"Come to me."

Beneath the crumbling turrets of Duntrune Castle, Tafaline heard the call. Many years before, the keep had been captured, betrayed. She had heard the tale; all self-respecting Scots knew of the massacre and of the brave piper who had given his life so that some of its defenders might live. But few saw his face in their sleep, his sad grey eyes touching their souls, his warm hands caressing them like a lover's. And Tafaline was willing to wager that none had heard his sweet voice. But he had been slain so long ago. How was it possible that he now haunted her dreams? Were they true, those fairy tales that claimed a woman of MacLeod blood could save a manf rom even death? Was it true, that when she had touched his bones, she'd bound herself to his soul? Yes, it was Malcolm "the piper" who called to her so insistently, across the winds of night and time...and looking into her heart, TAffy knew there was naught to do but go to him.