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Chapters (31)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. Epilogue
  28. Acknowledgments
  29. About the Author
  30. Also by Paula Brackston
  31. Newsletter Sign-up

‘You can’t know how much I need to believe that. I don’t feel anything … bad.’ She hesitated, still unsure how much she wanted to share with him. Still aware, even with what he has witnessed, of how crazy it would all sound. ‘What I felt when I put the torc on my arm … that time in here with you … What I’m saying is, it wasn’t bad. Scary, yes, a bit, and weird, God knows, but not bad. Do you understand?’

He nodded slowly. ‘There is nothing bad in you, Tilda. If you’ve found some, I dunno, let’s call it magic in that bracelet, that torc, then it stands to reason it would be something … wonderful. Like you.’ He paused, then went on, ‘You must miss him very much. Mat. It can’t have been easy for you, starting a new life here without him.’

‘It wasn’t. It took me a long time to feel … right. But, you know, I do think I belong. I always thought that. And now it makes more sense. And…’

He waited, watching, and she could sense how much what she was saying mattered to him.

‘… and it is getting easier,’ she told him, with a faltering smile. ‘I do feel differently now.’

Later, in the quiet watches of the night, she had thought about how deeply she had come to care about Dylan, and how much the fact that he tried to understand meant to her. She had at last begun to let go of Mat, and it was Dylan who had helped her do that. She decided that it was up to her to act. To protect them both. She knew he would want to help, but she knew also that she was not going to put him in danger. Being close to her put him at risk, the falling lights had shown her that.

Once downstairs she hesitates, but there is no decision to be made. She knows what she has to do. Tomorrow Lucas will resume the dig and remove the body. She has to act now. She slips the gold torc into her fleece pocket and jams on her beanie. Thistle stretches elaborately and stands wagging at the back door.

‘Okay, you can come, but it’s been thawing, there’s not much snow left to play in,’ Tilda warns her. She crouches down and hugs the dog. ‘You know what? I could do with a bit of help today.’