He shouldered branches aside from the narrow path. The old woman had surely cast a spell upon him for him to speak of the curse aloud. What was it about Mother Sinclair that severed the ties he kept so tightly knotted around his thoughts? He shook free the internal battle with a shrug. It was just as well. Considering the Sinclair heritage, if Granny knew as much as she claimed, she would easily take it all in stride. “Not a soul other than Graham or my mother knows the curse brought me into this life as a wolf to ensure I survived. Verra few of my closest men know I am able to return to that form whenever I choose.”
His hand tightened on Granny’s bony fingers where they clutched the crook of his arm. “It is rare now that I ever change—only when I seek reprieve from the memories . . . the heartache. I find peace in the primal existence of the wolf.”
Granny frowned down at the ground as they walked slowly down the path. “Perhaps, if you had revealed all to your previous wives, much pain could’ve been avoided. Truth—although difficult at times—is eventually the path to contentment and peace.”
“Doubtful,” he said.
Granny gifted him with a compassionate nod and a gentle pat on his hand. “I understand more than you know. Some truths are often too unbearable to reveal, but they still must be done—for the good of all concerned. Come. Let us prepare you for your journey.”
* * *
“Gray has sentword to your keep so Graham and your mother will know what has become of you. They shall be watched—and you will be alerted if their health shows signs of failing.” Granny motioned Ronan down to her diminutive level. With a hard scowl, she poked and prodded the tensed muscles of his shoulders. “Kneel lower so I can strap this pack across your back. I think I’ve lengthened the bindings just enough.”
He knelt on the moss-covered ground just in front of the stone bench. “Why can ye not send me forth fully clothed? It is bad enough jumping into the unknown. Must I do it bare? And at night?” He supposed he preferred the cover of darkness to shield him once he reached his destination. But why did the old crone insist he jump through time naked?
He cupped his hands in front of his cock and bollocks. Somehow, the idea of baring his manhood to an old woman known for her fiery temper did not seem in the best interest of his man parts. He still didn’t know which was worse: the fact that Granny didn’t seem the least bit impressed by his nakedness or the realization that she held his fate in her hands.
Granny studied the strips of leather and the iron hasp clenched between her hands. She chewed on her thin bottom lip as she concentrated on crossing the straps several times around his chest. With a satisfied nod, she gave a final pat to her handiwork. “There. That should do it.” After scrutinizing the rest, her gaze leveled with his. “The pull of the moon helps ensure I send you to the proper time and the darkness will shield your landing.” A wicked grin made her eyes dance. “The girls think I’ve grown weaker with age. Little do they know; my abilities have only grown stronger.” Granny took a step back and looked him over again. “And I dare not risk the vagaries of sending you forward during daylight hours. I sincerely doubt the bustling town of Edinburgh would fail to notice a full-grown wolf dropping out of the sky.”
“Do ye ken I will truly be the wolf when I land on the other side?” Did she think him without an ounce of control?
“Skating across the web strikes a deep primal reaction in even the most seasoned of time runners. Men especially have a greater level of difficulty and often fail at the cost of their very lives.” Granny wiped her hands on the apron lashed around her thin waist while slowly circling him. Her impish grin became a knowing smile. “But you, Ronan Sutherland, are not most men. Trust me. As soon as you near the other side, your wolf will take control—for your own protection.”
Trust her? Did he really have a choice? He rolled his shoulders and cupped both hands tighter over his crotch.
She patted his bare arm. “Your loss of control should only last until you feel at ease with your surroundings. Then you’ll be able to tuck your wolf back inside as you always do.” She scratched the side of her head and shrugged. “Although, I’m not really certain about that part. I haven’t had a great deal of practice with propelling males across time and you’re the only shifter I’ve ever known.”
“Ye are scaring the living hell out of me, woman.”
Granny clucked her tongue and patted his arm again. “Now, now. Don’t be such a baby.” As she hefted a dripping wet bag up from the ground, she grunted. “And I’m sending you through the web naked so you won’t destroy all your clothes with the fire of your shifting. This pack is fully saturated with water, as are your belongings within. I’ve already sent my friend Eliza the other essentials I figure you’ll need in that time, but I’m sure you’ll want these few things as well. I thoroughly soaked the leather, and the inner lining is stuffed with dampened lavender. Your belongings should survive just fine through your shifting’s firestorm.”
Ronan sucked in a deep breath and rubbed his knuckles against his goose-bumped thighs. Anticipation, excitement, and fear of the unknown rippled another chill across him. He struggled to control the growing urge to throw back his head and howl. Instead, he cleared his throat. “My plaid and tunic have always survived the shifting even when I held them in my arms. I fail to see why they would not survive this one.”
Granny frowned as her gaze followed the tiny rivulets of water trickling down his sides. “You said when you shift your body becomes engulfed in flames. Do you douse your clothes in water before every shifting or just make sure they’re held away from you?” Befuddlement shone in her eyes as her focus lifted from the soaked straps of leather across Ronan’s chest to his face. “Come to think of it, how in the world do you keep from burning down everything around you?”
A groan escaped him as he scrubbed a hand across his face. “The fire burns, but it never consumes. It is the raging energy of my spirit as I pass between forms—an unnatural and heatless blaze.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you tell me that before I spent the last three hours trying to make sure everything was water-soaked and protected from fire?”
“Did it ever occur to ye to ask?” Ronan rose, pulled his body free of the wet leather straps and dumped the soaked pack to the ground. This was not the way such an important journey should start. An ill omen, perhaps?
Granny’s scowl darkened.
Lore a’mercy, the old woman was about to strike him. He shielded his man parts and took a step back. Honor demanded he respect and accede to the old woman’s wishes. Honor did not require him to sacrifice his bollocks.
“Do you have another plaid you could take?” Her nostrils flared and her thin cheeks reddened. “Adryone, perhaps?” It was a wonder he wasn’t reduced to a pile of smoldering ash from the look she gave him.
“Aye.” He nodded at a neatly trussed bundle leaning against the bench. “I didna ken what ye planned, so I brought extra supplies.”
“Good.” She huffed something unintelligible under her breath and bent to pick up her staff. “Then wrap it around your bare ass and prepare yourself. It’s time.” She trundled to the edge of the clearing, all the while softly grumbling.
Ronan opened the pack and shook out the dark wool cloth tucked in the middle of the supplies. He ran his thumbs across the heavy coarseness of the winter weave. His heart got the strange feeling it always did when he stopped to ponder the bit of cloth that held so much meaning.
A background of darkest gray was shot with alternating wide and narrow crisscrossed bands of black. Then a single stripe, almost so narrow as to be overlooked, made of silver white threads, raced its way in and out through the dark bands like a mist winding through the trees. His colors. The dark bands for his father, the gray for the curse, and the silver for his mother. He held his history in his hands. With a few quick turns, he wound the plaid around his body. Somehow, he always felt stronger cradled in his colors.
He secured the remaining supplies he’d packed for the journey and slung them over his shoulder. “I’m ready.” Thankfully, his voice didn’t sound as unsure as he felt.
Granny pointed at the reflecting pool surrounded by a ring of brush already crackling with flames. “The portal is ready and the path along the web is true. When my hand drops, time will stop and the flames will freeze. At that time, you must leap into the circle. Hurry now. I can speak no more lest the direction of the portal shifts with the path of the moon.”
