Page 5

Highlands of Scotland

1295

The oft-delayed homecoming was so close, Patrick could almost hear the greetings of his family ringing in his ears. Anticipation pulsed in his chest, causing an unfamiliar bubble of discomfort to writhe deep in his belly. Perhaps it was excitement that had taken him captive.

Castle MacGahan rose above him in the distance, growing closer with each long stride his mount took.

Dampened reins slid through his fingers as he readjusted his cramped grip, and the serpent in his belly reared its head more forcefully.

At last he recognized the emotion tormenting him. Not anticipation. Not excitement.

Fear.

Given a name, the unfamiliar emotion blossomed in his gut.

Ridiculous!

It wasn’t as if he were riding headlong into battle. He bore no bad news, no evil tidings. There was no reason for this feeling. He couldn’t think of one single possibility. Nothing.

Nothing, that is, except…

Syrie.

She loomed large in his thoughts as he lifted an arm to greet the guard on the wall. Her sparkling eyes, her unruly red curls, her sharp tongue, everything about her that was so familiar. So dear. Equally large was a vision of her shocked expression when he announced to her his feelings for her. So real was the fear of her possible rejection that he could almost hear her laughter in the recesses of his mind.

He must be losing his sanity.

“Fate of the lonely warrior,” he muttered as he hurried through the tunnel and out into open bailey.

“Patrick!” His brother, Malcolm, called to him from across the bailey, his steps picking up speed as he trotted toward Patrick.

When they drew close to one another, Patrick halted his horse and dismounted, just in time for his older brother’s warm embrace.

“So good to have you returned home, brother,” Malcolm said, grinning as he stepped back. “We were beginning to fear you’d decided to stay with Christiana and Chase.”

“Little enough danger of that, Colm,” Patrick answered.

Though they’d been born and raised within the walls of Tordenet, the castle held far too many painful memories for either of them to ever willingly call it home again.

“Good.” Malcolm nodded in agreement, as if he could hear Patrick’s unspoken thoughts, before laying an arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “Though it’s selfish enough of me, I’m more than pleased to have the captain of my guard back where he belongs. Let’s get you inside. You’ll want food and drink after a long journey such as yers.”

“Aye,” Patrick agreed, following his brother’s lead as one of the stable boys led his exhausted mount toward the stable.

Food and drink was what they both needed. Food and drink, and, for him, a moment alone with Syrie.

At the thought of her, his eyes were drawn upward to the high parapet, long a favorite retreat of the Faerie’s. No sign of her there likely meant he’d find her in the gardens. If she wasn’t one place, she usually could be found in the other. Either that or creeping up behind him when he least expected it.

He repressed the smile tickling at the corner of his lips. It was far too soon for him to allow himself to relax. He’d reserve that luxury until after he’d spoken to her, after he knew what her feelings for him were.

As they came through the great door, he heard his sister-in-law approaching. Two steps from the bottom of the staircase, Dani caught sight of him. Squealing in delight she launched herself to the bottom of the stairs, running toward him, arms outstretched.

“You’re home!” she proclaimed laughingly as she hugged him tight. “We missed you. Malcolm’s been beside himself since you’ve been gone.”

Next to him, his brother’s face wrinkled in displeasure. “So you think that’s a wise thing for you to be doing, wife? Throwing yerself from the stairs like that? What if you were to fall, eh?”

Dani rolled her eyes, grinning as she stepped back from Patrick to turn her attention to her husband. “But I didn’t fall, did I?”

“But you could have,” he insisted, reaching out to tuck her protectively under one arm. “You need to be ever mindful of yer condition, wife.”

“Condition?” Patrick echoed, stopping to study the couple moving ahead of him toward the Great Hall. “What’s wrong with you? Has something happened since I’ve been gone?”

She looked fine to him. Her cheeks glowed healthy and pink. If anything, she appeared a bit more filled out than the last time he’d seen her.

“Nothing at all is wrong with me,” she called over her shoulder. “Malcolm’s just being a fuss-butt, like always nowadays. I told you, didn’t I? He missed you. And thank goodness you’re back so you can be the one to fuss with him. I’m going ahead to get Cook started on something wonderful to celebrate Patrick’s homecoming. You two go on in and have a seat. After so long a time, I’m sure you have all sorts of things to catch up on, don’t you, Malcolm?”

“Yer a fuss-butt now, is it?” Patrick turned a questioning look in his brother’s direction. “Whatever that is, I can only imagine. Well? I’d have an answer. What’s going on here?”

Malcolm grinned, a smile so large, Patrick wasn’t sure he could remember seeing the like of it on his brother’s face since they were children, except for, possibly, the day of his marriage to Dani.

“Damnation! I’d planned to wait to share the news until I could pour us a wee drop, but it would seem I’ve ruined that now.” Malcolm slapped him on the back, urging him into the Great Hall and toward the table at the front. “Congratulations are in order, brother. Yer going to be an uncle.”

“Uncle?” Patrick shook his head in wonder. “Well, I’ll be. Of all the things I should have guessed, that one never came to mind.”

“Aye,” Malcolm said, still grinning. “I’ll admit to having been fair surprised, meself. But now that I’ve grown used to the idea, I find I’m quite pleased. Now, if I could only get that woman to do as I say and use more caution.”

There was an idea that made Patrick smile. Dani had never been one to quietly do as she was told. But her independence was no more than his brother should have expected when he chose to marry a woman born and raised in a future time, sent to him by the power of the Fae. Well, the power of one Fae in particular. And thinking of that particular Faerie, he’d be willing to bet Syrie had plenty to say on the subject of the impending birth, too.

“Where is—” he began, cutting off his question as Dani hurried into the room, followed closely by Cook and two of her helpers, all bearing trays laden with tempting fare for a man who hadn’t eaten since the evening before.

“Here we go,” Dani said, sliding in to sit next to her husband, not looking nearly so happy as she had when she’d left them. “Now that you’ve had some time alone, I assume you’ve told him?”

“He did,” Patrick answered for his brother. “Any more of that stair-jumping, lass, and you’ll be answering to me, as much as to our laird. And to the Elf as well, I’d imagine. Where is she, by the by?”

He hoped the question had fit into the conversation as naturally as it had popped out of his mouth, though he doubted it had from the troubled look that passed between Malcolm and his wife.

“So you didn’t tell him,” she said flatly. Her voice carried no question, only a touch of disappointment.

“Tell me what?” Patrick asked, a small tendril of dread curling in his stomach.

“Syrie is missing,” Dani said. “For over a week now.”

“Missing?” His voice sounded strangled, even to his own ears.

“Likely it’s nothing to fash ourselves over,” Malcolm reasoned. “You ken how she is. It’s no’ like she’d take the time to tell us where she was going if she took it into her head to pop back to…well, to her own home.”

Malcolm was wrong. Patrick could imagine nothing else. Syrie well might have chosen to return to the Land of the Fae but, based on the little things she’d said here and there about her home world, he doubted it. At least he doubted she would have returned willingly.

He was on his feet, at a run, taking the stairs to the floor above, to reach Syrie’s chamber. He burst through the door, coming to an abrupt halt just inside, his heart beating as if he’d been in a daylong battle.

The chamber sang with an echo of the woman who had claimed it as her own. Covers on her bed were neatly drawn up and straightened, though her nightgown lay across the foot of the bed as if she’d tossed it there to await her return at end of day.

He crossed to the center of the room, breathing in the air that still held the delicate herbal scent he associated with Syrie. He scanned the room more thoroughly, searching for any little detail out of place that might serve as a clue to her whereabouts. After a moment or two, he was drawn to a chest standing under the one high window. On its top lay a hair comb.

Her comb.

Patrick ran his fingers over the wooden tool, brushing against one long red hair tangled in its teeth. If she had left at a time of her own choosing, she wouldn’t have left such a personal item behind.

His fingers closed around the comb and he dropped the item into his sporran just as he heard his brother and sister-in-law enter the room behind him.

“She disappeared the same day the Tinklers left, so…” Malcolm shrugged, his meaning clear enough.

“But you and I both know she didn’t go with them,” Dani argued, her voice leaving little doubt that she and Malcolm had discussed this line of reasoning more than once. “She was still here hours after they left. I talked to her myself because she seemed so upset, so I know for a fact she didn’t go with them.”

“You searched for her?” Patrick asked, unable to get more of his thoughts into words.

Malcolm nodded. “Everywhere. I even sent riders out, but they found no sign of her.”

“Then I’ll find her myself,” Patrick growled. “Which way were the Tinklers heading when they left?”

“I think Editha mentioned Inverness as their next destination,” Dani told him. “I’ll have a bag of food packed for you by the time you have your horse ready.”

With a nod of thanks to his sister-in-law, Patrick strode from the room. There was no doubt left in his mind. Wherever Syrie had gone, it was not at a place or a time of her own choosing.

“Have you a plan?” Malcolm asked when he’d caught up with Patrick. “Any idea at all as to where you’ll begin yer search?”

“I know exactly where I’ll go,” he answered, breaking into a trot.

He didn’t want to talk about it. He only wanted to be on his way. Fear knotted his stomach and dried his tongue. Though he teased the woman at every opportunity about being an Elf, he knew what she really was. He knew who her people really were. And because of that, he recognized the danger she faced. The Fae were a powerful race in this world. In their own, they were without match.

He forced his mind away from the danger and back to the woman herself until all he could think of was his driving need to find Syrie and bring her back where she belonged.

Did he have a destination and a plan in mind? Indeed he did. To discover where Syrie had gone and to see her safely home at Castle MacGahan.

And the best way to discover where Syrie had gone appeared to be to find the Tinklers.