“So, was he a ghost?” Shannon wondered. “Or did he time travel?” She frowned at Liam. “And what’s with the age difference?”
“’Tis impossible to know when and where or what life Adlin ever travels from.” He shook his head. “All I can say is nay. He was not a ghost.”
Adlin had been born into Scotland via the gods of the same Irish king and druidess that saw Liam and his brothers delivered to Ireland. The difference? Adlin had been born immortal up to a point and had no human mother to speak of, where Liam and his brothers did. They were also mortal. Simply reborn for the sake of redemption and to save their country’s history.
Liam ran his fingers along the symbols carved into the bridge that hadn’t been there before. At least not to his eyes. They were old, very old, and he wasn’t sure he could make sense of all of them.
“But ye will,”came Tréan’s voice in his mind.“’Twill all make sense very soon, my king.”
“My king?” Liam perked an eyebrow at the wolf. He sat nearby, watching him steadily rather than cautiously. “’Tis a bit of a leap from the hatred ye’ve had for me since we met, is it not?”
“’Tis,”Tréan agreed.
“Might ye tell me why?” He arched both brows. “Seeing how ye’re clearly a creature of my country. Clearly as Irish as I.”
“We both know I cannot.”He lowered his head again, showing Liam respect he would never have anticipated from the great wolf.“Ye must discover things on yer own with our druidess.”
“Our?” He narrowed his eyes. “And how is it again she’s both of ours?”
Tréan didn’t answer but trotted off into the forest. It might appear he was leaving Liam to his own devices, but he didn't go far. Would never. Not when it came to Shannon. And not when it came to him, he realized.
“So now you see the symbols I saw yesterday.” Shannon crouched beside him and ran her fingers over the ancient carvings. “Can you decipher them?”
“I’m not sure.” The oddest sensation washed over him. As though a veil was being lifted, and he could see clearer. “Mayhap...at last.”
“What do you mean?”
“He means what has long baffled us at King’s End might finally reveal itself,” Declán said as he and Cian joined them. It seemed they could see them now as well. “’Tis telling,ta, Liam? Mayhap now you’re connecting with Shannon, old mysteries will become less mysterious.”
Any anger he felt toward Declán had mostly fallen away last night when his brother had been there for him through Shannon’s ordeal. Any residual frustration he felt had, interestingly enough, vanished the closer he had gotten to her since. Close enough to begin to understand why Declán had gone to such lengths for Riona.
“Ta, ‘tis telling that some of these are beyond the bridge at King’s End, too,” he said softly and stood.
“They are, aren’t they?” Shannon said, already drifting that way as if compelled.
Like before, he strode past her and led the way down the narrow path between rock walls.
“There’s no need,” she said. “I’ve got the hang of this now.”
“Even so.” Somehow the idea of her losing her footing and slipping to her death seemed a hundred times worse now. Telling, considering the idea of it yesterday, had been no less than horrific.
The others followed them down until Shannon didn’t go left at the bottom like they had yesterday but right. She sidled carefully along the wall until she ducked into a crevice she couldn’t possibly have seen before. Yet her magic led her right to where old, faded Celtic symbols had been carved into the rock long ago.
Riona's eyes rounded on them. “Oh,wow.”
“You know these?” Clearly feeling her internal response as much as Shannon, Declán put a hand to her back in comfort. “They are familiar?”
“They are.”
“Because you carved them,” Shannon realized, taking in the various symbols caught in the meager sunlight streaming through the opening. She looked at her sister in shock. “You drew them in another life, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Riona whispered, awed as she ran her fingers over them. “Carved them to remind....”
She trailed off when another memory manifested around them.
The man who had been Liam in their last life sat against the wall with his arms resting on bent knees and his head hung. He was younger than he had been before. Perhaps seventeen winters or so. He felt the young man’s misery.Hismisery. His confusion and aggravation.
Yet there was hope where there should be none.
