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eyes widened and she exchanged a sharp look with Malcolm.
“The gods have a reason fer all they do—when they bother with us,” he finally said.
“Maybe you are right, and there’s a reason you are here,” Claire said to Brie. She shook her head. “Aren’t you afraid of him? We fear him. Everyone fears him. He should be feared.”
Brie did fear him. He made her uncomfortable, and he was so unpredictable. She was terrified of the Wolf. But she didn’t think he would hurt her. She’d meant what she’d said earlier. He’d had many chances to do so. “He still has a conscience.”
Malcolm started. “Ye have faith. I am pleased.”
Claire spoke grimly. “Befriend him—save him if you can—but do not trust him,” she warned.
Brie knew it was really good advice. And the truth was, she didn’t quite trust him, so Claire’s advice would be easy to follow.
Malcolm spoke. “I still fear fer ye, lass. In good conscience, I canna leave an’Innocent in this place with my brother. Would ye care to come to Dunroch with us? Ye can save him in bits an’pieces, from a safe distance.”
Brie wasn’t going anywhere. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll stay here.” She couldn’t befriend Aidan if she was at Dunroch. She stared at the handsome couple. “Do you guys know Black Royce and the lady of Carrick?”
Malcolm smiled. “Royce is my uncle, lass, and we ken them well.”
Brie felt so much relief. She desperately needed backup, and Allie was the best backup there was. “Are they far from here?”
“By horse, Carrick is a two-or three-day ride, depending on the time of year,” Claire said, grinning. “I should have known you and Allie were friends. I’ll let her know that you’re at Awe.”
“Thank you,” Brie said. She wasn’t as alone as she’d been an hour ago, and now, understanding more of what had happened to Aidan, her purpose was becoming clearer. “I have one more question. What is today’s date?”
“’Tis November 18th,” Malcolm said. “November the 18th, in the year 1502.”
Brie froze in horror.
HE LAY IN THE COLD, WET EARTH, panting hard, uncontrollably, his head on his paws. Overhead, the moon was huge and bright. Brianna could see his son.
He’d howled his anguish until he could not howl anymore. Why could she see Ian when no one else could, except for him?
The pack of wolves that had gathered, heeding his despair, ringed him in the glade where he lay unmoving, overcome with torment. The females wanted him; the males would die for him, and they would remain there until he changed forms, protecting him. He made no move to do so. In that moment, he did not ever want to go back to Castle Awe.
Why had Ian gone to her today, instead of to him?
And why could she see him so clearly, for long moments, when he was cursed with a brief glimpse?
A wolf could not weep. A wolf could not moan. He rose up on his haunches, and this time when he howled, the sound reverberated through the forests and to the mountain peaks. The pack took up his cries.
His son had been haunting him since the day he had been murdered. It did not matter whether he was at Awe, at Dunroch, at court or in battle, whether in the future or the past—the moment came unfailingly every single day. He might be turning the corner of a corridor, leaving the great hall or exiting a stairwell. He could be hunting a stag, or in the bow of a galley. But from the corner of his eye, suddenly and with no warning, he would glimpse his small son.
And for one heart-stopping instant he would come face-to-face with Ian, who would stand there looking at him, so very frightened, and then vanish.
There had been 14,093 such moments in the past sixty-six years.
But today, Ian had gone to Brianna.
What did it mean?
No one had ever glimpsed the small ghost except for Aidan. He knew that his servants thought him mad, as did Malcolm and most of Alba. And now she
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