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the man who has been your devoted slave ever since he met you? Wolf has been so patient, but neither of you is getting any younger, my dear sister. You clearly love the man, so what in heaven’s name are you waiting for?”
    Miri had been completely unable to answer that question. She reached inside the neckline of her gown and drew forth a large oval locket suspended from a silver chain, her mind filling with the image of the man who had given it to her. A bold, sable-haired rogue with piercing green eyes and blade-sharp features . . . Martin le Loup, as he liked to call himself. Miri was one of the few people who used his given name of Martin instead of Wolf.
    She had never accepted a present from any man other than her father and she had been reluctant to allow Martin to fasten the costly locket about her neck. Martin had a flair for drama and could be given to making flamboyant, impassioned speeches. But he had completely disarmed Miri this time with a pleading glance and by uttering a single soft word.
    “Please . . .”
    Rather shyly, Miri displayed the locket to Marie Claire. “Martin gave this to me the day we parted.”
    The surface of the locket was etched with the likeness of a wolf baying at the moon. Miri fumbled with the catch, opening it to reveal the minature clock encased inside.
    Marie Claire squinted at the words etched on the other half of the locket. “Forgive me, my dear, but my eyesight is not what it used to be.”
    “It says
Yours until time ends.
”
    “Ah! A very romantic fellow, this Martin of yours.”
    Miri’s lips twisted ruefully. “Oh, yes, Martin is indeed that. Romantic, passionate, and—and full of such vigor at times it can be quite exhausting. Life with him would always be a grand adventure and I do care for him, very deeply.”
    Marie Claire regarded her quizzically. “And so?”
    Miri closed the locket and tucked it back into the bodice of her gown with a deep sigh. “I’ve already had far more adventure in my life than I ever wanted. I crave quiet, Marie. Sometimes I don’t think I am suited to be any man’s wife.” She gave a wry uncertain laugh. “Gabrielle always said she was afraid I would end up an eccentric old woman, living alone with dozens of cats. No doubt she is right.”
    “Speaking of cats!” Marie Claire gasped, straightening sharply as she stared at a point past Miri’s shoulder.
    When Miri twisted around to see what had so startled the older woman, she spied a familiar black cat perched on the ledge outside the window, back arched in displeasure as the wind ruffled its fur.
    “Necromancer!” Miri exclaimed. She rushed over and forced open the casement, allowing her cat to leap inside. Necromancer landed gracefully on four snowy-white paws, the only part of him that was not dark as midnight. The cat’s arrival sent Marie Claire’s birds into an uproar, flapping and squawking so loudly she was obliged to fling a cover over their cage.
    Despite her familiarity with Miri’s cat, Marie Claire appeared a little disconcerted. “Bless me! How did that creature get here, all the way from your cottage in the wood? And however did he manage to find you?”
    Miri closed the window and shrugged. She had given up wondering a long time ago how Necromancer managed anything. Even to a woman like herself who respected the intelligence and unusual abilities animals often displayed, Necromancer was uncanny. He was old, well past the age of fifteen in human years. He was no longer as swift as he used to be and his fur was thinning in patches near his ears, but he still possessed an eerie skill to track Miri wherever she was. She supposed the superstitious would call the cat her familiar. To Miri, he was simply a much-needed friend.
    “You old fool,” she scolded fondly, bending to gather the cat in her arms. “You are growing much too ancient to go prowling so far—”
    She checked abruptly as Necromancer skittered away from her. Fur standing on end, he emitted a