Page 17 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

“I fold the distance betwixt here and Seven Cairns. Were I to drop ye, ye would land somewhere in between, and it could take me a while to find ye.” Not really.

He would find her in the blink of an eye, so attuned he had become to her scent, the sound of her breathing, the very rhythm of her heartbeat.

But he couldn’t tell her that. He was already so pathetic that his servants pitied him.

“Ye dinna wish to be lost in the Highlands, do ye?”

She gave him a strange look. It was almost wistful and threatened to lift his heart. But he shook it off. He was allowing emotion to blind him to the truth and that could not be. He wrapped his arms around her and sadly whispered, “ Septem Cairnēs. ”

As soon as the bitter cold wind stung him with snow, he stepped back, loathing the act of releasing her from his brace. That would probably be the last time he ever held her. “We are here, my precious ember,” he said, almost choking on the words. “Open yer eyes.”

Her reaction surprised him. Rather than the excitement he expected, she edged closer, as if afraid. “It looks…different…somehow.” She tucked in against his side.

He instinctively wrapped an arm around her and curled her back into a protective embrace, shielding her from the wind. “This is Seven Cairns, Emily. The only Seven Cairns in Scotland.” But inwardly, he agreed. It seemed strangely unlike it had been when last he was there.

Clutching the throat of her cloak and ducking deeper into its hood, she squinted against the flying snow.

“There’s Boyd’s. The book shop. Treat Shop.

The meeting hall.” She perked like a cat that just spotted a mouse.

“There’s Ishbel!” She tore from his embrace, waving at the woman wrapped in a bulky, dark purple cloak.

“Ishbel! Ishbel! My spell went wonky again. Imagine that!”

Ishbel jerked as though startled, then retreated a few steps, almost stumbling in the snow. “Have ye lost yer way, lass? Has the cold made ye unwell?”

Something was amiss. Gryffe could feel it. He knew Ishbel as well. Had met her several times when meeting with the Council of Weavers. She was never so aloof. The Spell Weaver would mother all of creation if given the opportunity. He hurried over to Emily, ready to protect her.

“Ishbel!” Emily pushed back her hood. “It’s me. Weren’t you wondering what my spell had done this time?” But her smile faded as Ishbel edged away even more, all the while shaking her head.

“Forgive me, lass, but how do ye come to know my name?” Leeriness echoed in the Weaver’s tone. “I dinna recall us ever meeting.”

“Never meeting?” Emily hitched forward, still moving with a slight limp. “You’ve been trying to teach me spell casting for nearly a year now. You took me under your wing like an extremely patient mother hen. Ishbel—why are you acting like this? If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”

The Weaver glanced around, almost seeming afraid.

“I am sure ye’re mistaken, lass. I dinna ken a thing about…

what did ye call it? Spell casting? I am nay a witch.

Just a simple weaver.” She made a shooing motion while backing away faster.

“Off wi’ ye now. I’m sure ye’ve mistaken me for someone else.

” She gave Gryffe a polite nod, then tapped her temple.

“Chieftain MacStrath. Help this poor, confused child, aye? She is a bit off, I’d say.

” Then she turned and fled, disappearing into the largest building on the square and slamming the door shut behind her.

Emily stared after her as if frozen in place by the weather. “Ishbel,” she whispered, blinking at the snowflakes catching on her long, dark lashes. “Ishbel—it’s me.”

Gryffe went to her, uncertain what to do.

There was something badly amiss here. He had never felt it before when visiting Seven Cairns as Grand Chieftain of the Defenders.

The place felt muffled, oddly coated in something he couldn’t quite explain.

It couldn’t be Nicnevin’s doing. Seven Cairns was hallowed ground, forbidden to any magic except for that of the Weavers.

In fact, the Unseelie, the Dark Fae, were forbidden to even set foot there.

They only welcomed him because of his mortal half and his oath to the Defenders.

Emily turned to him, pleading in her soulful eyes. “How could she not know me? She has been my mentor for the past year. We were…friends.”

He slowly shook his head, wishing he knew something hopeful to tell her.

“I dinna ken what’s amiss here, lass. Could it be she is merely unwell?

Could illness cloud her vision?” Ishbel had known him but been especially leery about revealing her identity as a Spell Weaver to Emily.

He had seen Weavers behave like that in front of mortals before, but only when trying to preserve the secret of the Highland Veil, Seven Cairns, and the Weavers.

“How?” Emily caught hold of his coat and pitifully tried to shake him. “How could illness make you not know somebody?”

“Come. Into the pub for a bit of warmth.” He doubted that a bit of warmth would help, but it couldn’t hurt.

With a determined expression, heavily shadowed with fear, she gave him a curt nod. “Yes. Lilias will know me. I’ve gone to The Fearless Scottie every day since arriving in Scotland—sometimes twice a day for morning tea and supper.”

Gryffe tucked her hand through his arm and led her across the square into the warm, cozy pub. He selected a table close to the cheery fire crackling in the hearth. As he helped her into a chair, he noticed her stealing quick looks all around. “What is it, lass? Tell me so I might help ye.”

She wet her lips and swallowed hard, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Even in Jessa’s time…”—she twitched an impatient shrug—“the other eighteenth century I’ve been to, Seven Cairns still felt familiar.

This one doesn’t. And Ishbel didn’t have a clue who I was.

She thought I was crazy. I could see it in her eyes.

” She straightened, stretching taller and frowning at the bar.

“There’s Lilias.” She forced a smile and waved. “Lilias! Hi!”

The young woman behind the bar smiled back, but it was clearly a smile meant for a customer she had never met.

She came over to the table, wiping her hands on the long towel tied to her belt.

“Can I be helping ye then, mistress? What’ll ye be having?

A nice hearty ale to fill yer wame for the long trip home?

” She nodded at Gryffe. “And how are ye this blustery day, Grand Chieftain? Looking for a bit of whisky to chase away the bitterness of the cold?”

No amount of whisky could chase away the chill settling deep in his bones. Ignoring Lilias, he watched Emily closely. She had not lied about knowing everyone at Seven Cairns. She knew their names, and her ever increasing panic made it clear she had been close to all of them in her time.

“I need…I need the portal,” she told Lilias. “Right away. I have to get back to my time. And Mairwen. I’m sure Mairwen has to be wondering what happened to me.”

Lilias backed up a step. Her smiling expression hardened with the strain of keeping it in place. “I have a verra nice port, mistress. I’ll fetch ye a glass right away.”

“No. Not port. Portal. Behind the bar. In your storeroom. I need you to allow me back there. You know it won’t work for me without your permission since you’re the Watcher for it.

” Emily rose, pushing back her chair as she stepped away from the table.

“Please, Lilias. You may not recognize me, and I can’t explain why, but I need you to trust me. Please.”

“Ye should go,” Lilias told Gryffe. “Take her, Grand Chieftain. Now. Ye ken this is hallowed ground, and her kind is not welcome here.”