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idiocy was this? Nothing to be desired? He had to be mad. Everything about her was eminently desirable! He’d cast off his plaid to make them a bed in an instant had she been anything but insubstantial dreams and shadow.
    “You seem in good spirits,” MacColla said quietly, taking a seat on the deck beside him. The two of them were nearly a head taller than any of the men nearby.
    “Aye.” Malcolm turned to look at the man who was so surely bound up in his approaching fate. He still did not know if he liked or hated him.
    “Think you that we shall have success in today’s great venture?”
    Malcolm shrugged, still smiling faintly.
    “I believe ye’ll take the keep,” he said.
    “Aye? Think you then that we shall rid Scotland of the bloody Campbells as well?”
    Malcolm shook his head.
    “The Campbells are like the poor; they shall be with us always.”
    “You are indifferent to them?”
    “Nay. ‘Tis just that I shall not be here tae see them feasting on our bones.”
    MacColla was finally disconcerted.
    “You are leaving us?” he asked softly in Gaelic. One did not speak of dying in the lowlandtongue. Nor did the Irishman likely want to speak of death before battle when it might vex the men. “You are called to travel, MacLeod?”
    “Aye. Before the next full moon.” Malcolm’s voice was equally soft as he told his unwanted spirit-brother the truth.
    “And for this you smile?” MacColla was evidently part-fascinated and part-disturbed.
    “Nay. I smile because I am for the first time—and certainly the last—in love.” Malcolm laughed and gave the man a look.
    Colkitto stood abruptly, his fascination replaced with alarm.
    “I pray that you are mistaken.”
    “Whyever? A good Scotsman should enjoy thinking on a bonnie lass.”
    “Not when he is nearing the time of battle and travel. What ails thee, piper, to think of laying the hand of Fate upon this lass? I tell thee, it does not serve to give hostage to Fate.”
    Malcolm nodded, knowing that the MacColla was thinking of his own family, ransomed in the merciless hands of Lord Lorne.
    “Worry not about me lass, Irish. She’s already walking wi’ the spirits. In any case, ‘tis late in the day for us tae flee our memories. The heart that truly loves a woman cannae forget her, and somehow I ken that she is bound tae me as well.”
    “God grant eternity,” the other whispered, crossing himself hurriedly.
    To that Malcolm didn’t answer, and MacColla, no longer so curious about the future, didn’t ask if he knew what his own end would be or whether his imprisoned family would be waiting at Duntrune.
    That was best, Malcolm knew. It would be difficult to lead men in battle if one knew that grim Death was waiting impatiently nearby. It was hard enough to lead men when one’s piper’s thoughts were not upon the coming battle but upon his own nearing end.
    Malcolm turned back to look out over the loch. He couldn’t be certain, but there was a tiny rowboat coming their way, and as none of the other men were raising an alarm at the approaching vessel, he was led to hope that it was the apparition. His…
    Malcolm closed his eyes, and for the first time, reached down inside to the forbidden place where he never allowed his mind to go. He wanted to see if he could name her, his blond wraith.
    What is your name? he asked her.
    Taffy, a soft voice whispered back.
    “Taffy,” he repeated, testing the foreign syllables and finding he liked their rhythm.
    He opened his eyes, watching the boat draw near. Something golden and shining was aboard it, glistening under an unseen sun.
    Mayhap he truly meant what he had said to theMacColla about being blindly infatuated. For which of the great lovers had ever not loved—and deeply—at first sight True, it was daft. But there was no escaping that this strange new feeling he had was stronger than the call to duty, stronger even than the fear of dying.
    But if he had only a score of days left to spend in this