Page 9 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“Much better than I am with these feckin’ planes.”

“Well, that’s good.” Evie fidgeted, shifting in the seat. Now that they were almost there, a serious case of nerves had set in to make her all twitchy. What in the world was she supposed to do in Scotland for an entire month? She’d never been much for slowing down and enjoying the view. She was too accustomed to the fast-paced juggling of timelines, customers, and drivers that her dispatcher’s job had demanded. And this was the first time in ten years that she’d ever taken any time off. Vacations were for other folks. She needed to work extra hard not only to keep her head above water but also to ride the wave of success when it finally came her way. “So…what exactly is there to do in Craig Durness? Lots of castles to explore or something?”

“Dinna fash yerself.” Morganna actually managed a wan smile. “The Highlands will keep ye well entertained. I promise ye.”

“Awesome.” But would it be? Really? A sudden longing for things to return to what they’d been as short as a week ago hit Evie square in the chest. She hated change and didn’t handle it well. That was probably yet another reason she’d never vacationed. She hated veering from her standard routine.

She cleared her throat with a hard swallow. Time to stop being silly and embrace the opportunity. If not for Morganna and Craig Durness, she’d be job hunting while fighting to get her unemployment checks started. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”

Morganna opened her eyes wider and studied her for a long moment. “Then this is just the beginning. I promise ye, ye will be traveling.”

Chapter Three

He was a damned fool, but he couldn’t help himself. Drummond dismounted and eased toward the sidhe hill as if the moss-covered mound might suddenly rip itself free of the earth and flee from him. The deep green of its spiraling layers soothed the depths of his worried heart while at the same time stirring nothing but unrest in his mind. He knew better than to do this. To return to the hill, day after day, in the hope of seeing her again, was not only folly but also dangerous.

But doing this was the only course he could take to get her out of his thoughts. He but needed to see her once more and convince himself he had imagined this mysterious woman who could never be real.

An eerie silence cloaked the place. Even though it was deep in the woods, no scurrying of forest creatures rustled in the dried leaves layered across the woodland floor or around the hill. No birds chittered in the trees. No wind whispered through branches stripped bare by autumn’s chill.

Holding his breath, he carefully ascended the spiral layers of the mound, the edges of its steps rounded and worn by time. His feet sank into the cushiony softness of the thick moss. A sense of panic almost took hold—the panic of being sucked down inside the magical hill’s gullet.

When he reached the summit, he looked up through the weave of leafless branches overhead that sectioned the sky into odd-shaped patches of pale blues and wispy whites.

“Leave me, woman,” he whispered while slowly turning widdershins to break the curse and undo her memory. “Or show me the path to ye. One or the other. I canna bear this uncertainty any longer.”

Laughter, as light and sweet as tiny bells tickled by the wind, shattered the silence. He spun around to see her, but no one was there. Merlin’s beard. She must surely be one of the Fae, a princess, perhaps. ’Twas a dangerous thing indeed to be sought by a magical being.

“Come to me, then,” he said louder, opening his arms wide. “I dinna run from that which seeks me. Show yerself.”

The laughter returned, but fainter this time.

He allowed himself a groan, then found the courage to switch to turning clockwise in search of a blessing from the fairy mound, rather than moving widdershins for the breaking of its curse. “I’ll not run from ye, lass. Come to me.”

A heavy fog, nearly blinding in its suffocating gray whiteness, settled around him like a woolly blanket. A deafening silence vibrated through him, muffling even the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. And then he heard it—a woman’s voice with a strange lilt to her words that he didn’t recognize. Well, he didn’t so much hear her as feel her stirring his thoughts.

“I’m not good at telling stories,” she said, “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.”

“Where are ye, woman? Who are ye?” Her grandsire had called her Mockingbird. Was that her given name? Surely not. What a strange name that would be for such a lovely lass. “Mockingbird?” he called out a little louder, then sheepishly glanced around to see if anyone but himself had heard.

“When she comes to ye, ye must protect her,” whispered a gruff voice from the depths of the mist.

“She is yer one,” said another voice from the grayness, a younger being, a female. “She is the other half of yer soul.”

“When will she come to me?” Drummond staggered to one side, his feet suddenly tangled in tree roots that yanked him down to his knees. They’d not been there before. Where had they come from? “Tell me when she will come so I might be ready.”

“Soon,” the gruff speaker answered.

“Be ready,” the young female said. “She will be here soon.”

“Here?” He tried to push back up to his feet, but the root system forced him down again, keeping him on his knees, threatening to fill him with panic. “Will she appear here at the mound?” He pulled out his dagger and hacked the roots away from his ankles. “Will she be here? Today?”

“Soon. Ye will see,” the mist answered in a chorus of voices.

Ripping free of the woody vines that almost grew faster than he could cut them away, he leapt off the mound and landed just beyond its borders with a thud. “I will be ready.” He sheathed his dagger and backed away from the hill. “And I will protect her.” He thumped his fist to his heart. “I swear it.”

*

“This fog is terrible.” Evie rolled down the window of the rental car and squinted at the eerie cloak of gray mist covering the area. “Shouldn’t we pull over and wait until we can see?” She swirled her hand through the cold dampness, stirring it like pea soup. They didn’t need to be driving in this muck. This stuff laughed at their headlights’ attempts to cut through it.