THE WALLS OFDunraven Castle were quiet. No voices drifted from the ballroom. No giggling strangers huddled around the great smoke-stained fireplace. In the Great Hall, the Christmas tree glittered beneath layers of tinsel and silver bows.

As the silence lengthened, light seemed to gather and spin along the tree"s highest branches.

Flecks of gold and pink clung to the polished face of a ceramic angel with silver wings out-spread. Brightness shimmered over the figure"s damask skirts and haloed the nearby branches, where three white bells hung from a bright tartan ribbon.

As the light clung, spiraling out in sparks of silver and gold, a faint chiming rose like fairy bells and drifted through Dunraven"s silent corridors.

There was no one in the Great Hall to hear the high, crystal peals. No one felt the giant tree sway slightly, sighing as if touched by a phantom wind.

And no one saw the proud gray cat ghost through the shadows and curl up at the tree"s foot.

HE DIDN"T LIKE IT.In fact, his phantom blood was boiling.

Adrian Draycott stalked across the abbey"s darkened roof, kicking at bits of gravel and scowling. Nothing had gone right since Gideon had left. Not one wretched thing.

"I miss him, dammit. There"s the beginning and end to it." He propped his arms on the edge of the parapet, surveying the patchwork of forest and fields. The long years of comradeship with Gideon had left their imprint on him. Nothing feltright, suddenly.

"Adrian?" Light shimmered over the roof, touching the granite stones. "We both miss him, my love." A woman with luminous eyes took form beside him, draped in a dress of gold.

Adrian felt his heart leap as it always did when he saw the woman he loved. He gave her a crooked smile and tried to hide his restlessness. "I"m sure Gideon is perfectly happy at Dunraven. Probably a dozen people are fawning over him, feeding him salmon in a little silver bowl. In fact," Adrian said darkly, "the spoiled creature has probably forgotten all about us.

No doubt he finds those damned misty glens far more interesting than my drab abbey grounds.

I expect I"ll have trouble fetching him home for Christmas." There was a hint of pain in his voice as he spoke.

The woman linked her fingers with his. "Gideon, forget you? You name the impossible, my lord. Besides, "twas you who sent him to Dunraven, as I recall."

"Don"t remind me," Adrian growled. At his words wind hissed over the roof and dead leaves skittered across his boots.

"He is needed at Dunraven, is he not?"

"I fear so. The danger is real and grows as Christmas draws near."

"The woman named Jamesina?"

"I fear so."

"Then you were right to send him. We will blunder along here in our fashion."

Adrian gave a long sigh. "But there"s so much to do. The old year has to be rung out with proper ritual and all our spells cleared. After that, there"s a tree to be selected from the high woods."

"I suppose Nicholas and his family may be trusted to dosome things right," his lady said with the faintest touch of irony.

"Bah! Left to his mortal devices, he will surely bungle everything."

"In that case," the woman in gold said quietly, "you and I had better get to work, had we not?

As it happens, I have had my eyes on a particular fir tree at the top of the clearing near Lyon"s Leap." Her beautiful eyes glittered. "It happens to be the same tree where we spent quite a few happy hours together in the spring."

Adrian"s lips curved. "Thatfir?"

"None other."

"You mean, the one where we-"

"Exactly." Her voice was purest silk.

Adrian cleared his throat. "It was a most remarkable afternoon, as I recall. That tree provided a most delicious shade while we..." He cleared his throat a second time, chuckling. "Very well, the choice is made. We shall bumble along without Gideon somehow." He studied the figure shimmering beside him. "I"m afraid I, too, have a business matter up north that I must tend to.

I shan"t be away long. But the most enjoyable of my tasks begins here."

"Here?"

Adrian"s hands eased over her creamy shoulders and circled her waist. "There is joy to be spun, beauty that will encircle all of my abbey"s walls." He moved closer. Though it was the dead of winter, the scent of roses suddenly filled the air, mixed with lavender and honeysuckle.

The old granite stones shone with light as the fragrance grew.

Petite Lisette, Gloire Des Mousseux,andFantin Latour. The flower names were as rich as the rose fragrance they bore. Each was Adrian"s pride and joy.

As the two figures met, light swirled to dancing sparks and cascaded over the weathered walls.

Love flowed through casement and capstone, past mortar and oaken beam. Faint yet tenacious, their fragile molecules trembled, then melded in a longing beyond time, beyond mortal limits.

Perhaps even beyond understanding.

And in that moment, a faint high peal of bells rang out over the dark, barren fields. Twelve times and then once more.

FAR AWAY TO THE NORTHwhere a proud Scottish domain rose above raging seas, a great cat raised his head at the sound of phantom bells. There was sorrow in his eyes for a moment, longing in his tensed gray body. He gave a low meow.

Then he sank back beneath the great pine tree.

There he stayed, eyes alert, waiting for the danger that was to come.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE EVENINGthat followed was a time of pure magic talked about for years afterward at Dunraven. Soon after dinner, it began to snow, great soft flakes that dusted the cheeks and the eyes. Kara scrambled to the window, giggling like a girl of ten and Jamee was nearly as excited. When the models ran outside and made snowballs, Hidoshi followed and crouched in the snow, his shutter clicking.

"Let"s take the little train and see the Wise Men," Duncan said to his wife as he led her outside.

Standing by the window, Ian hid a smile. He hadn"t seen his friend look so happy in ages.

Jamee was bouncing from foot to foot in her eagerness.

"Come on, McCall," she challenged. "I"ve got a snowball that has your name on it."

Ian wanted to say yes and join her in the lighthearted frolic, but it was out of the question. In the dark, with visibility further reduced by the snow, she would be a perfect target.

He shook his head.

"Chicken, are you?" She raised her fist and lightly tapped his chest, dancing like a boxer. "I didn"t grow up with four brothers without tucking a few tricks under my belt."

Kara pulled Duncan down into the snow, both reveling in the general giddiness as the first snowfall of the year swirled around them.

"No, Jamee." Ian moved closer. "I"m afraid we can"t."

"But why-" Realization filled her eyes. In a heartbeat she went from joy to sadness. "Oh.

You think they might be..." She didn"t finish.

"I"m sorry, Jamee. Genuinely sorry."

She turned and looked wistfully out at the lawn, where Kara was rubbing snow all over her husband"s face while Hidoshi pelted his assistant with snowballs. Ian ached to change the situation.

And he knew it was impossible.

A golden bell moved in the wind where it hung from the hand of a marble Cupid, brought back from the Grand Tour by some MacKinnon ancestor. One of Kara"s snowballs hissed through the air and set the bell chiming madly. With each high peal Ian felt the light, electric brush of movement along his spine.

What Jamee asked for was so little, surely. "Oh, hell, come on," he muttered, grabbing her hand.

"Are you sure?"

"Maybe I"ve got a snowball that hasyour name on it."

Snow dusted their faces as they charged outside. Jamee instantly scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at Ian, striking him in the chest.

"Not fair! I wasn"t ready," he growled.

"Lame, McCall. Very lame. My brother could have found a better excuse when he was five."

As Jamee spoke, she hurled another well-packed missile.

This time Ian ducked, and the snowball struck the gold bell.

Jamee halted midlaugh as a pure ringing filled the air. "Do you feel that, Ian? It"s like a kiss.

Like all the Christmas wishes wrapped up into one."

Ian wanted to bundle her into his arms and kiss her. Standing in the snow and watching her smile, he felt the magic and wild enchantment that he had put away so long ago as a lonely child. He hadn"t realized until that moment how much he had lost in the process.

The bell chimed again.

Light shimmered off Jamee"s hair, flecked with snowflakes. Ian grabbed her braid and held her still, while he sprinkled snow down the back of her blouse.

She shrieked and whipped around, pummeling his neck. "Cheat!Hair-holding is a foul."

"No rules, lass. We play snowball the hard way here in the Highlands."

"Is that so, Braveheart?" Jamee scooped up a handful of powder and reached beneath his jacket and his shirt, then spread the cold flakes all over his naked chest. "And that"s whatwe do to big bullies like you." Before Ian could move, she caught his foot and sent him flying facedown into the snow.

Duncan exploded with laughter. "Aye, a McCall is a hard man to topple, but when he falls, he falls hard."

Ian pushed to his feet, fire in his eyes. He stalked toward Jamee, who immediately sent a volley of snow at his face and shoulders.

But Ian was not about to be distracted.

Jamee held her ground. This was a game she seldom lost, even against four rowdy brothers.

Her aim was perfect and her pacing even better.

Down the hill the little steam engine began to chug. Someone blew a whistle, but neither Ian nor Jamee paid any attention. "Fight to the death," Ian muttered, shaping a huge ball of white between his hands.

"Fight to the death," Jamee agreed, her eyes riveted on the hard-packed mass.

"Winner takes all," Ian said, his eyes unreadable.

"Agreed," Jamee said cockily.

She ducked as the giant ball sailed past and struck a pine tree. Powder dusted her face. While Ian bent to scoop up another handful of snow, Jamee attacked and struck him squarely on the forehead.

He never wavered. He just kept coming, his eyes unrelenting.

"Give up, McCall. You"re outclassed. Face it, that snowball you"re making will never touch me." She took a dancing step back with each word.

He just kept coming.

Jamee hurled off another handful of snow, striking his neck. Snow trickled beneath his collar and soaked the front of his shirt. "You can"t possibly hope to win. I"ve been beating my brothers at this game for twenty years."

He still kept coming.

She stopped, put her hands on her hips. "Is this some kind of man thing?"

"I"d say it"s some kind of man and woman thing." Ian"s voice was as smoky as the peat fire that had danced in the cottage. It sent fine textures of heat playing up Jamee"s spine. He wasn"t the sort of man who would be deterred from a goal. She saw it in the set of his shoulders and in the narrowing of his eyes.

Another snowball hissed free and exploded over his shoulders. His head barely bent.

Jamee felt her first inkling of uneasiness. She danced behind a holly bush and caught up a huge handful of snow, wet and heavy. When Ian came left, she darted right and dumped the white mass down over his head.

She could read the glint in his eyes, primal now, an elemental challenge that made her pulse race.

Time for a new strategy.