Water gushed over jutting rocks farther downstream where the forest thickened. Each summer, he and his brothers would lug out the canoes from the back shed and paddle to Loch Bear only a few miles distant. There the waters teemed with fish. They’d catch all they needed, row back and cook their haul over an open fire.
“Iain!” Wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, her skin glistening from her shower and her damp hair dripping down her back, Isla waved from the front porch. Barefoot, she skipped across the meadow then stopped before him, her red bikini dangling from one hand. “I got really hot, even with the shower turned to its coldest setting. I need to shift, badly.”
“Then I’ll join you.”
“Are you sure?”
“If you’re shifting, so am I.” He tossed his leather jacket onto the ground, eased his silver-threaded shirt over his head then shucked his leather pants and slid his thumbs inside the waistband of his black silk boxers. “I don’t care to shred any clothes when I shift. I hope you don’t mind me stripping completely off.”
“I have no issue with that at all, provided you don’t mind me doing the same.” She dropped her bikini on top of his pile of clothes, her gaze moving over his chest then down his legs. With one lick of her lips, she dropped her towel.
Nothing. She wore not a stitch of clothing, and his bear almost jumped right out of him.
Chapter 6
Across the Highlands, a great distance from the ancient House of Clan Matheson, 1210.
For the past month, from the passing of the last full moon to the rise of tonight’s one, Ivan had ridden across the Highlands following the path his soul had led him on. Everything within him now sensed his mate. She was close and his desire to find her beat at him as the night sky above darkened to a midnight black.
Urging his destrier to a faster pace, he bolted along a grassy ridge bathed in the moon’s glow and through the darkened forest. He rode hard until he reached a clearing where a mystical stone circle appeared before him, a most magical and sacred place.
The massive slabs of stone shone a serene white, and there, standing in the center of a dozen tall pillars stood a young woman in a corseted cream gown, her pale hair curling in long golden locks down her back. The fine velvet of her gown hugged her trim waist with an entwining of gold and cream silk ribbons along the bodice.
He slowed his horse, pulled up and after dismounting, slung his reins over a low branch of one of the towering pines. The wind whistled around him, buffeting against his padded deerskin cotun and leather pants as he passed through the outer edge of the stone circle and stopped before her. He looked deep into her eyes and drank the sight of her in. “I cannae believe you’re here.”
“I’ve felt driven to come to this place this eve.” She smiled and tugged the edges of her cream fur cape tighter about her. “Three months past, a seer took refuge within our walls, a wise woman by the name of Nessa. She said this need that burned deep inside me would be because of you.”
“Nessa is my grandmother.” Three months past, Nessa had taken several guardsmen with her on a journey of spiritual enlightenment, or so she’d said. Now he knew what that journey had been all about, as well as the secretive smile upon her face when she’d returned. “What did Nessa say to you?”
“She spoke of Gilleoin, that his line is called ‘Son of the Bear’ and that he was the first man to draw claws and shift, a gift bestowed upon him by The Most High One. This she told me in great confidence, that you would come on this night and claim me as your mate. She assured me I would have naught to worry about, that we were destined for each other.”
“Aye, she spoke only the truth.” He bowed his head. “My name is Ivan and I’m the second-born son of Gilleoin from the House of Clan Matheson. My soul recognizes and longs for yours just as your soul longs for mine. May I have your name?”
“Lady Bethia, daughter to the Chief of Tainfield Castle. My clan have strong ties to the Royal House of Lorne from the Celtic Kings of Dalriada. Nessa informed me that Gilleoin’s lineage too stems from the same Royal House.” She motioned through the trees to where a fortress of stony gray rose high. The castle’s massive gray tower windows were lit with candlelight, its garrisoned walls topped with battlements and guardsmen patrolling the barbican. “My home.”
“Then I would like to speak to your father.”
“You may, but he is sickly and plagued with the chills and isnae up to visitors this eve. Nessa told me he would survive his ailment but no’ recover his great strength. She said you would be the one to lead our clan in his stead, until my younger brother comes of age. He is but ten and three.”
“What else did Nessa say?” His grandmother was a wily woman, one he completely adored.
“There were so many things she knew about me, things that I’ve never spoken of to another soul.” She shuffled closer, until the tips of her white satin slippers touched his booted feet.