Page 28 of The Finest Scottish Fate

No sooner had he stepped inside the MacMuirrow’s suite, he spotted Colban Glengarten, pacing back and forth in front of the bedchamber door while squinting down at an open book in his hands. If the sniveling little man didn’t watch what he was doing, he’d surely run into the wall or stumble and fall flat on his face. Neither outcome would surprise Drummond.

He cleared his throat to get the advisor’s attention.

Glengarten jumped as if he’d been poked in the arse with the point of a blade. “M’lord! Forgive me. I nay heard ye enter.” He put a bony finger to his lips and hissed like an adder. “The MacMuirrow sleeps. I fear his night was anything but restful.”

“He’ll not get his rest until he joins Mother.” Drummond crossed himself so all would know—saints, sinners, angels, and demons—that while he meant his father no ill will, he wouldn’t mind if the man became a mite easier to tolerate by getting on with his trip to the grave. “Since we dinna wish to disturb him, ye can handle the matter that brought me to his rooms.”

Glengarten puffed up like a proud, slimy toad. “’Twould be my honor, m’lord. How can I be of help to ye?”

“I wish to send Clan Heberdy five of our finest cows and thank them for their time, but clarify that the first message was sent in error. I am not seeking an alliance by marriage. A strong alliance is welcome, but I will not be marrying to secure one.”

“Not be marrying to secure one?” the advisor repeated. “But—”

“Was my statement not clear?”

The thin man wrinkled his nose as if a powerful stench had just hit him. “According to their runner, Clan Heberdy should arrive any day, m’lord. The council invited them weeks ago. Right after ye refused Lady Aileas and Lady Beitris. We canna turn them away now. Not when they’re nearly arrived. ’Tis a fortnight’s travel from their borders to here.” He crept forward, twitching his sharply pointed nose like a rat in search of cheese. “And if I might be so bold as to ask, pray tell, what did ye mean when ye said ye would not be marrying to secure an alliance?”

“Now is not the time to discuss such things. I prefer to concentrate on other matters.” Drummond had never trusted Glengarten and wasn’t about to start now. Besides, the canny advisor would hear the news about Evie’s arrival soon enough. News traveled fast through the castle. “Send word to me when my father awakens. Immediately, ye ken?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Glengarten stroked his grizzled chin, then offered a half-hearted bow. “Shall I also have Mrs. Farris set to planning a feast for Clan Heberdy upon their arrival?”

Drummond paused at the door, his hand on the latch. “A modest feast, advisor. Dinna attempt to send the wrong message, thinking ye’ll force my hand. Ye will regret it, if ye do.”

“Hmph.” Glengarten drew himself up, obviously insulted. “As ye wish, m’lord.”

*

“Answer me, Morganna!” Evie clenched her fists so tightly they shook. It was all she could do to keep from jumping on this woman and tearing into her like an angry wildcat. “Where am I? What year is this, really? And how the hell did I get here and why?”

Still backed against the wall, Morganna stood taller, as if resigning herself to her punishment. “Ye are in the Highlands of fourteenth-century Scotland, the year 1326. Callum and I sent ye here through the sidhe hill so ye could meet yer fated mate.” She jerked with a defensive shrug. “Who happens to be Drummond MacMuirrow, by the way, as I am certain ye have already sensed. At least—if ye will admit it.”

“Are you serious?” Evie backed up a step. That couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be real.

Morganna arched a brow and shrugged again. “I am quite serious. Look around ye, lass. Can ye not see the proof with yer own eyes?”

“Don’t get sassy with me, or I’ll punch you in the nose just like I promised myself I would.”

The smug woman, or fairy, or whatever she’d said she was, smiled. “That spirit of yers will serve ye well here.” She pushed away from the wall, dusted off her hands, then examined her manicure, frowning and picking at a chip in the purple polish on one of her nails. “I came here to help ye get settled and see that ye got off to a good start with yer Drummond so ye can make a well-informed choice about yer future.”

“A well-informed choice?” Adrenaline and fight-or-flight vigor pounded through Evie. Either that or the strange muck Morganna had given her was more powerful than any energy drink she’d ever downed. “Are you saying I can go back? If so, take me back now.”

Morganna’s smugness disappeared. “Ye said ye believed in fated mates. In true love. Destiny. In what was meant to be. Was all that a lie?”

“All that was said while I was in the twenty-first century and expecting it to happen there.”

Morganna took hold of her by the wrist and firmly tugged, leading her back across the room to the small desk beside the window. “Sit and hear me out. I beg ye.”

It wasn’t so much Morganna’s request as the tone of it that touched something inside Evie, making her decide to hear what the odd Scottish woman—or fairy—had to say. She was almost pleading. But rather than sit in the chair at the desk, Evie backed up to the fire. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand over here. It was a cold, wet ride from the sidhe hill.”

“Would ye rather clean up first and get into a dry shift and kirtle?”

“How am I going to clean up with no plumbing?”

Morganna rolled her eyes. “Ye’ve not traveled back to the time of the Neanderthals, lass. There is soap and water here. It just takes a bit more effort to make use of them.” She motioned for Evie to step to one side. “There’s a kettle on the fire. The water should be fine and hot by now. Yonder is the pitcher and bowl, with more water, and cloths and soap at the ready. Come. Let’s get ye done up proper, and I’ll tell ye everything ye wish to know while we do it.”

Evie rubbed the seat of her wet jeans, which had begun to steam as she stood in front of the fire. Dry clothes would be nice, and she couldn’t very well wear what she had on forever. “Fine. Bring the kettle and start talking.”

Wrapping the long corner of her shawl around her hand, Morganna pulled the iron pot from the fire, carried it over to the bowl, and poured the hot water. As she returned to the hearth, she nodded at the steaming ceramic basin. “Ye might want to add some from the pitcher if it’s too hot, and mind the soap. I dinna ken how strong they make it here at Dubh Tower. Although with Drummond’s status, he may have imported some of the finer soaps from the East.”