“Then at least ye’ll have a fine tupping before ye die if she’ll have ye.” Gillespie winked.
Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle at the macabre jest. Even now, toward the end when they were left with mere grains of sand in the hourglass, Gillespie maintained a hope Duncan could not muster.
Duncan heaved a sigh, though it did little to shove out the pressure building in his chest. “Aye, fine. I’ll keep her from leaving. For yer sake.”
Gillespie inclined his head as graciously as any well-minded servant. Duncan handed him the chemise and made his way back to the great hall, determined to ask Evina to stay with more conviction.
He rounded the corner and his stomach dropped. Her seat was empty.
The fox-man emerged from the corridor, quiet and deft. “Did ye require something, laird?”
Duncan indicated the empty seat. “Where is she?”
Those unsettling golden eyes flicked first to the empty seat, then to Duncan. The fox-man offered an apologetic bow. “I’m no ‘sure, laird. She left the castle with haste.”
Duncan did not bother to reply, nor ask for further assistance. Nay, he spun on his heel and dashed off to reclaim the woman who might bring peace to his remaining two weeks of life.
CHAPTER 4
CURSE OR ENCHANTMENT, Evina no longer cared. She had bled. For the first time in the whole of her life, something within the castle, within that damn bed, had pierced her flesh and made her bleed.
She stalked past the rowan tree, keeping her face turned from the sunlit aura of magic, and made her way to the white wall of ice and snow. She paused before it.
When she’d come here, she’d wanted nothing more than to die. An easy wish for one with invincibility. The blood on her night rail had been what she’d needed to rouse herself from the ridiculous notion.
She could meet battles and blizzards a thousand times over and emerge unscathed. Even with the annoyances of day-to-day life of cold and hunger, she’d choose them over the comfort of a grand castle that could pluck drops of her mortality like petals from a hearty rose.
She didn’t have her clothing, but at least she had her cloak and pack. She regretted not having her armor, but neither it nor the weapons left behind were of sufficient quality to warrant staying a second longer.
Resolve once more established, Evina shoved out of the sunlit barrier and plunged herself into the roaring wall of ice and clawing, merciless wind. It whipped around her with staggering ferocity, pulling and pushing from all directions until her mind was awash with disorientation.
Frozen bits of ice surrounded her, hurtling at her face, stinging at her cheeks and arms. The storm had been bad before. Now it was awful.
Evina’s muscles burned with the effort and energy drained from her, leaving her as heavy and exhausted as if she’d been battling for days rather than simply walking for minutes. At least in battle, she had a body she could push her sword into, an opponent she could duck from or parry. But the wind and snow were omnipresent, filling her vision and stopping her ears, swarming, swarming, swarming about until it seemed the very insides of her head were flying with wild flurries of white.
Evina trudged into the rising mounds of snow which rose up to her thighs. Each step was more difficult, requiring her to pull her leg higher and drag it from the drifts, only to plunge into yet another. She cried out in aggravation and redoubled her efforts.
All at once, the storm stopped, the billowing ice stopped, and she stood at the edge of a sunlit cone of light with a rowan tree at its middle and a massive man beside it.
Frustration knotted inside her. How had she returned to Duart Castle when she’d fought so hard to move away? How had she been so turned around that she’d unintentionally fought her way back to where she was trying to escape?
The breath heaved from her lungs and her muscles were left with a jelly-like weariness. Sweat prickled her brow and mixed with the moisture of melting snow. Evina shoved the wildness of her blown hair away from her face and stormed a path to Duncan.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Why will ye no’ let me go?”
He shook his head. “It isna me.”
“What is it? What is this tree? This castle? Storm? All of it?” She was screaming and gesturing, very much the addled one on this second meeting. But she couldn’t stop the rage pouring through her.
“It’s a storm, Evina.” He spoke so rationally, she almost doubted her own rage.
“And what of the rowan tree? Why is it locked in sunshine while the rest of the world freezes?”
“Come inside,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “No’ until I am told what enemy I’m up against. Ye say it wasna ye who made me return here, but how did ye come to be standing here when I emerged, waiting for me?”
His jaw clenched. “I meant to come after ye. I intended to.” He dragged a hand through the thick darkness of his hair. “But I…” He shook his head. “I couldna leave.”
“Who has done this magic?”
He gave a mirthless smile. “There isna an enemy for ye to fight, at least no’ one alive to kill.” He sighed. “Ye’re right. The castle is cursed. I—it’s my fault.”
“Why?” she demanded
“I’ll tell ye, but no’ here.” He held out his hand to her, palm up. Open and inviting.
She knew better than to give her trust too easily, especially to a man as darkly handsome as Duncan. Those men always were the most dangerous. And her greatest weakness. Specifically tall, muscular ones with dark hair and soulful eyes, with large capable hands like the one extended toward her.
Damn him.
She put her fingers to his palm. The chill in her body warmed.
“I want the entire story,” she said. “The tree, the castle, everything. It’s enchanted, aye?”
Duncan nodded. “Aye. It
