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  “Not ill. Maybe that’s the wrong word,” Gwynne admitted. “I feel strange. Something hit me today that had me on edge already, Lachlan, then I heard what Rauth said and I’ll admit that I lost it.”

  “And I don’t blame you. But you don’t have the plague,” he replied.

  “How do you know?”

  “Gwynne, do you remember several days back when I asked you if you trusted me?”

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on his, trying to discern his meaning.

  “You said that you did. And I hope you still do. Listen to me: you are healthy. Probably more than you’ve ever been in your life, my sweet queen.”

  This was the first time he’d referred to her in modern English as a queen; she was accustomed to the old English title of cwen. The newer word felt like a reality hitting. She was a queen in this place.

  “Your queen,” she said. Inside her, a flashback to childhood, to a time when she dreamed of being the princess or queen of a kingdom. Never in her wildest imagination did she dream of having two such mates, however. Nothing could ever have prepared her for it.

  “Now I ask you again: do you trust me?” said Lachlan.

  “Yes. I trust you with my life. I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

  “Good. Because I would throw my own down to ensure your safety.”

  Gwynne put her arms around his large torso, her hands on his back. Her head rested on his shoulder and she allowed herself several slow, deep breaths.

  “I believe you,” she said. “I do. Thank you, Lachlan.”

  “I suppose it’s not my place to interrupt,” said Rauth from the doorway, where he’d been standing, observing. His cousin was so good at diffusing difficult situations; far better than he was.

  “It’s all right,” Gwynne answered as she let Lachlan go. “I’m sorry that I reacted as I did, Rauth. I suppose I was scared.”

  He approached her and put a hand under her chin, raising her face to look at his. His light eyes, outlined by dark lashes, were so intense. So strangely honest, like Lachlan’s. Sometimes she felt as though she were looking into the face of an animal when she looked at each of these men, one incapable of lies or deceit.

  “You were afraid,” he said in a rare show of empathy. “And rightly so. But one day soon you’ll know that there is nothing for you to fear.”

  A woman, Gwynne knew, loved to feel shielded; protected. But never in the history of the world had any female felt so protected as she did in that moment, guarded by two such creatures as these. Only minutes before she’d been convinced that they’d put her in mortal danger but now it was as though they’d built a fortification around her with their bodies. Two giant towers, watching over her.

  Gwynne forgot for a moment how resentful she’d felt that morning when Rauth had discovered her outside. She put her fingers on his stubbled jaw and pulled his face to hers, kissing his lips tenderly.

  Rauth responded in kind, his hand letting her chin go and finding her silk-covered waist. He liked her penchant for wearing this fabric; Lachlan had done well to have the tailors make her dresses out of it. Something in the way that it slid up and down her flesh made him feel as though he could disrobe her in an instant. And yet he wanted her clothed; to discover her curves over and over again.

  In the woods he’d been unable to resist her; the scent which made his wolf mad with desire and his cock rage, aching to be inside her as it did now. This woman worked a spell on him that Rauth had no desire to fight. She had found his weakest spots and worked her way into them; inside his very soul.

  When the kiss had ended, Rauth turned to his co-alpha.

  “Tonight the ritual can occur here, in this place,” he said, turning back to Gwynne. He backed away then as though out of respect for Lachlan. After all, he’d been granted the privilege of Gwynne’s mouth the night before; now it was his friend’s turn.

  He closed the door and stood against the wall, watching as Lachlan took his place.

  * * *

  Gwynne felt herself forget, whether deliberately or not, any anger and the danger that she’d perceived around her. She did indeed feel physically different, but Lachlan was right; it wasn’t bad. She wasn’t ill. If anything, there was a renewed strength within her, as though her body had tightened and grown over the course of the day. There was no fever, much as her sense of worry had caused her to sweat. She was simply in a body that was somehow changing.

  And she was certain that it was the ritual that had done it. Could it be that she was pregnant? Perhaps, but surely one didn’t feel the signs so quickly.

  She kissed Lachlan, savouring the tip of his tongue as she played with it. Though she hadn’t known either man long, she amused herself to think that in the dark she could easily tell the two alphas apart. The way they touched her was so different. Lachlan stroked her attentively, felt her react to each caress as though to gauge her nerves and how they responded to his fingertips, his tongue, his lips.

  Rauth simply behaved as he wished, touching her as he pleased. And yet “as he pleased” really meant “to pleasure her.” Every move he made seemed intended to make something within Gwynne stir, to arouse her. Even now he stood, peeling his pants away from his body and allowing them to drop to the floor, revealing to her his long, thick shaft to his mate as she pulled away from Lachlan and watched him. He stood offering himself to her, waiting patiently to be inside her again.

  Gwynne backed off, pulling her dress down to reveal her skin, slowly, teasingly, as Rauth stroked himself. As the silk fell away, Lachlan smiled and pulled his tunic over his head. Gwynne would never tire of the sight: the taut muscles, the broad chest. Even his scars were beautiful maps of the life he’d led in the moments that led up to this one.

  He stepped towards her, taking charge, and kissed her neck. Gwynne thrust her chin towards the high ceiling, a sense of euphoria replacing the earlier panic. She was home. This was where she belonged.

  * * *

  Rituals 8

  The next dawn broke with Gwynne in her own bed, a wolf on either side of her. It was beginning to please her, this habit the two men had of shifting in their sleep, as though their true form was in fact the wolf and not the man. In the end she felt privileged to be gifted their human forms; they were more vulnerable physically and emotionally in that state, and they were all hers. As wolves they were strong, mysterious, all but invincible. But as humans they had feelings, frailty, weaknesses.

  Gwynne knew that Lachlan had loved Gwendolyn in the her past incarnation; that he would in fact die for her, even the present incarnation which had been born in the twentieth century. But Rauth, she could tell, was developing his own sort of attachment. Though she’d never discussed it with Ygrena, Gwynne had the distinct impression that Rauth had never made a habit of sharing a bed with a woman, let alone sharing a woman with another man. And yet he’d spent the last two nights curled around her in a sort of protective stance, his body warming hers as he breathed deeply in his sleep.

  Gwynne stretched and slipped down to the foot of the bed, reaching for a gown which hung close by as the two déors put their heads up lazily, watchful yet relaxed.

  “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “No walks in the woods for me today. Unless someone cares to join me.”

  With that, Rauth shifted. He lay on his side in the bed, the sheet covering him just enough so that a few delicate hairs stuck out above it, leading Gwynne’s eye to a thick bulge underneath the linen.

  “I’ll see if Bree would go with you,” he said, smiling as though knowing full well how appealing the idea might be to her.

  “Bree! Really?”

  “Yes. I had her in isolation to keep her away from gossiping females, but I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s a shifter, after all, and not likely to reveal secrets. And I suspect that she’d like a taste of freedom today just as you would, cwen.”

  “Fine,” said Gwynne, not sure whether to be angry or frightened. Much as the two wolves in her bed were strong an
d intimidating in their own way, Bree was far worse.

  “Now, perhaps you should come back to bed. There’s no rule against morning rituals.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but I feel like I should punish you for subjecting me to that amazon woman who’s hell bent on torturing me.”

  Rauth pulled the sheet down, revealing his enormous erection.

  “Are you certain that your choice is made?” he asked as Gwynne eyed him. It was hard to resist such an offer.

  Lachlan shifted in turn and glared at Rauth. “Leave her be,” he said. “We don’t want to wear her out. It’s best to leave the love-making until the evenings.”

  “Love-making, is it?” laughed Rauth. “I didn’t know there was love involved.”

  “Whatever you wish to call it, I call it love-making. And yes, there is indeed love involved, and plenty of it, your icy heart notwithstanding.”

  Lachlan rose and walked over to Gwynne. He put his hand to her cheek and kissed her forehead. He was the sweetest thing, she thought, and yet she couldn’t imagine him without Rauth now. The two were somehow a pair; two halves of a whole.

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  “How do you feel today, my cwen?” he asked, his hand now stroking her neck above her robe.

  “Good. Very good. Not quite in the same way as last night,” she laughed. “But strong. I still feel strange, like someone else is inside my body. Someone healthier and fitter. Makes me a little ashamed for my panic last night.”

  “The ritual will do that,” yawned Rauth, stretching, his naked form even more enticing when his muscles were pulled into new forms. “It’s to be expected. We’re part of you now.”

  “You say that as though it’s not a big deal,” said Gwynne. “It sounds like you’re saying I’m a whole different person than I was two days ago.”

  “It’s my hope that you are,” said Lachlan. “You were wonderful then, of course. But you should find yourself…somewhat superior to your old self.”

  “Well, aren’t we a couple of alphas who like to tread on a girl’s ego,” said Gwynne, who was in too good a mood to be genuinely offended. “I spend all my life trying to convince myself that I’m fine the way God made me, and after a couple of nights with you two I’m apparently ‘new and improved.’ Well, I’m going to go find Ygrena and bathe. I’ll see you both later.”

  She left the room and headed for the courtesan’s quarters, a long hike away, towards the other end of the castle. It was probably frowned upon to seek out her servant, and it seemed absurd to Gwynne to expect anyone else to clean her body. Sometimes she ached for the days when she’d had access to hot and cold running water, let alone cold beer, a loofah or nail polish. But Lachlan had said that he could bring her back to her time, and sometime soon she’d ask for his help. She was beginning to appreciate all that the twenty-first century had to offer.

  Gwynne had never quite understood how the portals between centuries worked, let alone where they were. When she’d traveled through the time with Lachlan, it was as the unconscious victim of a head trauma and since then no one had shown her any part of Dundurn that was apparently a magical hole in time and space. Maybe soon she’d learn a little more about the way things worked.

  When Gwynne arrived at Ygrena’s quarters she knocked softly. No one answered. She put an ear to the door, wondering where the young woman could be; normally in the mornings the first thing she did was tend to the cwen’s needs. For that she was considered the principal lady in waiting of the castle. But this morning she was AWOL.

  A sound from within the chamber reached her ear just as Gwynne considered returning to her room: soft moans of pleasure. At first she thought Ygrena must be asleep, having what sounded like awfully pleasant dreams. She waited a moment and then knocked again, louder this time.

  “One moment,” said her servant’s voice, before she made out a deeper one; a man’s. This was no surprise, given that Ygrena was a courtesan, expected to pleasure the male shifters. Still, Gwynne was under the impression that she’d put those duties on hold for the time being. And even if she hadn’t, it seemed unusual for her to be offering her services first thing in the morning.

  “It’s no rush, Ygrena,” she called out quietly.

  “Oh, my lady,” said the voice as it came closer to the door. Ygrena swung it open and pulled Gwynne inside.

  To her surprise and amusement, Hallam was hopping next to the bed on one foot, attempting to pull on a pair of very unobliging pants.

  “Oh, hello Hallam,” she said, unable to stifle a laugh.

  “My lady,” said the man, trying and failing to look dignified as he fell backwards onto the bed, everything but his legs quite naked.

  “It’s fine. Please, get dressed,” said Gwynne. “Don’t let me get in the way.”

  Gwynne looked at Ygrena and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Nice-looking man you’ve got there.” Of course, she’d just spent the second night in a row with the two most dead-sexy specimens in the place, but Hallam wasn’t too bad at all.

  “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating Cheesies,” Gwynne whispered.

  “My lady?” said Ygrena, the puzzled look on her face that her cwen had so grown to enjoy.

  “Nothing. Twentieth-century snack food. Disgusting but addictive.”

  “Ah.”

  Finally, Hallam was dressed. He bowed awkwardly to the two women before leaving the room.

  Gwynne walked out after him, signalling Ygrena to stay behind for a moment.

  “Hallam,” she said as the shifter walked away. He turned, the look on his face denoting apprehension and embarrassment.

  “My lady?”

  “I have something I want to give you.” She approached him, quietly removing the heart pendant from around her neck. “This was left to me by my mother. I think you should take it, and one of these days give it to Ygrena. It would mean a great deal to her, I think.”

  “I couldn’t, my lady—it was a gift to you.”

  “A far greater gift from my mother would have been to have her stay and raise me. I assure you, it’s fine. Please take it with my blessing.”

  She dropped the silver pendant and chain in his outstretched hand.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gwynne turned back to Ygrena’s room.

  “I’ll prepare your bath,” her servant said when Gwynne entered.

  “Thanks. But now that I think of it, maybe I’d like to go bathe in the woods today. I came upon a creek the other day, and it must lead somewhere.”

  “There is a small sort of pond with a waterfall deep in the woods,” said Ygrena, “But you’d need an escort. It’s too dangerous out there, my lady.”

  “Lord Rauth has offered Bree’s services,” said Gwynne.

  “Are you sure that’s what you’d like to do?” asked Ygrena, unable to conceal her disgust at the idea.

  “Don’t look at me like that! You seem even more horrified at the prospect than I am,” laughed Gwynne.

  “Well, she isn’t the most affectionate woman in the world, least of all towards you. With no offense intended, my lady.”

  “It’s all right. I’m feeling oddly cocky today, like I could take on the world. One female shifter won’t be the end of me.”

  Probably.

  * * *

  Rituals 9

  Ygrena went to fetch Bree as Gwynne dressed in sensible clothing; no long, flowing silk this time. She wore pants and a tunic like the men did, which she’d requested them during her first day in Dundurn when she’d been recuperating from her wounds. Somehow they seemed like the closest thing to pajamas on offer.

  Bree showed up similarly attired. When she saw Gwynne, she greeted her with the same coldness as always, possibly even slightly amplified by the fact that they were wearing the same outfit.

  Even in the fourteenth century women didn’t like other women dressing the same way as them, Gwynne laughed internally.

&n
bsp; “I’m told that I’m to escort you into the woods, my lady,” said Bree, attempting politeness, since friendliness was off the table.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. I want to wander a bit, get some air. I’m told you could use it too after your day of imprisonment.”

  “Lord Rauth was concerned about word getting out about the plague victim. I was happy to abide by his wishes.” Now Bree couldn’t hide the disdain in her voice.

  “Of course.” Gwynne began to walk, Bree remaining dutifully at her side. “You like Lord Rauth, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I do. He’s my alpha.”

  “So is Lachlan.”

  “So he is.”

  “And yet you prefer Rauth.”

  “He’s a warrior, clever in the ways of combat, and strong. Lord Lachlan is as well, but I am more familiar with lord Rauth.”

  “I see. And, being the only female shifter around, you must wonder at times why you’re not mated with one or both of them,” said Gwynne as they headed into the open courtyard.

  Bree looked overhead, scanning the sky for flyers. Nothing but blue greeted her.

  “It’s not for me to question their decisions,” she said in a tone that told Gwynne to change the subject.

  “Ygrena tells me that there’s a swimming hole in the woods. I’m wondering if you could lead me to it.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  With that, Bree began marching. Her legs were long, as was her stride, but Gwynne had no trouble keeping up. She remembered trying to run alongside Lachlan as they evaded the flyers a few days earlier. It now felt like years had passed since that night, and she felt changed; fitter and stronger, as though she’d spent those years lifting weights and training for a marathon.

  “Bree,” she said after a long silent march, “Why do you despise me so much?”

  Bree stopped in her tracks. Gwynne knew then that she’d hit a nerve, but there was no point in pussy-footing around the issue, after all.