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nodded. Then her eyes filled anew, her reaction suggesting her identity.
    “I am Sorcha,” she said, confirming his guess. “I was Neill’s betrothed and until a short while ago, the most light-hearted maid in these hills.”
    She looked at him, her eyes dark pools. “He was tall and bonny. A bold, forthright man who should have had all his days before him. But who could have foreseen . . .” She clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to finish.
    Jamie drew a deep breath. “Saints aid me, lass, I dinna ken what to say to you.” Having never mastered the courtly skills of proper wooing or even comforting distressed damsels, he did think to take her elbow and pull her with him to his garron. “I’ll see you to your sire’s keep,” he suggested, trying to avert any further talk of his brother. “You can ride and I’ll walk alongside.”
    But she backed away when Cuillin lunged forward to sniff her, his tail thumping against the wicker of his basket. “You are as goodly as Neill e’er said you were, but I wish to be alone. Fairmaiden is not far and the walking is a comfort to me. I’ve already come from Baldreagan this e’en, a few more paces willna—”
    “From Baldreagan?” Jamie stared at her. “But that’s well more than a few paces,” he said, striding after her as she moved toward the trees. “And no journey for a maid unescorted. ’Tis nigh dark and the Rough Waters . . .”
    He left the warning tail off, but she must’ve understood because she stopped, turning around to face him. “I know better than to go near the rapids. They are still in spate and there are ghosts there,” she said, a dull flush spreading up her cheeks. “Only a fool would set foot there of a night.”
    She lifted her chin, fixed him with a piercing stare. “Truth be told, I doubt I’d even go there by day. The ghosts have been seen by many, they—”
    “Ghosts?”
Jamie looked at her, hoping he’d misunderstood.
    She nodded. “Your brothers’ spirits, aye. ’Tis why I thought you were Neill. He’s been seen down at the cataracts. They all have.”
    Jamie folded his arms. “I dinna believe in ghosts.”
    The
Sithe
, aye. There wasn’t a Gael born and walking who’d deny the existence of the Good People.
    But bogles?
    And of his own brothers?
    Nay, he couldn’t believe it.
    Frowning, he drew himself to his full height and put back his shoulders—just to emphasize his denial. “Nay, lass,” he repeated, shaking his head, “that canna be. Not Neill. Not any o’ my brothers, saints rest their souls.”
    “I canna say I’ve seen them, but others have.” The Valkyrie gave him a long look. “At the rapids and up at Baldreagan,” she added, brushing at her cloak. “Your da sees them most often and they frighten him. That’s why I was there tonight. My sister and I take turns looking in on him.”
    Jamie rubbed a hand down over his face. “The sister you mention, is she Aveline?” he asked, looking back at her.
    But she was gone.
    Or rather, he could just make out the dark swirl of her cloak as she disappeared through the trees in the direction of Fairmaiden Castle.
    Her father’s keep, a sister bound to him by an alliance he had yet to fully believe, and a tangle he wasn’t sure he cared to unravel.
    But at least Aveline wasn’t the Valkyrie.
    And nary a jealous
Sithe
princeling had yet appeared, enchanted blade flashing and ready to escort him to his doom.
    His plight could have been worse.
    Or so he thought until a short while later the vast sprawl of Baldreagan loomed before him. A proud demesne, its sturdy towers rose dark against the surrounding hills. And, as at Hughie Mac’s cottage, curling threads of bluish smoke drifted from the tower chimneys. No one could be seen on the parapet walk, nor did anyone shout a challenge as he drew near, yet he could feel wary eyes watching him.
    And with reason, for lights shone from some of the higher windows, including the one he knew to be his da’s private