CAILEAN LUSK’S ROBE swirled around his boots as he climbed the slopes above the druid settlement. After having his evening meditation disrupted by yet another spell ripple, he knew he had no choice but to disturb his master. Bhaltair Flen would not be pleased, but if what he suspected was true, more than the old druid’s ire would descend on him.

The questions that plagued him all distilled into one: How could it be happening, after all this time?

The altar to which Bhaltair tended had been dedicated to the Great Mother, with two overlapping circles of carved stone forming a third pointed-oval center. Standing in the center invited the pleasure of the gods to provide the path of decision, which his master had been consulting regularly as to the fate of their Great Design. Thus far the gods had been silent, but Bhaltair remained optimistic.

As Cailean approached the altar clearing he politely coughed to announce himself, and then waited at the edge of the outer boundary for his master. Moonlight cloaked the old druid and the aura of his spell work, which appeared like a curtain of crystal. The casting encircled him for a moment before it floated to the ground and sank into the soil.

With an audible sigh Bhaltair knelt in gratitude before he left the center and walked toward Cailean. “The gods dinnae reveal their purpose—again. Either I have displeased them, or they are no’ yet ready to enlighten me. Mayhap both.” His sharp dark eyes shifted as he inspected Cailean’s face. “You are looking wan. Never tell me another female from the future has arrived. We shall be overrun.”

“Not as yet, Master.” He belatedly remembered to bow. “I seek your guidance with an old matter, from my last incarnation.”

Bhaltair’s brows drew together. “’Tis been twenty years since you transcended.” His gaze searched Cailean’s face. “Naught to do with Everbay.”

“Aye, I fear ’tis, Master.” Cailean folded his chilled hands into the ends of his sleeves. “May we walk?”

The old druid accompanied him from the sacred ground along a trail that led to the small loch near the settlement. A flock of their sheep grazed near the water’s edge, where the soft grass grew in abundance. Cailean drew comfort and calm from the bucolic sight, for just the opposite crowded his thoughts.

Bhaltair stopped and sat on a flat-topped rock, groaning a little as he rolled his stiff shoulders. “My knees willnae propel me another step. Best tell me, lad.”

“Just before the end of my previous life, the conclave sent me to Everbay, to perform the last honors for the Moon Wake people.” He reached down as a small ewe wandered over to him, and scratched the dense wool around her floppy ears. “’Twas just after we had word that the undead attacked their island, and killed all but one of the Harals.”

“I remember. When Daimh Haral returned from his journey to Francia, he grew so distressed we thought he might disincarnate to join them.” The old druid planted his gnarled hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “’Twas a painful task, I imagine.”

“Honoring the dead by burying them is never a joy, but we did more than put the bodies in the ground. The tribe had unusual powers, and their village remained a hub of such. The conclave felt it could be dangerous to unknowing mortals.” He made a circling gesture. “We cast a spell barrier around it to protect the place. I then directed our mortal allies in the islands to spread word that Everbay was forever haunted by the spirits of those massacred.”

Bhaltair nodded his approval. “A sensible solution. When did the conclave send you to dismantle the village?”

“They didnae.” As his master’s jaw dropped Cailean grimaced. “’Twas the conclave’s aim to resettle Everbay again someday when the Harals were reborn. The barrier was left intact to guard the village until that day came. The tribe hasnae returned to us yet. Daimh didnae take a wife to continue the bloodline, so he remains the last Haral.”

“A deserted druid settlement left intact. Gods protect us.” The old druid dragged his hand over his halo of silver hair. “What more?”

“I’ve been feeling the spellwork left there ripple many times over the last weeks,” he admitted. “‘Since it cannot be breeched by anyone but druid kind…”

“’Tis a sacred grove on this island?” When Cailean nodded his master groaned and stood. “We must see what conspires there.”

Cailean accompanied Bhaltair to his home, where they both washed and changed into fresh robes before entering the old druid’s spell chamber. The room appeared empty until the door closed, and the protective wards dispersed. In the center of a spell circle stood a flat-topped stele of petrified wood. Beyond it on the wall, shelves held various focal stones and crystals which Bhaltair used when casting. He went to retrieve a large, pointed agate with a starburst of multi-colored striations framing a long, convoluted heart of purple and bronze crystals. Cailean recognized it as a window stone. The interior crystals glowed softly in response to the old druid’s touch.

“I havenae attempted such a viewing, Master,” Cailean felt he had to confess. “’Tis no’ permitted at my level, and said to be fraught with hazard.”

“Aye, for that is what we tell you ovates, to keep you from tampering with old enchantments.” Bhaltair placed the window stone atop the stele. “Join hands with me. You will need my power meshed with yours for the stone to make such a reach.”

Casting off his qualms, Cailean gently clasped the old druid’s fingers from the other side of the crystal, forming an oval around it with their arms.

“Open your thoughts and see the place as ’twas at the time you cast the barrier spell,” Bhaltair murmured as he joined his magic to Cailean’s. The sphere took on a brighter luminescence before it turned a vivid sky-blue and showed waves crashing onto a rugged cliffside shore. “Everbay?”

Cailean nodded. “The Moon Wake tribe dwelled in the glen in the center of the island.”

The image shown by the crystal shifted to that of a lush grassy stretch of land wrapped around a small spring. A long wall of reflective enchantment stretched across the glen, dividing it almost in half.

Bhaltair scowled. “You mirrored the whole of the glen?”

“At the time ’twas the most enduring enchantment within my means, Master. The islanders were convinced to fear the place.” He felt the knot in his belly tighten another notch. “The Moon Wake were a strong, healthy tribe with many bairns. After burying them all, I never wished to return to Everbay. I deliberately put it from my thoughts. I was happy the next winter, when my old body finally wore out. I thought I wouldnae dream of them again when I reincarnated.”

“We cannae escape our memories, even in death and rebirth.” The old druid’s expression softened. “Dinnae torment yourself, lad. You shouldnae have been given such a responsibility. Still, we may attend to it now together. Recall now the first ripple you felt.”

Reaching into the part of his mind closely connected with his magic, Cailean summoned the sense of the disruption, and projected it to the stone. The sun rose in the west as time reversed, and a large, bare-chested male stepped out of the barrier. The ink work on his shoulder showed a lion rampant against crossed bars. The male ran backward as another figure, a smaller, slender female in a torn blue gown, also emerged.

Cailean watched as the crystal replayed the scene again as it had happened in real time, with the male chasing after the female. He did not recognize either of them, but the ink on the male’s shoulder had already been described to him.

“They are both druid kind,” Bhaltair said, “but it appears that the male caused the magic to flux.” He released Cailean’s hands and the images from the glen vanished. “Why do you look as if I’ve kicked you in your smalls?”

“I think that male is Gavin McShane.” He brought his hand to his brow to wipe away the cold sweat gathered there. “Brother to Jema, Tormod Liefson’s wife.”

“Gavin McShane, the twin brother killed during the battle over Freyja’s Eye?” Bhaltair sounded incredulous

“Aye, Master. I never met the man, but Mistress Liefson gave his description when we searched for his body.” Cailean touched his own shoulder. “The skinwork of the lion and the bars looks to be the same.”

“How does a man dead a year cross a barrier on an island twenty leagues from where he drowned?” Before he could reply the old druid made a dismissive gesture. “We cannae yet assume ’tis McShane. We must travel to Everbay to see the man in person. Before that, we must consult with Lachlan McDonnel on the matter.” He removed the window stone from the stele and replaced it on its shelf. “We shall use the grove to travel to Skye directly and speak with the laird this night. Come, Ovate.”

Cailean knew why his master was taking the matter to the McDonnel laird instead of Jema Liefson. After crossing over from the future, Gavin McShane had been enthralled by the Ninth Legion Prefect, Fenella Ivar. Fenella had then been possessed by Thora the Merciless, who had used Gavin and the undead in an attempt to kill the McDonnels with Freyja’s Eye. Just as Thora’s undead body had been destroyed by the ancient Norse relic, the release of power had hurtled Gavin into the sea. His body had never been found, so it had been assumed that it had been swept out to sea by the currents.

If Jema’s brother hadn’t died during the battle, then why hadn’t he shown himself? Did he, too, possess the gift of invisibility, as his sister did? Twin siblings sometimes did. But why would he be on Everbay chasing after a female? Had he fallen under the sway of the undead again? And who was this druidess? Had she become somehow trapped on the island?

Cailean kept silent as he journeyed with Bhaltair through the sacred oak grove portal near their settlement. Emerging from another grove located near the Black Cuillin mountains on the Isle of Skye, he waited for his master to join him and then began the long walk into the ridges, where Dun Aran, the McDonnel Clan’s stronghold, lay hidden.

The night wind chilled Cailean, but he hardly felt it as every step seemed to add new weight on his shoulders. If he had properly attended to the Moon Wake tribe’s empty village, Gavin McShane would not present such a threat. The very real prospect of an untrained druid having access to the kind of power still contained on Everbay made him feel sick.

Climbing the trail through the ridges left Bhaltair short of breath, and Cailean had to shake off his worry as they approached the castle.

“We have come to speak with the laird on an urgent matter,” he told the guards at the entry to the great hall.

They both nodded, and one whistled, summoning another clansman from a passing patrol. That warrior took up the guard’s position so the other could escort them inside.

Not for the first time did Cailean marvel at how efficiently the McDonnels worked together to defend their stronghold and their clan. Over the centuries the laird’s garrison of warriors had trained for every possibility of attack, even in the guise of two druids arriving after dark.

The guard bid them to wait with him by the hearth in the great hall while another man was sent to the laird’s tower. A smiling maid appeared with mugs of steaming brew to warm them, and after offering them a meal, returned to the kitchens.

“Fair evening Master Flen, Ovate Lusk.” The massive, towering form of Tharaen Aber, the clan’s seneschal, came from the tower archway. The largest man among the McDonnels, the Pritani warrior’s calm nature corresponded with his unique strength-in-battle gift, which made him virtually invincible. “The laird has retired for the night. Might I help?”

Bhaltair shook his head. “Rouse him, Seneschal. This cannae hold until morning.”

Raen nodded, and then smiled past the old druid. “Diana, would you keep our friends company for a moment?”

His wife, a very tall, well-built redhead dressed in a slim gown that matched her fine eyes, nodded and grinned as she came to hug the old druid. “It’s way past your bedtime, Grandpa.”

“Aye, but trouble never respects that,” Bhaltair told her.

Cailean envied the close relationship his master had attained with Raen’s wife, a former police detective who had crossed over some two years past. While she had come from the future, Diana shared Bhaltair’s bloodline. It made him yearn once more to see his own son, Danyel Gordon, who resided with his countess mother at her clan’s stronghold. Since Bethany Gordon was married to the Gordons’ laird, his visits to see the child had to be infrequent and discrete.

Diana chatted with his master about her latest endeavors, but Cailean hardly heard them. In his thoughts he kept seeing the huge, bare-chested man chasing the druidess through the barrier. If he were indeed Gavin McShane, and had not drowned, why would he conceal himself? How had a male from the future even managed to get to the islands? The secrecy had to be connected to his presence on Everbay, and his pursuit of the druidess. Was Quintus Seneca, tribune of the Ninth Legion, behind all of it? If the undead had somehow enthralled the pair, and used them to seek revenge against the clan, it could spell the end for the immortal McDonnels—or worse.

Diana’s husband returned at last to escort them to the laird’s tower. Cailean knew his master would do most of the talking, and for once he was glad. His fears preyed on him so now that he might reveal more than was wise.

Inside the laird’s chamber Lachlan McDonnel stood by the mantle of his huge hearth. Beside him his wife, Kinley, sat swaddled in a dove-colored wrap. Her unbound white-gold hair and bare feet, as well as the laird’s unlaced tunic, made it plain they had been abed. Still they warmly welcomed him and Bhaltair as if they were guests invited to attend them.

“Forgive us for intruding, my lord,” Bhaltair said immediately, and glanced back at Raen. “If we may beg a private word.”

Lachlan nodded to his seneschal, who departed. “You make a habit of this, Master Flen, so ’tis no shock. Mayhap you should consider living at Dun Aran, to avoid the frequent trips.”

Bhaltair chuckled instead of taking offense, proof of how he had mellowed over the last years. “’Twould seem a solution, Laird. But we couldnae wait with this news, of which I am unhappiest to deliver.”

Once he’d related what they had discovered Kinley grinned. “But that’s wonderful, Master Flen. Jema will be over the moon to find out her brother is alive.”

The old druid held up one hand. “We cannae say for certain the man is Gavin McShane. Then, too, we dinnae ken the reason why he would be chasing after a druidess on an island where the undead slaughtered an entire tribe of our kind.”

“The Moon Wake?” Lachlan said, and when Bhaltair nodded he glanced at his wife. “’Tis no’ good news, Kinley. He may yet be under enthrallment.” He regarded the old druid. “You dinnae wish Jema and Tormod to know he yet lives, or you would have summoned them. What more is there to this tale?”

As always, the laird cut to the heart of the matter, and Cailean felt his master eye him. With halting words, the young druid explained what had—and hadn’t—been done with the tribe’s village.

“I mean to travel to Everbay directly,” Cailean said, “to discover who these intruders are, and what they do there. ’Twould be unwise to go without you, Master,” he said to Bhaltair. “I think too we should ask Daimh Haral to join us, as he is the last of the Moon Wake tribe, and this is his natal land.” He regarded the laird, whose expression had gone remote. “If you will allow some clansmen to escort us, that would provide some defense against the male, if ’tis needed.”

“I’ll go,” Kinley said, rising from her chair. When Lachlan scowled at her she gave him a sweet smile. “I’m the only trained search and rescue professional in the clan. If this guy is Gavin, he’ll respond better to someone from his own time. Stop looking like you want to tie me to the bed again. You know I’m right. Also, remember.” She lifted one slim hand out of her wrap, and blue-white flames flared up from her fingertips as she demonstrated her gift of throwing fire. “I’m your best weapon of mass undead destruction.”

“That doesnae mean I have to like it,” the laird said, his voice gruff. “Very well, Ovate. My lady and I shall accompany you to Everbay. We were planning a trip to the mainland to meet with my allies at week’s end. Once there we shall make briefer our visit, and then travel to your settlement to make the jaunt to Everbay.” Lachlan put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “And pray to the gods we dinnae have to do more than bring back Gavin McShane.”