Gryffe glared at his old friend, not in the mood for Ferris’s levity. “Did ye seek me out to nettle me or has aught gone amiss that I should know about?”
“I came to warn ye.”
Gryffe locked eyes with the man. Their icy blue depths shone with the wisdom and cunning of the man’s inner beast—the wolf that sensed before all others whenever Nicnevin was near. “How close?”
“She is in Edinburgh with Roric. With any luck, that sniveling fool will keep her occupied for a while.” He slowly shook his silvery head. “But ye know she’ll not return to her kingdom without a wee bit of tormenting of yerself.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shrug free the unpleasantness of his message. “I have come to believe that is how she shows her love for ye.”
“Warn the guards and make every Fae in this keep know I will show them no quarter if they give me cause to question their loyalties to me and mine rather than Nicnevin.”
“Shall I summon my sons?”
“Aye.” Gryffe clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Summon the entire pack. I would be grateful.”
“It shall be done.” Ferris tipped a single nod and turned to go. When he reached the door, he paused with his hand on the latch. “Show her ye’re worth choosing. Everything happens for a reason, ye ken? She may verra well be the lady of yer vision, and ye just dinna ken it. Give it time.”
Gryffe tossed a curt nod in the direction of the door, dismissing Ferris. His friend needed to understand that the matter was not up for further discussion.
As Ferris left, Inalfi entered with her eyes lowered. As one of the Fae and possessing hearing as keen as Ferris’s, the maid had likely overheard Gryffe’s mandate on loyalty. She offered him a low curtsy as if he were the Unseelie King himself. “Our lady is ready, my chieftain.”
“Ye have dressed her warmly?”
“Aye.” She lifted her head and gave him a sorrowful look. “Must we let her leave?”
“I canna keep her prisoner, Inalfi—and what good is a love that is not freely given?”
“She is yer one, my chieftain,” the maid said, her voice pitiful with desperation. “I canna sense a glamour upon her at all. I swear it.”
“Nicnevin is sly. Ye know that well enough. How many eras did ye serve in her Court?” He shrugged on his heavier coat over his kilt that he wore over the leather trews he’d donned for the wintry weather. He was not a weak man unused to the bitter cold, but he had endured enough of it during the wars. Why should he suffer more than he already had? He started to belt his weapons across his chest, then thought better of it. The Weavers of Seven Cairns frowned upon any excessive show of force. Instead, he settled for daggers in his boots, his sword at his side, and his pistol tucked through his belt and resting against his hip.
“Our lady is kind, my chieftain,” Inalfi said as she scurried along beside him down the hall. With a soft laugh that tinkled like crystal droplets, she added, “She apologized for getting me into trouble.”
“Aye, she has a heart, but it is softest for those she left behind.” He lengthened his stride, determined to get this abhorrent task over with and return to the loneliness that was his constant companion.
“It would seem so, my chieftain.” The spry maid flew ahead of him and made it to the door before he did. The pity in her eyes shamed him as she opened the door and stepped back for him to enter.
He hardened his heart to the embarrassment, strode into the room, and went mute.
In a burgundy dress of velvet cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt wrapped around her narrow waist twice, Emily stole his ability to reason. Her skirts flared wide as she turned, revealing the knee high, fur-lined boots that would shield her feet from the cold. The rich hand of the supple cloth of her garment caught the light, accentuating her curves. Dark wrist cuffs, wide and embroidered with protective symbols that matched those on the gown’s leather breastplate and high collar, complemented her long, slender arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, lifting her arms and looking down at her skirts. “This should be plenty warm, don’t you think? And Inalfi found a heavy cloak to go with it.”
“Aye, it will do.” How could he tell her of her breathtaking loveliness? How could he tell her that the closer they came to parting, the more his soul crumbled? Nicnevin had truly outdone herself with this particular spell. Its strength was unfathomable. “Inalfi—fetch our lady’s cloak so she and I can be on our way.”
The maid brought the cloak to Gryffe, then turned and gave Emily a sorrowful bow. “It has been an honor serving ye, my lady. I wish ye the greatest happiness and peace wherever yer travels take ye.”
Emily rushed forward and hugged the girl as if she were family. “Thank you, Inalfi. I am so lucky to have met you.”
With an awkward nod and wiping her eyes, Inalfi pulled away, then hurried out of the room.
Gryffe braced himself and shook out the cloak, holding it ready. “M’lady.”
After she backed into it, he wrapped it around her, breathing her in and immediately wishing he hadn’t. Never again would he take in the fragrance of his favorite musk and not think of her. “Button it at yer throat and wrap up tightly,” he said, his voice raw and gruff with emotions he would rather not acknowledge. “It’s turned a great deal colder than it was when ye arrived.”
“I wonder if it’ll be just as cold back home?”
Home. She had called wherever she was headed home. How could he compete with that? The simple word meant so much more than a house or some sort of abode. It meant a place you were rooted to, a place of safety. It meant a part of your being you had left behind and knew would be there whenever you returned.
“It will probably be cold there too,” he said to cover his pain. “Face me, now, and hold fast. I dinna wish to lose ye in the folding.”
