Daar’s nose suddenly twitched. What was burning? He looked around. The small fires the sparking burl had started were gone. The campfire, however, was burning brightly.
“Dammit! The fish!”
The burl around his neck suddenly forgotten, Morgan rushed to the fire and pulled the trout free of the flame. He held them up and turned to Daar, grinning.
“No worry. They’re only charred on the outside a bit.”
Morgan kicked at the fire with his foot, dousing the flame to leave only the smoldering coals, then placed the trout above the coals to finish cooking more slowly. Daar joined him, and together they sat once again facing the fire.
Morgan looked off into the forest, in the direction Faol had run. “Do you think he’ll return?” he asked.
“Aye. I doubt he went far. He’s probably watching us now.”
Morgan hesitantly lifted his hand to the rawhide cord at his neck and slowly closed his fist over the burl. His eyes widened.
“It’s warm.”
Daar nodded. “Aye. It was angry for being ripped from the collective energy of the staff,” he explained. “But now it is content. If feels your strength, warrior. It will work hard to protect you.”
Faol silently returned to the edge of the clearing, lying down beside his trout. Morgan did not unsheathe his sword this time or pull his dagger from his belt. Instead, both warrior and wolf turned their attention to the burl hanging around Morgan’s neck. Faol watched as Morgan fingered it briefly before he tucked it out of sight beneath his shirt.
Daar smiled. It was good, all that had happened today. Morgan had found his passion for life again in a mystery that promised a battle worth fighting.
Faol had found a new purpose as well.
And Daar’s guilt was somewhat assuaged.
After ten long minutes of waiting, the trout was finally ready to eat. Daar watched as the Scot expertly pulled their breakfast from the spits, and the wizard was reminded of a similar moment nearly eight hundred years ago. There had been another campfire then, with old Laird MacKeage teaching his two young sons how to cook their catch.
What would Duncan MacKeage think of his sons today, of their predicament and their incredible journey? Would he be proud of how they had comported themselves through it all and how they were coping with their new lives now?
Or did Duncan already know?
Daar looked over at Faol. The animal rested much as Morgan did, relaxed but ready to spring into action if need be. For the tenth time in the last eight days, Daar wondered what power had lured a wolf in from the wild to walk among humans. And for the tenth time, he decided he didn’t really care enough to inquire.
Daar finally took his first bite of the delicious trout the warrior handed him, and not a moment too soon. His stomach rumbled with thanks. He leaned back against one of the magically tall pine trees and watched Morgan MacKeage eat his breakfast.
Should he mention the fact that there was a woman involved in this valley mystery? And that she had shiny yellow hair that sparkled with the sensuous promise of passion?
Nay, probably not.
Better to leave some things a surprise.
Chapter Two
Seven weeks later
Sadie Quill squinted through the brightnessof the noonday sun, her attention focused on the opposite shore of the narrow cove of the cold-water lake. Holding her breath, careful not to make any noise, she watched the young moose calf slowly step into the water where its mother stood. The calf was only three months old and already had learned a few lessons about survival, judging by his reluctance to move into the open.
Mama moose lifted her head to watch his progress, water pouring from her mouth as she chewed on the succulent growth she had pulled from the lake bottom. Startled by the cold water dripping onto his face, the calf staggered backward and fell on his rump on the slippery bank. His angry bleat of protest was lost on his mother, however, as her head was underwater again.
Sadie stifled a chuckle and raised her camera, pointing the long lens through the honeysuckle bush where she hid. This scene was priceless, exactly why she loved her job so much.
She was still in awe of her luck. She was being paid to help put together a proposal for a wilderness park. She was scouting locations for trails and campsites while cataloging both geographical areas of interest and animal activity. These last ten weeks had been a pleasant dream she never wanted to wake up from.
Well, most of it had been a dream job, except that some of her work was being sabotaged. But having her trail markers stolen was more of a nuisance than a setback.
The orange ribbons were nothing more than a visible tool for her project. She had the coordinates written on the large wall map back at her cabin, and she still could locate them by satellite, using her handheld global positioning system device.
It was only an inconvenience that some shortsighted fool thought he could slow down the progress of a wilderness park by stealing the ribbons. Still, Sadie had turned her attention away from scouting trails for the time being, hoping the jerk would think he had won.
This week she had been exploring the flora and fauna of the valley, noting in her journal areas that future hikers would want to see.
At the urging of his mother, the calf again stepped into the shallow water of the protected cove. Sadie depressed the shutter on her camera, captured the shot, and advanced the film. No noise betrayed her position, thanks to her father’s ingenious skill with equipment, which made the mechanics of the camera silent.
Sadie and her dad had walked these woods for years, taking pictures as she was doing now, and Sadie’s heart ached with sadness that he was not here with her today.
Frank Quill had taught Sadie the fine art of moving silently among the animals and had instilled in her not only an appreciation of nature but a respect for it as well.
And now she was thanking him by the only means she could find, by helping to build a park in his memory.
The mother moose suddenly lifted her head and looked toward the open water of the lake. Sadie used the telephoto lens of her camera to scan across the calm lake surface.
And there, near the opposite shore, she saw the movement.
Something was swimming toward them.
Sadie leaned forward to get a better view. The mother moose heard her, whipped her head around, and stared directly at Sadie. For a moment, their eyes locked.
There wasn’t much in these woods that worried a full-grown moose, but a mother had to be more cautious of the vulnerability of her calf. Sadie’s presence and whatever was swimming toward them were apparently more than the mother moose was willing to deal with. She gave a low grunt of warning and stepped out of the cove, pushing her baby ahead of her.
With a sigh of regret for scaring the moose, Sadie turned her attention back to the lake.
She couldn’t imagine what was swimming directly across the widest expanse of water, when walking around would be much easier. Most animals were lazy by nature or, rather, more efficient with the energy they were willing to spend.
Whatever was swimming toward her was too small to be another moose and too large to be a muskrat or an otter. Sadie sharpened the focus on her lens and watched, until finally she saw the rise and fall of arms cutting a path through the water.
Arms? There was a person swimming across the lake?
Sadie could count on her fingers and toes the people she had run into this summer: kayakers taking advantage of the last of the spring runoff nine weeks ago, a biologist, a game warden, a small fishing party, and a middle-aged couple from Pine Creek searching for mushrooms to eat.
Sadie settled herself deeper into the bushes, making sure she was well hidden as he moved ever closer. Yes, she could see now that the swimmer was male. And that he had broad shoulders, long and powerful arms, and a stroke that cut through the water with amazing ease.