “Please do not discard the pelt.”

Annelise nodded reluctant agreement.

Garrett studied her. “What else happened in the tale in your dream?”

“The dark sister’s son hunted his older brother.” She lifted her gaze to his. “He was a knight.”

“Who?”

“I do not know.” Once again, Annelise wished she had seen the knight’s face. “But I think we should leave this place, and soon.”

“I agree.” Garrett shook out his tartan which he had wrapped around them the night before, then donned his boots and laced his jerkin. There was something different about him on this morning. He seemed to be filled with a purpose that echoed her own, and there was no hint of his former malady.

“Where shall we go?” Aware that they might be overheard, she mouthed the name of the holding ‘Killairig?’

Garrett shook his head and held a fingertip to his lips. “There is a place I would like you to see first.” He cast her a smile that warmed her heart.

“Then I should like to see it very much.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “You seem most hale this morning.”

He laughed, something he did rarely. It was an engaging sound, for he had a rich and deep laugh, one so genuine that it prompted her own smile. “I feel better than ever I have.” He crossed the loft with measured steps, putting a finger beneath her chin. His touch made her heart leap. “Perhaps you are the tonic I have sought all my days, my Annelise,” he murmured.

When he looked at her with such intensity, Annelise could scarcely take a breath.

When he kissed her as soundly as he did a moment later, Annelise could not summon a care for anything else in the world. The tale in the dream must be true, and she would heed its message even if Garrett did not. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, losing herself in the pleasure he could so easily give.

At the sound of a step below, they parted, then smiled at each other. Garrett smoothed back a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his touch making her heart thunder.

This was all she desired, and more.

She would do whatever was necessary to secure their future.

Then Annelise realized the sound below was the ostler arriving in the stables. Yet Garrett did not seem to be troubled by the presence of another person or that person’s thoughts.

“Hoy there!” said the ostler. “It is a fine day. Do you mean to ride out, my lady? Or is your husband yet ill?”

Annelise saw surprise flicker in Garrett’s eyes and guessed he had made the same realization.

Garrett strode to the ladder to speak to the ostler. “I am recovered on this day,” he replied to the ostler, who was visibly shocked by the change in his appearance. “It seems that a talent for healing runs in the line of my lady’s family.”

Annelise hugged herself in her delight. She had been right!

“Then would you have me brush your steed?” the ostler asked.

“Nay, nay. I will tend Yseult myself. We will be in her care all this day and I would ensure her fine mood.”

The ostler laughed. “A mare can be capricious in her favor,” he said, casting a glance to the loft. Annelise guessed that he thought little of females regardless of their kind. She blushed a little, wondering if his words meant that he had heard her cry of pleasure.

“But once a man earns the regard of one, she will show a loyalty beyond all others,” Garrett replied as he claimed the brush. He winked at Annelise, looking so strong and resolved that she believed they could conquer every obstacle.

“Father Thomas has sent provisions for you, for he believed you would likely leave on this morn,” the ostler said, offering the food and a wineskin, as well.

Annelise descended the ladder, gasping with surprise when Garrett seized her by the waist and swung her down from the third to last step. He grinned at her, then returned to his labor. Annelise, meanwhile, accepted the food and packed their bag with care.

The ostler lingered, even after she descended, watching Garrett at his work. Annelise guessed that he was protective, even of visiting steeds to his stable, even of mares. He folded his arms across his chest. The bell at the chapel rang and he did not move.

Annelise smothered a smile. Perhaps he was evading the prayer services.

“That is a most uncommon dog you have,” he said finally. “I might have killed it, if it had not been so protective of your horse.”

“Dog?” Garrett asked, frozen in the act of saddling Yseult.

“A white dog, much like a wolf.” The ostler shrugged even as Annelise’s eyes widened. “Indeed, I thought it a wolf, until it kept me from this end of the stable. And the mare was most untroubled by its presence, so I knew she knew the hound. No horse would take so kindly to the presence of a wolf behind it.” He gestured to the floor in the middle of the stable. “It remained here, like a sentry watching over all of you, all the night long. Its eyes were blue, and most curious, almost like those of a person.” He shivered, then fixed Garrett with a suspicious look. “It is a most strange choice for a hound.”

Garrett held the man’s gaze, but Annelise dared to make a guess.

“Then your dog is not lost, after all, husband!” she declared with feigned relief. She turned to the ostler. “I was certain the hound had been lost when we came through the hills. We are from home, after all.”

“Does it always run with you?”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to his task. Annelise could see that he was not pleased.

“It never abandons my husband,” Annelise said when he remained silent. “It is uncommonly loyal.”

“Yet the hound is gone this morning.”

Garrett shrugged. “It is a hound that takes care of itself. If it defended us last night, it will catch up to us on this day.” He glanced at the ostler. “My wife is not accustomed to dogs of such independence, so she worries about its fate.”

“Perhaps it is part wolf in truth,” the ostler suggested. “And needs to run wild at times.”

“I cannot say,” Garrett said, his tone indicating that he would end the conversation.

The ostler did not take the hint. “Did you not choose it from a litter?”

“It chose my husband, as the story is told,” Annelise interjected, for she noted Garrett’s mood. “But its loyalty cannot be doubted. I am so glad it was here last night.”

“Does it kill like a wolf?”

Garrett visibly gritted his teeth.

“Only those who threaten my husband’s welfare,” Annelise said, fabricating a tale. If the white wolf returned to this stable, she did not want it to be injured.

Garrett gave her a hard look, which Annelise ignored.

The ostler meanwhile nodded with satisfaction. “Then it is a loyal hound indeed.” He nodded approval at Garrett, who had finished saddling Yseult and was leading her from the stall. “A good ride to you. You should make good distance in such fine weather. What is your destination?”

“We ride to Edinburgh,” Garrett said with such assurance that Annelise wondered if it were true. “I have a matter to put before the king’s courts.”

“Then Godspeed to you. Father Thomas is at prayer, or he would wish you well himself.”

“I beg you to thank him for your hospitality.” Garrett bowed, then lifted Annelise to the saddle. He swung up behind her, encouraging Yseult to a quick walk. They crossed the bailey as the ostler watched, then passed through the gates. Garrett took the road that would lead them east and followed it until they were out of sight of the monastery.

Annelise knew she did not imagine the flicker of white that appeared in the forest alongside them. It might have been a beam of sunlight, reaching its fingers through the leafy canopy overhead, but it kept pace with them.

Given Garrett’s reaction, though, she said naught about it.

Yet.

“Edinburgh?” she asked. “Truly?”

“Nay.” Garrett replied. He glanced back, confirmed that they were out of view, then turned onto a narrow footpath in the forest. “But you can see now, my lady, that I can lie as well as you when circumstance demands as much.”

“You think we will be followed.”

“I cannot imagine that we will not, and not by a dog that resembles a white wolf.” He fixed her with a look. “What is this tale you created, and why?”

“Every tale we have heard featured a white wolf, one that could change to a woman.”

“They are tales, Annelise.”

“A white wolf kept us from the road…”

“I know what a wolf can do,” he retorted, his tone hard. “And I have lost much to their appetites.” His grip tightened upon her. “I say again that I will not lose you, Annelise.”

“I do not think you will. I believe this wolf to be more than a wolf…”

“And I should let it live, just in case you are right?” Garrett shook his head. “I will not slacken my guard because you have sympathy for a wild creature that may take any advantage to rip out your throat.” His lips set grimly. “Never, Annelise. Do not ask it of me.”

“But what if you are wrong? What if the wolf is bound to your fate? Think of the knight in your tale of Broceliande? Would you err as he did and lose someone you love?”

He cast her a look that glittered with determination. “What if you are wrong, and this whimsy costs your life?” he demanded. “It will not happen while you are in my company.”

Annelise frowned as she looked ahead of them. “You did not hear the ostler’s thoughts this morning.”

Garrett pursed his lips, but did not reply. Annelise, finally, knew why.

She persisted in guessing his abilities, for he had said she might. “Or was it just that you could bear the sound of them better?”

He frowned. “I awakened this morn feeling very well, much better than I have these past months.” Annelise made to ask more questions, but Garrett dropped a finger to her lips. “There is another tale I would recount to you, but it must wait until we arrive at our destination this day. For the moment, we ride.”

“Is it far?”

“It will be a long day.” Garrett scanned the forest, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me when you see the wolf again,” he commanded, and his tone was grim.

Annelise watched all that day, but to her relief, she never caught another glimpse of the white wolf. She both wished to see it and knew that if she did see it, she might feel obliged to tell Garrett. Its absence saved her the trial of making a choice. She felt certain the wolf was there, though, just out of sight.

And though she had always feared wolves, Annelise was glad to have this one close behind them.

*

Garrett’s mind had never been so clear. He could only hope that the gift of Annelise’s touch was a lasting one. For the first time in many years, he felt optimistic about his future. There were still obstacles before them, but he had a new faith in his own future, with Annelise by his side.

One irksome detail was the white wolf. Garrett could not sense the creature, which was troubling, but he did not doubt the creature was awaiting a moment of vulnerability. He did not share Annelise’s concern for its welfare, much less her desire to see it unharmed. He had only to recall what had come of Mhairi’s trust of a wolf—and a white one at that!—to recall the price that could be paid. Wolves were untrustworthy, no matter their color, and their nature did not change. It was out of fear that men concocted tales about them. It was an understatement that he had not been pleased to learn that one had visited the stable the night before.

He wished the ostler had killed the wolf.

Triumph was too close for him to let it be snatched away. He would not let the wolf take Annelise, which meant he had to anticipate it. He hoped she did not witness what he had to do to defend her.

And what of the grey wolf with dark paws and snout? As much as Garrett disliked admitting as much, there had been something different about it, an elusiveness to its thoughts that he had noticed. He had thought it a mark of the creature’s wily nature at the time, and he would hold to that view for the moment.

He rode Yseult hard that day, knowing how much distance they had to travel. It was possible they might leave the wolf far behind, but Garrett would not rely upon outwitting such a wily creature.

One thing was certain: they would not camp in the woods on this night, not with a wolf tracking their steps. They would ride until they reached shelter, no matter how long the journey took.

Chapter Thirteen

It was dark when Garrett led Yseult onto a small footpath. Annelise was tired and sore from a full day of riding, but sensed Garrett’s anticipation. She looked about herself with curiosity. Where had he brought her and what tale would he tell her?

The moon had risen hours before and was close to full. They were fortunate in that, for its brilliance lit their way. The footpath was not so well trodden. Annelise guessed it had been made by people, instead of horses, and not very many people at that. The vegetation was crowding it from either side, as if the path had not been used overmuch of late.

The land had sloped downward all afternoon, and the wind had been brisk. It was cool with a tinge of salt, as invigorating as cold water. Annelise had not yet seen the sea, for the trees grew tall and dense.

A stream ran beside the path, the water leaping over rocks and stones as it ran its downward course. To her surprise, a small hut came into view beneath them. It was well disguised, its roof covered with the same vegetation as carpeted the hill. One had to look twice to see it, especially in the moonlight. Its back wall must have been built into the hill itself, and its front door would face west.

Garrett led Yseult into a fenced yard on the downhill side of the hut. Below this area, the ground dropped steeply again and was thickly cloaked in trees of all kinds. Annelise glimpsed the sparkle of the sea, and she marveled at the serenity of the place. Garrett tethered Yseult in a lean-to and lifted Annelise down.

“What is this place?” she asked when he said naught.

“Home.” He looked about himself with fondness and a bit of regret. “I grew up here.”

With that, he took a bucket from within the hut and went to the stream to fill it. He called no greeting and clearly assumed that no one would be in residence to greet him. Annelise turned in place, wondering at this, and saw a mound of freshly turned earth beyond the house.

A garden perhaps, abandoned after being turned in the spring. Why? Because Garrett had left to track the wolf? Or had he been gone longer than that?

“Will we stay here?” she asked Garrett when he returned with the brimming pail.

“For this night and perhaps tomorrow,” he said, glancing at the hills above the road. “We will see what dawn brings.” Yseult began to drink greedily even as Garrett scanned the forest yet again.

Annelise removed her pack and unbuckled the saddle. Garrett hefted off the saddle and set it on the ground, even as Annelise looked about herself. Garrett went into the hut and returned with a bucket of oats, an offering that pleased Yseult mightily.

“There is a brush in the hut,” Garrett said. “I should have brought it. I used to use it upon the goats, but it is the best choice we have. Will you get it? It will be back by the trunk.”

“Of course. You raised goats, then,” Annelise said. “That is why you knew how to tend those at Seton Manor.”

“We had at least thirty at any time.” Garrett smiled in recollection. “They could be amusing creatures, and there is naught so fine as their milk.” He took the blanket from Yseult’s back and Annelise noted the patina of perspiration on the mare’s coat.

She had to get the brush.

Annelise went into the hut, curious beyond all. It was dark and cool inside, and smelled of dried herbs. She opened the shutters on one window to admit the moonlight and surveyed the neat abode. Blackened stones on the floor indicated where a fire was often kindled, and there was a hole in the roof above the spot. A tripod stood near the stones for the fire. There were cupboards and shelves along that wall, and Annelise could discern two pots, three bowls and a pair of oil lanterns. On the opposite wall were three stools and three straw pallets, pegs on the wall for garments. It was all very tidy and clean. Against the back wall was a painted trunk that seemed to hold pride of place.

She found the brush on a shelf above the trunk, just as Garrett had said. She eyed the trunk and could not resist her curiosity. She opened it to see that something was wrapped with care on the very top. She peeked inside the wrap, only to find a garment in the process of being sewn. Even in the minimal light, Annelise could see that the green cloth was fine, so fine and with such a sheen that it could only be made of silk.

A silk garment in this place? It seemed incongruous.

Unless there was more to Garrett’s life than Annelise had guessed.

Annelise resolved to find out. She took the brush to Garrett, bringing the bundle with her. He barely spared her a glance, but commenced to brush down Yseult. “What have you found?” he asked, without much interest. It was clear that he believed he knew the contents of the hut, and also that he had no secrets from her.

Annelise smiled at him, liking his trust well, then unwrapped the silk garment. It was a silk kirtle, one fit for a noblewoman, though not yet finished. The stitches were small and the embroidery was most fine. One sleeve needed to be set in to complete the garment.

It was beautiful.

She shook it out and it shimmered in the moonlight. The intended wearer was not just a woman but of a height with her. That gave Annelise an unwelcome thought.

Had Garrett lived here with his lady wife? Or had he been promised to another? She could not help but believe that this was a garment intended for a bride.

And a noblewoman.

“What is that?” Garrett demanded. He left Yseult and came to her side, frowning as he stared at the fine cloth.

“Do you not know?”

He shook his head, so clearly mystified that Annelise was reassured. Still, she had to ask. “Did you bring it with you?”

Annelise shook her head. “It was in the trunk. Is it the bridal gown of your lady wife?”

Garrett shrugged off the suggestion. “How could Mhairi have known of you before I did?”

“A fine garment for Mhairi?” she guessed. Garrett had mentioned her name before.

Garrett smiled and shook his head. “Mhairi raised me as her own son,” he confessed. “A more stalwart and robust woman could not be found between here and London. She would need three garments such as this to make one.”

“But her seams are well made?”

“Very well made. Seamus always told her she could have sewn for a lady.” He felt silent then, his throat working.

“Your father,” Annelise guessed.

“So I had believed, until last winter.”

“I should like to meet them,” Annelise said softly when he made no such offer.

Garrett turned and gestured to the mound of earth. Annelise was sure she saw tears in his eyes. “Sadly, it is too late for that,” he said quietly. “And the fault is mine.”

That was the moment that Annelise discerned the pair of crosses driven into that freshly turned earth. It was a grave, one that had not been dug long ago.

“You did that,” she guessed and he nodded once. “Tell me.”

Garrett took a deep breath, surveying the small clearing as if he saw a thousand memories alive in this place. Then he shoved a hand through his hair and stared down at the ground. “I was raised here. It is the only place I ever knew. And they—” he nodded toward the graves “—were the only kin I ever knew.”

“Mhairi and Seamus,” Annelise murmured.

“I thought for years that I was their only child. I tended the goats and they taught me all they knew. Seamus had fought in France, then left the life of warfare to marry his love and live in tranquility. He taught me how to fight. He was a man who said little but whose actions said all. Mhairi taught me about the plants and the woods and the creatures within it. She was a woman who told tales and baked bannocks and loved with her heart and soul.”

He turned to look at the surrounding forest, peering into its depths as if he sought to see them there. “She shared your affection for wolves, though I did not.”

“Tell me.”

“Years ago, I saw a wolf when I was tending the goats in the hills. I thought it followed us, though it was evasive as wolves are. I only caught glimpses of it. I thought I saw it that night and the next day again. I was a mere boy but had already seen what a wolf could do to a goat left out of the paddock for the night. On the third day, I refused to take the goats to pasture alone. When Mhairi heard the tale, she resolved to come with me on the next day. The wolf came out of the shadows to her once we were in the pasture, and I saw it clearly for the first time. To my surprise, it was pure white.”

“With blue eyes,” Annelise guessed.

Garrett gave her a glance. “To my further surprise, Mhairi called to the wolf and offered it food from our own larder. I feared the worst, but the wolf was as docile as a trained hound. It ate daintily from her hand and slept beside us after its meal. It trailed behind us when we returned home that night. Much reassured, I began to do as Mhairi had done, and for a long time, that white wolf and I had an unlikely companionship. One day, though, it did not appear. I believed it had moved on to another part of the forest, for wolves are known to wander.”

“Perhaps it was injured,” Annelise said.

“Like you, Mhairi was concerned for the white wolf. She bade me look for it, and she herself sought it out. We never found it. Perhaps it died. Mhairi never ceased to ask after it, for she never believed it to be dead.”

“How long do wolves live?”

“Not so long as that.” Garrett sighed. “I thought that Mhairi became confused as she grew older. She became so agitated about the white wolf that sometimes I told her I had glimpsed it again. She was always very relieved when I told her as much, although it was not possible. That wolf would have been long dead.”

“Was she ever confused about anything else?”

Garrett shook his head. “Only the white wolf.” He sighed and stared at the graves. “And so the years passed and I grew to manhood, with both of them teaching me all they knew. I was content to live with them, particularly as they became older and less able to do all the labor that had to be done. Then Seamus had a fall last winter. He slipped on the ice on the path and did himself some injury that did not heal, despite Mhairi’s efforts. He took to his bed and moved little, even less without my aid. I often overheard them arguing, which they had never done before.” He paused. “They were arguing about me.”

“They wanted you to wed.”

Garrett nodded. “Mhairi wanted to send me away, to plead my case at some court. Seamus insisted it was madness to even think of such a deed.”

“What case?”

“That was what I asked, when I interrupted them that day.” Garrett fixed her with a look. “They were shocked that I had listened to them, and Seamus was most vexed with me. He told me to forget whatever I had heard. Mhairi, though, insisted that I was the rightful heir of a holding. She said that I had been cast out by my own father as an infant and cheated of my due. She wanted me to go to my father, for she was certain that he could not deny a man as easily as he had denied a babe. Seamus did not share her view.”

“So, they told you of your lineage.”

Garrett nodded. “I was not overly interested in these tidings or this quest. I was too shocked to learn that I was not their child. I could not believe that they had never given a hint of this truth in twenty-five years. Indeed, I called it a falsehood, and Seamus took offense for his word was his bond. Mhairi then said I could not continue to live there alone, without a wife or child, for she could not bear the possibility of my being alone for all my days. I insisted I would not leave them. It was clear they had need of my assistance. Seamus declared they had no need of me and our tempers rose. They said much and I said more, and then, I did leave. I was stung that the people I trusted most in the world had deceived me and would cast me out.”

“If you were the laird’s son, they were protecting you.”

Garrett nodded. “You speak aright, and when my temper cooled, I realized as much. I went to confront my supposed father and was denied a hearing. He called the tale a lie and cast me out unseen. I could not articulate my case, if indeed I had one.”

“Your malady grew worse there,” Annelise guessed, but Garrett neither confirmed nor denied that.

“Perhaps I had gone to the wrong keep.”

“You believed Mhairi.”

“She never lied to me. I returned here, to apologize for my anger and ask more questions, but it was too late.” His gaze trailed to the mound of earth.

“Surely they could not have passed away so suddenly.”

“They were killed,” Garrett said, his tone harsh. “They were killed by a wolf, the same wolf that killed the entire flock of goats in my absence.”

Annelise caught her breath.

“I returned to a scene of carnage and bloodshed. I caught a glimpse of the wolf, circling, and vowed it would not survive the season. It was distinctive, with those dark legs and snout. I buried Mhairi and Seamus, regretting all I had said and pledging to do right by them. I burned the bodies of the goats, regretting their loss. I blamed the white wolf for this travesty. Perhaps it had led the ravaging wolf close, perhaps not. If nothing else, it had encouraged Mhairi’s trust, which was misplaced in a predator such as a wolf.”

Annelise put her hand over his, understanding now why he so distrusted wolves.

Garrett squeezed her fingers. “Mostly I blamed myself. I should have never left them, not even for a day. I had known that Seamus could not walk on his own, and I had known that Mhairi was feeble. But in my anger, I left them alone and undefended, and that was their undoing.”

“You hunted the wolf,” Annelise whispered.

He nodded again, his expression grim. “I sharpened my knife and I packed all that I would take from this place. I set out to hunt the wolf that had stolen everything of merit from my life.” He lifted his gaze to meet Annelise’s, his eyes so cold that she shivered. “In the end, I killed it, when it would have taken you, as well.”

He looked determined and fierce, his eyes a vivid blue and his jaw set. Annelise knew that Garrett would never hesitate to do what had to be done, but in this, she feared he did not see all of the truth. She ached for his loss, but she had to ensure he did not err.

*

Annelise swallowed, then put her hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “Will you not consider that the wolf brought you to me, that we might not have found each other without your quest? There is wickedness in its deed, but not all that came of it was bad.”

Garrett heaved a sigh. He turned her hand in his, then smiled crookedly at her. “Trust you to find the gold in the dross,” he murmured, then bent to kiss her gently.

Annelise tasted the loneliness in his kiss and flung her arms around his neck. She stretched up to her toes to kiss him more fully, demanding more of him in her need to give. Garrett’s arms locked around her and he deepened his kiss, reminding her of the pleasure they’d shared the night before.

He broke their kiss when her blood was simmering and spared a glance at the moon. “And yet still there is a wolf,” he said with determination. “I will not see a wolf steal from me again in this place.”

“Would you not consider that the white wolf has aided us?”

“It stalks us, Annelise, or perhaps it stalks you. I know wolves and I know how they hunt. I know you want to believe in goodness, but in this matter, you err.”

Annelise looked over the peaceful glade, then down at the silk in her hands. “Where is the white wolf?” she asked softly.

“I do not know. It might be too distant to be discerned.”

Annelise looked up. “You did not know it was in the stables last night.”

Garrett frowned. “I slept deeply.”

“I do not think you could sleep so deeply that you did not hear a predator,” Annelise argued softly. She shook a finger at him. “I think the wolf is not a mortal creature. I think it is Fae, and that is why you cannot hear it.”

Garrett’s lips tightened. “And what of the other, the one I killed? You say it is Fae, but I heard its thoughts. That is how I tracked it.”

“Half-Fae,” Annelise said quietly. “Her mother chose shape shifting as her sole Fae gift. Just as yours chose the ability to hear the thought of mortal creatures as your gift.”

“Curse,” Garrett corrected tightly.

Annelise leaned close to him and held his gaze. “Do you know my thoughts, Garrett?”

He shook his head, indicating that he could not or would not answer her directly. “Mhairi told me that I should know the woman intended to be my true love, for she would offer me solace.”

Annelise nodded, for she was not surprised. Then she bit her lip at a detail recalled from her last dream. “Mhairi and Seamus must have known all your life that you were not their son. Why were you not aware of their thoughts?”

He looked discomfited. “Seamus had doubts, but did not care,” he acknowledged.

“You could not hear Mhairi’s thoughts, either, could you?” Annelise leaned closer to him and dropped her voice. “What if she was Fae?”

Garrett flung out his hands. “This is madness! First you would have me trust a wolf, then you say my foster mother was Fae. I knew her, all my life…”

“And she hid a key truth from you, all your life, even though it must have been in her thoughts. In my dream, she had surrendered many of her Fae gifts to be with her love, a mortal man, and one of her sacrifices was the ability to bear him a son. She adopted you instead.” Their gazes held as she challenged him to accept her conclusion, but Garrett shoved a hand through his hair with impatience.

“I must see to Yseult’s safety, then our own,” he said, his tone crisp. He led Yseult into a stable that leaned against one end of the hut. He tethered her there, put her food and water within reach, and hung her trap in the stable. Annelise had a glimpse of Yseult drooping her head to doze before Garrett closed and locked the door.

He then accompanied Annelise into the hut. He kindled a fire on the hearth, then closed the shutter she had opened. He went to the stream with several buckets and returned moments later with them brimming with water. He poured water into a kettle and hung it over the fire, the sight filling Annelise with yearning for a hot wash.

“What of the kirtle?” she asked, even as she set the fine silk down. She could not help but stroke the fine cloth and struggled with a strange conviction that not only had Mhairi’s labor been left incomplete but that she should finish it.

Garrett shrugged, not nearly as intrigued as Annelise. “Mhairi must have hoped that I would bring home a bride after I departed. Perhaps that is why it is not finished.” He kissed her temple. “You should take it, for yourself. The color would suit you well.”

Annelise bit her lip, sensing that his conclusion was incorrect. He took her silence for shyness and touched his lips to hers. “Truly, you must take it,” he whispered, then stepped away. His gaze searched hers. “I do not wish to argue, Annelise.”

She smiled up at him. “Then you have only to agree with me.”

He did not smile, but lit a lantern and unsheathed his knife. “Bolt the door behind me.”

“Where are you going?”

“I must honor their memory, now that I am returned, and tell them of the lady I will take to wife.” His lips thinned. “And I will leave a sign for the wolf that a hunter is in residence.”

“You will not kill it,” Annelise protested. “I forbid it!”

He eyed her. “I will defend myself if attacked and I will defend you in the same case.”

“But do not hunt it, Garrett, I beg of you. Give the creature a chance to defend itself.”

“It is a wolf, Annelise.”

She shook her head. “I do not think so. I beg of you, do this for me.” She wrung her hands together. “Remember the hunter in Mhairi’s tale who inadvertently killed his beloved. Why do you think she told you that tale? She meant to warn you not to make the same error!”

He hesitated and she saw the fight within him. He had lost two people he loved to a wolf’s attack and she saw that his instinct was to ensure that could not happen again. “But then, if the tale were right, the white wolf would be Fae.”

Annelise nodded. “And your real mother. Think, Garrett. You hear the thoughts of others, as a legacy from your Fae blood.” She smiled up at him, wanting only to convince him of the truth. “My dream also insisted that true love could break many a Fae curse.”

Garrett caught his breath and squeezed her hand. “It is a remarkable notion and one that I like well,” he murmured. “But still I fear that wolf.” He touched her cheek with a fingertip. “Do not be too disappointed that I am not in a hurry to lose you.”

When he kissed her so ardently, Annelise could scarce complain. He stood and left then, and she could see that he was concerned with the creature’s presence. She peeked out the door to watch as Garrett urinated all around the hut and stable, leaving a message a wolf would understand. He surveyed the surrounding forest, then knelt at the graves and bowed his head.

There was no sign of movement in the forest, no hint that they were not alone.

Annelise watched Garrett and thought of the ostler’s tale that very morning.

She thought of Mhairi’s determination to show kindness to the white wolf. She recalled the tale she had heard at Seton Manor and the one Garrett had told her himself.

Annelise looked down at the cloth and knew who was intended to wear this kirtle.

Garrett was not the only one who had been cheated.

She found a needle and thread stored in the trunk, and her decision was made. She carried a stool to the fireside and lit a lantern. Its golden light made the green silk shimmer, even as Annelise threaded her needle and set to completing what Mhairi had begun. Garrett was not convinced of the white wolf’s intention, so Annelise had to persuade him.

*

Fae.

As much as Garrett wanted to dismiss Annelise’s notion, it carried the compelling ring of truth. How could Mhairi have hidden the truth from him for so many years, unless he had no ability to hear her thoughts?

His experience of Mhairi was different from that of Annelise. He had heard naught of his foster mother’s thoughts, ever. With Annelise, he could sense her presence and feel the serenity radiating from her person. He knew where she was and had the barest flicker of awareness of her moods. If he listened with care, he could discern her thoughts, but they were faint and not demanding. That was why it was peaceful to be in her presence.

He was astonished that he had never realized the absence of Mhairi’s thoughts in his own mind. It had been Mhairi who had given him advice when they went to the village, Mhairi who had advised him how to deal with the onslaught of voices in his mind. He had assumed that they had shared the ability.

Which also meant that she must be Fae. The Fae could hear the thoughts of mortals. It was their gift and his curse for being half Fae.

Trust Annelise to have shown him the truth.

But why had the cacophony of voices become so overwhelming when he had visited Killairig? He had thought the malady simply worsened with time, or that there were more people at that holding, but now he wondered. All his life, he had gone to the village with Mhairi and Seamus, and he had heard the thoughts of others. It had not troubled him. It had not driven him to madness or undermined his ability to walk and talk.

Until Killairig.

Could another Fae curse have been laid upon him?

Annelise said true love could break a Fae curse, and the morning after he laid with her, the voices had subsided. Had Annelise broken its power over him?

Garrett hoped it was so. Even as he prayed at the graves of the only parents he had ever known, his thoughts were consumed with Annelise. As relieved as he was to have arrived home, still he was unsettled. He did not like that the wolf remained at large, whether it be Fae or not. He did not like that he had lain with Annelise, without there being vows exchanged between them. He could not have resisted her and her touch had aided him, but he felt that he had failed in his resolve. There was no doubt for him that she was the lady he should wed. There was no doubt that he would remain true to her for all time.

But the fact remained that only he had confessed to love, and he feared the root was his lady’s uncertainty about his intentions. They had disagreed about the wolf, and there was naught like a disagreement to sow doubt in a person’s mind. Annelise came from another world, a realm of noblemen and rules and ceremonies. In taking her maidenhead before they exchanged vows, he feared he had awakened a concern within her. He did not believe that Annelise had misled him. He knew she had believed it the right choice at the time.

Still he feared that she had reconsidered her choice during the long ride today, perhaps even questioned it upon their arrival at his home. This place had been all to him, and he had been contented here. On this day, he had tried to see it through his lady’s eyes and realized how humble it must be to all she had known.

After all, she thought Seton Manor a simple abode. He could not begin to imagine the majesty of Kinfairlie.

Given that, he had to wonder whether her choice had been him, or any man but Orson.

It was a fearsome notion.

Garrett had wanted to court Annelise. He wanted to take those vows in the chapel where she had been raised and to have her brother put her hand in his. He wanted her family to desire the match as much as he did. Garrett knew he would honor her for all his days and nights and guarantee her welfare before his own. He wanted to be certain that Annelise knew as much, as well, and he understood that familiar ritual would have fed her confidence.

He did not want to compel her brother to surrender Annelise to his care. He did not wish to take what was not his to claim—even if Annelise willingly granted her all to him—like a thief.

Worse, now that he was in this familiar place, he feared that Mhairi would not have approved of what he had done. She would have admired and liked Annelise, of that Garrett had no doubt, and she would have seen how Annelise’s presence eased his mind.

But Mhairi might have had stern words for her foster son, on the matter of claiming his lady before her family agreed for her to be his bride. Though he yearned to be with Annelise again, to lose himself in her sweetness and to feel her skin against his own, Garrett needed to pray for Mhairi’s guidance.

Garrett prayed as the night faded and the moon sank toward the horizon. He was aware of the creatures of the woods, some curious about him, some not, all going about their nightly routine. He was aware of Yseult, tired but contented, nosing in the oats as she dozed. He could feel the pool of stillness that he knew radiated from Annelise, and he could hear the faint rustling of the leaves in the trees overhead.

He was home.

Yet there was a difference. Although it was true there were few men in their vicinity, Garrett felt that something had changed when he had joined himself to Annelise forever.

Had Mhairi been right, when she had insisted that the right woman could see him healed? Garrett took a deep breath and wished for her counsel. To his surprise, he felt the confidence and wisdom of Mhairi as if she was with him. She might have been standing behind him, one hand upon her shoulder, her surety that all would come aright making him smile. She had always believed the best of every soul, even a wolf, and had been kind beyond belief.

His smile faded abruptly, for he could not bear to imagine that any deed of his might disappoint Mhairi.

But Garrett felt only love in this place, and slowly Mhairi’s conviction that good would prevail filled his aching heart. He could almost hear her whispering in his ear, that if his intent was good, then that was what was of import. All would come right if he loved Annelise and treated her as a husband should, regardless of how their match began.

Love, Mhairi insisted, was the key that could conquer all.

Trust was the heart of all goodness.

He had to trust her fully.

Garrett opened his eyes, invigorated and reassured. It was all so clear. He loved Annelise. She would come to love him. The sun was rising, and the sky was brightening overhead. He knew what pledge would ensure she understood his motives well until they could stand before a priest. Together, they would build their future. Garrett rose with purpose, brushed off his kilt and went to his lady.

Later, they would ride out. He had a stolen legacy to reclaim, one that would ensure Annelise had the life she expected.

But first, he would pledge himself to her.

Chapter Fourteen

As much pride as Annelise took in her needlework, and as much time as she had spent upon it over the years, she had always yearned for greater adventure. She had never believed that she might miss plying a needle, but she learned otherwise when she took up Mhairi’s incomplete work. The needle felt right in her hand and she smiled at the perfection of the other woman’s stitches. She examined the one sleeve that was complete and discerned how to make the other its perfect mirror. She threaded the needle and bent over the work, even as the night slipped away.

The needle seemed possessed of a will of its own, or perhaps it was enchanted, for every stitch was perfect the first time. Annelise found herself working more quickly than was her custom, her delight in the garment growing as she completed it. The green silk shimmered in the light of the lantern, reminding her of the surface of a lake in the sun. The cloth flowed over her lap and spilled toward her feet, as finely woven a silk as she had ever seen. There was no question of her sleeping, not when the work was so invigorating. Her aches from a long day of riding were forgotten. The fire crackled beside her as her needle flew.

When the kirtle was completed, she held it up and admired it. Then she folded it with care, trusting that its role would become clear. She set the kirtle aside and stretched, finally taking advantage of the chance to bathe. Not long after she was done, she heard Garrett rap at the door. Annelise was surprised to find that light was creeping around the shutters. She opened the shutters on the window and then the door, only to find a smile on his lips and a gleam in his eye. He appeared so vital and so proud of himself that her heart thumped and her lips curved in an answering smile.

“You look most resolved this morn,” she said.

“As do you. But I would have you in no doubt of my intentions.” He offered his hand. “Come with me.”

Annelise put her hand in his, having no doubt but aware that he would not believe any protest she might make. She welcomed the way his strong fingers closed over her own. He led her across the clearing and down a rocky little path. Not far away was a tiny parapet of stone, formed naturally out of the hills, which offered a stunning view of the ocean far below. Annelise gasped in delight, even as she noted how the trees framed the view, and how it seemed suddenly that they were alone in the world.

Garrett turned to face her, taking her right hand in his right hand, and her left hand in his left hand. Their hands crossed between them and Annelise smiled that they made a continuous link. “A hand fast,” she said, recognizing the posture used for such a pledge.

“A year and day,” Garrett said solemnly. Annelise looked up to find the sunlight burnishing his hair and his gaze filled with intent. “It is not the same as a vow made before a priest, but I will pledge it to you all the same. I vow to love and honor you, Annelise Lammergeier, to defend you and care for you, for every day and every night of a year and a day. And if I fail you in any way, you may leave me with nary an explanation, for I would deserve no less than to lose you for all time.” His gaze bored into hers, his intensity making her heart skip. “And if I do not fail you, I would ask you to consider renewing our vows at Kinfairlie, in that year and a day or before it, for I would hold you and keep you forevermore.”

Annelise gripped his hands more tightly, her chest so tight that she feared she would not be able to take a breath. “And I vow, Garrett MacLachlan, to love and to honor you, to defend you and to care for you, for every day and every night of a year and a day. If I fail you…”

Garrett brushed his lips across hers to silence her. “It is not possible that you could fail me, Annelise,” he murmured, his eyes shining with confidence. He was so close and so intent that Annelise’s mouth went dry. She tingled in recollection of the feel of him inside her and wanted that again. Before she could argue that all things were possible, Garrett bent and kissed her again.

His kiss was every bit as gentle and as sure as ever it had been, but there was a new urgency about it. When she would have thrown her arms around him, he broke their kiss and held up a cautioning finger.

“Slowly this time,” he said. “And in the sunlight.”

Annelise smiled at the prospect, even as he led her to a sunny patch of ground. Garrett untied the lace that bound her braid and shook her hair free. Annelise fairly purred when he pushed his fingers through her hair, letting it cascade over his fingers and spread over her shoulders.

“Again,” she demanded in a whisper, loving the feel of his hands on her skin, and he speared his fingers into her hair again. Annelise tipped her head back and enjoyed his caress, closing her eyes until he kissed her again. His hand fell to her breast, cupping its weight in his hand, his thumb sliding across the taut peak. Annelise gasped and arched her back, and he pinched her nipple between his finger and thumb, even as his tongue danced with hers. Once again, Annelise felt stirred to life, filled with both languor and impatience. She wanted to savor his touch, but she wanted more and more, as well. He had awakened a hunger within her, one she believed would never be sated.

Not so long as it was Garrett who touched her.

She wished to be bold and to make love outside, in this place he had known and loved.

Annelise hastily unfastened with her own laces, untying the sides of her kirtle, then lifted the woolen garment over her head and discarded it. Her chemise was sheer and she saw Garrett’s admiration, but she wished to be nude when he touched her. She wanted no barriers between them, not of any kind. She pulled off the chemise with impatience, fearing her boldness would be lost if she lingered overlong, then turned to face him, clad only in her stockings.

Garrett stared at her with an awe that made her blush.

The heat of desire in his eyes made her nipples bead and launched a warmth within her belly. She felt that her skin tingled as he admired her, and she shook out her hair, turning before him with new pride. The sun was warm upon her skin and their privacy complete. Garrett smiled, but did not reach for her as yet.

He unlaced his own jerkin and cast it aside, then shed his chemise. Annelise was fascinated by the differences between their bodies. His skin was tanned and golden, and there was hair upon his chest. He tugged off his boots and shed his kilt with his back to her. He spread the tartan on the ground, then turned to let her see him fully.

Annelise blinked, then met his gaze with a smile.

“Will you aid me with my stockings, sir?” she asked, her tone teasing.

*

Garrett dropped to one knee before Annelise and placed her foot upon his other knee. He unfastened her boot and set it aside, then trailed his fingers up her leg to her garter. She thought he would untie her garter, but the fingers of one hand continued up the smooth skin on the inside of her thigh. He touched her with his fingertips, the first contact sending a jolt of pleasure through Annelise, then his fingers caressed her slowly. She felt herself gasp and then flush, astonished that this pleasure could be even greater the second time. He smiled as his fingers worked against her and Annelise feared she would not be able to stand much longer.

Then he bent and untied her garter with his teeth. He slid down her stocking, easing it down to her ankle with the flat of his other hand, his palm warm and smooth against her skin. Still his other hand teased and cajoled, his touch driving all coherent thought from Annelise’s mind. She wanted him and could think of naught else.

Indeed, having had him once made her yearning for him all the more acute. She knew what it would feel like, and that fed her hunger for more.

He put her foot down on the ground, then reached for the other, exchanging his hands. He echoed the same pattern, his other hand sliding up the inside of her thigh to her secret heat. This time, though, Annelise stood with her thighs a little further apart, granting him access.

Welcoming his touch.

She gasped aloud when his fingers slid over her. Again, he unfastened her garter with his teeth, and again, he slid the stocking down, moving so slowly that Annelise thought he would never be done. She saw that his erection was larger and harder than it had been and knew that he enjoyed this pleasure, as well. His fingers slid deeper between the wet and swollen folds of her labia, then eased inside her. Annelise gasped with pleasure and shook so that she feared she would lose her balance.

Garrett stood up and caught her in his embrace, kissing her thoroughly even as he lifted her off her feet. Annelise felt as if she were floating, then she smiled as he stretched her out on the tartan.

His hand closed again over her breast and Annelise much preferred the feel of his palm upon her bare skin. He pinched the nipple once more, making her squirm with a desire she could not name, then replaced his fingers with his mouth. He suckled her, drew her nipple to a taut point, flicked his tongue across it and suckled it again. It was a kiss, but a different one, a delightful one that left Annelise writhing.

She reached for him, but Garrett moved lower, his tongue flicking into her navel before he parted her thighs and closed his mouth over the heat he had kindled. This was a kiss intended to drive her mad, and Annelise moaned when she felt his tongue flick against the hard bead of her desire. She opened her legs wide, inviting his touch, wanting to know all of such lovemaking.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to the desire he summoned so readily. She could only reach to run her hands over his muscled shoulders, so she did so, feeling that he was as solid and reliable as ever a man could be. His touch was both gentle and demanding. Annelise heard herself moan as a tide of heat gathered within her. She felt as if her skin was on fire, that desire boiled within her, that the heat of passion would overwhelm her completely. She gasped as Garrett tormented her with pleasure, uncertain that she could bear any more until he compelled her to do so. She felt his tongue and his breath against her, and knew there could be no more seductive sensation—until he grazed the kernel of her desire with his teeth.

Annelise cried out as a torrent broke over her, breaking every sensation loose. It was more fierce and more pleasurable than it had been before, as if her body would strive for a greater release each time. Annelise’s heart thundered and her body shook. Her breath caught and heat surged through her body in a triumphant and glorious sensation.

She opened her eyes to find Garrett leaning over her, bracing his weight on his elbows. The hardness of him was between her thighs, and there were stars in his eyes. He smiled at her, clearly content with the pleasure he had given her, and Annelise knew she had a debt to pay to him.

She smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting his possession even as she twined her arms around his neck. “I am yours and no other’s,” she whispered, and saw the flash of joy in his eyes. “I love you, Garrett MacLachlan.”

Garrett smiled, then bent his head and kissed her so thoroughly that Annelise thought only of pleasure for quite some time.

*

“Can you tell me what happened when you went to Killairig?” Annelise asked some time later. She and Garrett had washed and dressed and were sitting in the sunshine before the hut. It was blessedly quiet and the wind was pushing small clouds across the blue sky. Annelise offered him a piece of bread from the monastery and began to peel the rind from the cheese with her eating knife.

Garrett grimaced. “It was terrible.” He wanted to tell her, but needed to speak with care. The sun was sinking low and he listened by habit to the surrounding forest, but heard no predators.

Annelise nodded. “Of course, it was terrible. Because you could not bear the sound of all their thoughts in your mind, so you collapsed, much as you did that first time at Seton Manor.”

“I am not proud of the spectacle I made.”

“But you did not anticipate it,” Annelise mused. “Was it worse than previously?”

He granted her a look but said naught. As before, she found the key without his confession. He liked that he did not have to imperil her for them to solve the riddle.

“You did not expect to be so stricken, because you never had been so before. You were surprised by the vehemence, or maybe the volume.”

She was correct, but he feared to tell her exactly what he had experienced. Garrett waited, hoping his lady continued to use her wits.

Annelise wagged the knife at him. “In the tale in my dream, the dark sister cursed the son she wished to see discredited, so that others would think him mad. And at Killairig, they cast you out, perhaps even saying you were a madman.” She ate a piece of cheese. “Which was far simpler than considering your claim, whether there was a curse or no. I thought you did not even make your case?”

Garrett shook his head. “I arrived and was announced. The lady offered me a cup of ale in welcome. She was most kind.”

Annelise pursed her lips as she considered this. “And then?”

“I drank it.”

“Why? Were you not suspicious of her?”

“Why would I be? She was gracious in her greeting and there was no malice in her manner…”

“Could you hear her thoughts?” Annelise demanded and Garrett stared at her.

He had not.

“She is Fae,” Annelise spoke with conviction. “She is the dark sister. Do you not see, Garrett, it must all be true!” She put down the cheese and the bread, her appetite evidently as banished as his own.

“The tales are mingled truth and fable,” Garrett said gently. “There is no telling where one ends and the other begins.”

“But the tale I dreamed is most true.”

Garrett raised a hand. “Wait. You say that Mhairi was Fae, but she is dead,” he said “The Fae are immortal.”

Annelise shook her head. “My younger sister, Elizabeth, can see the Fae. They are not mortal. It is their nature to live outside of time, to endure forever if all should be well. But they can be killed by other Fae or mortals or animals. If they die, they are lost to their fellows, just as mortals who die are no longer seen by other mortals. And truly, if I had to entrust the upbringing of a child to anyone, I should try to ensure that the adoptive parent understood the child’s nature fully. I should try to make a match.” Annelise stood up and brushed off her kirtle. “You can hear the thoughts of others, both mortal and animal. This is held to be the gift of the Fae, so that must be your legacy from your birth mother.”

“The wolf,” Garrett murmured.

Annelise nodded. “Remember Mhairi’s tale? The witch burned her clothes, ensuring she could not turn back to her human form. I think it most evident that the son disappeared because he was entrusted to the care of another Fae close to the birth mother.”

Still Garrett struggled to accept her conclusion. “Annelise, this is a fabrication beyond belief.”

She granted him a stern look. “Is it? Why then did Mhairi show kindness to the white wolf? Why did she expect it to live longer than a wolf? Why does it yet follow you and defend you?”

“You do not know that it is the same wolf,” Garrett protested. “And I do not intend to risk your safety, or even that of Yseult, by suffering any wolf to live in the vicinity…”

“Then we will ask the wolf for the truth.” Before Garrett could make sense of that, Annelise had retreated into the hut. She returned with the green silk dress, shaking it out so Garrett could see that it was completed. She crossed the clearing and laid the garment on the mound of earth that covered Mhairi’s and Seamus’ graves.

Then she returned to Garrett’s side and sat beside him, as if they waited for a troupe of musicians to entertain them.

“Who is the madman?” Garrett teased softly and Annelise laughed.

“I doubt it is you, and I know it is not me.” She leaned against his shoulder, her eyes sparkling.

He took her hand in his, pleased beyond compare that this lady was his own. He felt blessed as he never had before.

“So, when you went to Killairig, the dark sister knew who you must be. She tricked you, and cursed you, making your torment worse. She ensured you could not plead your case.”

“And then?” Garrett prompted, earning himself a glance. “There must be something of it in the tale from your dream,” he said, for he was coming to see that she had dreamed the truth. He could not explain it, but that did not make it untrue.

“She sent the daughter after you in wolf guise, as I told you, and sent word to the son.”

“And who is the son?” Garrett mused. “Did you see him? Do you know his name?”

“He was a knight, at least on the chess board. The dream faded most abruptly and I did not see his face.” Annelise sighed. “I think Elizabeth knew him, though.”

“Orson or Andrew,” Garrett concluded. “Did they not ride from Kinfairlie?”

“They did!” Her delight at his recollection made him smile. “Your symptoms were always worse when one of them was present.”

Garrett took a deep breath. “Hatred is most disconcerting.”

Annelise eyed him. “When it is directed at you, and you hear it at ten times its potency. One of them despises you, perhaps because you could cheat him of his inheritance.”

Garrett nodded, remembering what the dark sister had chosen for her son. “No special Fae gifts, beyond good looks and longevity.”

“It could be either of them,” Annelise acknowledged. “Though I would think Andrew the more fair. But where are their holdings? Do you know?”

Garrett pursed his lips, considering the thoughts he had overheard and sifting through them. All his life, he had resented his gift or ignored it, and since visiting Killairig, he had despised it. He had never considered it to be a tool, much less a gift, but Annelise brought him this understanding as well. “Orson has none, for he wished the Earl of March to bestow a holding upon him in reward for wedding you.”

“I knew he had a scheme!”

“And Orson knew Andrew was heir to a holding in the west, but perhaps did not know its name. He was jealous of the injustice of a younger knight having a legacy while he did not.”

“Wait! The son had a beauteous voice. Remember when Andrew told that tale at Seton Manor?”

“Beauteous but not beguiling.” Garrett nodded. “And he recounted tale that showed the fair sister to disadvantage.”

“And the older son, too.” Annelise’s eyes lit. “We must go to Killairig!”

Garrett stayed her with a touch as he heard the thoughts of creatures in the forest. They scurried out of the path of a predator, a creature with thoughts Garrett could not discern. Because of the reactions of the other animals, he was aware of it moving closer to the hut and the clearing.

“The wolf comes,” Annelise whispered.

“The other animals fear it.”

“But you cannot discern its thoughts.”

Garrett smiled at Annelise, liking her insistence and her confidence. He kissed her then, slowly and deeply, savoring all she gave him, for he could do naught else. They resolved this together, which was the best possible portent for their future. She was flushed and her lips were swollen when they parted, the sparkle in her eyes making Garrett think of celebrating their hand fast anew.

That gave impetus to his plans. “We will not linger here and await your wolf,” he said. “It is a long ride to Killairig, and I would begin in daylight.”

Annelise nodded. “I agree that sooner is better.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek, her confidence tempering his fear. “But you will not need to defend us against the wolf. You will see.”

Garrett said naught to that. Annelise went into the cabin to pack her things, then returned to him. Garrett listened while she was gone, then saddled Yseult. He looked around the place he knew so well, said a silent farewell to Mhairi and Seamus, then lifted Annelise into the saddle and rode out.

He watched for the wolf every step of the way, but never caught a glimpse of it.

*

To Stewart’s thinking, there was something uncanny about Killairig.

Andrew told the others when their party crossed into his father’s lands, but Stewart saw the difference with his own eyes. He could not explain it, but the forests were darker in Killairig and the shadows deep within them gave the impression of being crowded. When he stared into the forest, though, he saw naught but leaves and trees.

The streams forded by the horses gushed so loudly that they seemed to be making comment, and the birds that swarmed the road at intervals seemed to be chattering. Stewart could not shake the sense that a thousand creatures watched their progress, and many reported upon it to someone. It made no sense, for the creatures of the forest did not routinely care so much about a small party of travelers, but Stewart could not shake his sense of pending doom.

He watched as Andrew grew taller in his saddle, that knight’s gaze brightening in anticipation of something that might have been more important even than home. Stewart realized how little he knew of the younger knight, for Orson had monopolized all conversations. Perhaps Andrew had a betrothed who awaited him here. That would explain the glint in his eyes.

Orson, for his part, became quieter, which was a change to be celebrated.

Sadly, Stewart felt little other cause to celebrate. At his first glimpse of Killairig’s keep—a robust stone tower silhouetted against the sparkling blue of the sea—his heart should have leapt, for it was most fine. Instead, he swallowed as his heart plummeted to his toes and he fought the urge to turn his steed and flee.

It was most curious. Stewart was not a whimsical man, and he was not one to put much stock in portents. This perhaps was because he seldom felt one himself, but he felt trouble in the air as surely as the weight of a hand on the back of his neck.

Killairig’s village was oddly desolate. For a holding in such a beautiful setting, surrounded by forests that should be abundant, there were remarkably few residents in the village. Those he glimpsed were hollow-eyed and gaunt, like specters come from a ravaged land. Stewart reasoned that these were not the residents in truth, for they were few and the number of homes was larger. He decided that the true residents must be at the board within the hall, sharing in the laird’s bounty.

Then he noticed that the crucifix on the chapel was broken. It looked to have been broken for some time, struck by lightning perhaps, given the burning of the wood. Why had no one repaired it? He might have asked, but Andrew spurred his horse to reach the gates more quickly, and Orson followed suit. Stewart exchanged a glance with Percy, but said naught.

He fought a strange sense that they rode into a trap when their horses stepped beneath the portcullis of Killairig. That feeling was not aided by the gate being dropped shut behind them with a resonant clang, or the way the guards never met his gaze.

Such thinking was folly. Stewart scoffed at the nonsense in his own mind. The hall was well made and graciously proportioned. There were staff aplenty to take care of the steeds, and if Zephyr balked at being led away by them, it was likely due to the location being unfamiliar.

He could not shake his irksome feeling, not even when the Lady of Killairig came to greet them. She was a gracious beauty, her hair as dark as a raven’s wing and her eyes darker still. She wore a long-sleeved gown of deep blue, richly embroidered in silver, and silver slippers on her feet. Her cuffs fell over her hands to her knuckles, hiding the skin in a way that seemed demure. Perhaps it was to make the gems in her rings appear to flash more brightly. She kissed Andrew with all the affection one would expect from a mother, but still there was something in her gaze that made Stewart shiver.

“I am Lady Rowena,” she murmured to Stewart, her voice low and rich. “I beg of you to call me Rowena.”

Stewart swallowed, knowing that he never would do so.

The laird, it seemed, was too ill to leave his bed. The lady Rowena invited them all into the hall, making many pretty apologies for her sickened spouse. To Stewart, it seemed he moved through a dream, with all talk at a distance. The hall was decked in greenery, as if it were Christmas, and fires roared on two hearths. The musicians played more sweetly than any he had ever heard and a golden wine flowed in quantity. It must be mead, for there could be no grapes in this vicinity. All appeared to be lovely, but not quite right. Stewart felt that if he squinted, or turned his head quickly, he would see behind this guise of a normal hall to the truth.

Or perhaps an impoverished one. He could not rid himself of the memory of the village.

He was about to chide himself anew when the lady Rowena offered him a chalice of the golden mead, her hands cupping the bowl as she held it to him. The cuffs of her long sleeves fell back ever so slightly at her move, and Stewart only just hid his reaction.

For he saw a blue-black pattern on the lady’s skin. There were whorls and tendrils curling over her flesh, the tips of which appeared on the backs of her wrists. Stewart had seen such marks before and knew their import.

Their hostess was Fae.

Not one morsel would cross his lips in this place. He smiled at her and bent as if to sip from the welcome cup, keeping his mouth resolutely closed. The mead touched his mouth but he did not taste it, and as soon as the lady lifted the cup away, Stewart wiped the mead from his lips. He watched the rest of his party drink and knew himself a man apart.

And perhaps the only one who might willingly choose to leave.

*

Rowena had no use for mortal men who defied her. She had one sick abed, thanks to the potion she had administered to him, and now one in her hall who thought he could outwit her.

She could be rid of them both, very simply.

She ensured the meal was laid to her specifications and that the new arrivals were seated comfortably. She pretended not to notice that the warrior Stewart did not eat or drink, but moved through the company, chatting with those in attendance. She certainly did not reveal that she could hear the warrior’s suspicious thoughts.

She dispatched her most reliable maid to take the evening potion to her lord husband. “If he slumbers, leave it by his bed,” she dictated and the girl hastened to do as bidden.

After another turn around the room, Rowena sat beside Stewart and turned her smile upon him. “You are quiet, sir,” she said. “I hope the company does not displease you.”

“Of course not, my lady. I apologize that I am tired after so long a ride.”

“And the fare does not please you? I have not seen a morsel cross your lips.”

His gaze flashed, his fear of her clear for that moment, but Rowena continued to smile at him. “When I am so tired as this, my lady, I cannot even eat or drink.” He yawned in a feeble attempt to reinforce his lie, but Rowena was not fooled.

“You are too tired even to talk? It must have been quite a ride. My son must have been in a great hurry to arrive home.” She nodded to Andrew, who lifted his cup in salute to her.

“I am not so young as once I was, my lady.”

Rowena laughed. “But young enough to charm the ladies, I am sure. Come, Stewart, charm me on this night.”

The warrior bowed. “I apologize, my lady, for I have not the gift of making fine conversation. It matters little if I am tired or not.”

She laughed lightly, as if he made a jest. “Oh, but you do not know that I am familiar with you men of war,” she said, as if teasing him. “And that I have a weakness for such measured conversation.”

“Indeed, my lady?”

“Indeed. My husband, too, is taciturn when he has ridden far.” She wrinkled her nose. “In fact, he is taciturn most of the time.”

Stewart smiled. “If a lifetime in your company could not grant him charm, my lady, a single evening will not do as much for me.”

Rowena laughed. “That is fairly said. I am sorry that Coinneach is so ill.” She shook her head, aware that the warrior’s eyes had widened slightly. “You might have understood each other well.”

“Indeed, I believe we might have,” Stewart said with resolve. Rowena smiled to hear his impulse to see her husband, to try to save that man from her Fae spell. “I, too, am sorry your husband is ill.”

In a way, it was disappointing for mortal men to be so predictable.

“I have the most wondrous idea!” Rowena snapped her fingers. “Perhaps it would aid him to meet a man of his own ilk. Perhaps you might assist in his recovery.”

“I would willingly do whatever might help him.”

“Would you visit him this night, Stewart? It is so dull for him to lie abed while others make merry. Conversation with another warrior might give him new strength.”

“I should be honored, my lady.”

“I do warn you that he is quite ill. There is a potion he favors, which he orders from the old woman in the village. I do not approve of it, but he insists upon drinking it. He will probably demand that you fetch it for him.” Rowena shook her head. “I would ask you not to comply.”

“I understand, my lady.”

“Come, then, and I will show you to his chamber. Thank you so much, Stewart.” Rowena cooed beside him, as if she were a feeble woman and one easily overwhelmed. “You cannot know what this means to me. I should so love to see him well again.”

Rowena smiled to herself as Stewart’s lips tightened in resolve. Coinneach would ask for the cup, because the potion she brewed for him created a craving for more. Stewart would comply with Coinneach’s request, thinking he defied the Fae mistress of the abode and would be aiding his fellow man.

And the final dose of poison would be administered to Coinneach, with nary an effort on her part. There would be no shadow over Andrew’s inheritance of Killairig. Rowena would be avenged upon her sister, fulfill her pledge to her mother, and create a future for her son.

The only fact that marred her triumph was the loss of Aurelia. Andrew’s tidings had nearly made Rowena despair, but her grief had already hardened into a determination to be avenged. Once Andrew was Laird of Killairig, Rowena would seek out the man who had stolen her pride and joy.

Garrett MacLachlan would wish he had never been born by the time she was done.

Chapter Fifteen

Two days after their departure from the hut, the land fell away at one side of the road, and Annelise forgot how sore she was from so much time in the saddle. The vista spread before her stole her breath with its beauty. She could see the ocean clearly from this vantage point for the first time, the water sparkling like silver. The wind lifted her hair and birds flew overhead. Beneath them, she could see a stone keep, perched on the very point of a forested finger of land. It would have a commanding view of the sea and the islands scattered beyond. The forest was deeply green and lush, and a pennant snapped in the wind from the summit of the tower.

“Killairig,” Garrett said quietly.

“It reminds me of Ravensmuir,” Annelise said. “But the birds are eagles instead of ravens, and this sea has islands. Still the keep has an imposing site, just as Ravensmuir does.” She looked around. “And there are so few flowers.”

Their gazes locked for a moment, then Garrett urged Yseult onward.

The land dropped steeply from that point and Annelise could see that the road switched back and forth for the descent. She looked out to sea, noting the dark clouds that were mustering on the horizon. They seemed to be blowing closer at a fierce pace and she heard the distant rumble of thunder. “It seems we shall find shelter just in time.”

“Indeed. The clouds are nearly black.” Garrett lifted the reins to hasten Yseult, but Annelise stayed him with a touch.

“We must have a plan,” she said. “What will you do?”

“Appeal to the lady, for she was most kind to me.”

“Still, the tale and my dream made the lady the villain…” She frowned, disliking that she had not seen the white wolf again since it had blocked their path to this place. “I think you should feign your illness.”

“Perhaps I will fall ill in truth. I have not entered a crowded keep without repercussions.”

Annelise heard Garrett’s uncertainty and turned to face him. “You know that all will be well this time. That is why we have come.”

“I hope all will be well this time,” he said. “I would not ask for a lairdship as I writhe on the floor, incoherent. Who would grant a seal to a madman, even if he was the laird’s son?” His lips tightened. “I would defend you against all, Annelise, but if I am struck down…”

“You will not be,” Annelise said firmly. “They will expect you to act the same way as before. Whether you feel besieged or not, I think you should act as a man in pain.”

Garrett nodded. “For they would then underestimate me. That is a good thought.”

“I will remain by your side and my presence will aid you,” she continued. “And if you cannot argue your own case, then I shall make it.”

“And I heard tell that you were shy,” he teased, prompting her smile.

“There is so much at stake, Garrett. I cannot stand aside.” Annelise turned to face him again as she had a thought. “You can use your gift even more. Would you listen to the thoughts of those within the hall while we approach? Then we might know better what to expect.”

Garrett lifted her chin for a kiss that quickly turned incendiary. Annelise wondered whether she was the only one who needed the encouragement of their embrace, for Garrett slowed Yseult to a halt to deepen his kiss.

When they parted, breathless, she reminded him of what he should do. “You must listen,” she urged. “You may learn a detail we can use.”

“I must concentrate to do as much,” Garrett said with a nod. There was a clump of forest clinging to the side of the road and he led the mare there, then dismounted. He tethered Yseult to a tree, then made to lift Annelise from the saddle.

He froze then, staring past her.

“What is it?” Annelise whispered and turned to look. The trees thinned and the sunlight shone on a clearing beyond.

It was filled with shapes, as if a crowd of people stood there.

In silence.

Garrett touched his finger to her lips, then lifted his crossbow from its sling. He loaded it and eased toward the clearing, suspicion in his every move. Annelise dismounted and followed him with care, looking about herself as they proceeded. The forest was so silent, it could have been holding its breath. Even the sound of the sea below seemed muted. Yseult folded her ears back and watched them.

When Garrett stepped into the clearing, he lowered the crossbow.

Annelise halted beside him and stared.

It was not a crowd of people in the clearing, but a cluster of stones. They were the shape and size of men—tall men, short men, heavy men and thin men were all represented. The stones themselves were grey. There must have been twenty of them.

“Are they carved?” Annelise whispered.

“Nay,” Garrett said. He leaned close to one and looked into the stone. If Annelise squinted, she could see the features of a face trapped within it, the mouth open in surprise.

Garrett flinched suddenly in pain. Annelise did not manage to make a sound before he spun around. He had his loaded crossbow in hand and lifted it to aim.

“Nay, they are not carved,” said another man, amusement in his tone. “They are my sister’s lovers, or once they were.”

Andrew!

Annelise would have reached for Garrett to share her strength with him, but she had no chance.

“You will not touch him,” Andrew said, stepping out of the forest’s shadows. “For if you do, I will kill him.”

Annelise reluctantly lifted her hands away from Garrett.

“And if you defy me in any way, I will kill him before your eyes, then kill you.” Andrew smiled, as if they had been discussing the weather. He glanced around the clearing. “My sister enjoyed using her gift once she had tired of any particular man.” He looked down at Garrett with a disdainful smile. “Although I am not certain it is entirely bad to be devoid of such so-called gifts.”

“You hate him. You bend your hateful thoughts upon him.”

“And why not?” Andrew’s smile broadened. “Is it not fitting to despise the one who can steal a heart’s desire?” Before she could reply, he inclined his head. “Well met, my lady Annelise. There is someone in my father’s hall who will be pleased to see you again.”

“Indeed?”

“Orson Douglas was much disappointed when you evaded him. He will be delighted to see you again. This is a day when desires of the heart are fulfilled.”

Annelise doubted that would be the case, not once Orson saw Garrett’s chemise stained with her maidenhead. For the moment, she remained silent.

“Not the lady,” Garrett whispered, strain in his voice. “Do not sacrifice the lady.”

“I shall do as I wish with the lady,” Andrew said, his resolve clear. He strode closer and Annelise watched in horror as he bent his glance upon Garrett. “You have no say in these lands.”

Garrett groaned and dropped his crossbow. The weapon hit the ground with a clatter, and Annelise feared the worst. She had never seen him treat his weapons with anything less than respect. He fell to his knees and then to the ground, writhing once again.

Did he take her counsel and pretend it to be worse?

Or was he truly in anguish?

How Annelise wished to know for certain!

“Your malady is worse in my father’s abode, Garrett MacLachlan,” Andrew said in that harsh tone. “It is worse because you do not belong here. It is worse because you are insane, and a threat to all here.” He dropped his voice to a hiss. “It is only for your own safety that you should be imprisoned.” He beckoned to a pair of guards, who moved to pick up Garrett. “Take him to the dungeons. You need show him no mercy, as he is a threat to both my mother and myself.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Annelise wanted to intervene, but she knew she could not fight three men and win. “Surely compassion would not go awry,” she dared to say.

Andrew turned his cold gaze upon her. “The same compassion he showed my sister?”

There was naught Annelise could say to that.

Andrew stepped closer. “You may tell me who has the wolf pelt. It is a shame you gave it away, but I shall see it returned to my mother, one way or the other.”

“I did not give it away,” Annelise admitted, hoping her cooperation would keep Garrett from greater harm. “It is in my satchel.”

Andrew smiled. “Then you will have the honor of presenting it to my mother.” He gestured imperiously and the guards lifted Garrett. He indicated that she should precede him and she saw the flash of his dagger beneath his cloak. The entire party continued toward Killairig, and Annelise glanced back to see another pair of guards leading a temperamental Yseult onward.

Annelise was certain she, too, would be consigned to Killairig’s dungeons and that there she would be able the help Garrett. Even if his agony was feigned, it was sufficiently convincing to feed her concern.

The downward path took a turn, and Annelise saw that the keep was not that far away. The storm clouds were gathering fast and the first fat raindrops fell. She felt her trepidation grow with every step. When they reached the gates, Garrett was carried into the darkness of the keep, while she was led to the great hall itself. Annelise saw the woman waiting for her, a woman with dark hair and cold eyes, and for the first time, she feared that this foray to regain Garrett’s rights might not end well for either of them.

*

As much as it troubled Garrett to have Annelise fret for his welfare, he knew her plan had been a good one. Andrew’s malice was familiar from Seton Manor, but its vigor was much diminished. Annelise had broken the curse set upon him by the Lady of Killairig, but neither Rowena nor her son needed to know that detail. Garrett listened to the thoughts of the guards as he was carried toward Killairig. They treated him roughly but he did not care.

He could only hope that Annelise was enough of a prize that she would not be injured.

And then he had to do what he could to win her safety.

Garrett was not truly surprised to hear the echo of resentment in the thoughts of those who still lived at Killairig. He heard the gnaw of hunger and the weariness of heavy toil. He sensed the mood of futility for those in this keep and was amazed that all could go so far awry in such a location.

Perhaps Killairig was cursed.

Could his love for Annelise see it restored to prosperity and vigor? Garrett had to believe that he would rule more fairly than Rowena.

He sensed a measure of grief in the hall itself and understood that Coinneach was dead. Those who served in the hall had mixed feelings about this. The older ones recalled that he had not always been domineering and were glad he was in anguish no more. The younger ones were simply glad to have one less tyrant in the hall. The woman who cleaned his chamber had her suspicions as to the potion he had been fed for years, and the man who guarded the door bit back on his conviction that the old warrior had been tricked into giving Coinneach the killing dose of poison.

The old warrior?

Garrett had time to recognize that the man did not know the warrior’s name before he was cast into the dungeons. He was dropped into the pit and landed with a splash in some vile liquid in the darkness, but did not let himself be roused even then. He waited until the door was slammed and locked, then warily opened one eye.

There was a shadow huddled in the far corner, watching him closely.

Murdoch’s man, Stewart.

Tricked into giving a cup of so-called elixir to Coinneach, then condemned for murder by that man’s Fae wife.

“Still suffering the same ailment, boy?” Stewart demanded.

Garrett shook his head, even as he sat up. “My lady believed it best we be underestimated,” he said in the barest undertone.

He saw the flash of Stewart’s smile. “I always liked that girl,” the older man said gruffly, then the pair of them shook hands and leaned back against the wall together. Garrett listened and heard the guard returning.

“I would tell you what I have observed,” Stewart murmured, but Garrett lifted one finger in warning. He peered upward in the darkness, knowing the guard was close, then whispered in Stewart’s ear.

“You have only to think it,” he advised. Stewart looked at him with surprise before he nodded in understanding, then reached into his belt to remove a brass key. He smiled at Garrett.

I have this, but they are always three guards or more.

Garrett nodded. There had to be a way to escape.

He heard that Stewart shared his view and was encouraged that they were two. The old warrior then folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the wall and began to review all he had witnessed since arriving at Killairig.

Stewart proved to be one of the most observant men Garrett had ever known.

*

Annelise sat at the board in Killairig’s hall, supposedly a guest of honor but in fact a prisoner to be given to Orson Douglas. That man was inordinately pleased with himself and with her arrival at Killairig. He sat beside her and regaled her with tales of their future together. His squire Percy served them both.

Annelise had been obliged to present the wolf pelt to the lady Rowena, which had prompted that lady to cry out in anguish and clutch the pelt to her chest. Even once they were all seated, Rowena spread the wolf pelt across the board in front of herself and stroked it ceaselessly. She was as dark as Annelise might have expected from the tales, her hair as black as a raven’s wing and her eyes as dark as onyx. There was a cruelty in the line of her lips, and blue marks could be seen on her skin, where it peeked out from her long sleeves.

Fae, just as the tales recounted.

There clearly was a glamour cast in the hall, for it looked to be perfect and the servants seemed to be happy. Annelise was convinced that the illusion was like a fine cloth and could be torn down at any moment to reveal its hidden truth.

She also was certain the truth would not look so alluring.

She could not help but wish she knew more of Garrett’s location and his condition.

“You should possess her this very night,” Rowena said suddenly, interrupting Orson’s monologue. “Do not leave any facet of the matter to doubt.”

Orson smiled. “You are right, of course. The maiden has proven to be elusive before.”

Annelise smiled back at him. “But you are mistaken, Sir Orson. I am a maiden no longer.”

Orson’s smile did not waver. “You lie, in an attempt to change my mind.” He leaned his weight on one elbow. “I know that the will of the earl cannot be denied, and I will not return after all this time to see him dissatisfied with me.”

“What if I can prove it?”

Orson’s eyes narrowed and his voice dropped low. “Do you truly wish to prove to me that you are a harlot, Annelise? I should think that you would want me to treat you with all the respect due to my lady wife.”

Annelise shivered at the chill in his eyes.

“You should bind her,” Rowena said, her voice low and vicious. “Be sure to hurt her, so that she understands the pain that has been inflicted upon my daughter and thus to me.”

Orson smiled in anticipation and Annelise shivered. “What of Garrett? We have a hand fast…”

“He will be dead before morning’s light,” Rowena snarled. “He deserves no less for killing my only daughter.”

Annelise did not dare to point out that the daughter had been dispatched to kill Garrett. Rowena knew as much and clearly held that fact to be irrelevant.

She exchanged a glance with Andrew, and that knight bowed before he left the hall. Annelise watched him go, fearing his intent for Garrett.

Rowena smiled at Annelise and patted the seat beside herself. “I demand you release our fair guest, Sir Orson,” she murmured. “I would talk to the Lady Annelise.”

“By all means.” Orson rose and bowed with grace.

Annelise took the seat beside her hostess, her trepidation growing.

Rowena put the pelt before Annelise. “This is my daughter, my Aurelia, my eldest and my beloved one.” Her eyes glinted. “Slaughtered by a barbarian and butchered.”

“I thought it was Orson who killed this wolf,” Annelise said. “For this was what he told me.”

Orson colored. “A tale, my lady. It was no more than a tale.” His gaze flicked to Rowena and Annelise knew he feared their hostess as well.

Annelise put her fingertip on the pelt. “This wolf attacked me. This wolf would have ripped out my throat with ease. It nearly did as much, save for Garrett’s quick action.”

Rowena’s eyes narrowed. “Do you suggest that my daughter deserved to die?”

“I suggest that she was not so innocent as you would claim. Did you not send her to kill Garrett MacLachlan? Was it not a case of him killing her in my defense, and thus his own?”

Rowena’s eyes flashed. She drew herself up taller than before, and it was clear that she had no affection for defiance.

But before Rowena could speak or retaliate, the sound of a woman’s singing carried into the hall. Annelise turned to listen, for the woman’s voice was as clear as silver bells, so pure and beautiful that her song seemed unreal.

Rowena gasped in recognition and Annelise guessed who the singer might be. She made to rise to her feet, fully expecting Orson to stop her. But he was immobile, his eyes staring wide as if he had been frozen in time. In fact, Annelise could not rise either.

All she could do was watch and listen.

She noticed that Percy was in the same state, as were all the other men and women in the hall. Only Rowena could move.

Only she was Fae.

Thunder cracked over the ocean and the wind whipped through the high windows. The glamour tore, just as Annelise had thought it might, and the finely dressed hall disappeared from view. Instead, the roof was broken open and the moss grew on the floor. There were weeds in the chinks and snakes in the corners. The fine damask tablecloth proved to be no more than a spider’s web and the musicians were mice with nutshells for hats. They all scattered as a lady appeared in the portal to Killairig’s hall. She wore a green silken dress, and her long hair was so blond as to be silver. She looked like a shaft of moonlight come to walk amongst them.

Or a ghost.

She wore the dress that Annelise had left for her. A spark of hope lit in Annelise’s heart and she wanted to cheer aloud.

Rowena paled and took a step backward. “You cannot be here. You are dead!”

The lady in green smiled.

“Once upon a time,” she declared, “two Fae fell in love. He had the power to change shape and one who so favored the guise of a wolf that he was seldom seen in any other form. As a wolf, he was pure white in color, the color of fresh snow, and his eyes were as blue as the sky on a winter’s day. She was as dark as midnight, her skin of deepest ebony and her hair as black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes were as fathomless as the deepest lake and she could disappear into shadows at will. Their love ran deep and true, perhaps because together, they were complete.”

“Not this tale!” Rowena cried, but the woman in green continued. The only sign that she had heard Rowena’s plea was that her voice hardened slightly. She walked across the hall with measured steps, drawing ever closer to the lady of Killairig.

“In those days, men were cutting down forests, sowing crops and building homes. Both Fae and wolves were being driven from the wilderness they loved, and many of both kinds wished to retaliate against men. These two Fae had been amongst the first in these battles, until they met each other. After that, they found such joy in living and in each other’s company that they fled together, leaving all they knew behind.

“Each day, he would run through the forest in his wolf form, over hill and dale, seeking a new place where no one had been before. The sunlight shone on his fur and he barked with the joy of being alive. Each night, she would dance wherever he had halted, darting in and out of the shadows as he watched. They slept entwined with each other and when they awakened, there were always new flowers growing in the places her feet had stepped. Each morning, the wolf sniffed the flowers—for he loved flowers as much as he loved to run—and then the Fae climbed on to his back, clung to his fur, and he ran again.”

“Fools,” Rowena muttered. “Only fools love like that.”

“They lived like this for more days than I can count, and they traveled far, finding joy in each other’s company and their lives. Then one day, they found a forest that was finer than any they had either known before. They chose to make it their home.

“But the world did not remain the same, even though the Fae thought they had left its cares behind. One day a man came to their forest. He cut down trees and cleared away the brush. He trod down the flowers and he lit a large fire. The two Fae were dismayed, so they moved to another part of the forest. One night, the female Fae was dancing in a clearing, although with less joy than had once been the case, when she heard a howl of pain. She ran back to her partner, only to find him in his wolf form, fighting the man. The blood of the Fae wolf was on the man, on the blade of his knife and on the ground. The man was cutting out the heart of the wolf, even as it still beat.”

Annelise saw Rowena grow still at this part of the tale.

“Because these two were so close, their thoughts were as one,” said the woman in green. “The Fae could hear the thoughts of her lover, and she heard his final plea as he died. He begged her to flee and save herself, but to one day avenge his death. She fled, but not far, for she wanted to know more of this man. She watched as he roasted and ate the heart of her beloved. The Fae wept that he should be so abused and vowed that she would see him avenged. She danced no more, and the flowers in the forest faded away.”

Rowena sat down heavily and braced her head on her hand. She looked utterly defeated, but Annelise was not fooled.

The woman continued her tale. “She left that forest and wandered for a long time, lost in the clasp of her grief. One day, she realized that she was going to have a child. She gave birth to not one but two beautiful daughters, one as fair as moonlight and one as dark as midnight. Because these daughters carried the blood of a Fae who could become a wolf, their mother knew that they would both be able to shift shape when they grew up. They would be able to become wolves by choice.

“Now the Fae gather blessings for their newly born children, for there are many Fae talents and not all Fae possess all gifts. When a Fae godmother came to bless the babies, the mother asked for her daughters to be given the power to hear the thoughts of mortals, both men and beasts. Neither she nor her lover had possessed this Fae gift, and she believed it would ensure that her daughters would have warning of the intentions of men, and would not share the fate of their father. The godmother agreed and granted that wish.

“So, the two daughters grew up beneath their mother’s care. Florine was a young woman with long silver hair and eyes of deepest blue. She could run like the wind, and she could become a white wolf. Rowena, in contrast, was a young woman with ebony hair and dark eyes. She could become a large black wolf, one as dark as midnight. The daughters were different in another way than their coloring: Florine was determined to do her best in every circumstance, while Rowena pleased only herself and had no scruples.”

Florine took another step closer to Rowena. “And so it was that their Fae mother died when they were young women. On her deathbed, the mother begged her daughters to finish what she had not done and avenge the death of her lover and their father. After her demise, the daughters argued bitterly about how this should be best achieved. They parted with ill feelings, and each went her own way.

“Florine went to the Fae who were her kindred and asked to be taught all that they knew. She learned how to more clearly hear the thoughts of men and of animals, how to ensure that she was not overwhelmed by their voices. She learned to sing so melodiously that all who heard her voice were enchanted and could only listen. She learned to fight, as well, how to strike fear by the ferocity of her strikes, how to kill a mortal man without a steel blade, how to make the earth shake with her anger. She learned the value of a sworn pledge and the honor of keeping one’s word. When she had learned all of this and more, Florine pursued the quest granted to her by her mother.

“A great deal of knowledge takes a long time to learn, so by the time Florine returned to the forest where the wolf had been killed, many centuries had passed. She used her powers and listened to the thoughts of the people who lived there and learned the tale they told of the valor of Ruardaidh, their founder and forebear. She heard how he had eaten the heart of a white wolf and knew she had found the right place. The Laird of Killairig at that time had a son, as fine and handsome as a man could be. His name was Coinneach, the sole son of his father and much adored by his parents. Florine decided that Coinneach would be the one to bear the price of her vengeance.”

“And you did well with that, did you not?” Rowena sneered.

Florine straightened but continued with her tale. “Coinneach was a fine man, one well wrought and noble of nature. And this was the problem, for the longer Florine watched him and listened to his thoughts, the more she fell in love with him. He was a man of valor and honor, one who kept his word and dealt honorably with his fellows. He was as handsome as a Fae warrior and could dance and sing himself. Florine could not bring herself to kill him, even when he hunted alone in the forest. And so it was that one day in the forest, Florine revealed herself to Coinneach because she could do naught else. She sang to him, enchanting him with her song. Though she had sought him out on a quest for vengeance, she hoped she could make him love her for herself.

“Coinneach fell in love with the beauteous maiden with the flowing silver hair and eyes of clearest blue. When he married her, they were so happy that Florine hoped that love could triumph over the past. She hoped as much until a wolf arrived in the forest, a wolf as black as midnight. She knew then that her sister meant to steal her happiness away.”

“You did not love him!” Rowena cried. “You enchanted him! He did not know what you were, and despised you once he did.”

“And what of Aurelia’s father?” Florine asked quietly. “Did he not cast you out because of what you were?”

“At least I learned something from that,” Rowena retorted. “At least my son will have a chance at happiness.”

Where was Andrew? Annelise saw Rowena scan the hall, as if she, too, wondered at her son’s absence. Annelise could only hope that Florine had enchanted him, as well.

“If only at the expense of others,” Florine said.

Rowena’s eyes flashed and thunder rumbled. “If you have injured him, I will see that you pay.”

Florine smiled, then carried on. “Florine remained in her chambers in the keep, fearful of Rowena’s intent. She heard of the new healer come to Coinneach’s hall, and she heard Coinneach’s praise for the woman’s skills. She heard his admiration for the healer’s young daughter. She heard infatuation in his tone, but her sister’s spell was so strong that she could not undermine it. Those whose hearts are filled with darkness can create a curse of fearsome power, and so this was. Coinneach became angry with Florine over small things, and she recognized her sister’s influence. Still, she could not do injury to her beloved for she knew him to be enchanted.”

“Fool,” Rowena sneered. “You must use every advantage when you can.”

Florine ignored this and continued her tale. “When Florine learned that she would have Coinneach’s child, she dared to hope that all would be well. To her dismay, Rowena was assigned by Coinneach to act as midwife, and the pair battled over the fate of the child. Rowena would have pushed the babe back into the womb until it suffocated, while Florine wanted her child safe from all harm. The boy was stronger than either anticipated, though, and finally, he came into the world with a shout fit to shake the rafters. His hair was near as fair as that of his mother and his eyes were the blue of a winter sky. Florine believed all could come right, for her son had survived and Coinneach had wanted a son above all else.

“But Coinneach was not pleased with his son, and here again, she heard the influence of Rowena. He declared that he had wanted his son to resemble him, to be dark of hair and green of eye, to be rugged and hale and strong. He felt the boy was weak and would die young, an unfitting heir for his lineage.”

Rowena smiled darkly at this, even as Annelise watched and feared this tale could have no good ending.

Chapter Sixteen

Garrett was aware that the men guarding the dungeons had been beguiled by Florine’s voice. He felt them slide into a stillness that was unnatural, their thoughts spinning as they tried to make sense of their state.

This was his chance.

Unfortunately, Stewart too was enchanted and could not be of aid to him as yet.

“I will leave the portal unlocked,” he whispered to Stewart, as he took the key from that man’s hiding place. “Move with speed when the spell is broken.” He waited for the warrior’s acknowledging thought, then turned the key in the lock. He walked past his guards, hearing their shock and dismay. He removed their weapons and put two in the dungeon with Stewart, taking the rest.

The true challenge lay before him, though, from those Fae who were not enchanted.

And he did not know how many of them were in Killairig’s hall.

*

Andrew leapt up the stairs to the highest room in the tower, taking them three at a time. He did not doubt that his mother would be judged for what she had done. It was possible that he could be of assistance to her in this moment, but he did not care.

He would ensure his own advantage first.

Andrew’s concern was the realm of mortal men. Garrett MacLachlan was in Killairig’s dungeons. He did not expect his mother to lose any contest, for it was in her nature to win at all costs. She would not release Garrett again. Even if she lost the battle, she would take down Killairig with her, and Garrett would not leave this abode soon.

Andrew needed to seize this opportunity to secure his future in the realm of mortal men. Perhaps his mother was deliberately creating a chance for him.

Perhaps she might have wished for his assistance. He might have cared more, if his mother had not cheated him of his due before he had been able even to speak a word.

Rowena was the one who had insisted Andrew have no Fae gifts save his longevity, good looks and melodious voice. She was the one who had crippled his chances for success by choosing that he should be as much like a mortal man as possible.

She had given him little and he owed her less.

At least she had taught him to seize every advantage. While Garrett was imprisoned, the people in Killairig were enchanted and his mother was distracted, Andrew would appeal to a higher authority, at least among mortal men. He would take the seal and signet to the king in Edinburgh. He would make his claim for Killairig, and be invested by the king himself.

And woe to Garrett MacLachlan if he still survived in the dungeon when Andrew returned as Laird of Killairig.

*

Florine walked back and forth in the great hall, her words as musical when she spoke as when she sang. Annelise was transfixed, as were all the others.

“Florine heard her husband’s lustful thoughts about Rowena and was dismayed when Coinneach took her as a lover. He came no more to Florine’s bed and never spoke to her, his love for her apparently forgotten. When Rowena conceived, Florine was filled with anger and a need to see justice done. She had not avenged her father because of her love for Coinneach, but her husband had betrayed her. She had never yet taken the form of a wolf in Coinneach’s abode, but she would do it to keep her promise to her mother.

“But Rowena knew Florine’s nature and thus guessed her intent. She was determined to have Coinneach herself, mostly so her sister’s marriage could be destroyed. She told Coinneach that Florine meant to steal his son and his coin, that she was taking his treasure to a neighboring laird who would attack and defeat him. She convinced Coinneach that Florine was determined to destroy him, and he believed her.

“When Florine ran away one night, Rowena awakened Coinneach and led him in pursuit of his wife. He brought his sword and his knife, along with his fury. But Florine stopped abruptly, set her son on the ground and raised her hands to the moon. Coinneach was shocked to see his wife become a white wolf.

“Rowena did not miss her opportunity. She cried that Florine was a witch, then seized Florine’s clothes and burned them. She knew Florine would not be able to change back to her human form without her clothes. The white wolf howled as if in pain, then with its jaws, snatched the cloth that swaddled the child and fled into the forest.

“When Coinneach would have pursued the wolf, a foul wind rose. It lashed the trees and stripped their leaves. The hail fell with equal ferocity, pounding down upon the pair without mercy. When the storm halted, there was no sign of the wolf or the boy. No one ever found them, although Rowena tried.

“In truth, the Fae had intervened. Florine’s son was taken into their care, while Florine remained a white wolf running free in the forest. A glamour was cast to defend Florine’s son from his aunt and he was given to a Fae who chose a mortal life to raise him to the best of her abilities.

“At Killairig, Rowena soon presented Coinneach with a son, one whom the laird did not realize was half Fae. And the Laird of Killairig took Rowena as his wife. Once she held the title of his lady, Rowena began to poison Coinneach, not just filling his mind with lies but filling his body with toxin. Coinneach grew feeble and slow of wit, and Rowena took control of all he should have managed on his own. Thus she ensured that he could not change his thinking about her son. She had no desire for a regency, for power could be wrested from her while her son was young, so she allowed Coinneach to live until her son reached manhood. So intent was she upon ensuring her son would gain all she believed he deserved that she raised the taxes and demanded ever more labor of the people—even while she and her children lived in luxury. When any soul protested, he or she disappeared forever, or returned beaten and bruised. And so the people of Killairig became convinced that they would end their days in hunger and poverty, even as they feared to speak a word of protest.”

Florine stopped. The hall was utterly silent, every gaze fixed upon her. She took the last few steps toward Rowena.

“Until the son of Florine and Coinneach stepped out of the glamour cast by the Fae and came to Killairig himself to claim his stolen birthright.”

“Nay,” Rowena whispered. “I forbid it.”

“Aye,” Florine said and raised a hand to gesture. Annelise’s heart galloped as Garrett stepped out of the shadows, his clothing and body mired, but his gaze clear. He carried a small dagger. He walked toward Rowena, who scurried backward in her dismay. She flung curses at him and what Annelise believed must be spells, but she hastened away from him all the while, her fear obvious. “You killed my daughter!” she cried.

“After she killed the only parents I had ever known. Two innocents who deserved a finer fate.” Garrett paused to consider her. “You killed my father and blamed an innocent man for the crime.”

Rowena opened her mouth but no words came out. She had no defense, but her eyes flashed as she shredded the last of her glamour. She tipped back her head and screamed, making the stones tumble from the walls. The rain poured down into the now-roofless hall and the ground shook beneath their feet.

Yet none of them could move.

Save Garrett. Florine stood motionless and Rowena spun to flee.

Garrett immediately threw the knife across the hall. Annelise watched as it spun through the air, then buried itself in Rowena’s back. She stood for a moment, wavering, then turned to look at him. Her mouth opened in shock and gasped aloud.

Rowena fell to the ground, seizing the wolf pelt as she collapsed. Her blood flowed into the fur as she buried her face in the pelt.

Then she became a wolf with fur as black as midnight.

Florine crossed the room to kneel beside her sister. “I forgive you,” she whispered, though all the room could hear it. “I forgive you, Rowena, for you had the strength to see our parents avenged upon Coinneach when I could not.”

The wolf gasped, then Rowena was lying dead on the floor, blood all around her. Florine bent and kissed the cheek of the still woman before her, and her tears changed to flowers as they fell.

Garrett went to his mother’s side and they embraced.

“I wish it could have been otherwise,” Florine whispered and Garrett nodded.

It took Annelise a moment to realize that Florine’s spell had been broken and she could move again.

She realized as much because Orson seized her arm. “I will still have my prize,” he whispered, then hauled her from the board.

*

Garrett spun at the dismay in Orson’s thoughts, only to see the knight hauling Annelise forcibly from the hall. The knight’s mind was filled with fury and confusion. He did not know what to do and could not accept the fullness of his failure. He knew that Annelise was a maiden no longer, but had fixed upon taking her to wife. Florine’s spell seemed to have muddled him further, for his thoughts simply churned.

He thought of fealty and duty.

He thought of failure.

He thought it preferable to end his own life, even though he would be damned, than to face the wrath of the Earl of March.

Garrett feared the worst. He ran after the knight, tripping the squire when the boy might have come to the knight’s aid. What had happened to Andrew? Florine must have left him enchanted elsewhere. Garrett did not have time to seek him out, not if he was going to save Annelise.

Orson had already pulled Annelise into the bailey. The rain was slanting down, and lightning flashed overhead. The cobblestones were slick underfoot and the guards were only just rousing themselves from Florine’s spell. Some of the walls had crumbled and the others might well be unsteady.

Orson made for the stables but Annelise fought him with vigor far removed from her usual mild manner. She struck him and he hit her across the face.

Garrett shouted but the sound was lost in the thunder. The storm lashed at the keep, a frenzy in the air. Was this tumult the result of Rowena’s death? Garrett had to wonder, even as the wind kept him from pursuing Annelise with any speed, and the rain bore down upon him.

“My horse!” Orson cried, but the ostler barred the door to the stable against him. The horses, too, were stamping in their stalls.

“Only a fool would ride in this weather,” snapped the ostler. “And I will not risk the horse!”

“Disobedience!” Orson roared. “Insubordination! I shall see you flogged…”

But the ostler slammed the door, and Garrett heard the bolt shoot home.

Orson surveyed the bailey like a caged animal, then spotted Garrett. Annelise, Garrett saw with relief, had not ceased to fight her assailant. There was a fire in her eyes that he gave him hope.

All the same, Orson was taller and stronger. The gates were barred against the night, so he pulled her up the stairs to the parapet where the sentries usually walked. On this night, the narrow walk was empty. Garrett pursued them both, losing sight of them in the wind and rain at the top of the wall.

He followed the sound of Orson’s troubled thoughts.

And found the pair, backed into the corner. Killairig was built with one large tower that faced the sea. The bailey was on the inland side of the tower, high walls enclosing it. The gates were opposite the tower. The walls, though, were shorter than the tower, and for this reason, the sentries’ walk did not completely encircle the keep: it began at the tower, circled over the gates, then terminated at the other side of the tower. Orson, in not understanding the design, had miscalculated. He held Annelise against him, his knife at her throat, even as the rain poured down. He was against the tower, with nowhere else to flee, and Garrett barricading the sole path of escape. The sea churned behind Orson, looking dark and ominous.

“She was to be mine!” he roared when he saw Garrett, and his knife pushed into Annelise’s flesh. “You cannot steal from me, not the likes of you!”

The lady gasped and Garrett saw her blood flow on the knife. He halted. “I do not understand your meaning,” he said, wanting only to calm the knight’s erratic thoughts.

“You are common born! I am noble. She is noble. Like to like is what I always learned.”

“But he is not common born,” Annelise corrected. “He will be Laird of Killairig.”

“Nay,” Orson protested, but Annelise struggled to put some distance between the knife and her throat. She managed to get a finger beneath the blade.

Garrett had never felt so helpless in his life.

“He will have a holding while you do not,” she continued, and her comment enraged the knight. “He will have this holding. And he will have me as his wife.”

“You could have brought me a holding. With your hand in mine, I would have been granted one. You have defied me and challenged me…”

“I would not have made a good wife for you,” Annelise concluded.

Orson looked down at her. “So, you think I will surrender you to him?” he asked with disdain and deliberately sliced the finger she held beneath the blade. Annelise caught her breath and moved her hand away instinctively, which let Orson put the knife against her throat again. “I would instead see you rewarded for all you have done,” he said, his voice silky with intent. “I will have none of my dreams, and you, who have stolen them from me, will be cheated of yours as well.”

His thoughts settled into a clarity of purpose that did not bode well for Annelise.

Lightning cracked overhead, the resonant boom revealing that it struck the land nearby.

But Annelise smiled at Garrett, confident in a way he was not. “His intent is clear, but only because he does not know all of the truth. Garrett, you must tell Orson what you can do.”

“What you can do?” Orson demanded. “What does she mean?”

Annelise was right, although Garrett would have preferred to not ever use this skill.

Garrett walked toward the knight with measured steps, his own heart in his throat. Had Mhairi been right about this, too?

Orson would have stepped back but his back was against the wall. He leapt up to the top of the parapet, taking Annelise with him. Garrett heard the stone crumble beneath his heel. “No closer!” Orson said. “Or I will cast her to her death. Stand there and tell me what she means.”

“She refers to my curse, which she believes to be a gift.”

“What can be both gift and curse?” Orson demanded wildly.

“You have only to ask,” Garrett replied.

“What can you do?” Orson shouted with impatience. “Tell me: what can you do?”

Annelise pulled herself away from Orson with a jerk and jammed her fingers into her ears. His knife grazed her throat but Garrett spoke quickly.

“I can hear the thoughts of mortals, both men and beasts,” he confessed. He had never done this before, and his heart raced at his audacity.

Orson stiffened.

As Garrett watched, Orson’s skin turned grey. A large rock took his place behind Annelise, one perched on the stone lip. The stones crumbled beneath its weight, and Garrett heard Annelise’s fear as the parapet shifted beneath her feet.

Garrett leaped forward and snatched at Annelise, catching her hand in his. The stone that had been Orson begin to tip toward the sea and Annelise went with it. Garrett held fast to her hand, even as the rock plummeted downward.

He had her, but only just.

Annelise held on tightly, dangling at the end of Garrett’s grip. The falling rock crashed against the stone cliffs, then splashed as it landed in the water. The rain made Annelise’s skin slick, and for a moment, he feared he might lose her. Garrett locked his hands around her wrists and hauled her back up to the parapet. She clung to him in relief and he felt how she trembled.

Garrett pressed a kiss into her hair, then cleaned the blood from her throat with his fingertips. He was horrified by what he had done, but knew he could have done no less. He realized he had not truly believed it possible, even though Mhairi had warned him of it, not until he saw the stones in the forest. Even the memory of their potent silence made him shudder.

Garrett would use that gift sparingly indeed, if ever again.

But Annelise was safe. He touched her beneath the chin, compelling her to meet his concerned gaze.

When Annelise looked up, Garrett saw alarm light her eyes. He spun to find Andrew in the highest window of the tower, watching them with a smile. He held up a ring that glinted in the light. “I have the signet ring and the seal,” he taunted. “Who then is Laird of Killairig?” With that, he pivoted and disappeared into the shadows beyond. A heartbeat later, he leapt out the window on the opposite side of the tower and began to run down the sentries’ walk.

This battle was not done.

*

“Annelise, descend with care,” Garrett said. His gaze was fixed on the fleeing Andrew, and she knew he desired that signet ring and seal.

She barely had time to nod before he raced away. Stairs descended to the bailey on either side of the gates, and the stables were on the far side. Over the top of the walls, she could see the rain pouring down on the village of Killairig. The town gave every indication of being abandoned.

“Here, boy!” Stewart cried. Annelise saw that he was hastening up the stairs, waving an unsheathed sword. Garrett laughed and plucked the blade from Stewart’s grip, barely slowing his pace, then leapt back up to the walkway and raced toward Andrew.

The pair met at the summit of the other staircase in a clash of steel so loud that it made Annelise wince. Garrett drove Andrew back from the stairs with a fury of blows, and the knight recovered from his surprise to battle back.

Annelise had no intention of missing any detail. She hurried along the top of the wall, stepping with care as the stones were slick and the rain fell in punishing volume.

“Have you a knife, my lady?” Stewart asked when she reached the stairs. She saw that he hovered in the shadows, avidly watching the fight even as he spoke to her.

“My eating knife,” she admitted and he rolled his eyes. He drew the dagger from his own belt and handed it to her.

“But—”

“The battle is young yet, Lady Annelise. Remain alert.”

“Aye, Stewart. But what of you?”

He smiled. “I can fend for myself.”

Annelise did not doubt it. She tightened her grip on the knife, feeling its weight, and nodded. “I thank you, Stewart.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing down the stairs. Moments later, Annelise saw him creeping up the second staircase, a larger knife in his grip. He kept his back pressed against the wall, as if to ensure that the men above could not see him.

Did Garrett know Stewart was there?

Andrew and Garrett meanwhile fought back and forth, so evenly matched in power and skill that Annelise feared Garrett could not readily triumph. What could she do to aid him? She did not doubt that if she stumbled, Andrew would be as glad to use her against Garrett as any other weapon.

Garrett moved with sudden vigor and his blade flashed.

“Fiend!” Andrew cried and Annelise saw that Garrett had nicked the knight’s cheek. Annelise remembered Garrett’s claim that Seamus had taught him to fight.

“Worthless fiend,” that knight declared, his voice dropping low and his tone turning malicious. He slashed at Garrett repeatedly, driving him back over the gates to the bailey. The walkway was more narrow there, plus they came closer to Annelise. She gripped the hilt of Stewart’s knife, knowing that if she had to help, she would have but one chance.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed from close proximity. Andrew would back Garrett off the curtain wall, and send him plunging to his death.

“You are no better than a worm, Garrett MacLachlan,” Andrew continued, punctuating his words with blows. “You are a man unworthy to set foot in my father’s holding, much less to claim his estate.”

Garrett cried out and winced, then his grip faltered on the sword. One hand rose to his temple, as if he would compel his thoughts to be silent. Annelise was sure she saw him shake. Andrew laughed and lunged forward, stabbing at Garrett so that Annelise screamed in her fear.

Then she saw a shadow move on the opposite stairs. Stewart climbed to the wall behind Andrew stealthily, the sound of her cry undoubtedly helping to disguise any sound he made.

Garrett dropped to one knee, apparently in great pain.

Was he in pain? Or did he feign illness again? Annelise was so fearful for him that she could not think.

Andrew, in contrast, was gleeful and sure of victory. He bounded forward and made to thrust hard at Garrett, and even Annelise saw he moved too far too fast. He anticipated triumph before it was his, and she had seen her brothers defeated in practice by the same error.

Andrew lifted his sword over the fallen hunter, in the same moment that Garrett abruptly drove his blade upward with force. Annelise knew he meant to leave no doubt as to who won this battle. Just as she had resolved to make a first blow count, Garrett had done as much.

He stood, his blade yet buried in Andrew’s chest, as the blood flowed. Annelise could see Andrew’s shock and pain as he fell to his knees. He looked to be astonished, even as his own sword fell from his hand and blood flowed to mingle with the rain. He dropped to brace his weight on one elbow, his hand moving to his wound as if he had to touch it to know it was real. He touched the pool of blood with his fingertips, as if he had never thought to see it flow so readily. In that moment, Stewart stepped up behind the fallen knight, his blade at the ready. Garrett bent to pluck the sword from the stone, where it lay beside Andrew’s limp hand.

Andrew looked between them and shook his head in wonderment, then coughed. There was blood on his lip and pallor in his cheeks. He coughed again and could not support himself any longer. He fell to his back and his eyes stared blindly into the rain as the breath left his body for the last time.

“We were brothers,” Garrett said softly. “It did not have to be this way.” Then he turned and flung Andrew’s sword from the high wall, as if to cast away the horrors of the past. He bent to take the signet ring and seal from Andrew’s grasp, even as Annelise watched the blade fly end over end through the air.

Lightning lit the sky again, just when the sword was over the village, and she covered her eyes at its brilliant flash.

“It hit the blade,” Stewart cried, even as the loud boom of the thunder made the wall shake beneath their feet. When Annelise looked, there was only the darkness of night again.

In the village, a light was struck and a lantern’s glow shone out into the night from some previously darkened window. Silhouetted against it was the smoking ruin of the sword, its tip buried in the roof of the chapel.

Killairig’s chapel had a new crucifix. It was a sign that all here would be well.

The three of them stared at the sight wordlessly, then Stewart nodded at Garrett and turned away.

Garrett offered his hand to Annelise and led her toward the stairs. “Are you hale, my lady?” he asked and she wanted to welcome him to her bed that very moment.

“Indeed, for you are well,” she said, and it was true. She smiled up at him with shining eyes. “I love you, Garrett MacLachlan.”

Garrett smiled down at her. “And I love you, Annelise Lammergeier. Will you exchange vows with me at Kinfairlie and be my wife forevermore?”

“Even before our year and a day?”

“Even before.”

“I thought you would never ask.” She had no chance to say more for despite the onslaught of the rain, Garrett kissed her thoroughly and at leisure. There was a cheer from the bailey below and they parted to find Stewart applauding their embrace. Garrett’s mother stood in the doorway to the hall and even Percy gave a wolf whistle of approval. The sentries and guards looked about themselves in wonder, but more than one cheered for Garrett.

There would only be more men happy to serve beneath his hand, and Annelise knew it. Garrett now knew the truth of his own tale and his mother was returned to him. Killairig was his own, and Annelise was more than happy to be his bride. Even his curse had proved to be a blessing and Annelise knew that her hunter would never leave her side.

The passion of his kiss persuaded her that their thoughts were as one in that.

Epilogue

Annelise and Garrett rode to Kinfairlie for the harvest. The days were cool and the sunlight was golden, the weather seeming to echo the joy in Annelise’s heart.

Already there was improvement at Killairig. Many residents had returned when they had heard the tidings, and most had remained to help Garrett to rebuild. Annelise had been happy to learn the affection they had for Florine and even happier to see that loyalty transferred to Garrett. Garrett’s ability was a boon to him, not a curse, for it aided him in ensuring that justice was done. No man could lie to the Laird of Killairig, and Annelise liked that well.

Florine had remained with them, and Garrett’s mother was as kind and good as Annelise might have hoped. They had seen Coinneach buried in the cemetery at Killairig, and Florine had wept at the service. Flowers now bloomed in abundance at Killairig, growing most thickly in the places Florine favored.

Percy had asked to stay with Garrett and had proven to be a most diligent worker. Stewart had taken the boy into his care until they all departed to ride east and it was clear the boy admired the old warrior. Annelise had been surprised that Stewart had stayed so long with them, but Murdoch had approved and Stewart had been enthused about aiding in the restoration of the estate.

Alexander’s plan to meet at Inverfyre at midsummer had come to naught, for Annelise had no longer been a maiden by then. Also, Murdoch had not wished to travel so far with Isabella pregnant. He was protective, for Isabella was more robust than he believed, but Annelise could not fault him for that. She had missed the chance to visit Inverfyre and their family there, but hoped Garrett might take a detour to that holding on their way home to Killairig.

She wanted everyone to meet her hunter.

The entire party paused at Seton Manor to visit, and Annelise carried her sister’s good wishes home to Kinfairlie, as well as news from her to her siblings. Murdoch surrendered a letter for Alexander to their care, and Stewart remained there when Annelise and Garrett left for Kinfairlie. Florine told stories as they rode, and Annelise knew they could not have had a better companion for their journey.

Annelise’s heart soared when Kinfairlie itself came into view, for the holding looked most fine. Alexander’s pennant snapped from the top of the square tower and the sunlight made the sea behind the keep sparkle. The fields were golden with the ripened grain as they drew near. Many of those working in the fields paused to look and then wave at Annelise, and she found her anticipation rising.

She slowed Yseult to a walk and one of the workers pushed back his hat, smiling a greeting at her. “Good day, my lady Annelise. I hear you are to be congratulated.”

“Indeed, I have come to be wedded in Kinfairlie’s chapel. I thank you for your good wishes.” Annelise inclined her head, recalling when she would have been too shy even to reply. She gestured. “My betrothed travels with me to Kinfairlie and his mother, too.”

The man bowed low before the party. “The road has been busy this week, my lady. It seems many of your siblings have come to share your joy.” He peered at Garrett, apparently taking his measure, then nodded at whatever he saw.

“Save Isabella,” Annelise said. “She is too close to her time to travel so far.”

“So close as that?” the man asked but Annelise was quick to clarify the matter.

“The midwife who tends her is cautious. The babe is expected by the Yule, but the midwife decrees that Isabella must remain home until that day.”

The man grinned. “I will guess she finds support for this notion in Laird Murdoch.” At Annelise’s nod, he nodded to Garrett. “Those so fortunate to wed one of the jewels of Kinfairlie keep them well.”

“And so we should,” Garrett agreed. “For no treasure so fine as one of these sisters should be treated with less than the greatest honor.”

“You will be well received, my lord and my lady, upon that I can rely.” The man smiled and bowed low, evidently pleased with this reply. Annelise’s heart was singing as they approached the keep together, and she knew Garrett was studying it.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

“Your brother tends his responsibility well,” Garrett said. “It is clear that Kinfairlie is prosperous and its tenants content. His borders must be well defended and his harvest is enviable.” He squeezed her hand. “I will be seeking your brother’s counsel in rebuilding Killairig.”

“He has already written to me to offer as much,” Annelise said.

Florine, though, was scanning the distance, her fair brows drawn together in a slight frown. “Is something amiss?” Annelise asked and she shook her head.

“There is old power here, a force most familiar to me.”

“It has long been rumored that there is a portal between Kinfairlie and the realm of the Fae,” Annelise said. Garrett’s mother nodded at this and seemed to watch the road more closely.

In time, they rode beneath the gates of Kinfairlie’s keep and into the bailey. Owen the ostler came bustling toward them, his smile of greeting so wide that his cheeks might crack. “Yseult!” he cried, which made Annelise laugh. She had wondered that he would be so glad to see her.

Owen fairly embraced the mare. Yseult whinnied and tossed her head as he took her bridle and spoke to her, her eyes bright with pleasure. It was clear she anticipated good care after her absence, and Annelise knew the horse was right in that.

Garrett dismounted and lifted Annelise down, then handed down his mother. Percy held the reins of the other horses while awaiting the stable boys. Before Annelise could point out anything about her home, they were surrounded by her siblings.

“Annelise!” Alexander cried and swung her into the air. Of course, he was first to greet her—not just oldest but also tallest and Laird of Kinfairlie, Alexander was first in all things. There was a little more silver at his temples than she recalled, but otherwise he looked well.

Alexander’s wife, Eleanor was behind him. She was as fair and lovely as always, her grace making Annelise glad to be home again. Annelise made introductions and exchanged kisses, as Eleanor offered her welcome.

“Annelise!” an older woman cried, and Annelise spun to see Vera closing quickly upon her. The stocky woman who had tended Annelise and her sisters for years might have been a beloved aunt for the affection between them. She was carrying a babe who slept blissfully despite the noise. Vera gave Annelise a quick pat on the cheek with one hand, then looked Garrett up and down with a stern demeanor.

“Vera will have questions for you,” Annelise warned Garrett with a smile.

Vera shook her finger at him. “There are not many men worthy of this gentle maiden, so you can be sure that I had my doubts. You look hale enough, and she looks happy enough, so perhaps all is well.”

“Perhaps it is,” Eleanor interjected, taking the babe from Vera’s arms. “You have such a gift in persuading him to sleep,” she murmured. “Thank you, Vera.” The older woman blushed and knotted her hands together as she watched the child. Annelise bit back a smile that Vera doubted the babe’s own mother could be trusted with him.

Annelise noticed how Florine and Vera assessed each other, as if each guessed a secret held by the other. Annelise remembered all too well that Vera was distrustful of the Fae, but Garrett’s mother was so kind and good that she doubted there would be trouble.

In fact, Florine might overturn Vera’s opinion before they left for home.

“This is Tynan,” Eleanor said of the red-faced babe. He looked perfect to Annelise, as fair as his mother with long golden lashes on his cheek. She might have admired him longer, but Eleanor and Alexander’s older son, Roland, seized a fistful of her skirts in his demand for attention.

“Auntie Annelise! Did you forget me?”

“Never, Roland.” She bent down and gave him a hug, making him smile proudly with her admiration of how well he was walking now. She introduced him to Garrett, who crouched down to speak to him. Roland, Annelise could see, was much intrigued by Garrett’s kilt and boots, for most of the men dressed in the French manner at Kinfairlie.

“Annelise!” Vivienne cried from the portal, then ran toward her with her hair unbound. Indeed, her older sister looked as if she had just risen from bed. “Just the sister I need. I wished for a tale this morning, and I have no doubt you have brought me a good one.” She eyed Garrett and curtseyed before him. “Perhaps you are the tale, sir.”

“Perhaps I know a few of them,” Garrett said with a smile.

Vivienne shook a finger at him. “You should be warned that I prefer a tale of the Fae.”

Florine’s eyes widened at that, even as Annelise made more introductions. “Is Erik with you?” she asked her sister.

Vivienne’s eyes danced even as Alexander shook his head in sympathy for that man. “Aye, but he is the sole person who can coax William to sleep. I have only just nursed him and so his father must do his part of the labor.”

“I thought a father’s part was done much earlier,” Alexander commented with feigned innocence and Vivienne smacked him. His eyes danced in a way that reminded Annelise of how he used to tease them when they were small.

“But I have not seen William!” Annelise declared. There could be naught finer than babies, in her mind, and Kinfairlie seemed full of newly arrived ones.

“He is only a month old and already the delight of his father,” Vivienne said with a smile. “I had feared that Erik might not have allowed us to travel so far, but the girls were most persuasive.” She turned and indicated the young girls who had followed her, introducing Mairi and Astrid, then the toddler Catherine.

Annelise revised her assessment: there was naught finer than babies and children. Annelise made a fuss over the girls, how they had grown and how pretty they were, just as they evidently expected.

“You have a gift with children,” Garrett murmured to her when she straightened.

“I have always had an affection for them,” Annelise agreed. “I think they know as much.” She felt his hand land on the back of her waist, the warmth of her fingers sending a thrill through her still.

He bent and whispered in her ear. “Then I shall have to ensure that we have many of them.”

“Indeed, you shall.” Annelise flushed a little and smiled at him, knowing her pleasure in the idea showed. She wished to talk to one of her sisters while they were here, for she had a feeling that Garrett might already have guaranteed there would be one child at Killairig before the following summer.

“Madeline and Rhys could not ride from Wales again so soon,” Alexander explained. He nodded at Garrett. “They were here for Isabella’s nuptials and send their good wishes.” He handed Annelise a missive that was still sealed and she looked forward to opening it and reading of Madeline’s news.

Elizabeth came from the hall then, walking more slowly than was her custom. Her fair skin was paler than usual and her eyes looked larger and darker. Annelise flew to embrace her with dismay. “Elizabeth, are you well?”

“Annelise, I was so frightened for you,” Elizabeth whispered. Her gaze flew to Garrett and her relief was clear.

“Did you send me that dream?” Annelise whispered but Elizabeth stared at her as if she did not understand her words. “It made all the difference, and I would thank you truly.” Annelise kissed Elizabeth’s cheeks again. It was not like her sister to be quiet and she noted that Eleanor was also concerned.

“Elizabeth has been unwell these past weeks,” Eleanor said in a soothing tone, giving Elizabeth a quick hug. “But every day is a little better.”

“But what…” Annelise began to ask, only to be given a look from the Lady of Kinfairlie. If there was a tale to be shared, Eleanor would only share it in Elizabeth’s absence.

Erik joined them just then, carrying his new son with obvious pride. Vivienne’s husband also wore a kilt and had a patch over one eye. He and Garrett were introduced and Annelise admired Vivienne’s son.

She noticed then that Garrett’s mother was speaking softly to Elizabeth. Annelise’s younger sister looked up at Florine with wonder in her eyes and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.

Annelise was relieved.

“Have you heard from Malcolm?” she asked Alexander eagerly. “I knew he would not be here, I had thought he hoped to be home for the Yule? Will he come to Killairig, do you think?”

“I have not heard from him these past months.” Alexander sobered and again she had the sense that something was not being said. “His last missive was brief, as well. Perhaps his plans have changed. There is always a new place to sell one’s services, from what I understand.” Alexander’s disapproval of Malcolm’s choice was clear and as always it created an awkward moment.

Matters had been strained between Alexander and Malcolm, for he was heir to Ravensmuir but had refused to accept the seal, though Alexander kept it and administered the estate in his brother’s absence.

Alexander smiled then, as if to recall the earlier mood. “But we must not forget that there is another surprise for you on this day.” He turned and gestured to the portal. An older woman stood there, silver in her hair and a smile on her lips, her features familiar despite the long time since Annelise had seen her.

“Aileen!” Annelise cried with delight and threw herself into the embrace of the relative she so seldom saw. Aileen was not an aunt, but still related: her husband’s father had been brothers with Annelise’s grandfather. More importantly, Aileen’s wedding to the Hawk was one of the first events Annelise recalled. She had been very small, but her memories of that midsummer at Inverfyre were vivid all the same.

Particularly of the bride.

The Hawk stood behind Aileen, so still in the shadows that he could be overlooked. His hair was almost completely silvered now. As ever, Annelise could fairly feel the power of the love between these two. To Annelise’s further delight, Aileen and the Hawk’s children spilled out of the hall to surround their parents. There was much greeting and kissing and hand-shaking between those of Kinfairlie and those of Inverfyre.

“Now there is a fine crossbow,” Aileen said to Garrett with obvious admiration. “We shall have to compare.”

Garrett’s brows rose and the Hawk chuckled. “Do not let her fool you into taking a wager,” he warned with good humor. “My wife is an excellent shot.”

“Your warning is taken, sir, I should be glad to hunt while here. We are a large party and Kinfairlie’s forests look most abundant.”

There was general agreement in this, and Annelise looked around with happiness at the gathered members of her family. It was then she realized one red-haired man stood slightly aside, smiling at her.

“Ross!”

That brother laughed aloud, even as he swung Annelise into the air. He was wearing a mail shirt and his hair had turned to burnished copper. Two years older than Annelise, he had grown taller and wider while in training with the Hawk and had become a man instead of the boy she recalled.

“You are so much taller than me now,” she complained but he tugged on her braids just as he always had.

“And you are getting bolder,” he teased, his gaze darting to Garrett. “I fear we shall have to watch you more closely.”

“Ross has returned from serving the Earl of Buchan, but has not yet earned his spurs,” the Hawk said to Garrett.

Annelise dropped her gaze, for she knew that Alexander had not approved of Ross pledging to the Earl any more than he had approved of Malcolm’s choice. He had sent Ross to Inverfyre initially and had been unhappy to be defied.

“He does well, but I should like him to learn more of fighting and the work of sentries,” the Hawk continued, as if there had been no interrupting in Ross’s training. “I would send him and my son Nigel to labor in your service for a year, if you are willing.” He gestured to his oldest son, a handsome young man just five years younger than Annelise.

“I should be honored by your trust,” Garrett said with a bow.

“And Nigel can aid you with your wedding gift,” Aileen interjected.

Annelise knew her confusion showed. Aileen gestured and servants carried four hooded falcons to the group. They were large birds with fiercely sharp beaks, fine leather hoods covering their eyes and jesses with bells upon their ankles.

“Two breeding pair,” the Hawk said, then turned to Garrett. “Inverfyre is in the Highlands, with little land for crops. Our revenue comes from the breeding and training of hunting falcons. These two pair can be your own hawks, or can be the foundation of a sister empire, for it sounds as if you will face similar challenges at Killairig. I would be delighted to lend you any assistance you need.”

Garrett appeared to be overwhelmed, but Annelise knew what was in his mind.

“Perhaps you might visit us,” Annelise suggested. “Garrett has said that he would welcome the advice of my family with regards to his holding, and I would be happy to have you visit our home.”

“We would be honored,” the Hawk said and Aileen nodded. “It would be best to travel there from here and arrive home before the snow. In the spring we have too many concerns with the breeding.”

Garrett was clearly both pleased and surprised. He bowed deeply to the Hawk, who urged Garrett to straighten so he could shake his hand. “I thank you, sir, for such uncommon generosity.”

“We are family now,” the Hawk said with a smile. “And we must guard each other’s backs.” The two men’s gazes met and held for a moment, then they nodded in unison. Annelise did not doubt that they would readily understand each other and perhaps become good friends as well as family.

Father Malachy came bustling toward them then, climbing the path from the village and huffing as he did so. “Lady Annelise!” he exclaimed with undisguised pleasure. His eyes danced. “Your brother instructed me that there would be a wedding upon your arrival, and all is prepared.”

“Today?” Annelise asked in surprise.

Alexander smiled. “Garrett wrote and asked if I would put your hand in his as soon as possible,” he said, casting an admiring glance at the man in question. “And so I will. Your choice is made and love will reign. I see no cause for delay.”

Annelise might have protested that she had need of a bath and a new kirtle, but her sisters whisked her into the hall and up the stairs. They laughed at her surprise that the bath was already poured, for the preparations had been finalized while they all talked in the bailey. In the merest of moments, Annelise was bathed and changed into a kirtle newly made for her by her sisters, with fresh flowers in her hair. She descended to the hall to find Alexander waiting for her and tears rose in her eyes. She was nigh overwhelmed by the power of love in her family. She and Alexander walked together to the chapel and she was certain all would hear her heart singing.

Garrett was waiting on the steps of Kinfairlie’s chapel with Father Malachy, his hands folded before himself and his smile making her heart thunder. He, too, had been rushed to a prepared bath and his hair was still damp on his collar. Annelise stood before him and smiled up at him as Alexander put her hand in his. Father Malachy spoke as the sun shone down upon them and Annelise knew a happiness beyond anything she had ever expected.

All because she chose to be bold and make her future be her own.

She smiled up at Garrett and repeated her vows, glad beyond belief that their adventure together had only just begun.

Cast of Characters

A large family in a large household in a long, linked series means many characters passing through each book. This character list should help you place everyone as you read. Names in bold type are characters with their own listings.

The character list has been updated for this current book, so if you have not read The Rogues of Ravensmuir, The Jewels of Kinfairlie and The Renegade’s Heart, there may be spoilers. Babies born and marriages made will be added with each new book in the series.

Alexander Lammergeier—oldest son of Catherine and Roland; Laird of Kinfairlie after 1420; married to Eleanor Havilland; father of Roland (the younger) and Tynan (the younger). His story is told in THE SNOW WHITE BRIDE.

Annelise Lammergeier—third daughter of Catherine and Roland and their sixth child; sister of Alexander, wife of Garrett MacLachlan. Her story is told in THE HIGHLANDER’S CURSE.

Anthony—castellan of Kinfairlie, serving Alexander and Roland before him.

Darg—a spriggan, and one very fond of ale. This small fairy can be seen and heard by Elizabeth but disappeared in THE RENEGADE’S HEART.

Eleanor Havilland—wife of Alexander and Lady of Kinfairlie; mother of Roland (the younger) and Tynan (the younger). Her story is told in THE SNOW WHITE BRIDE.

Elizabeth Lammergeier—youngest sibling in the family at Kinfairlie; fifth daughter of Catherine and Roland. She has the ability to see the Fae.

The Elphine Queen—a Fae queen of Scotland. Like Finvarra, she has a taste for mortal partners.

Erik Sinclair—Laird of Blackleith; husband of Vivienne; father of Mairi and Astrid by his first wife, Beatrice; father of Catherine (the younger) and William by Vivienne. His story is told in THE ROSE RED BRIDE.

Evangeline Armstrong—daughter of the house of Inverfyre, widow of Fergus of Balquhidder and wife of Gawain Lammergeier. Mother of Michael (the Hawk) and adoptive mother of Rosamunde. Her story is told in THE SCOUNDREL.

Father Malachy—Kinfairlie’s priest.

Finvarra—King of the Daoine Sidhe. Although usually resident in Ireland, he visits the court of the Elphine Queen annually. His wife is Una, but he is not faithful to her. He is also an excellent chess player and likes to engage mortals in games with high stakes.

Garrett MacLachlan—husband of Annelise Lammergeier, half-Fae son of Florine and Laird of Killairig. His story is told in THE HIGHLANDER’S CURSE.

Gawain Lammergeier—younger brother of Merlyn; husband of Evangeline; Laird of Inverfyre; father of Michael (the Hawk) and adoptive father of Rosamunde. His story is told in THE SCOUNDREL.

Isabella Lammergeier—fourth daughter of Catherine and Roland and their seventh child; sister of Alexander, wife of Murdoch. Her story is told in THE RENEGADE’S HEART.

Madeline FitzHenry—oldest daughter of Catherine and Roland and their second child; sister of Alexander; wife of Rhys FitzHenry; mother of Dafydd and Rhiannon. Her story is told in THE BEAUTY BRIDE.

Malcolm Lammergeier—second son of Catherine and Roland and their fourth child; Laird of Ravensmuir in absentia. Malcolm has been fighting as a mercenary on the continent, but will return to Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie for his book, THE FROST MAIDEN’S KISS.

Matthew—the son of Kinfairlie’s miller. His courtship of his wife, Ceara, occurred in THE SNOW WHITE BRIDE.

Michael (the Hawk) Lammergeier—Laird of Inverfyre; son of Evangeline and Gawain; milk cousin to Roland; husband of Aileen, father of Nigel, Evangeline (the younger), Mhairi, Gawain (the younger) and Avery. His story is told in THE WARRIOR.

Moira Goodall—Eleanor’s maid. She has served Eleanor since the lady’s infancy.

Murdoch Seton—brother of Duncan; husband of Isabella, Laird of Seton Manor. His story is told in THE RENEGADE’S HEART.

Merlyn Lammergeier—Laird of Ravensmuir and later Laird of Kinfairlie; married to Ysabella; father of Tynan and Roland. His story is told in THE ROGUE.

Owen—Kinfairlie’s ostler.

Roland Lammergeier—Laird of Kinfairlie by his father, Merlyn; husband of Catherine; father of eight children: Alexander, Madeline, Vivienne, Malcolm, Ross, Annelise, Isabella, Elizabeth; died in a shipwreck in 1420 along with Catherine. He makes a brief appearance with his family at the end of THE WARRIOR.

Rosamunde Lammergeier—a foundling adopted and raised by Gawain and Evangeline as their own in THE SCOUNDREL; lover of Tynan; wife of Padraig Dean. Her story is told in “The Ballad of Rosamunde.”

Ross Lammergeier—third and youngest son of Catherine and Roland and their fifth child. He is training as a knight at Inverfyre.

Rhys FitzHenry—Lord of Caerwyn; husband of Madeline; father of Dafydd and Rhiannon. His story is told in THE BEAUTY BRIDE.

Stewart—a man-at-arms in the employ of Murdoch Seton.

Tynan Lammergeier—Laird of Ravensmuir after his father, Merlyn; lover of Rosamunde. Tynan died in the collapse of Ravensmuir in THE ROSE RED BRIDE, choosing his holding and responsibilities over his love.

Vera—chamber maid at Kinfairlie, who has long attended the daughters of the house.

Vivienne Sinclair—second daughter of Catherine and Roland and their third child; wife of Erik Sinclair; step-mother to Mairi and Astrid; mother of Catherine (the younger) and William. Her story is told in THE ROSE RED BRIDE.

Ready for more of the family from Kinfairlie?

Read on for an excerpt from

The Frost Maiden’s Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

This is Malcolm’s story and third in the True Love Brides Series.

Copyright 2013 by Deborah A. Cooke

Scotland

Christmas 1425

“Tell me that it does not get colder,” Rafael said, his tone grim. Malcolm and his companion had just entered the forests outside of Kinfairlie, and the trees hung thickly with ice. Snow was falling with purpose, but at least the forest gave shelter from the biting wind. Malcolm had never seen such a storm, but he doubted his companion would believe any such claim.

It was not ideal weather for a homecoming, although Malcolm felt the weather echoed his own mood. He felt cold himself, chilled by what he had done to fill his bags with gold and silver. The wind and snow swirled around them obscuring the landscape from view, and he acknowledged that he felt lost.

Kinfairlie. He was within moments of home. As much as he wanted to see his older brother Alexander, he did not want to face his older brother’s censure. There would be disapproval, even more of it than before. Alexander had been displeased when Malcolm had chosen the life of a mercenary over his inheritance of Ravensmuir: his brother would be disgusted to learn how much blood was on Malcolm’s blade now.

“I am chilled to my very marrow,” Rafael complained. “I cannot even feel my toes. Have you not heard of the marvel known as fire in this remote place?” The mercenary cast a glance around himself and his disgust would have been comical if Malcolm’s mood had been lighter. “It would not surprise me, as evidently the inhabitants here are unfamiliar with the sun.”

It was falling dark early, far earlier than had been their experience on the continent. Rafael was from the south of Spain, his skin a rich golden hue from the sun’s caress, his eyes and hair of darkest brown. His teeth flashed when he smiled, which was usually after the death of an enemy. Rafael was better as friend than foe, the perfect warrior to have at one’s back, and his bitterness made Malcolm feel a little less cold himself. Rafael had seen much, experienced more, and expected less than any man Malcolm had ever known.

“I can understand readily enough why you left this miserable place,” Rafael continued. “The mystery, my friend, is why you would ever return.”

“You will have your feet before a hearty fire soon enough,” Malcolm said, hoping it would be so.

His companion made a sound of skepticism. “That fire will be thawing a corpse at this rate,” Rafael muttered. “How much farther?”

Malcolm halted his horse at a familiar crossroads in the midst of the forest. The right road would take them to Kinfairlie. His family would be gathered for the Yule, and the hall where he had grown up would be filled with music and candlelight. There would be children and merriment, a board groaning with food and greenery decking the hall. Rafael would have his fire and more.

Such joys were not for Malcolm, not yet. He did not know what he would say to Alexander, much less how he would explain Rafael’s presence by his side. There was no disguising what Rafael was, much less what Malcolm had become.

They were mercenaries and warriors for hire. Killers.

“Straight on. It will not be long now,” he said, gesturing to the road that led to Ravensmuir.

It quickly became clear that this was a neglected road. It had never been that busy, but since the destruction of Ravensmuir, he supposed it had no real destination. If not for the parting of the trees in the forest, he would never have guessed it even was a road.

“This is a road to no good end,” Rafael complained. The horses were laboring heavily, up to their knees in snow. Rafael looked at Malcolm with suspicion. “Where are we destined that is worth the sacrifice of five good horses?”

“Ravensmuir,” Malcolm admitted, breathing the name of the holding he loved more than anything.

“For the love of God, why?”

“Because it is mine.”

Rafael laughed. “You are a lord with a holding to your name?”

“I am,” Malcolm said so quietly that his companion sobered.

Rafael’s eyes lit with curiosity and something Malcolm chose not to name. “For how long has this been so?”

“Years now.” Malcolm spared the other man a glance. “For as long as I have known you and more.”

“And yet you never said a word of it. All this time, I fought beside a nobleman who pretended to have naught to his name.” Rafael slanted a glance at Malcolm. “One has to wonder why.”

Malcolm tried to swallow the lump in his throat and failed. “My uncle died in the keep of Ravensmuir.”

“Of old age? Poison? An assassin’s blade?”

“There are caverns beneath the keep, secret passages that wind down from the hall to the sea. My forebears used them for…trade.”

Rafael laughed again. “Trade in items that had to be hidden. I understand. Your forebears were pirates.”

“Not all of them. Some also had a thriving business in the sale of religious relics.”

“I knew there was more to you than met the eye.”

“My uncle Tynan did not approve. Like his father, he was an honest merchant, trading in cloth and other luxuries.”

“He would use the same contacts in the east for both,” Rafael noted. “And if a treasure slipped between the cloth, who would know?”

“Nay,” Malcolm said hotly. “My uncle was honest through and through. He ran a fair trade and refused to trade in relics. That was what killed him.”

“A curse?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I had an aunt, or a woman we called an aunt. Rosamunde was a pirate and proud of it. She also was in love with Tynan. They had thought their feelings for each other wrong, for they believed that they were blood cousins. In truth. Rosamunde was a foundling who shared no blood with us and who had been adopted by my grandfather’s brother. When they learned the truth, I believe they became lovers.”

“The pirate and the man of honor. It is an unlikely partnership.”

“I believe it was quite stormy, but passionate. They argued about the relics and parted, but he pursued her into the caverns.”

“Then she killed him, to gain the hoard.” Rafael nodded. “I should have liked to have met this woman.”

“Nay, nay. She tried to save him.” Malcolm paused in his tale, for the next part sounded implausible, even in his own thoughts, even though he knew it to be true. “There is an old tale that Ravensmuir opens into the hidden realm of the Fae. We never believed it, until my youngest sister, Elizabeth said she could see the Fae in our abode of Kinfairlie.”

“Kinfairlie?”

“A sister estate, governed by my father and now by my oldest brother, Alexander.”

“Children claim to see many things.”

“Indeed. But in the caverns below Ravensmuir strange events occurred. Rosamunde and Tynan were confronted by a Fae, a spriggan, convinced the relics were its own treasure. In the ensuing challenge, the caverns collapsed.”

“And there your uncle died,” Rafael guessed.

“And there he died, but not Rosamunde. She escaped into the realm of the Fae, through that very portal, one that was truth not rumor.”

“And you know this because she returned to share the tale.”

Malcolm nodded. To his thinking, there had always been an unreal quality about Ravensmuir. It had always perched on the lip of the North Sea, a brooding dark keep where there should not be one, a tower filled with secret passages and undermined by hidden tunnels, a castle said to be administered by lairds with strange powers. Ravens lived in the tops of its towers, dark and watchful birds that were said to communicate with the laird himself. There was a hedge of thorns before the gates, as if visitors were not welcome. Malcolm had played at Ravensmuir as a child, and its hall had been merry much of the time. Still he had always had a sense that there was more afoot than most people guessed.

More even than the secret traffic in religious relics that had funded Ravensmuir’s construction.

Rafael scoffed. “So you were to believe a pirate.” He shook his head. “I am skeptical, my friend. It seems to me this pirate Rosamunde stole the hoard, destroyed the caverns to escape your uncle when he opposed her, and returned—after the sale of the goods—with a pretty story to pacify you all. Perhaps she intended only to confirm that there was no more for the taking.”

“Believe what you must,” Malcolm said. The forest ended just ahead and all he could see was swirling white. He nodded toward it. “We ride directly toward the sea and the fields are open there. It cannot be a league to the keep, but it will be cold.”

Rafael rolled his eyes, then pulled down his hood, winding his cape across his face. “The blood in my veins turns to ice,” he complained, then caught his breath as they left the comparative shelter of the forest.

The wind was bitter and strong, the snow falling fast and thick. The sky was as dark as pewter over the sea and the snow drove at him in small hard pellets. Malcolm had a sense that Ravensmuir would keep them away, but the holding was his legacy and he had been away long enough.

After half an eternity, he saw the broken tumble of stone ahead of him that had once been the proud keep. He eyed its silhouette with a lump in his throat. Ravensmuir had always haunted his dreams.

He urged his horse onward, but the steed halted at the hedge of thorns.

“What manner of foul gate is this?” Rafael cried. The way had grown over, for so few had come this way. Malcolm dismounted and used his sword to widen the opening, hacking at the doughty growth. He wondered if it would dull the blade, but did not care.

He knew in that moment that his days of fighting were over, forever.

The wind was howling in his ears and echoing in the ruins of the keep when he had made a way broad enough to let the horses pass. His own steed balked and Malcolm had to lead him, then mount again once they were through the barrier. He checked that Rafael was close behind, along with the palfreys loaded with their spoils of war. He rode through the gate and to the stables, glad that they had not been destroyed. The stables were constructed of wood and not stone and were extensive, given his family’s history in breeding horses at Ravensmuir.

It was still inside and much warmer out of the wind. He dismounted and pushed back his hood, looking around with appreciation.

“This is your legacy?” Rafael demanded, his own expression much less pleased. “You have inherited a ruin, my friend!”

“I will see it rebuilt,” Malcolm said with resolve. He straightened and eyed his companion. “You are welcome to stay, if you so choose. If you go, I will not be offended.”

Rafael’s glance slipped to the loaded horses, and Malcolm remembered that they both knew the packs to be filled with gold and silver.

Perhaps it had not been the best choice to ensure that he was alone with his fortune in the company of a ruthless mercenary.

Perhaps he was too tired to think clearly. He and Rafael had fought back to back a hundred times, and each had gone back to save the other at risk. Malcolm reminded himself that he could trust Rafael.

He took a bucket and tried the well, gladdened to find that the water was still abundant and clear. He fetched water for the steeds, returning to the stables to find that Rafael had removed their trap and started to brush down his own horse. There was still some hay and oats, as well as a few bundles of straw. Rafael’s brows rose as he surveyed the former majesty of stables, but for once, he held his tongue.

The two warriors worked together in silence, tending their horses and ensuring that their needs were met. For Rafael, Malcolm expected that this labor was part of ensuring his arsenal remained in good care: a horse was a weapon and a tool, no more than that. Good care would ensure the steed survived longer and performed better, providing greater value for coin spent.

It had never been that way for Malcolm. The horses were as important to him as people, perhaps more so. He knew their characters and their preferences, and was devastated by the loss of one. That was why he had not taken one of the black destriers bred by his family with him when he had left. Malcolm had known he rode to war, and he did not want to lose such a steed.

The lineage of those who had bred horses at Ravensmuir ran in his veins and the prospect of continuing that legacy pleased him. He kindled a fire on the hearth that had been used by the ostler as the steeds ate, aware that Rafael was pacing the length of the stables.

“Your family did well in their trade,” he said quietly when he returned to watch Malcolm. “It has been a long time since I have seen a stable of such generous proportions and grace.”

“They bred horses.”

“The black destriers of Ravensmuir,” Rafael said softly. Malcolm turned in surprise. “Oh, they were of great renown, even amongst the Saracens. I have heard of them but never seen one. I thought, actually, that they must be a fable.” He stretched out his hands to the growing blaze with obvious pleasure, then turned to look again. Malcolm followed his gaze, eying the carved wood edges of the stalls and the vaulted roof overhead, also adorned with carvings.

“Many a man would be glad to be sheltered so well,” Rafael said, his tone wry. “You keep your promises, my friend.” He watched Malcolm carefully. “You pledged to return here, did you not?”

“And to rebuild. And I will.”

Rafael nodded, his gaze wandering over the building. “And so it is, when a man loses his heart to a dream.” His tone was uncharacteristically thoughtful, but before Malcolm could ask him to explain, music floated through the stables. It was beautiful music, more skillfully played than any Malcolm had heard before. He thought a woman sang along with the players, a woman with a voice as clear as crystal.

He turned to look toward the back of the stable, where the music seemed to emanate, and saw a golden glow of light there. How could this be?

To his relief, Rafael saw it as well. The other man turned silently on his heel, drawing his knife and sparing Malcolm a nod. His posture indicated that he also believed there was an intruder. That made some sense, as the weather was most foul and any unfortunate would seek shelter where it could be found. It made little sense that a trespasser would play music, though. Malcolm could make no sense of it.

At Rafael’s gesture, they slipped into the shadows silently, one on each side of the great corridor, and worked their way steadily toward the sound.

The last stall was empty, a gaping hole knocked out of its back wall.

Malcolm entered the stall and peered down into the hole. He tested the rocks but they seemed to be stable.

“The caverns to the sea,” Rafael murmured, his words almost soundless.

Malcolm nodded.

Rafael considered the light and the music, his eyes narrowing.

Malcolm pointed to himself, then down into the caverns. Rafael’s lips tightened, then he nodded as well. They both tightened their grips on their knives and squared their shoulders.

Then Malcolm Lammergeier, Laird of Ravensmuir, descended into the abandoned caverns beneath the castle he had returned to claim. He had not gone a dozen steps before a gust of cold wind blew from below. The golden light was extinguished and they were plunged into darkness.

Rafael swore, even as he gripped Malcolm’s shoulder.

Malcolm froze in place, willing his eyes to adjust, smelling the salt of the sea. The caverns opened to the ocean far below, and he took this as a sign that they were not blocked the entire way. The music became louder and he could hear that woman’s voice as she sang without accompaniment. Her song was bewitching, sweet, and utterly beguiling. He could not discern the words, but he did not care.

He had to see her.

“Lead on,” Rafael murmured. “I have your back.”

The pair of them descended into the ruins together.

The Frost Maiden’s Kiss

will be part of the True Love Brides series.

Claire also writes urban fantasy romance.

The Prometheus Project is a series of linked urban fantasy romances featuring fallen angel heroes in a gritty future society. The first three books of this series—Fallen, Guardian and Rebel—will be republished in new editions in fall 2013, along with a new fourth title, Abyss. This is Tupperman’s story.

Please read on for an excerpt from

Abyss

by Claire Delacroix

Copyright 2013 by Deborah A. Cooke

“Angels are the root of all evil.”

Tupperman glanced up when a woman claimed the empty seat beside him on the train, as startled by her pronouncement as her presence. She swept into the seat with a vigor that was remarkable for a woman dressed to the full specification of the Sumptuary & Decency laws. She carried a large and dusty black carpetbag and dropped it before herself so that it landed with a thump.

Then she smiled at him, as if they were old friends.

The hour was late and the train had only reached New D.C. His hope that the seat beside him would remain unassigned for most of the trip was dashed.

Worse, she was talking about angels. She couldn’t know who he was, could she? He’d dressed with care, intending to blend in with humans even more than he did usually. He’d booked the ticket in his own name, though, not wanting to give any hint that he suspected he was being set up. Someone could have followed him.

But this woman?

Tupperman was sufficiently intrigued to survey his fellow traveler. She was tall, maybe even as tall as he was, and dressed all in black. The skirt of her dress was cut full and had a deep ruffle on the hem. It rustled as she took her seat and had the sheen of taffeta. He caught a glimpse of her boots and was surprised again. They were not the high-heeled laced boots that most women wore, the ones that ensured they took small and careful steps. These were boots much like his own, sturdy low-heeled boots for walking quickly or even running.

A violation of the S&D code, but one few people would notice.

Who was she?

Tupperman continued to look. Her jacket was black and fitted to show her curves to advantage. He was particularly struck by how narrow her waist was in comparison to the ripe curve of her bust and assumed she wore a tight corset.

The idea agitated him, as such ideas seldom did.

But then, he was unsettled.

Her gloves were long and black, made of faux leather perfectly fitted to show the elegance of her hands. He had to assume that the black meant she was in mourning and wondered whose death she lamented. Not that of an angel, he was sure. Or did she disparage the angels to encourage some confession from him?

She wore a simple hat that seemed to exist solely to support the yards of dark netting that wound across her face. The only part of her that was uncovered was around her eyes.

They were so dark that they didn’t seem to have pupils. Fathomless black, with long dark lashes. A man could fall into those eyes and never return. The whimsical thought was uncharacteristic of Tupperman and he tried to dismiss it, without success.

She stared directly at him, as if willing him to look at her. Tupperman was sure he had never seen eyes so feminine and lovely. That she held his regard steadily showed a forthrightness that was unusual.

As unusual as her first words to him.

“It’s what my mother used to say,” she added, giving him a moment’s relief. “I always thought she was kidding, but now I think she was probably right.”

She gestured and Tupperman glanced up at the vid over the door to the train. The story about the ambush of the Watchful Host was playing again, part of the newscast about the memorial service.

He understood her reference, a bit late but with relief.

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” he said, hoping to divert her attention.

“Everyone is talking about them,” she said easily. Before Tupperman’s astonished gaze, she peeled off her gloves with impatience and chucked them into the top of her bag. He blinked, unable to believe that she had revealed her hands to his view.

Fortunately for her, the people on the other side of the aisle hadn’t noticed. Tupperman looked surreptitiously, well aware that the S&D laws existed so that a mortal man would never glimpse the bare skin of women.

Lest he be tempted.

Tupperman had always scoffed at the very idea, but as he looked at this woman’s graceful hands, he was tempted. Her skin was golden brown and her fingers were elegant. Her nails were cut short and unpolished, but they gleamed with a health unusual in the Republic.

The remarkable thing was that she wore silver rings. There had to be one on every finger, some broad enough to fill a whole knuckle. They were simple bands for the most part, unadorned with gems, and they shone in the shadows.

Tupperman also noticed that she had never had a palm embedded in her left hand. The skin there was perfectly smooth.

His suspicions were roused again. Who was she? Every citizen of the Republic had routinely had a computer installed in his or her left hand, colloquially called a palm. The wafer-thin flexible communications devices had worked both ways, allowing citizens to communicate with each other and allowing the so-called Eyes of the Republic to monitor all such conversations. Palms had shorted out and been disabled when the angels had descended four years before and Tupperman, like all other citizens, now had a blank implant in his hand to replace the destroyed device and missing flesh.

This woman didn’t have one. Had she been a shade? Few shades had had palms—and all shades had been liberated by the angels.

Tupperman risked a glance at her face, only to find her avidly watching him, as if she was waiting for him to finish his survey. He felt the back of his neck heat in self-awareness, but she smiled, apparently untroubled by his boldness. Her eyes shone with intelligence and a humor that made him self-conscious.

“Don’t you have an opinion?” she asked.

“About angels?” At her nod, Tupperman felt a flicker of annoyance. “Sounds as if you have enough opinions for both of us.”

She laughed then, a hearty laugh that was so genuine that other passengers turned to look. “My mother used to say that, too,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling.

She looked so vital and attractive that Tupperman felt a surge of desire for her. He was taken aback by his own reaction.

He had never been particularly tempted by mortal women. Lust was a detail, a demand of his physical body that Tupperman usually managed with ease. He had sex at regular intervals to keep his desires in check, but one woman was as interesting in that moment of need as another. He had never felt the need to have a relationship. Women seemed so transparent and predictable. He could anticipate their thoughts and guess their expectations. They held no mystery for him and certainly didn’t capture his attention beyond a basic attraction that could be easily satisfied.

But this woman was different. She was an enigma, at least thus far, and he doubted that his attraction to her would be easily satisfied.

If it ever was.

If it was even appropriate for him to be thinking of her in such terms, on such a brief acquaintance.

He wished he could think of something clever to say.

The lady showed no such limitation. Against all expectation, she offered her bare hand to him, such a breach of propriety that he thought his eyes deceived him. He stared at her hand, her skin so soft and golden, at her glinting rings and long fingers, and his desire simmered. “Since we’re condemned to each other’s company for the foreseeable future, I see no reason to be shy. I’m Kara.”

Watch for Abyss

By Claire Delacroix

Coming Fall 2013

About the Author

Deborah Cooke sold her first book in 1992, a medieval called The Romance of the Rose, which was published under the pseudonym Claire Delacroix. Since then, she has published over fifty romance novels in a wide variety of sub-genres, including medieval romance, contemporary romance, time travel romance, paranormal romance, paranormal young adult and fantasy with romantic elements. She has written as Claire Delacroix, Claire Cross and as herself, Deborah Cooke. Her medieval romance, The Beauty, was her first book to land on the New York Times’ List of Bestselling Books, and her books are nationally bestselling under every name.

Currently, Deborah is writing the “Dragonfire” series of paranormal romances, which feature dragon shape shifter heroes and the women who love them. The current title in that series is The Dragon Legion Collection, which includes three Dragonfire time travel novellas. Her next release in that series will be Thorolf’s book, Serpent’s Kiss. As Claire, Deborah is writing “The True Love Brides” series of medieval romances, which continues the story of the siblings introduced in her “Jewels of Kinfairlie” series. The Highlander’s Curse is the current release in this series. Her next book in this series will be Malcolm’s book, The Frost Maiden’s Kiss.

Deborah lives in Canada with her husband, a lot of incomplete knitting projects and many many books.

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Books by Claire Delacroix

Historical Romances

The Romance of the Rose Honeyed Lies

Unicorn Bride

The Sorceress

Roarke’s Folly

Pearl Beyond Price

The Magician’s Quest

Unicorn Vengeance

My Lady’s Champion

Enchanted

My Lady’s Desire

- The Bride Quest I & II -

The Princess

The Damsel

The Heiress

The Countess

The Beauty

The Temptress

- The Rogues of Ravensmuir -

The Rogue

The Scoundrel

The Warrior

- The Jewels of Kinfairlie -

The Beauty Bride

The Rose Red Bride

The Snow White Bride

The Ballad of Rosamunde

- The True Love Brides -

The Renegade’s Heart

The Highlander’s Curse

Novellas and Short Stories

“An Elegy for Melusine”

in TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC

“Kiss of the Snow Queen”

in THE QUEEN IN WINTER

“Amor Vincit Omnia”

in SEVEN DEADLY SINS

Time Travel Romances

Once Upon a Kiss

The Last Highlander

Love Potion #9

The Moonstone

Urban Fantasy Romance

- The Prometheus Project -

Fallen

Guardian

Rebel

Abyss (coming in 2013)

Books by Deborah Cooke

Paranormal Romances

- The Dragonfire Series -

Kiss of Fire

Kiss of Fury

Kiss of Fate

Winter Kiss

Whisper Kiss

Harmonia’s Kiss

Darkfire Kiss

Flashfire

Ember’s Kiss

Kiss of Danger

The Dragon Legion Collection (including “Kiss of Danger”, “Kiss of Darkness” and “Kiss of Destiny”)

Paranormal Young Adult

- The Dragon Diaries -

Flying Blind

Winging It

Blazing the Trail

Contemporary Romance

- The Coxwells -

Third Time Lucky

Double Trouble

One More Time

All or Nothing

Short Stories

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Cast of Characters

Excerpt from The Frost Maiden’s Kiss

Excerpt from Abyss

About the Author

Connect Online!

More Books by the Author