Scottish Highlands, 1790

Aidan MacTavish slogged over boggy ground, making his way into the hills behind his castle. Power cloaked him, glowing blue-white against the storm-dark day, but he didn’t bother to hide himself. He might frighten the odd villager, but chances of meeting anyone on his lands were thin, and his own servants and cottagers were used to his magical ability. All the folk on his lands were free to leave any time. Though some owed him service, he never balked at turning them loose if his magic frightened them.

Rain pelted from the skies, and he wrapped a thick, woolen plaid closer about his torso from habit. The cold and rain didn’t bother him. In truth, he needed respite from the fire urging him from within. The land steepened beneath his boots, and he made his way around rocks onto a precipitous track leading to a shrine hidden high up the mountainside.

He knew when he married Moira it wasn’t wise. Fae blood—the blood of the Sidhe—ran strong in her veins, and she struggled to keep one foot in the land of the living. Her people never approved of her marrying a mortal, so they did their damnedest to lure her from his side. He’d found her often enough, trapped in a vision or a dream, and it took cunningly woven magic to draw her back.

The pain in her silver eyes haunted him, and he supposed it always would. Despite knowing children with a mortal might be her undoing, she’d insisted they try—to keep the MacTavish line alive. Aidan was the last of three brothers, so he hadn’t taken a firm enough stand.

After multiple miscarriages and a stillbirth, his misgivings shifted to alarm. When he refused her body, she used magic to beguile him, certain the next pregnancy would take. He never could bring himself to erect warding against her charms, something he’d blamed himself for over and over.

She finally slipped beyond where even he could call her back.

Though she’d carried a child long enough for it to live outside her body, childbirth was her undoing. She lost so much blood, she’d faded into the Dreaming—world of the Fae—never to return. At least not in the flesh.

God knew she haunted his dreams often enough.

Their son only lived a matter of hours. Too much Fae, not enough human, to survive in either world. Moira realized the wee bairn had no chance, and she’d whispered how sorry she was over and over in her archaic form of Gaelic before she was no more. Gone in a burst of iridescent light that scarred his corneas with her passing. Lost in grief, he’d barely given a passing thought to his sight when it returned.

Aidan shook water out of his eyes—and himself out of the past—and kept climbing. Half an hour more and he’d be where he could raise Moira, ask what she wanted, why she wouldn’t leave him to grieve and move beyond the pain of not having her by his side.

The villagers had been spooked by her disappearance. At least his son resided in a tiny coffin tucked away in the family graveyard, but the absence of Moira’s body sent many of his cottagers into a frenzy of signs against evil and muttered imprecations. Enough had left that this past planting season required magic in lieu of braw strength.

At least there’d be enough food to nourish everyone through the winter. For a while, he hadn’t been certain, but the crops in the fields looked robust. It had taken still more magic, but enough cut peat blocks to warm the huts were stacked in several outbuildings.

He rounded a final rocky outcropping and slipped into the cave he used for rituals. The scents of burned heather and expended magic—replete with the tang of the sea—filled his nostrils and brought him a measure of peace. Calling a mage light, he tossed crumbled peat into the central fire pit. Fire blazed to his summons and steam rose from his soaked plaid.

Aidan took a moment to center himself, balanced his earth-based Druid power, and cast his gaze about the familiar space. A dozen paces round, it was the entryway to a tunnel system leading deep into the mountain. Rocks studded the dirt walls, and he’d constructed a fire pit in the precise center to concentrate his ability. Runic markings to strengthen his arcane skills even further were scattered strategically.

The cave suited his special brand of power and enhanced his magic in the best possible way. He’d avoided it since Moira’s death, afraid he’d batter himself senseless trying to get into the Dreaming—a land barred to humans.

Aidan clasped his hands behind his back and began the incantation to summon his dead wife back from the other side. He couldn’t go the remainder of his life with her visiting his dreams, exhorting him in Gaelic to do something he couldn’t decipher, not because he didn’t speak the language, but because her words made no sense.

Nay. He needed peace.

More important, so did she. Was she captive in the veil between the worlds? If that was the problem, it couldn’t be comfortable for her. Her kinfolk should’ve come to her aid, but mayhap they were still angry with her for leaving the fold.

He poured power into his working until the air around him crackled with sparks and took on a burnt smell, different from his fire.

“Moira,” he called. “Moira, love. Come to me. Talk with me.”

Nothing.

Aidan pulled more magic, digging deep into the earth that mothered his gift. He filled himself until every mote of his being was ablaze with light, until if he took on any more power, he’d burst into a million particles of light, and called again.

The air on the far side of his smoldering peat fire developed an incandescent quality.

“Aye, lass,” he urged. “That’s the way of it. Come through. I’ll see you back safe.”

“I know ye will, love.” Moira took shape, red hair falling to her knees and silver eyes glowing in the fire’s reflection. She held out spectral arms, and Aidan’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He wanted to go to her, crush her against him, but that wouldn’t help either of them. “Tell me what ye need, Moira. I see you in my dreams. Hell, I see you if I so much as shutter my eyes for the barest moment.”

She nodded, making her hair flutter about her. “Och aye, mo croi, ’tis sorry I am.”

“Are ye trapped? Can I sing you through to the Dreaming?” He sought a balance point, where he could hold his spell and maintain enough sentience to talk. It wasn’t easy with the amount of magic pouring through him.

“Nay, love, but ’tis kind of you to ask. ’Tis why I fell in love with you, Aidan. Ye were the kindest, most compassionate man I’d ever known.” Sorrow spilled from her in silver waves, almost the same shade as her eyes.

“I love you too, lass. Likely I always will, but ye canna live in the world of men, and I canna bide in the Dreaming. What would ye have me do?”

“Ye’ll meet a lass. Ye must take her to wife. ’Tis what I’ve been trying to tell you, yet ye rarely leave your lands. Ye must rejoin the world, or what I’ve seen willna come to pass.”

Shock battered him, and his spell faltered. He gathered it before it vanished entirely and Moira along with it. “How is it ye see into the world of men?”

She shrugged. “How can any of us do what we do with our power?”

“Can ye pierce the veil into the Dreaming?” he asked again, still worried she might be stuck between the worlds.

“Aye, love. It costs me dear, though, each time I return to infuse sense into that thick noggin of yours.”

Aidan inhaled raggedly. The power sluicing through him turned him into a vortex, only partly human, mostly spirit. “I promise I’ll keep my eyes open for this lass ye mentioned.”

“I canna ask for more. Let me go, Aidan. When I come on my own, ’tisn’t near as draining.”

He gradually loosed his spell—needing some power to remain upright—and Moira faded, along with her familiar, loving energy that had nurtured him so long. He’d met her when he wasn’t much more than half-grown. Like all Fae, she was ageless, and she’d teased him that she had to wait for him to grow up before she threw herself into his arms.

“Enough!” he thundered to the air alight with energy.

The spoken word took him by surprise. Damn it, anyway! He hadn’t asked her to leave him be, so both of them could get beyond her death. How could he have forgotten something so basic?

Truth slapped him. Her magic trumped his by a hundredfold, a thousand, and she hadn’t wanted him to say it. A crooked smile formed, and he commanded his fire to extinguish itself.

A lass, eh? He didn’t totally believe Moira’s prediction, but if it turned out to be true, hopefully she’d be warm, kind, compassionate. Good she’d have Moira’s blessings. Aidan hated to even consider what hell any woman he sparked an interest in might go through—if Moira disapproved of her.

He walked outside into rain even worse than when he’d arrived at the sacred cave. At least his plaid was drier, but it wouldn’t be for long. The bleakness surrounding him since Moira and their son’s deaths cracked. Hope leached into his heart as he made his way back along the dicey trail, slipping and sliding on stones dislodged by water.

A glance at the cloud-filled sky reassured him it was still afternoon. He’d go for a ride on the moors, into the heart of the power that fueled his Druid magic. Once there, he’d send the horse home. A walk into Inverness would do him good, followed by a meal at one of the common houses. He could summon transport come morning to make his way back to his holdings.

A jaunty tune bubbled past his lips. Moira was right about one thing. He’d stayed far too close to home since her death. The specter of going out for a bit invigorated him, made him remember what it felt like to be a man. He quickened his pace for home. After a time, its turrets and towers came into view.

“Ye’ve returned then, Laird.” His stableman’s voice broke into Aidan’s reverie, and the tall, spare man loped out of the mist. “Ye’re soaked. I’ll instruct the housekeeper to draw you a hot bath.”

“Aye, I have indeed returned, and in more ways than one. I’ll not be wanting that bath, though. Saddle Soulna for me.”

“Ye needna see to the cottagers. I sent my lad not one day since.” Robert MacConough sounded solicitous, and it smote Aidan that his people felt the need to coddle him.

Aidan clapped him on the back. “’Tis grateful I am for all ye’ve done, but I’ve mourned long enough. Time for me to take care of things again.”

“Truly, Laird?” Robert’s weather-beaten face broke into a broad grin.

“Truly. Doona stand there gawking. My horse.”

“Of course, Laird. Right away.” Robert turned toward the stables then took off at a brisk trot.

“Doona be surprised if he returns without me,” Aidan called after him. “I’ll ride into the moorlands, then be sending him along. And I’ll be spending the evening in Inverness.”

“As my laird wishes,” drifted to him in the soggy air.

Aidan breathed deep. Scotland. No place like it. He’d lived half a life this past year. Not much he could do about those lost months, but he’d be damned if he’d retreat to the shadows again. They’d dogged his heels for far too long. He’d always love Moira, but it was past time to move forward.