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waited for her father’s words of wisdom. Instead there was only silence that seemed to close in around her, leaving her feeling lost and abandoned.
    At last, desperate for sleep, she undressed quickly and climbed beneath the covers.
    As she drifted into sleep, her dreams were filled with visions of a tall, handsome warrior whose touch did strange things to her body, and whose gruff voice did strange things to her heart. But this was no sweet charmer. This was an angry warrior whose heart would be closed to even the most elaborate spells.
    Though it saddened her, it would be best if she did as he’d ordered, and took her leave of this place on the morrow. There was safety in the Mystical Kingdom. Here in his land, there was only danger and deception. Some of the danger came from mortals bent on destroying one another.
    But, she realized, there was also another kind of danger. One that was much more alluring. For which she had no name. And against which she had no defense.

Chapter Four
    A t the sound of masculine voices drifting from below stairs, Gwenellen stirred in her bed. How strange, after a lifetime of hearing only women, and, of course, Jeremy’s croaking, to hear that low murmur that was so different.
    She’d been strangely affected by Andrew’s voice when first she’d heard it. Even though his words had been flung as a threat, there had been something about that deep timbre that had touched something inside her. Was it the similarity to her father’s voice? Or was it just so different from the voices she’d grown accustomed to? Whatever the reason, she seemed mesmerized whenever he spoke.
    She stepped out of bed and found her own clothes, freshly washed and carefully folded on a small chest. All sign of soot and ash had been scrubbed away. Even her kid boots were polished to a high shine.
    She dressed quickly and ran her hands through the tangles of her hair, doing her best to smooth it before making her way down to the public room. Inside there were half a dozen villagers breaking their morning fast. They eyed her with interest as they continued to eat.
    “Ah, good morrow, my lady.” Duncan, the tavern owner, hurried over and poured a mug of steaming tea. “May I offer you some mutton?”
    “Thank you.” She glanced around. “Has Andrew Ross awakened yet?”
    “Oh aye. He was up at dawn, eager to begin work on his fortress.” He paused. “He said that you would be leaving, my lady. In fact, he left a pouch of gold as payment to my wife’s brother, William, who agreed to accompany you.”
    His words left her oddly deflated. She’d been so looking forward to seeing Andrew again. To hearing his voice, just once more, before being returned to her kingdom. She’d thought that if she could reason with him, she might be able to persuade him to allow her to remain, at least for a little while longer.
    Still, why did she need his permission to remain here?
    She gave the tavern owner her sweetest smile. “Tell William I’m grateful for his kind offer, but I’ve decided to stay.”
    “That’s most generous of you, my lady. Will you be helping at the abbey?”
    Before she could think of a reply Duncan nodded toward the men at a nearby table. “The laird has offered work to anyone in the village who can spare the time from their flocks and crops. As soon as they’ve eaten, all of these men will be driving their teams up to Ross Abbey.”
    Without taking time to think about the consequences, she asked, “Would you ask if I might ride along?”
    Duncan returned her smile. “I’m sure any one of these men would be happy to take you.”
    Minutes later a woman approached bearing a loaf of freshly-baked bread. Her hair was untidy, a sheen on her face from the heat of the kitchen. “Good morrow, my lady.” She set down the bread and began to slice it. “I’m Mary, Duncan’s wife.”
    “Good morrow, Mary. My name is Gwenellen, of the clan Drummond.”
    “My husband told me about you. He said you’d