Page 82 of Master Wolf
Wynne looked up, a question in his eyes.
“I listened to my wolf. And—well, it told me to bite Lindsay. So I did—that was what made him shift into his wolf.”
Wynne’s eyes gleamed with sudden emotion. “Did you?” he said almost wonderingly. “Well now, Drew Nicol.”
Drew told him the rest then.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” he said when he was finished. “That crevasse, and the ice. Was it real? Did I imagine it?”
“There are other planes of existence,” Wynne said gently. “The events that take place on them are, in their way, as real as those that occur in this world to the body you are inhabiting now.” He was quiet for a few moments, then he added, “I don’t think Lindsay would have survived the severing of his bond with his wolf if you had not bitten him. In those last days, he grew so weak. He needed his wolf to live.”
“Didn’t you see that though? When you scried for him?”
Wynne shook his head, his eyes filled with sudden tears. “The visions are selective—that’s why scrying is so dangerous. I saw you and him together, as the outcome of him using the Wolfsbane. But I didn’t see what the cost would be. What would happen to Francis.” He dashed the tears away with an impatient hand.
For a while they were silent. Then Drew said, “Will Lindsay remember what happened on that other plane?”
Wynne shrugged. “We will have to see. Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted Lindsay to remember that perfect, loving reunion, but he didn’t want him to have to remember being alone and isolated on the ice. He wanted to protect Lindsay from the memory of that pain. From everything that might ever hurt him.
Was that new? That protective instinct?
And there he went again, speculating about what caused his feelings for Lindsay instead of simply… feeling them.
“I remember,” a new voice said.
Drew turned.
Lindsay stood in the doorway, his thin body swamped by a loose shirt and breeches that were not his own. He was still pale and fragile-looking and the wound at his neck—the one Drew had inflicted on him—was red and raw. But he was on his feet. On his feet, without a cane and he was smiling, if a little uncertainly.
“I remember what you did,” Lindsay whispered. “Risking everything—to bring me back.”
Drew stood. His legs felt suddenly weak. “I’ve been such a fool,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Lindsay asked. “None of this was of your making.” He laid his forearm against the doorframe and leaned there, tiredly.
Drew scowled. “You shouldn’t be up,” he said. He crossed the chamber floor in a few swift strides and hefted Lindsay up into his arms easily. “I’m taking you upstairs and then I’m getting you something to eat.”
“Just take him upstairs,” Wynne said behind them. “I’ll take care of the food.”
* * *
Lindsay atewith more appetite than Drew had seen from him since his return to Edinburgh, devouring most of a cold roast chicken and a half-loaf of bread before he was able to speak again.
“What did you mean when—” he began.
“Drink this first,” Drew interrupted, handing him a bowl of some tisane Wynne had made. “Wynne says it will help with the pain.”
Lindsay sighed but he took the tisane and drank it down before leaning back against the nest of pillows Drew had made for him.
“What did you mean when you said you were sorry in the study?” he asked. His dark eyes were genuinely curious, as though he couldn’t think of any reason for himself.
Drew cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “I caused all of this,” he said. “With my blindness. My refusal to accept that it was not just the maker bond that made me want you. If I had not done that, you would not have used the Wolfsbane. You would not have grown so weak, or lost your wolf.” He paused, swallowing hard before he admitted hoarsely, “Francis would not be dead.”
Lindsay’s gaze was sorrowful. “And nor would Duncan be. And perhaps we would not have Alys back. How can we know? How can we predict every event that will flow from the choices we make? I may as well say I caused it all, by biting you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”