And then the old crone laughed. Not the light tinkling sound of a shy amused maiden but a healthy, robust guffaw that bubbled from deep within her core. “Now, there stands a man fit to be with my granddaughter.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. Lore a’mighty she must be daft as a loon.
“No. I am not crazy.”
Ronan blinked and edged a step back. Did Granny Sinclair possess the ability to brush aside the protective walls of the curse and breach his mind? In all the years he had walked the earth, no one other than his own mother had ever accomplished that feat and been able to hear his thoughts.
Granny Sinclair shook her head, still wiping away tears of laughter as she bent to retrieve her gnarled staff hidden behind the low stone wall of the circular reflecting pool. Leaning heavily on the twisted cane, she looked up and smiled. “And no again. I did not read your mind. Your face is a window to your thoughts.”
The elder suddenly seemed much older as she stood grinning at him with the cane clutched tight against her chest. Ronan thought back to the last time he had visited the keep and remembered that during that time, the Sinclair matriarch had not moved with the fluid ease she had exhibited just a few moments ago.
“What do ye play at? What game is this?” He nodded at the oddly twisted staff with the shard of crystal knotted at its top. “Ye showed no need for yer wee stick earlier.”
Granny Sinclair hitched forward with the assistance of her cane. The blue crystal captured in the gnarled root system of the twisted staff sparked with a flickering light. She paused, brought the worn stick closer to her chest and gently stroked the softly glowing crystal. “Let’s just say I no longer feel comfortable exhibiting any sign of captured energy unless I am protected by as many of the basic elements as possible.” She tipped her head toward the reflecting pool and smiled. “Water, wind, and earth guard me here—keep the power of my staff safe. Within the walls of the keep, I have only the weaker protection of the fire trapped within the hearths of men—and it is often tainted by their suspicions.” A thoughtful look, a darker look replaced her smile. “Uneasiness fills this place of late—like the suffocating weight of a building storm.” Her determined look returned as she locked eyes with him. “But you and Mairi will take care of that as well.”
“Talk sense, old woman. Dinna speak in riddles.”
She motioned for him to follow down a narrow stone path disappearing between a pair of holly bushes. “Come with me, my fine chieftain. We shall sit and talkclearlymidst the privacy and protection of the leaves.”
An eerie foreboding shuddered through him. He glanced back at the keep, eyeing every arch and shadowed arrow slit with growing suspicion. The MacKenna fortress had definitely changed since last he was here. An ominous silence lent a chill to the air in spite of the unseasonable warmth of the day.
He followed the narrow path, turning sideways to move through the hedges of silver-stemmed rowan and dense prickly blackthorn. How deep in the maze of the garden was Mistress Granny determined to go?
“Here, lad. We should be comfortable here.” She pointed at an intricately carved bench nestled back in a cul-de-sac of holly.
A lover’s bench. A trysting place. He glared at the old woman. The mischievous curl to her subtle smile told him the irony of the meeting place was not wasted upon her.
A gentle breeze sifted through the screen of sharp-tipped, glossy leaves. The energy of the harvest season and the coming of winter rippled through the garden like a slowing heartbeat. He turned and studied Granny. “So, tell me, MotherSinclair, how do ye plan to coax yer granddaughter into joining us in this time?”
Granny shrugged. “I don’t.”
Ronan waited. Instinct warned him the old woman had just baited her trap. “I see. Then what, pray tell, do ye propose?”
Her knowing smile widened. “I already told you. You are going to go forward and fetch her.”
Ronan rose from the bench and faced the beaming matriarch. “Impossible. I canna walk the web of time. The gods dinna bestow such gifts among many.”And thanks be to that,he added silently.The curse had placed enough on him without adding time travel to the lot.
“Ah now.” One of Granny’s thin brows rose, shifting her look to that of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting bird. “You’re not being honest with an old woman.” She chuckled while wagging a bent finger in the air. “You forget, lad. I know your secrets.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. “All your secrets, my fine chieftain.”
Every muscle in his body tensed. He stared down at the grinning old woman. How much did she really know? She had hinted at such before. “If ye ken as much as ye say then ye ken full well why I must not travel unnaturally to another century. I must stay close to my lifelong friend, Graham. And my mother, Iona.” He dared say no more until Granny revealed just how much she knew about him and his heritage. It was true. He could easily survive a trip across the decades that only a rare man could weather. But then he was a rare man. The curse of immortality protected him. But the curse also ordained that he was cosmically tethered to his mother and his mentor. The three must always abide in the same time and country—or suffer for it.
“You would only be away from them for a short while.” She squinted down at the ground, intent on scratching strange symbols in the dirt with the tip of her staff. “Of course, your ability to controlthingswill temporarily pass to the movement of the sun and moon. The time portal will overpower you. Other than that, you risk nothing. You know this. As do I.” Her eyes narrowed and her unflinching stare cut through him with the sharpness of a blade. She slowly tapped a single finger atop the crystal in her staff. The subtle motion reminded Ronan of snakes hypnotizing their prey. The old woman was about to strike.
“Ye speak as though loss of control means so little.” He scuffed the heel of his boot hard across the ground, ripping aside the soft green moss from the rich earth between the flagstones. “To some . . . it does mean little. To myself . . .” He stood taller, forcing himself to stop the damn fidgeting. He hated this. Never had he spoken of the curse—not to anyone. “My control is survival.”
“In the future, your survival will depend more on your wits and how you respond to the world than controlling the ability you have possessed since reaching manhood. Have you become so lazy and complacent in your present existence?” She sat straighter on the bench and leaned her staff back against one shoulder. While lightly stroking the cane’s softly glowing amulet, she studied him as she bent forward and scowled. “Or is it fear? What do you fear, Ronan? The only way to overcome fear is to face it head-on. I sense you already know this.”
What did he fear? He swallowed hard and turned away. Many things. What if Lady Mairi was not the one? Or even worse, what if she was? What if she discovered what he really was before he was ready to reveal everything to her? What if she could not stomach all histruths?
“Speak it, man.” Granny stamped the end of her stick hard against the ground. “Speak your fears. Control them or let them control you. Which will it be?” Her demanding tone left no room for debate.
“Is Lady Mairi really the one?” He turned back and took a slow step toward Granny. “Is your granddaughter truly the woman who will accept a union with a man bearing wolf’s blood without batting an eye? Will she break the curse that has imprisoned my mother and my mentor for centuries? Is she the one to end my unnatural immortality? Tell me, old woman, since ye seem to have all the answers.”
The hint of a smile played across Granny’s mouth. She shrugged a thin shoulder as she slowly pushed up from the bench and leaned against her staff. “The Fates have strongly hinted at such. Rarely, in fact, hardly ever, do they share so much with me about my very own. But in Mairi’s case, their signs have been quite forthcoming . . . and persistent.” She hitched forward a step and sternly thumped her fist against the center of his chest. “But the only way to know the truth of it is for you to travel to the future and win her.”
“My other wives never knew the truth.” All his truths were best kept to the shadows.Truth caused pain. Rejection. Isolation. Hiding the truth ensured survival. Ronan strode up the path leading away from the private bench then paused, turned back, and gallantly extended his arm to Granny. “The kind-hearted maids I took to wife never met the dragon, Graham, nor knew of my mother the wolf. I never told them of the curse—not even as they died.”
Granny didn’t speak, just ambled up to him and slid her hand onto his arm.
