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stumble upon an inconsistency and expose the truth? Was getting back in the game worth the risk? How would he explain his failure to age? Good genes? Plastic surgery? A portrait in the attic?
    At the same time, he missed the high he used to get from political engagement. While the books and occasional lectures helped staunch the longing, they didn’t hold a candle to his golden days as the court astrologer at Holyroodhouse. Once upon a time, he’d consulted the celestial heavens to advise James IV on everything from battles to rebel plots to court intrigues. What a shame the king turned a deaf ear to the celestial warnings about the invasion of England—to many more detriments than his and the king’s.
    “If you were in Parliament, you could pass legislation to protect the environment,” she said between bites.
    “Aye. Exactly. Which is why the idea interests me so much.” He set down his fork and leaned closer. “This may sound strange, but I’d like to reintroduce wolves into Scotland.”
    Mild surprise registered on her face. “Are there no wolves here?”
    “No. They were hunted to extinction hundreds of years ago and, as a consequence, the red deer have no natural enemy, so they have taken over and are destroying the forests. You wouldn’t believe how much the Highlands have changed in the past few centuries. Old-growth forests used to dominate the glens and now there are very few trees left.”
    “Oh, dear,” she said. “That does sound like a problem worth addressing.”
    “Wolves would keep the deer population under control, but would also endanger domestic livestock, especially sheep. I think it’s a small price to pay for replenishing the old-growth forests, but the sheep farmers think it’s a mad idea.”
    “It sounds like a complicated issue.”
    “Aye, it is. Like most things.” Reclaiming his fork, he pushed the food on his plate around for a few moments before saying, “There’s something you should know about my castle before I take you there.”
    Her blue eyes shimmered with interest, just as he’d expected. “Oh, really?—and what’s that?”
    “It’s haunted.”
    She nearly choked on her eggs, which pleased him immensely. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “By a ghost?”
    “Aye. My dead wife’s, no less.” It was the truth, though why Sorcha haunted him, he couldn’t begin to guess.
    “Oh, dear. How did she die?”
    “She threw herself off the tower.”
    All the color left her face. “Holy shit. Were you there when it happened?”
    “No, thank God. By that time, we were no longer living together.”
    “You were separated?”
    “More or less.” He’d been in the Thitherworld, actually, serving as a sex slave to the queen of Avalon.
    “Just out of curiosity, how do you experience the haunting?”
    “I feel coldness when she’s in the room.” He didn’t add that it was the same coldness Sorcha had treated him with throughout their miserable excuse for a marriage.
    “Does she make sounds? Move things? Radiate hostile energy?”
    “No, nothing like that.” He took a sip of coffee to hide his discomfort. “I just feel the drop in temperature when she comes into the room.”
    “How do you know it’s your wife?”
    “I don’t know, I just do.”
    “Was she religious? If so, she might fear damnation for committing suicide.”
    He picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee. “You seem to know about spirits.”
    “I’ve seen them since I was a girl—not that my mother believed me.” She poked at her food, avoiding his gaze. “She thought I was crazy and made me see a psychiatrist.”
    The emotion in her voice provoked a pang of guilt—and an onrush of sympathy. “If you ask me, it was your mother who needed the psychiatrist.”
    “True.” Smiling sadly, she met his gaze with glittering eyes. “Perhaps when we get to your castle, I can have a word with your ghost, find out what she wants, and persuade her to move on.”
    “I’d appreciate