Page 8 of The Finest Scottish Fate

The gnome shook his head, setting his long gray beard to swinging. “The damned gods and goddesses ripped their souls asunder once more. ’Twas not our fault. Those three were fated mates. I swear it.” He shook a stubby finger. “They’ll find each other in the next life and choose each other all over again. Mark my words. I know they will. Ye just mark my words.” He thumped his chest. “Old Farbis knows.”

“Old Farbis also needs to take care and not look Ms. Waterton in the eyes when she arrives. Ye know if ye do, she’ll see through yer glamour, since she saw ye in yer true form.”

“I know it.” Farbis bowed his head. “Eyes always tell the truth of the tale. No matter the form.” He tapped a finger on his empty glass, then waved Callum in for another refill. “She’s a bonnie wee thing. Full of life. Big spirit, she has. Her soul shines brighter than bright. She’ll survive the fourteenth century well.”

“Aye, well. We just have to get her there, ye ken?” Usually, once fated mates met each other, the bonding took care of itself. A soul’s yearning to reunite with its other half was a powerful force that few could ignore. “And we must better prepare her and MacMuirrow for anything the gods and goddesses might try. I fear we must start warning our matches to keep them safe. It seems we’re no longer the only ones in danger.”

Farbis slowly shook his head. “I know hatred and the humiliation of being proved wrong spurs the Fae to best us in this battle, but the gods and goddesses seem to fear the love of reunited souls more than they fear anything else. Why do ye reckon that is so?”

“Because love is the strongest force in all creation, and they appear incapable of embracing it or understanding it.”

Farbis chuckled, then drained his glass again. “I dinna think anyone understands love. It’s not meant to be understood.” He thumped his chest. “’Tis only meant to be felt.”

Callum filled their glasses again, then lifted his in a toast. “To heartfelt love, old friend.”

Farbis nodded and touched his glass to Callum’s with a solid clink. “To heartfelt love. May it always conquer all.”

*

“You all right?” Evie fanned Morganna, then offered her a tissue, a small glass of ginger ale, and the airline’s paper barf bag—her second one of the trip. “I’ve got some more motion-sickness pills in my purse. These melt under your tongue. I’m not sure they’ll work this late in the game, but do you want to try one of those since the others didn’t work?” Since those were prescription medications, she’d not offered them before, but Morganna looked even more miserable by the minute. Offering a non-narcotic prescription anti-puke pill was the least Evie could do.

Hunched over in her seat, Morganna covered her eyes and groaned. “Kill me. I’ll never make it back to my beloved Scotland, and a quick death would be better than this torture. Callum knows to spread my ashes on our sidhe hill.”

Evie had no idea what a shee hill was. She didn’t even know how to spell it. It had to be a Scottish word for a family cemetery or something. “I know you feel like you’re going to die, but it’ll be better once the turbulence settles down. Why don’t we make your seat back into a bed again so you can lie back down?”

They were almost to Scotland, but still far enough out to torture poor Morganna for another hour or so. Their posh seats in business class had made the flight a dream. At least, it had been for Evie. For Morganna? It had been a nightmare. The poor thing had been as green as a gourd as soon as the engines powered up.

Morganna dragged herself to her feet, clutching the back of Evie’s seat as she tried to remain upright in the aisle. “Thank ye. That would be lovely.”

Evie hurried to turn the poor woman’s seat back into a bed, smoothed the wrinkles from the covers, and plumped a fresh pillow before helping her companion lie back down. “There you go. Curl up on your side, and I’ll get you one of those pills to hold under your tongue.”

Morganna made a pitiful mewling sound, reminding Evie of a lost kitten. “That’ll be fine, although I’d rather ye killed me and put me out of my misery.”

“The pill will help.” At least, Evie hoped it would. She put it against Morganna’s lips and said, “Open up.” She was afraid to put it in the woman’s clammy hand. It would dissolve before she had the chance to take it.

“Thank ye,” Morganna whispered after taking the pill. “Now tell me a story.” She curled into a tighter ball and buried her face in her pillow.

“Tell you a story?” Evie had hoped to settle back down and finish the movie she’d started, even though she’d already seen it once before, but she didn’t have the heart to ignore poor Morganna. “What kind of story?”

Her voice muffled by the pillow, Morganna gently rocked back and forth as she spoke. “A story of true love. Where two people find each other, beat the odds, and live happily ever after.”

“Oh, I love those stories too.” A true romantic, even though at the ripe old age of thirty-two, she’d decided she would die from terminal virginity, Evie adored tales about lovers finally finding each other. But sadly, she wasn’t much of a storyteller. She looked across at the open window and smiled at the swirling white clouds streaming past the porthole. “I’m not good at telling stories, but I can chatter away about just about anything. My grandpa used to call me Mockingbird. But I do believe in soul mates, love at first sight, and predestination. All that stuff. If it’s meant to be—it will be. One way or the other.”

“Mockingbird.” Morganna had stopped rocking and clutching her pillow so tightly to her face. “Annoying wee birds, but interesting to watch.” She shifted with a deep breath. “And I do like yer beliefs. They are good and true.”

“Is your stomach calming a little?” Evie hoped the pill was helping. She hated seeing anyone suffer from motion sickness. That feeling was miserable. “I don’t think you’re as green as you were.”

“Green?”

Evie smiled. “Figure of speech. You weren’t really green. Actually, you were white as a sheet, but now your cheeks are getting a little bit of pink back into them.”

“I still dinna wish to move verra much.”

“Probably a wise idea to stay still.” Evie clicked off the movie. There wasn’t enough time left to finish it, but she didn’t mind. Even while battling nausea and trying to avoid turning herself inside out with heaving, Morganna had been the kindest and most considerate host she’d ever met. “The attendant will probably want you to sit up soon, so enjoy the stillness while you can.”

“Thank the blessings of the darkness,” Morganna whispered so softly that Evie barely heard her.

Blessings of the darkness? Was Morganna in some sort of cult or strange religion? “How are you with trains?” Evie asked, deciding not to pry into Morganna’s beliefs. After all, it really wasn’t any of her business.