"Your son thinks so," Elliott said smugly. "He's every bit as besotted as you were with Jolyn. She's'the one,' milord, no doubt about it."
"Have they…?" Ronin trailed off meaningfully.
"Judging by the wreck Gavrael made of the Greathall, I'd say yes." Elliott grinned.
Ronin and the man at his side exchanged pleased glances. "The time is at hand. Get with Gilles and start the preparations for him to be comin' home."
"Yes, milord!"
The man sitting next to Ronin raised ice-blue eyes to the McIllioch's. "Do you really think it's goin' to happen as the old woman foretold?" Ronin's brother, Balder, asked softly.
"Cataclysmic changes," Ronin murmured. "She said this generation would suffer more greatly than any McIllioch, but promised that so, too, would this generation advance, and know greater happiness. The old seer swore that my son would see sons of his own, and I believe that. She vowed that when he chose his mate, his mate would be bringin' him home to Maldebann."
"And how will you transcend his hatred for you, Ronin?" his brother asked.
"I doona know." Ronin sighed heavily. "Maybe I'm hoping for a miracle, that he'll listen and forgive me. Now that he's found his mate he may be sympathetic to my plight. He may be capable of understandin' why I did what I did. And why I let him go."
"Doona be so hard on yourself, Ronin. The McKane would have followed you to him if you'd gone after him. They were waiting for you to betray his hidin' place. They know you won't breed more sons. They doona know I even exist. It's Gavrael they're determined to destroy, and the time is quickenin'. If they discover he's found his mate, they'll stop at nothin'."
"I know. He was well hidden at Caithness for years, so I thought it best to leave well enough alone. Gibraltar trained him better than I could have at the time." Ronin met Balder's gaze. "But I always thought that at some point he would come home of his own volition; out of curiosity or confusion about what he was if nothing else, and long before now. When he didn't, when he never once looked west to Maldebann… ah, Balder, I fear I grew bitter. I couldna believe he hated me so completely."
"What makes you think he'll be forgivin' you now?"
Ronin raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "A fool's fancy? I must believe. Or else I'd have no reason to go on."
Balder clasped his shoulder affectionately. "You have a reason to go on. The McKane must be defeated once and for all and you must ensure the safety of your son's sons. That in itself is reason enough."
"And it will be done," Ronin vowed.
* * * * *
Grimm spent the day riding, scouring every inch of Caithness for some sign that the McKane had found him. He knew how they operated: They would set up camp on the perimeter of the estate and wait for the right moment, any moment of vulnerability. Grimm rode the entire circumfer ence, searching for anything: the remains of a recent fire, missing livestock commandeered and slaughtered, word of strangers among the crofters.
He found nothing. Not one shred of evidence to support his suspicion that he was being watched.
Still, a prickling of unease lurked at the base of his neck where he always felt it when something was wrong. There was a threat, unidentified and unseen, somewhere at Caithness.
He rode into the bailey at dusk, battling an overwhelming desire to slip from his horse, race into the castle, and rush to Jillian. To sweep her into his embrace, carry her to his chambers, and make love to her until neither of them could move, which for a Berserker was a very long time.
Leave, his conscience pricked. Leave this moment. Doona even pack a satchel, doona even say goodbye, just get out now.
He felt like he was being torn in half. In all the years he'd dreamed of Jillian, he'd never imagined he could feel this way; she completed him. The Berserker had risen in him and been humbled by her presence. She could make him clean again. Merely being with her soothed the beast he'd learned to hate, the beast she didn't even know existed.
He grimaced inwardly as hope, the treacherous emotion he'd never permitted himself to feel, jockeyed for position with his premonition of danger. Hope was a luxury he could ill afford. Hope made men do foolish things, such as staying at Caithness when all his heightened senses were clamoring that despite finding no sign of McKane, he was being watched and a confrontation was imminent. He knew how to handle danger. He didn't know how to handle hope.
Sighing, he entered the Greathall and picked at a platter of fruit near the hearth. Selecting a ripe pear, he dropped into a chair before the fire and brooded into the flames, battling his urge to seek her out. He had to make some decisions. He had to find a way to behave honorably, to do the right thing, but he no longer knew what the right thing was. Nothing was black and white anymore; there were no easy answers. He knew it was dangerous to remain at Caithness, but he wanted to remain more than anything he'd ever desired in his life.