Page 1 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

PROLOGUE

FIVE YEARS AND NINE MONTHS AGO

“Have ye heard of the Wolf, lassie?” The man tried to sound scary, holding his arms wide. “Everybody has heard of him.”

Daphne shifted slightly. She had heard of the Wolf, but she didn’t wish to hear of him again.

“I thought people spent the Leanan Festival dancing and flirting, nae scaring each other silly. Besides, I’m afraid of nay man. I’m getting married soon, remember?” She tried to sound confident.

Her friends exchanged meaningful looks. She tried not to notice.

There were five of them gathered around the fire. Two were her friends, Marion and Jeannie, along with Marion’s husband and some drunken fool who apparently fancied Jeannie.

She wouldn’t be taking her friends with her to her new home, so this was a goodbye. Or something of the sort.

The festival, too, was nearly over. Stars glinted above their heads. Here and there were crackling campfires, like theirs, and shadowy figures hunched up around them. A strain of fiddle music crept along on the wind, but it was impossible to tell where it came from.

The drunk man paused, glancing from face to face as if sensing the changing atmosphere. To his credit, he didn’t give up. Clearing his throat, he shuffled towards Daphne on his knees and grinned. In the jumping firelight, it made him look almost demonic.

“Do ye want to hear the story or nae?”

She sighed. There went her attempt at a peaceful last night of freedom. “Aye, why nae? Let’s hear it.”

Jeannie and Marion cheered. Well, Jeannie cheered. Marion lolled drunkenly onto her husband’s shoulder.

The drunk man—what was his name again?—adjusted his position, threw back his tangled hair, and grinned around at them.

“The Wolf has a voracious appetite,” he began. “Nae for meat and blood—although I’m sure he consumes those in great amounts—but for women.”

Jeannie gasped, pressing her hands over her mouth.

Daphne knew that already. “So, a man who preys on women. What a rarity.”

The storyteller grinned at her response.

“Daenae get me wrong, lassie. He’s nae to be trifled with. He takes them away in their dozens. Some he charms, ye ken? They say that one glance makes them fall in love, so they’d do anything he asks.”

“Now that I cannae believe.”

“Hush, lass,” Marion’s husband, George, said. “Let him tell the story.”

Daphne scowled at her friend’s husband. He would not be receiving an invitation to her new home.

Who am I kidding? I willnae be free to invite anyone. This isnae going to be me home.

“Others, he kidnaps,” the storyteller continued. “Snatches them away in the dead of night, sometimes from their own beds. Many arenae seen again.”

“And what does he do with them?” Daphne whispered, drawn in despite herself.

Marion’s husband gave a hoot of laughter. “Can ye nae guess?”

The storyteller ignored him.

“Nobody kens.” He shrugged. “There’s the obvious, of course. But there’s more to this Wolf; I can feel it in me bones. Others would agree; I’m sure of it.”

There was a long silence after that, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“Is that it?” Jeannie asked, frowning. “Nothing more to the story?”