Page 19 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

As much as she didn’t want to, as much as she knew better, she weakly allowed herself to sink into his gaze. “I swore I would never say his name again. Not after he left me when I told him I was pregnant. I mean to keep that promise to myself.”

Gryffe’s furious glower hardened even more, if that was possible. His eyes slowly narrowed. “Getting back to yer child—that is what pulls at ye, drives ye to return to yer time?”

She slowly shook her head, allowing the sadness she had carried for the past four years to surface and bloom.

She and the sadness had an agreement—it went with her, stayed with her every day, and she embraced it as a painful yet precious memory she would never forget.

“No,” she whispered. “I can never get back to her, because she is not there.” She swallowed hard and managed a shrug.

“The doctor called it a miscarriage, but the nurses said stillbirth. And I got to hold her before they took her away. Either way, my daughter didn’t live for longer than a few precious hours. ”

Gryffe bowed his head. “I am so verra sorry.”

“So am I. For the rest of my life.”

Before she realized what he was doing, he pulled her into his arms and held her. After a tender kiss to her forehead, he whispered, “What is yer dear child’s name, my ember?”

No one had ever asked her that before. Her parents and Jessa knew because they had gone with her to order the small, heart-shaped headstone for the grave. “Her name is Cara. It means dearest. ” It felt so strange to say it aloud.

“An eternal candle shall be lit for her in the MacStrath tombs. I will show ye the place, so ye can visit with her whenever ye like.”

The knot of unhappiness and irrational sense of failure she had carried tucked in her heart since losing her child loosened the slightest bit, a shocking first for her.

Her entire being warmed, and she breathed easier.

The old familiar sadness was still there, but somehow, it was more bearable, maybe even a little bit at peace, as if somehow settled and content.

She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care.

For once in her life, she just accepted the relief for what it was.

“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing that no matter what happened, no matter if he kicked her out of the keep tomorrow, she would always love Gryffe MacStrath with all her heart.

She swallowed hard at the realization, then almost laughed.

She had known it for a while now, but this last act of kindness had obliterated her every denial and made her admit it.

“You are a good man, Gryffe MacStrath, and I’m so glad you were the one my botched spell chose. ”

He shifted against her with a heavy sigh. “I am glad yer botched spell dropped ye in Avric’s path, as well.” Ever so gently, he set her away from him, studying her while slowly shaking his head.

“What?”

“I could always sense Nicnevin’s glamours on all the others.

Smelled her magic, even. Everyone’s mystical energy has a distinct aroma that canna be hidden or disguised.

But I canna find it on ye. No trace at all.

Nothing but the rich, sweet warmth of yer own essence.

” The corner of his mouth almost twitched upward, the nearest she had ever seen him come to a smile.

“Ye possess the mouthwatering fragrance of Cook’s best caramel or warmed honey right as ye mix it with fresh butter, but ye dinna smell of Nicnevin’s magic. ”

“That is because I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting this lovely creature you currently have in your bed.”

“Shit!” Emily scrambled backward until she hit the headboard and couldn’t retreat any farther to escape the towering column of inky black mist rising up and swirling at the foot of the bed. “It’s Morrigan! She’s found me! Run, Gryffe! Save yourself.”

“Morrigan? I should say not. I am the incomparable Nicnevin, Queen of the Dark Fae, goddess of magic and witches, and beloved mother to this darling boy who always manages to surprise me even though I am all knowing.” The roiling mist solidified into a tall, shapely woman dressed in a gown of the blackest silk or some sort of diaphanous veil-like material that clung to her curves.

Her flowing black hair was loose and trailed down well past her waist, but was kept at bay by a gleaming silver diadem that rested on her brow and circled her head in a crown of silvery branches.

She held her hands aloft and smiled at Gryffe.

“I thought this form would be the least frightening for yer lady. Are ye not going to introduce us?”

“Ye said ye were all knowing.”

Emily hugged her knees to her chest and tried to stop shaking. This being might not be Morrigan, but she was just as unsettling. “I’m Emily Mithers. From the twenty-first century and a reality that’s a great deal more normal than this one.”

Nicnevin laughed. “Normal? Normal is a perception, child. Dependent upon the viewer.” She swept closer, seeming to float across the floor. “Ye are a Weaver. A Spell Weaver. I smell it in yer blood.” She gave a graceful nod. “I am one of yer protective goddesses.”

Gryffe stood and blocked his mother’s path. “No closer. Remove the glamour, Nicnevin, and leave her be. Ye have caused her enough harm with yer meddling.”

The dark goddess glared at him, barely puckering her flawless brow with a faint frown. “I do wish ye would call me Mother. Roric does, and it brings me such joy.”

“Roric is yer heir. I am naught but yer bastard son. Remember?”

She rolled her eyes, then shifted around him and offered Emily a sympathetic smile.

Emily swallowed hard. While Gryffe and his mother argued, at least they ignored her. She scooted sideways along the headboard, putting more space between herself and Nicnevin.

The Unseelie Queen tipped her head to one side while moving closer. Her dark eyes narrowed, and her smile slowly faded. “I will not harm ye, child, at least not unless ye harm my son. Then I will make ye wish ye never existed.”

Gryffe shoved in between them again. “Leave her be.”

Nicnevin gave him the look of a mother perturbed with her son.

“I just said I would not harm her unless she harmed ye. Calm down, boy. I have never seen ye in such a state.” She tucked a finger under his chin and pushed it higher with her astonishingly long black fingernail.

As she studied him, her face took on an eerie, pleased with herself glow.

“Is she yer one? Have ye found her at long last?”

He bared his teeth and jerked away to escape his mother’s touch. “Remove the feckin’ glamour, and we shall see.”

Emily braced herself. Nicnevin seemed as powerful and narcissistic as Morrigan. If she decided to strip something away, how bad would that hurt?

Gryffe’s mother gave a long-suffering sigh.

“None of my magic rests on this one, my lad.” She flattened her hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“What ye feel is yer soul crying to unite with its other half. I swear to ye on yer beloved father’s grave that I placed no glamour on this child, nor did I bring her to ye.

That is the doing of someone else. Either a Weaver, one of the mother goddesses, or the Highland Veil.

” She turned and eyed Emily. “Lovely creature. I believe they chose well for ye. When do ye intend to make the union official and set to the task of blessing me with a keep full of grandchildren?”

Somewhat relieved that Gryffe’s mother seemed appeased and had decided that nothing needed stripping away, Emily still wasn’t about to let down her guard.

“If you didn’t put a spell on me, did you put some sort of magical amnesia shield on Seven Cairns?

” That even sounded ridiculous to her, but in this reality, who knew?

What else would explain Lilias and Ishbel acting as if they’d never seen her before?

Nicnevin’s dark brows rose higher, and her lips, plump and painted the same shade as freshly drawn blood, curled with a chilling smile.

“Magical amnesia shield?” She laughed, and the somehow icy sound of her mirth made Emily shiver and gather the blankets closer.

“What in Hades’ name is a magical amnesia shield ?

” Before Emily could explain what she meant, Nicnevin turned to Gryffe and gave him a playful shove.

“She surprises me as much as yerself, my precious boy. Well done on finding this one.”

“I did not find her,” Gryffe said through gritted teeth, “and ye swear on the love ye once felt for my father that ye placed no spell work upon her?”

Nicnevin’s mirth faded, but her chilling smile remained, revealing the very tips of her fangs.

With the dramatic crossing of her long, thin hands over her heart, she offered him a grave nod.

“I swear upon my eternal love for yer father that I placed no magic upon this lady.” Then she turned to Emily.

“And neither did I meddle with Seven Cairns. That village is hallowed ground, child. I am forbidden from it by the mighty Danu herself.” She moved closer, easily nudging Gryffe aside.

“Ye do wish to be here, aye? Ye are drawn to my son as he is drawn to ye?”

Emily licked her lips, then caught the bottom one between her teeth and chewed on it.

This was the moment of truth. Was she brave enough to risk getting hurt again?

And it would be worse this time, since she was completely and totally on her own.

She bit her lip harder until she tasted blood.

This was a choice, and if she got it wrong again…

She swallowed hard and cleared her throat.

“I landed here accidentally when I messed up a serenity spell.” She twitched a shrug, struggling to scrape up every ounce of courage she possessed.

“An ancestor of mine was a Spell Weaver. I am trying to learn, but I’m not very good at it yet. I usually just catch things on fire.”

Nicnevin tipped her head and folded her slender arms as if settling in for a long story. Emily was afraid to look at Gryffe.

“I didn’t want to be here. At least, not at first,” Emily said, avoiding the inevitable by stretching the story out, “and I still miss my family and friends. The thought of never seeing them again breaks my heart?—”

“Ye possess Weaver blood, child,” Nicnevin said. “Use the portals in Seven Cairns. Ye are but a heartbeat away from those ye left behind.”

“They don’t know me at Seven Cairns anymore.” Emily cleared her throat again, hating the way her voice kept cracking. “It’s as though I’ve been wiped from their memories, and I can’t use a portal without permission. Or at least, that’s what Mairwen always said.”

Another amazingly gorgeous frown settled across Nicnevin’s features as she turned to Gryffe. “This is not of my doing, son.” Then she turned back to Emily. “But ye nay answered my question, child. Do ye wish to be here now ? Are ye drawn to my son?”

“No matter what happens,” Emily said, “no matter what he does when he finds his one , my heart will always belong to Gryffe. I cannot imagine not loving him, and that scares the living daylights out of me because I just met him.” Breath held, she ducked her head and stared at her hands, afraid of his reaction.

He had always made it clear he would never stop searching for his one.

The bed shifted, but she still refused to look up. Instead, she hugged herself tighter. If she didn’t look, if she didn’t see the rejection and pity in his eyes, then she would be all right and have the strength to get through this terrible day.

“Emily,” he whispered.

She kept her gaze locked on her hands. “What?”

“Look at me, lass.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

She blew out a frustrated sigh and closed her eyes for good measure. “I have never handled rejection well, and I handle pity even worse.”

His warm hands closed around hers, and he whispered, “I have neither of those to offer ye.”

Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes and lifted her head, dismayed when she couldn’t read him. He still wasn’t smiling, and his eyes had achieved an amazingly dark storminess. It felt like he was pouring himself into her soul.

“What do you have to offer me?” she whispered, bracing herself for his answer.

“Only myself.”

“But what about your vision, the one you’ve been searching for?”

“I found ye or ye found me. Either way, we are one.”

She dove into his arms, determined to latch onto this strange fairy tale and hold it so tightly it couldn’t break free. He was all she had now, and she dared anyone to try to take him.