Chapter One
Castle MacDanua
Tarbat Ness Point, Scotland
Midsummer 1399
“Chieftain, ye mustcome! Lady Aria escaped her rooms. I locked her in, just as ye ordered, but she must have found her key she claimed lost. She’s in the east tower, out on the parapet, and willna come back inside.” Mrs. Tarrel, housekeeper to Castle MacDanua, stood in the doorway of his solar, wringing her hands.
Wolfe MacDanua charged out from behind his desk and stormed through the halls to the east tower’s stairwell. What a fool he was. Why had he not ordered his poor, unsettled wife more securely guarded for her own safety? But dearest Aria had seemed more at peace of late. As if she had finally found the strength to manage the unbearable pain of their precious wee daughter’s death.
He took the tower steps three at a time, loping up them like a beast clawing its way up a mountainside. If he could just make her hear him—pull her into his arms and hold her tight until her terrible demons loosened their hold and allowed her to see reason.
“Aria!” His bellow echoed up into the endless spiral of stone steps. “Aria! Daren’t ye move. I am coming.” He reached the topand shouldered open the door. Every torch in the circular arrow room blazed even though the brilliance of the sun streamed in through the arched windows. A flash of the whitest white caught his eye. “Aria!”
His precious bride stood barefoot in her shift, balanced atop the chest-high wall that bordered the narrow walkway circling the top of the tower, arms raised as though she were ready to take flight. Her long hair fluttered behind her like great golden wings. She cast a loving smile up into the clouds, reaching for something only she could see. “I must go to her. She calls me. My precious wee lassie cries for me.”
Wolfe eased out onto the walkway just wide enough for a man and his bow. As he sidled his way to her, he ran his hand along the top of the wall. If he could just get close enough to latch on to her and pull her to safety—
Her gaze lowered from the clouds and turned to him, hardening to a flintiness that cut his heart. She bared her teeth like a crazed animal. “I am going to her, Wolfe. Ye canna stop me. She is frightened and needs her mother.”
“She rests in the care of the angels, Aria. Happy and free of this life’s worries.” He edged another step closer. “Stay with me, dear wife. Let me help ye.”
“I will not.” Resentment sharpened the madness in her glare. “The last time ye said ye would help, that witch killed our sweet daughter. Fetch the Morrigan for yerself this time. Go back to her bed, ye unfaithful man. I’ve no need of her or yerself.” Then she stepped off the wall while reaching for the clouds. “Mama is coming, dear one!”
“No!” Wolfe lunged too late, missing his last opportunity to save her. The horror of what she had done sent him barreling back down the steps, cursing his grandsire for building the tower to such a great height.
“Aria!” he bellowed again and again, refusing to accept what he knew he would find when he reached the bottom.
Castle MacDanua perched on a cliff of stone, a tall, proud sentry overlooking the North Sea. The east tower of the fortress watched over a merciless strand of jagged rocks and slabs of squared-off boulders. There, he found her. On her back. Arms outspread. Draped across a weather-bleached shelf of unrelenting hardness. Her eyes remained open in an unholy stare up at the clouds. Blood slowly pooled around her, staining the light gray of the rock with the darkness of her death.
A ragged cry tore from him as he caught her up and held her. On his knees, he clutched her to his chest, rocking and roaring his regret for his arrogant ways and all he had cost this dear, sweet lass.
“I told ye to wed a stronger woman. Ye should have wed me.” The sultry voice behind him burned like a brand of hot iron sizzling into his flesh.
A furious rage rose from the depths of his soul. He didn’t bother facing the evil woman he knew he would see. “Take care, Morrigan, lest I send ye back to the hell that spat ye out.”
The ebony-haired beauty rounded the stone and smiled up at him. Malicious glee sparkled in her dark eyes. “Such harsh words for yer lover? Shame on ye, my chieftain. After the many nights we enjoyed?” She sauntered closer, her head slowly tilting as she studied his poor, lost wife. “Why so sad? Ye said the dowry was the only good thing about the pairing with this one.” She swiped her fingers through the pooling blood, then rubbed them together as though finding the terrible slickness pleasurable. Her taunting focus returned to him. “Dinna tell me ye grew fond of yer wee pet?”
“She did not deserve this,” he forced through clenched teeth. With an unsteady touch, he gently closed his wife’s eyes. “I think—” He stopped himself and bowed his head, silently begging forhis poor, lost Aria to find it in her soul to forgive him. “Before our wee one died, I think—”
“Ye think what?” Morrigan tossed her head, resettling her shimmering tresses down her back like a raven resettling its wings. “Ye think yelovedher? Ye think she might havelovedye?” She flipped a hand and filled the air with a burst of cruel laughter. “Ithinka more arrogant fool does not exist in all of Scotland.”
“She was precious and good.” He lifted his head and thundered a scowl down at the witch who had been his greatest mistake. “She was not likeye.”
Morrigan smiled even brighter. “Aye, but ye found pleasure in my wickedness, did ye not?” She leaned on the boulder and gave a sad shake of her head as she trailed her fingertips through the blood again. “But I will say ye were always honest about it.” She bared her arm and used the blood to paint strange markings across her pale flesh. “In honor of such rare honesty, I have an offer for ye.” She cut a sly look up at him as she dabbed her fingers in the shimmering puddle again and smeared more bloody symbols across the milk-white swells of her breasts peeping above the neckline of her ragged kirtle. She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Bind your soul to mine and I will bring her back to ye.”
Wolfe swallowed hard and clutched his dead wife tighter. He knew the rumors about Morrigan but had ignored them, even though the deadness in her eyes told him they were true. The wicked woman was a gifted healer and an insatiable lover. But what she suggested now went far beyond every story of witchery told about her. “Begone, Morrigan. And stay gone. I never wish to set eyes on ye again.”
She twitched a shrug. “As ye wish, my chieftain. Although I assumed ye might wish it because of the bairn in her belly. A precious son this time.”
“A son.” The words escaped him before he could catch them back. Their daughter had been naught but two winters old when the fever stole her away. He and Aria had sought comfort in each other’s arms before his lady’s grieving madness gained complete control. She begged him to give her another babe, and they had made love. True love this time, with a passion like never before—not the mere cold coupling for an heir. The witch could be speaking the truth of a new bairn. Or not.
“Ye lie,” he challenged. He pushed himself to his feet, still holding Aria tight.
Morrigan shrugged again and turned to leave. “It matters not to me,” she said without looking back.
“Wait!” A new child. A new beginning. “What happens if I bind my soul to yours? How is it done and what is the cost?”
