It had been ten days since they had arrived at Dunmar. The days had taken on their own rhythm as Cam tended to his neglected estates and she cultivated the necessary foundation for the running of a productive household. She’d even used a few of the treasures Ferelei had left her, unsure at first as to how Cam would react. But he hadn’t seemed to mind the two Persian rugs in their bed and antechambers and so she’d put a few more things around their private chambers to relieve the bareness of the stone.

There was still plenty of treasure left, not only to buy and barter whatever they might need in the future, but also for Droston’s freedom.

She felt so guilty that she had not yet secured his release. But since leaving Fortriu, there was a strange certainty in her mind that, when Bride decreed the time was right, everything would fall into place. And somehow it was linked to her cousin Aila.

Bride had never failed her. Elise knew her goddess would not fail her now. She simply had to put her trust in her and wait for the sign she knew was coming.

“Madam, are you certain this is a good idea?” One of her ladies glanced nervously over her shoulder. The other ladies shuffled uncomfortably as they all stood outside the locked door of the only chamber in the hill fort that Cam had not invited her inside.

It was the chamber next to his old one and Elise knew exactly whose this one had been. His sister, Isla’s.

She didn’t know why the door was kept locked but she did know that as long as it was, those dark shadows in the depths of Cam’s eyes would never fade.

She had sworn to herself she would heal his wounds, and in her heart, she knew opening this door was a vital first step.

“Yes.” She took the keys that hung at her waist, the ones Cam had presented to her the day after they’d arrived. With a deep breath, she sorted through them and then inserted one into the lock.

The door swung open, and instinctively she and her ladies retreated at the stale smell that wafted out. Goddess, the room couldn’t have been opened in years.

With her hand across her nose and mouth, she crossed the threshold. It was gloomy and damp and she hurried to the window to unlatch the timber shutters and let in some fresh air.

As she turned around, a deep sense of melancholy washed through her and she gripped her hands together at her waist. She had never possessed the gift of communicating directly with those who had passed through the veil, but she had the irrefutable certainty that she and her ladies were not alone in this chamber.

“Lady Isla.” Her whisper floated around the chamber, as insubstantial as the dust motes that danced in the pale shafts of sunlight that spilled through the window. Nothing else stirred, save for her ladies who clutched their arms and shivered.

“Elise.” Cam’s voice echoed along the passageway and her ladies fluttered in alarm, hurrying from the chamber as her husband marched in. The desolation that thickened the air instantly lightened. Elise stared, mesmerized, as a sunlit aura surrounded Cam.

He paused for only a moment before stepping toward her. The illumination around him scattered into countless rainbow fragments that glittered in the shadowy corners of the chamber before slowly fading.

She caught her breath and pressed her hand to the base of her throat. Great goddess. Isla had been trapped in this chamber, snared in the same web of guilt and regret as her brother.

Except for one significant difference.

“Damn it, Elise.” Cam grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Speak to me. What is it?”

Only now did she recognize the note of panic in Cam’s voice. She blinked rapidly and gripped the front of his shirt.

“Lady Isla.” Her throat was raw and it was hard to speak. But she had to make Cam understand. “She has been unable to pass through the veil. She can’t leave you, Cam, until you can forgive yourself.”

A spasm twisted his features, and his fingers bit into her shoulders. “Stop this.” His voice was harsh, but she heard the heartache beneath. “You’re not a witch. Stop speaking like one.”

She had no idea what he meant. It didn’t matter. “Isla loves you,” she said softly. “She has never stopped loving you. You have to let her go.”

He glared at her and then thrust her from him and raked his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swung on his heel, caught sight of her ladies and clearly the glare on his face was enough to send them scurrying back along the passageway. He heaved in a great breath before once again turning back to her.

Pain engulfed her heart at the look of desolation on his face. If only it was possible for him to see, for even a second, the breath-stealing devotion of his sister. Then, surely, he would understand.

“Isla died more than nine years ago. She’s not here, Elise. You don’t know anything about her. Don’t try to take my guilt away with pretty words. I don’t deserve them.”

She took his hands and ignored his half-hearted efforts to pull free. She could no longer see the purity of Isla but she could feel her ethereal presence all around.

“You have no reason to feel guilty.” She could understand his sorrow and his regret at losing his sister, especially when Isla had been so young. She could even understand his self-reproach about being unable to save her.

But his self-condemnation had corroded his good sense. Sometimes the gods would accept no sacrifice in return for mercy when they chose a mortal. Death could claim anyone at any time.

Isla’s death, no matter how tragic, was not his fault.

He stared at her, his dark eyes filled with so much recrimination his pain ate into her heart. What wasn’t he telling her? What terrible secret did this chamber conceal?

“I was in Dunadd when Dunmar was attacked.” Bitterness weighed every word. She stiffened in horror. He hadn’t told her his hill fort had been attacked. Goddess, was that how Isla had died? Because she had been caught up in the attack?

His fingers tightened around hers. “The Pict leader murdered my father and raped Isla.”

Nausea washed through her, twisting with the revulsion that crushed her chest. The Pict. A Pict had murdered his beloved sister.

No wonder he had hated her people. There was nothing she could say but she had to say something.

“I am so grieved for you, Cam…” Her voice was hoarse and she had the alarming notion she might weep. But that wouldn’t help him. This was no time for her to show useless feminine weakness.

He swallowed and the terrifying certainty hit her that he hadn’t finished.

“Isla was barely eleven. But she conceived that bastard’s child. She died trying to birth it six months later.”

She died in my arms. His words had always haunted her, but now she knew how Isla had died her heart cracked at how he, at barely sixteen, had tried to comfort his sister in her final hours.

He pulled her hand up to her face, and the rough pad of his thumb tenderly wiped her cheek. She hadn’t wanted to cry. Had not even realized a tear had escaped. But he simply rested his forehead against hers and his solid strength seeped into her soul.

Finally she asked the question to which she was not certain she wished to know the answer.

“Was justice served?”

Silence greeted her, and stretched for so long she feared she had been right. Justice had not been served. That was why Cam was so eaten up with guilt. Because he’d been unable to find the one responsible.

But then he spoke. “Aye.” He sounded defeated, as though he expected her to disapprove. She straightened and looked him in the eyes.

“Good.” Her voice was firm. “Blood for blood. It is done.”

A shudder inched over his body and he looked at her in something akin to awe. In that moment, the shimmering aura reappeared around Cam and his tense muscles noticeably relaxed. And then his gaze slid to a point above her head and he froze, as disbelief, shock and finally wonderment claimed his features.

Elise held her breath as the sparkling illumination once again faded. Cam looked back at her. He didn’t say anything and she knew he would never mention what he had seen. Because she knew, for one precious moment, he had seen.

But it didn’t matter whether he ever acknowledged it or not. Because for the first time since she had known him, peace finally claimed his battered soul.

***

Cam stretched in bed, unaware of what had woken him from the depths of sleep. He lay there unmoving trying to define what was different. Slowly the answer washed over him.

He no longer ached with grief and guilt over the violent passing of Isla. He missed her. He would always miss her. But holding Elise’s hands in his sister’s old chamber, he had thought—for one mad moment—he had sensed Isla’s forgiving presence.

It wasn’t possible of course. It was Elise herself who had managed to ease his guilt. He didn’t know how she did it. He didn’t want to know how she did it. Because he had the terrible certainty it was linked to her heathen faith, and deep inside he still harbored the formless fear that her worship of pagan gods drew danger to her.

He could protect her from his fellow man. But how could he protect her against demons?

Instinctively he rolled onto his side to pull her into his arms. She wasn’t there. He opened his eyes and at the same time heard a strange scraping sound coming from across the chamber.

He sat up and peered toward the noise. Elise crouched at the hearth and in the low glow from the embers, he saw she was wearing his shirt. His gaze snagged on her as he drank in the astonishing sight. He had never imagined Elise wearing his shirt but with her golden hair tumbling down her back, she looked close to divine.

It took another few seconds for him to drag his lascivious thoughts from fucking her where she knelt to the question as to why she was in front of the hearth in the first place.

He pulled a fur around his shoulders as he left the bed and strode over to her. He crouched beside her and she fell back, giving him a startled look.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered.

“What in the name of God are you doing?” He stared at her hands, which she’d wrapped in two of her veils. They were now blackened and ruined.

She clasped her swathed hands on her lap. “I can’t explain it.” She nibbled her lip and glanced at the hearth. “There is a loosened stone at the back there. It’s just difficult to grasp, especially with the heat.”

“A loosened stone?” He stared at her and unease licked through his chest. “How did you know there was a loose stone there?”

She shifted on her knees as though she was uncomfortable, either by the hard floor or his question was open to debate.

Finally she sighed and looked him in the eyes again. “Bride guides me, Cam. I didn’t know there was a loose stone until I found it. But I did know there was something there. Now I need to discover what it is my goddess needs me to find.”

His chest tightened as the fear gripped his heart. He wanted to forbid her to touch the stone. To promise him she would never follow the voice of her heathen goddess again.

He wanted to remind her that she had promised to obey him as her lord and master, that she was his wife and could no longer follow the pagan ways she had before their marriage.

The words lodged in his throat. He would never utter them. Elise loved her goddess and if he demanded she abandon her faith, he might just as well carve out her heart.

He doubted she would obey him in any case. She would still find a way to worship her gods, and this fragile, glorious connection between them would wither and die.

He would do a great deal to keep this elusive happiness that blessed their union. He would do anything.

Without a word, he unwrapped the flimsy material from Elise’s hands and wound them around his own. He knew she stared at him in shock, but he refused to meet her gaze. The fur slipped from his shoulders as he reached across the hearth and tugged at the stone that protruded slightly from the blackened wall.

With a grunt, he pulled it free and dropped it on the floor in front of them. There was nothing special about it. But he knew it wasn’t the stone Elise and her cursed goddess were after.

He gritted his teeth and pushed one hand into the cavity beyond. It was no great surprise to discover a small stone casket. He placed it beside the stone on the floor and glared at it.

Elise traced one shaky finger across the top of the filthy casket. “Do you know what this is?” Her voice was hushed.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life.” It was plain, with no encrusted jewels or intricate engravings. It was a practical object that could be used for a multitude of household functions.

There was no earthly reason he could imagine why anyone would have hidden it in such a place.

“Will you open it?” Elise was staring at him but again he refused to meet her eyes. And why would she go to such pains to retrieve this casket and then expect him to open it?

It could have been concealed generations ago. Why did the eerie certainty crawl over him that it should have remained concealed forever?

His reluctance made no sense. Perhaps there was treasure inside, enough treasure to acquire Elise luxurious rugs from Persia so they could sell the ones she had brought with her. He wanted to get rid of all the cursed goods she had brought with her, but how could he deprive her of the few indulgences she had placed around the chambers when he could offer her nothing in exchange?

With a silent oath, he lifted the stone lid and set it on the floor. And then he looked inside.

Lying on top of a soft leather pouch was a small, silver five pointed star set within a circle. He stared at it, uncomprehending, as his heart pounded against his ribs and a wild rushing sensation thundered through his mind. From a great distance he heard Elise gasp and was aware she pressed her fingers against her mouth, but he couldn’t drag his hypnotized gaze from the ancient pagan symbol before him.

He had seen this silver necklace before.

Buried memories bubbled up from the darkest corners of his mind where they had been imprisoned for twenty years and more. His mother, her hair as black as midnight, had always worn this necklace. She had laughed and she had smiled, and she had always held him close and told him…

Agony speared through his heart. She had told him so many times how much she loved him.

With fingers that shook, he picked up the star. Aye, she had laughed but never when his father was home. Then fear would descend over the hill fort, extinguishing any tiny bud of happiness.

He tore his gaze from the necklace and looked up at Elise. “She was wearing this the day he abducted her.” His voice was hoarse. Elise nodded in understanding. “She only wore it when he wasn’t around. Thank God he wasn’t often around.”

As a small child, the pattern had fascinated him. He’d love to play with it. And his mother told him fantastical tales of mythical creatures who lived in trees and water and of gods and goddesses who presided over the lives of man.

“Tell no one, my sweetest boy,” she would whisper as she stroked his hair before he went to sleep, and even as young as he was he knew she meant his father. “This is our secret.”

He had told no one. He had kept her secret. He’d kept her secret so well he had forgotten everything she’d ever told him.

He picked up the pouch and unlaced it, but he already knew what he would find. Glittering crystals tumbled onto his open palm and with them, the final, blackened memories escaped their fetid prison.

Terror slammed through him and he reeled back, no longer seeing Elise before him or the chamber around them. He was in the great hall, blood trickling down his face, cowering behind one of the tables where his father had tossed him. And all he could see was his mother being dragged by her hair along the floor, as his father cursed her for a witch, a heathen, and worse.

When the beating had started he’d run to her aid, only to be flung aside like a worthless bone. The next thing he recalled was her hiding her precious things, telling him it was for the best.

She had never worn her necklace or shown him her crystals again.

Only when he felt the heavy drape of furs around his shoulders did the violent memories fade. Elise was before him, holding onto the edges of the fur, as she tried to stem the shudders that racked his body. Still clutching the necklace and crystals, he roughly pulled her close.

Warm. Alive. His. He closed his eyes and dragged in a shattered breath. Her scent sank into him, calming the frenzied thud of his heart.

“When she died, my father blamed her.” His voice was muffled as he buried his face in Elise’s shoulder, her hair a silken sheet against his lips. “He told me God punished her for her pagan beliefs because she was a witch. He tarnished her memory, Elise. And until now I didn’t even remember how.”

Aye, he’d forgotten the details. But the fear his father had instilled into a grieving, terrified child had remained with him throughout the years.

Elise stirred in his arms. Her breath was a soothing balm against his ear. “But you remember now. That is all that matters.”