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peered into the darkened cottage. He fought against the ever-increasing waves of pain, trying to see into the shadows, hearing the sounds of weeping echo in the tiny dwelling.
    Isabel was crying, weeping so deeply he thought her physically wounded. She lapsed into coughing, then vomiting from the intensity of her cry. When he would have stepped inside, something stopped him from going to her. Clearly she thought herself alone and his interference might not be warranted or welcome. He realized he knew nothing, less than nothing, about the woman other than her skills in bedplay. He suspected much, but knew nothing about her family or her connections in Duntulm.
    In spite of feeling her pain and her sorrow, he stepped back and closed the door. The action did nothing to ease the suffering he felt, but he could not help her if he did not understand. He knew in the heart and soul he could now feel that he wanted to help her. He wanted to understand what she was to him.
    He wanted her.
    As he walked away, the pain lessened but did not dissipate completely, leaving an ache in the pit of his stomach he suspected would continue until her pain was gone.
    He stopped as the revelation struck him.
    He’d never felt the power flowing in his veins between full moons before. He’d never wanted to let it flow, to unleash his ability to heal bodies and souls, because of the terrible cost he paid for its exercise. Yet, he’d stood in her doorway wanting to heal her, wanting to erase the anguish that lived deep within her. Wanting to take her pain into himself and banish it.
    Duncan shook his head, trying to clear the confusing burst of thoughts and desires and needs from his mind, unable to sort through it all after the months of emptiness. To call forth the power he had was courting disaster. To even think of such a thing frightened him.
    He must discover more about her. He gazed up at the sun, estimating it to be mid-morning. He smiled at that, since he’d not slept past dawn in ages, but his soul filled and his body satisfied and exhausted, he’d not wanted to wake. Then he’d rolled over to pull her body beneath his and seek that moment of perfect satisfaction and peace . . . and found her gone.
    He took and released a deep breath. Ornolf was excellent at gleaning information, so Duncan would set him on that task. His usual caution reared then and he knew he must find out more about her before allowing her close enough to discover the truth of his curse and his ability.
    Walking back to the keep, he knew the moment something changed. All the pain that had flowed into him disappeared as though the flame of a lamp had lost its oil and gone out. It was not diminished, but extinguished as though never there. Breathing did not hurt. Existing did not hurt. The pain was gone, mimicking the moment in the ritual when he came back to himself and the person involved felt nothing. He felt nothing, too, but knew that moment was simply a pause before all the pain that had been drawn out flooded into him.
    This time, it did not.
    Quickening his pace and filled with an anticipation he’d not known for months, he made his way to his chambers and sent Ornolf off on various tasks. When the men visiting from Orkney arrived to share his noon meal, he thought he might discover something about his origins. He had never known his family, only that he’d come from Orkney originally. But, by nightfall, he’d learned little or nothing except that the Earl of Orkney had a truthsayer, a man who was called on to determine the truth whenever it was in question.
    Not one of them could give more information than that, and with the earl about to sail south in the king’s company, Duncan had no time to pursue the matter. Ornolf suggested sending someone north and he gave his permission, even knowing it could take months to find out more.
    Duncan watched for Isabel to appear at the feasts held each night over the next sennight, but she did not. Nor did the man called