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the night watching
the croft to make sure Delaney stayed away.”
    Her hands stilled. “You are that worried about this
werewolf?”
    “I protect what is mine.”
    “I told you. I am Huntress, not werewolf.”
    “Ye are werewolf enough. Your body calls to me. Tell me ye
do no’ feel lust. Tell me ye do no’ want me.”
    She looked away. “Go and rest, werewolf.”
    Eagan repressed a smile of triumph. “I’ll rest right here,
lass.”
    “As you wish. I shall wake you when the soup is ready.”
    But she didn’t. Eagan awoke to find the soup barely
simmering. Late afternoon sun spread across the sheepskin-covered floor,
melting inexorably into sunset. Her scent next to the folded laundry had grown
faint.
    “Caitrin!” he bellowed. He knew calling for her was an
exercise in futility, but the shout emerged anyway, ripped from his heart.
    Where is she? He needed her close to him, needed to
confirm with his own eyes that she was hale and happy.
    Eagan ran in ever-widening circles around the croft.
Delaney’s scent was old—he breathed a sigh of relief. The lass hadn’t been
taken—she’d left . Of her own accord.
    Why? He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Come
back!
    Her trail led south, winding through the hills. She’d
covered it periodically in an attempt to hide her tracks, but the Guardians’
prints were more difficult to obscure.
    Eagan stripped, hanging the kilt on a nearby fence post.
Furious and shaken at Caitrin’s abrupt departure, he could barely control the
Change, his limbs cracking as bone transformed too abruptly. Yet he welcomed
the physical pain as something to take his mind off the overwhelming fear that
threatened to send him out of his mind.
    He needed to find her before Delaney did.
    * * * * *
    Caitrin stepped carefully backward, ensuring that her feet
landed in her earlier bootprints. When she reached bare rock, she leaped to the
side. Another leap landed her ankle-deep in the chilly waters of a thin beck.
    One of the collies whined, unhappy at obeying her command to
wait across the beck. She’d had them walk in the water for a quarter of a mile
to further confuse any trackers.
    Guardians, Eagan had called the dogs. She paused, eyeing
them. They were certainly devoted to her, never leaving her side. For as long
as she could remember, they’d owned collies. Da must have somehow imprinted
them upon her before he’d died, knowing they would protect her until their last
breath.
    The cottage where Iris lived was just over that rise, less
than half a day’s easy ride from Hadrian’s Wall. The witch claimed magic was
strong here, both ancient Pict and Roman. To that potent mix she added her
Irish traditions, having emigrated to Scotland in her youth.
    Iris had been like a second mother to her. The witch had
known her since before she was born, having tended to Caitrin’s mother during
her pregnancy. She badly needed some time alone with Iris to talk over what was
happening with Eagan.
    Caitrin cast a guilty look over her shoulder. Strange as it
seemed, she was almost missing the werewolf. If she hurried, maybe she could be
back before he woke.
    Iris was in the garden pulling up weeds when she arrived.
The aging witch straightened as Cait approached, beaming.
    “Caitrin Flint, it has been too long!”
    She walked into the witch’s embrace, allowing all her
worries to fall away for that brief few moments. Iris squeezed her tightly,
nearly as strong in her old age as she had been fifteen years ago.
    “I apologize for not visiting sooner,” Caitrin said, pulling
away reluctantly. She was fond of the old witch, who had taught her to read,
write and mix simple potions. As a child she had often visited Iris, but the
visits had tapered off once Caitrin had taken on more responsibilities at the
croft.
    “If you had stayed away much longer I would have shown up on your doorstep,” Iris replied. “Come inside for tea and a bite to eat.”
    They traipsed indoors, inhaling the combined scents