It must be the isle blood in him. To crave a life of risk and little responsibility. To let the wind carry him from place to place.

Jack suddenly dashed these reveries, worried that Adaira might see them in his expression. “So now you can understand why it was very difficult for me to leave my life’s work for a mysterious purpose. And I want to know why you summoned me home. What do you want with me, heiress?”

“Let me first say this,” she said, and Jack braced himself. “You are a bard, and I am not your keeper. You are not tethered to me. You are free to come and go as you please, and if you want to leave the isle tonight and return to the mainland, then leave, Jack. I will find another to fulfill my request.”

She fell silent, but Jack sensed there was more. He patiently waited for it.

“But if I am honest,” Adaira continued, holding his gaze, “I need you. The clan needs you. We have been waiting ten long years for you to return home to us, and so I would ask you to stay and aid us in our time of need.”

Jack was astonished by her words. He stood frozen, staring at her. A terrible voice within him whispered, Leave. He thought of the winding corridors of the university, full of light and music. He thought of his students, their smiles and their determination to master the instruments he set into their hands.

Leave.

It was tempting, but her words were far more enticing. She claimed that she needed him in particular, and he was curious now. He wanted to know why, and he took a step forward, following her once again.

She led him into a small inner chamber, devoid of windows. A room in which to discuss sensitive topics, he knew, as there was no chance of the wind stealing the words spoken there. A host of candles burned on a table, and flames crackled in the hearth, shedding light. Jack stood by the closed door as Adaira approached a table and poured them each a dram of whiskey. When she brought the drink to him, he hesitated, even as the firelight caught the glass, casting her hand in amber.

“Is this a peace offering or a bribe?” he asked, brow arched.

Adaira smiled. It was genuine, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “A bit of both, perhaps? I thought you might enjoy a taste of the isle. I hear mainland fare is quite dull.”

Jack accepted the offering, but then he realized she was waiting for him to make a toast.

He cleared his throat and said, a bit gruffly, “To the east.”

“To the east,” she echoed, clinking her glass with his. And she waited until he had taken his first sip of the whiskey, which curled down his throat like a flame of ancient fire, to add, “Welcome home, my old menace.”