TOUCH OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

He would let her help him.

That hope sent her out early each morning to the woods, where she’d been so close to finding what she lacked. For hours she struggled to recapture the sensations she’d felt with Braden, that standing-on-the-edge-of-a-mesa feeling at once so frightening and exciting. She ran the length of the burn and back again, imagining herself on four swift paws with the wind singing in her fur.

Each afternoon she returned unsuccessful, no nearer her aim. And each afternoon, on the fell by the wood, she saw Isabelle meeting with the man in the odd clothing.

He was another puzzle Cassidy had yet to solve. She’d seen him in the house only once, after the ceremony, but Isabelle obviously knew him well. After Isabelle’s story of her unhappy past, it seemed strange that she’d go alone to see any man. But Isabelle didn’t speak of him, and Cassidy was sure she believed the meetings were secret.

Cassidy would have kept that secret. But on the third afternoon of Braden’s absence, while she was returning from another failed attempt to Change, she saw them together at the edge of the wood.

They were laughing. Cassidy realized how seldom she’d seen Isabelle laugh. She had her hand on the man’s arm, and their heads were bent together as if they were shutting out the rest of the world.

Cassidy was preparing to take another path back to the house when they looked up and saw her. Isabelle dropped her hand from the man’s arm and put several feet of distance between them. The man gestured broadly, and began to walk in Cassidy’s direction. Isabelle gathered up her skirts and ran to catch up.

“Cassidy!” she said as they came near. “I didn’t realize you were about.” She was flustered, but her unease didn’t hide the flush of her cheeks or the brightness of her eyes or the way she glanced at the man with the sword who stopped beside her. “I… would like you to meet Matthias, a shepherd of Greyburn.” She coughed delicately behind her gloved hand. “Matthias, this is my dear friend, Miss Cassidy Holt.”

Cassidy remembered Quentin mentioning that name on the journey to Greyburn. Something about a legend of Greyburn, and a ghost…

She dipped a curtsy. “I’m glad to meet you, Matthias.”

Matthias swept her a bow. “Milady Cassidy, ’tis an honor. I’ve heard much of ye, all of it bonny. Welcome to Greyburn.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to call me ‘my lady.’ I’m just Cassidy.” She returned his smile. “Have you lived her long, Matthias?”

“Oh, aye.” He gave an exaggerated wink. “I’m as auld as the hills themselves, and just as set in my ways.”

Cassidy studied him carefully. He was every bit as odd as he’d looked in the hall after the ceremony—like someone who had stepped right out of a poem, with his shiny breastplate and helmet and sword. He didn’t resemble any shepherd she’d ever seen, but his scent was familiar, as if it were a permanent part of the land around them. He was older than Isabelle, yet his smile was boyish, and he glanced at her as if they shared some special knowledge.

“You’re not really a ghost, are you?” she asked.

He laughed. Isabelle blushed. “There are no ghosts, Cassidy,” she said.

But if he wasn’t a ghost, he was definitely a man—and Isabelle had been alone with him. She had been so adamant about the rules between men and women.

Those rules said that unmarried men and women weren’t supposed to be alone together. Maybe the rules no longer applied to her. It certainly looked as though they enjoyed each other’s company. In spite of her blushes, Isabelle had moved next to him again; their hands were almost touching.

“No other good man wanted me,” Isabelle had said. But Matthias was a good man, Cassidy was certain. And Isabelle glowed. As much as she tried to hide it, she was happy. Happy to be with this very peculiar shepherd. It was as if two people who didn’t quite fit in had found each other, and never wanted to be apart again as long as they lived.

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