“Sabrina—”
“You must promise me.”
“It’s not my place to say anything,” Shawna told her.
Sabrina exhaled, then turned back to address Hawk and Gawain, nearing them as they rode.
“What a beautiful night.”
“Not so lovely as the Night of the Moon Maiden will be!” Gawain assured her.
“It’s a guarantee, a promise,” Alistair averred, riding abreast of them then. “We’ve never had rain, or fierce cold, or a touch of snow or frost, on the Night of the Moon Maiden.”
“Coming within the week,” Hawk added.
Shawna felt his eyes on her, and a sense of unease swept through her.
“Three nights from this very evening,” she agreed softly.
That night, her tower chamber was empty when she arrived there.
Mary Jane had left her a warm bath, which could easily be made hotter by heating a few kettles of water at her own hearth. She stoked the fire burning there, heated her water, bathed, all the while, waiting.
Expecting him…
But he didn’t come.
When she slept, it seemed inevitable that she would dream.
Tonight, she ran across the valley from Castle MacGinnis to Castle Rock, cresting that hill, well aware that someone was after her. She passed by Castle Rock, hearing a rustling, feeling the earth move with the heaviness of the footfalls upon it. Far, far before her, she could see the moonlight shimmering down upon the loch. She needed to reach the water’s edge. A selkie would rise from the depths, its fur shed, its form that of a man. The selkie, though half-beast, perhaps demon, would save her…
But the Druid Stones lay between her and the water. The main stone, the altar stone. She didn’t know that she ran to it, but she was suddenly there, and she stumbled down because her would-be assailant was so close.
So close she could feel breath upon her neck…
So close she could feel warmth…
Fingers reaching out to draw her back, curve around her throat, steal the life from her.
She fell upon the altar, but rolled, determined to rise upon the other side. Yet, as she turned, a vision of pure horror greeted her. She lay beside a corpse. Burned, charred, the face contorted, blackened mouth opened in a final, horrid scream of agony and death.
She jerked herself awake, shaking, gasping, praying that she hadn’t screamed aloud. Then a second cry nearly tore from her lips as she felt strong arms come around her.
“What is it?” came David’s deep whisper from the shadows, and she felt his weight as he sat by her side.
He had been with her, she realized. Sitting sentinel before the fire, as often was his way.
Taking her by surprise.
Coming in silence while she slept, like a wraith.
A selkie, risen from the water, slipping in upon her when he chose, disappearing again when he so chose as well. Determined and taking complete advantage.
“Shawna?” he prompted.
She shook her head blindly. “It’s nothing. Dreams, nightmares.”
“Of dead men?” he queried.