YEARS OF DODGING her adoptive mother had taught Rowan the best way to be sneaky: right out in the open. As a kid she had pretended to hate running errands and doing yard work when they had given her the only chances she had to escape Marion’s evil eye. She applied the same logic now as she groused about exercising Ceann, Ailpin’s injured mount, with a short daily ride.

“If we lived somewhere with a little flat land we could put you out to pasture,” she told the tan and black gelding as she finished buckling the bridle. “But no, these guys had to build their castle under a landslide in the big dark slopey woods.”

Ceann, who had been sulky and nippy ever since returning without his rider, slapped her with his long dark tail.

“Keep it up,” she warned him as she checked his flank wound for signs of infection. “I’ll get the trimming shears and make myself some horse hair extensions.”

Taran hadn’t come back yet from his morning ride, so she hung a drying blanket over the door of the gelding’s stall. As soon as he saw it he’d know she was out riding Ceann, and probably pop a mental bottle of champagne. When she returned she’d bitch about the chore again, just for good measure.

“All right, Slappy.” She swung up into the saddle, settling into the leather-covered wooden seat and taking up the reins. “Let’s go do something we’re not supposed to.”

As she rode out from the stables Rowan didn’t try to stay out of sight. She’d learned that the clan’s patrols never used the same routes when riding, and often doubled back at random times, just to be extra vigilant. They all knew her on sight, but she tried to talk out loud to the gelding so they’d hear her, too.

“So, I’m thinking I should get my own plaid now,” Rowan said as she guided the mount to the old trail she’d found that led due west. “The problem is what color combo to go with. I like the red and black, but then Brennus and Taran and I would be too matchy-matchy. I look good in blue and black, but my sister and her new hub got dibs there. Why aren’t there any pink tartans? Perrin’s all about girl colors. Or purple. Is that like only-the-king-may-wear-it in this time, or what?”

She heard two male voices murmuring behind her, but kept a steady pace. Unlike the patrols she took the same route every day, and after the first few encounters the men had stopped intercepting her. The fact they no longer checked on her didn’t make her relax. Cade had told her that the Skaraven had been trained to be completely unpredictable.

Finally, the patrol moved on, and Rowan urged Ceann into a faster walk. After another mile she reached the cave where she had been stashing her big secret. Ceann reacted by rearing his head and whinnying sharply.

“Don’t even think about it, Sulky,” she warned the gelding as she dismounted and tethered him to a bush by the dark, narrow opening. She drew the blade she kept tucked in her boot before she stepped inside. “I’m here.”

Wood creaked and dragged, and Rowan backstepped as the oak she’d sculpted into a wooden version of Taran emerged from the shadows. Since the last time she’d seen Ochd in his new body he’d undergone more changes, refining his limbs and coloring. The last of the skin crackling had disappeared, and he’d changed his eyes to a flat blue. His hair remained a dark, lifeless brown, but he still looked enough like Taran to make her blink.

“Fair morning, my lady,” Ochd said as he smiled at her as much as his stiff face would allow. “I bring troubling news.”

Her spy never brought any other kind. “Tell me.”

As Ochd related Hendry’s plan to build an army of totems to fight alongside the famhairean, Rowan paced a little. Bad enough that Oriana Embry, Bhaltair Flen’s killer acolyte, had joined the mad druids’ crew. Now they were stacking the deck even more. If they built enough totems and got them stomping around the battlefield, the Skaraven would never have a chance to get at the giants. They’d all be squashed by the heavies.

“I need to know how many totems he’s making,” she asked after the giant had finished his report. “Also, find out when they’ll be ready to fight, and where and when Hendry is planning to attack the clan.”

Ochd reached out and took hold of her arm. “I dinnae wish to return. Permit me stay and serve you, my lady.”

He wasn’t hurting her, but his touch made her stomach shrink and her skin crawl. She couldn’t let the real Taran put his hands on her, so the irony only made it more unbearable.

“I don’t want to send you back there,” Rowan said and wanted it to be a lie. But she knew if Hendry discovered Ochd had switched sides he’d do something horrible to the famhair. As creepy as he was, she didn’t want that on her conscience. “But there’s no other way to stop this. Find out what I need to know, and meet me back here as soon as you can. I’ll come every morning the weather’s clear. And remember, don’t come back to the stronghold.”

His stiff mouth drooped. “You said you’d soon tell the Skaraven of us.”

Us. Like they were a couple. “I’ll speak to Brennus today,” Rowan promised. “Just be careful not to get caught ditching your body.”

“As my lady commands.” Ochd retreated back into the depths of the cave.

Rowan walked out and dragged in deep breaths of the cold air. The gelding let out a high-pitched screech as amber light suddenly rushed around her. Ochd’s disembodied spirit swirled up to sift through her hair before it shot up into the sky and zipped away.

“It’s okay, he’s gone, it’s okay,” Rowan said as Ceann reared and fought to free himself. She calmed the gelding with her voice and hands, forcing her stomach to hold off until the horse quieted.

There was no avoiding what came next. Every time after she met with the famhair the same thing happened. To keep from spooking Ceann again she walked a short distance away. Crouching down and bracing her hands, she threw up behind a bush until she dry-heaved. Then she walked back on wobbly legs to the gelding.

“You’re getting a full bucket of oats for not running off this time, Slappy.” It took two tries before she could get into the saddle. “Personally, I could use a big, stiff drink. Only someone would question why I’m knocking back the whiskey before noon.”

On the ride back to the stables Rowan rehearsed under her breath what she would say to the chieftain.

“Guess what? I’ve got a body-switching famhair spying on Hendry and Company for us. Just FYI, he looks a lot like Taran. It’s because of that thing between me and your horse master that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” She felt her eyes sting and shoved back the tears. “I think it’s what makes me puke every time we have a chat, too. After we chat, I mean. Can’t let the spy know how much he nauseates me.”

Whatever spin she put on it, Brennus would not be happy. Since the chieftain had never liked her anyway, finding out she’d been secretly meeting with the enemy might make him blow a gasket. He’d probably toss her in the clan’s inescapable eagalsloc and leave her there to rot.

“Maybe if I point out that Ochd came to me, and not the other way around,” she told Ceann. “That might work.”

She also felt certain that the chieftain would understand, once she explained. Brennus might not like her, but he’d never toss her in the punishment pit for trying to protect the clan.

By the time she reached the stables Rowan felt reasonably sure she could handle confessing all. She simply had to avoid volunteering too many details. The new intel Ochd had provided gave the Skaraven a very limited window to carry out a first strike. She’d emphasize that.

Not finding Taran in the stables made it easier to look after Ceann. Giving him a cool-down walk through the rows of stalls, she then dismounted to water and untack him. After rubbing down and brushing the gelding Rowan brought the promised oats into his stall.

“Wish me luck, Slappy,” she said, and stroked his broad neck. “I’m going to need it.”

The gelding snorted, but bumped her shoulder with his black nose and batted his long eyelashes at her before he stuck his face in the feed bucket.

Rowan cleaned the tack and washed up before she ate a pear and a couple of oatcakes to settle her stomach. Taran always left something for her to eat after she went out on a ride, which she’d considered a nice thing. Now she wondered why. She hadn’t gone inside Dun Mor by herself, she realized, since Brennus had planned the counterattack at the McAra stronghold.

He doesn’t want me to go anywhere without him. He even followed me when I went to get water this morning.

Leaving the stables, Rowan entered the stronghold through the side passage she preferred to use. She paused just outside Kanyth’s workroom to soak up a little of the heat his constantly-blazing forge furnace generated. When she peeked around the threshold to offer a hey to her new brother-in-law, however, she didn’t see the weapons master anywhere.

“Weird,” she muttered.

Kanyth usually spent most of the day smithing iron. The fact that he and Taran weren’t where they were supposed to be made her wonder if Brennus had called everyone together for a meeting.

“Everyone but me, of course,” Rowan muttered as she headed for the great hall.

One of the other advantages to using the side passage was that she could check out who occupied the huge front room of the stronghold before they saw her. That had helped with her determination to avoid Perrin. Stopping in the shadows just before the entry to the hall, she peered out and saw Brennus, his clanmasters and their wives gathered around one end of the big table where the clan ate. The rest of the hall stood empty, so the chieftain must have chased everyone out, which was also very odd.

Seeing them all sitting together made Rowan feel a familiar surge of loneliness. They’d all made their mystical matches and were happy, and it showed.

Her gaze went to Dr. Althea Jarden’s copper red hair and frosty blue eyes, gorgeously vivid even in torchlight. Althea had always been the self-appointed leader of their little group, probably the main reason why she and the doc had never gotten along. She appeared perfectly content beside the big, dark Skaraven chieftain. Brennus rarely went for PDA, but he held the botanist’s hand in his and stroked the back of it with his thumb. Since they’d gotten hitched Rowan had hardly ever seen them apart.

On his right War Master Cadeyrn had his arm around his chef wife, Lily Stover, their streaky fair heads close together as they murmured to each other. Both of them had always been very cool customers, but that remoteness didn’t exist between them. It had never surprised Rowan that Cade had been the one to rescue them, or that Lily had sacrificed herself to protect her husband and the other women from the famhairean. Both of them had the kind of courage that came silent and brought lots of teeth.

The clan’s massive shaman, Ruadri, shared an aura of patient empathy with his mate, the curvy and darkly beautiful Emeline McAra. Rowan especially envied these two because their love for each other radiated from them. Part of it came from Emmie’s gift of empathy, but it also flashed in their smiles and glowed in their eyes. Maybe that was because they’d both earned each other’s love the hard way, and had been willing to die for it.

Immortality had given all the women more than eternal life and intensified beauty. They each had found their forever love in their mates. Rowan’s shy, sweet sister Perrin now looked like the Goddess of Confidence beside her impossibly handsome husband, Weapons Master Kanyth, Brennus’s half-brother. That they were insanely happy together glowed like a neon sign in their eyes. Even actively avoiding her sister, Rowan couldn’t miss that.

Rowan didn’t hate the four of them, although she often felt like a troll by comparison. Every one of the women had suffered, and been rewarded for it. She just wanted some of that for her and Taran. Once they worked out the nuts and bolts of their thing she felt sure they would. Why else would they be so crazy for each other?

Be nice to them, Rowan told herself as she put on a friendlier face. Then maybe they’ll let you sit at the big kids’ table.

“In our mortal lifetime ’twould be my decision alone as chieftain,” Brennus said to the others. “We’ve since decided the clan neednae follow the old ways. I’d hear what you and our ladies reckon should be done with her.”

Her. Rowan froze, staying back in the shadows. There was only one her not at the table.

“Why don’t we talk to Rowan first?” Althea Jarden suggested. “Now that Perrin’s mated maybe she won’t feel she has to stay and look after her. We might not have to force the issue at all.”

“Have you met my sister?” Perrin asked her, and shook her head. “Look, whatever you guys think of Rowan, just know that she never, ever gives up a grudge. Our mother has been dead for years, and she still hates her. Believe me, she won’t budge an inch until she settles the score with Hendry and Murdina.”

I’ve always looked after you, Rowan thought, and behind my back this is how you talk about me?

“Perhaps we’re being too hasty in deciding this now,” Emeline McAra said, sounding worried. “Rowan could still find a husband among the clan.”

“Have you met my sister?” Perrin asked, turning to regard the nurse.

Rowan noticed all of the clanmasters were busy shifting in their chairs and sharing pained looks. All except Taran, who sat watching the others and said nothing.

“I guess discussing this with her would be a little difficult,” Althea said. “Rowan tends to be very… ah…”

“Miffed, narky, cheesed off,” Lily suggested. “The minute she’s crossed she does her nut. The only time that bint’s not steaming is when she’s having a kip. Then I imagine she dreams of going to spare on someone.”

The botanist frowned. “I don’t think she’s that bad.”

“Don’t you, Dr. Useless?” the chef said, reminding Althea of Rowan’s pet name for her. “You were there when she went off on Brennus in front of the whole clan. I thought she’d skewer us all for a jot.” She glanced at Emeline. “You know how she can be better than anyone, Em. How many times did you have to calm down Rowan while the nutters had us? Dozens.”

Now the nurse looked uncomfortable. “Everyone reacts to stress differently. Anger isn’t all that unusual. I know she often felt frustrated, and even frightened.”

The Brit definitely hadn’t forgiven her for the last time they’d mixed it up, Rowan decided. Which was fine with her. She and Lily had never been besties anyway. But Emmie talking openly about Rowan’s private feelings definitely crossed her off the friendship list.

Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. Marion had told her that once, before she’d… Rowan couldn’t remember what she’d done. Probably made her rewash the dishes that were never clean enough for her the first time.

“My sister was angry long before they brought us here,” Perrin told them, and sighed. “She’s always been that way. Like the world is her enemy. It’s why she’s never had any friends. She’s just a very unlikeable person.”

And there we have yours truly, in a nutshell. It was as if she’d been slapped repeatedly. The angry, obnoxious chick no one likes. After all I’ve done, that’s who I am to them.

“None of the men show any particular regard for the lass. Indeed, most of them avoid her,” Brennus said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “She’s no’ the easiest female to ken, and her temper rivals my own. Then too her tongue cuts as deeply as any axe she wields.”

So, I’m also a tool, Rowan thought, pushing back at the hurt swelling in her chest. Good to know.

“There’s something else you’ve all forgotten,” Althea said. “Rowan hasn’t changed. She’s the same as she was when we were taken from the future. The rest of us aren’t.”

At least the doc was finally sticking up for her, Rowan thought. Which was weird.

“We know that Hendry and Murdina needed us for something other than using the portals,” the botanist continued. “Rowan is the last druidess left, and I imagine they’ll do anything to get her back. Once she’s returned to the future, they’ll not be able to do that. Without someone to open the portals for them, they won’t be able to follow her.”

The Doc wants me gone, too. Rowan dragged in a breath, and held it until the pain ebbed again. Four for four.

“I don’t want to lose my sister, but Althea is right,” Perrin said. “We have to think about Rowan’s life. Since she’s never going to mate, she’ll always be mortal. She’ll die here, all alone. That’s not what I want for her. This is the right thing to do.”

Rowan watched Brennus nod, and heard the other men murmuring in agreement.

And it’s unanimous.

“Tran, you’ve said naught about the lass,” Cadeyrn said, looking at the horse master. “You’ve been working with her for weeks now, and befriended her in a fashion. What say you?”

Taran didn’t reply for a long moment. Rowan knew he was trying to think of how to tell the others about them. It would be tricky, especially when he revealed all the obsessive-compulsive stuff. But he cared about her, that much she knew. With whatever was happening between them no way would he let Brennus boot her back to the twenty-first century. No, Taran wouldn’t sign off on this. If anyone in the clan could possibly become her mate, it was–

“No one wants her here,” Taran said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Send her back to her time.”