Page 2 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)
M odern Day - Autumn
Scottish Highlands
Village of Seven Cairns
“Mama…Mama…” Emily Mithers gave up. She snapped her mouth shut and nodded in all the right places of her mother’s long diatribe about missing her, missing Jessa, and wanting to hold Jessa and Grant’s babies rather than coo at them over video calls.
What her mother didn’t realize was that it had taken a battle of epic proportions to convince the goddesses and the Weavers to back down off their stance of erasing the memories of family and friends to protect the secrecy of fated mates brought together through time travel and magic so their loving bonds could strengthen the weave of the Highland Veil—a mystical shield of sorts that separated all the worlds, realities, and timelines in existence.
Emily and Jessa were the first outsiders able to convince the goddesses that they should be allowed to maintain contact with their loved ones as long as they handled it delicately and protected the secrets of the Highland Veil, its Order of Defenders, and the Divine Weavers who cared for it.
“If you are not going to listen, we might as well end this call—even though it is long overdue.” Her mother sniffed and assumed the aloofness of a parent more than willing to hand out a generous helping of guilt.
“But I’m not complaining. I am just thankful you spared a few moments out of your busy schedule for a brief chat with your mother. ”
“Passive aggressiveness is beneath you, Mama. Save it for the fearsome five. It always works on them.”
Her mother just jutted her chin even higher. “At least your brothers adore me.”
“I adore you, too, and you know it.” Emily rested her fingertips on the computer screen, wishing she could reach through it and touch the softness of her mother’s cheek.
As the youngest of six and the only girl, her parents had lovingly spoiled her rotten, and she missed them with a fury.
“You and Papa are still coming to Seven Cairns in the spring. Right?”
“Are you coming home for the holidays?”
“I’ll be there for Christmas. You already extracted that promise. Remember?”
“And what about our Jessa? And the babies? We consider her family too. I never want her to forget that.”
“Jessa and Grant aren’t brave enough to make an almost eleven hour flight with seven-month-old triplets.
” Emily couldn’t add that by the goddesses’ order, eighteenth century Grant MacAlester’s forays into the twenty-first century were limited to the boundaries of Seven Cairns, the way station sanctioned by the goddesses for the use of fated mates and the Weavers.
“I suppose that would be a bit much. I’ll simply ship their gifts to them. I assume I’ll have to send them to your cottage there in Seven Cairns, since Royal Mail still hasn’t figured out where their castle is?”
“It’s a keep, Mama. Remember?” And she couldn’t very well tell her mother that the twenty-first century Royal Mail didn’t deliver to the eighteenth century.
“If you don’t want to ship them, I can always bring them back when I return after Christmas.
” Emily braced herself. That particular subject was still a raw nerve with her mother.
Her parents couldn’t understand why she had decided to stay in Seven Cairns indefinitely, and she had given up on trying to explain it in vague yet convincing terms.
“That won’t work. I doubt the airline’s weight limits would allow it.” The self-ordained grandmother wasn’t the least bit ashamed that she might have overdone it a bit in purchasing gifts for the babies.
Emily couldn’t very well tell her mother that, depending on the gifts, they might not be allowed into the eighteenth century.
That was another rule from the goddesses, and this one, she understood completely.
They had to be cautious about fouling history’s timeline with knowledge or items from the future.
The results could be disastrous. The babies would have to enjoy their presents in Seven Cairns and leave them there whenever they went home.
She gave her mother a stern look she knew would be ignored.
“Remember Papa’s back. Don’t pack the boxes too heavy. ”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started on your father’s aging insecurities and determination to prove he’s still as fit as a twenty-year-old.”
The video on the laptop froze before Emily could comment. A sure sign that Ishbel, Master of the Spell Weavers, was tired of waiting for Emily to show up for their daily work in spell casting. With a resigned sigh, Emily pulled out her phone and texted: Sorry! Lost the signal. Love you!
Her mother responded with a long string of heart emojis and Love you too!
Emily tucked her phone back into the thigh pocket of her black, fleece-lined leggings, then pulled on her favorite creamy white cable knit sweater over her sleek black workout tank.
She had learned early on that layers were the best defense against the damp chill of Scotland in late November.
Thick wool socks. Waterproof hiking boots.
Wool gloves. All the accoutrements she never thought she would wear for anything other than climbing a mountain on a cold, windy day had become everyday garments here.
She tied back her mane of long black braids into a neat twist that would keep them out of the way and pulled on a chunky knit beanie.
A backpack with a change of clothes completed her preparations for her magical workout.
Even though it was a short walk from her cottage to the Weaver’s meeting house, and she and Ishbel always practiced inside, past experience with the unpredictability of Seven Cairns had taught her to be as prepared as possible for the unexpected.
“Ye should never call yer mother when ye know ye’re due to be somewhere,” Ishbel said as Emily entered the practice hall. “It makes ye tardy every time.”
Emily gritted her teeth against telling the Master Spell Weaver that it was none of her business.
Wasn’t it enough that she had put her life on hold and remained in Seven Cairns to get in touch with her Spell Weaver ancestry as the Weavers had requested?
Of course, she had also stayed because of Jessa, but the more she saw how happy and settled Jessa was, the more restless she felt.
Not that she wasn’t happy for Jessa—but…
well…it was complicated, and she wasn’t in the mood to get into it with Ishbel.
She dropped her backpack onto the bench against the wall and started stretching as if about to lift weights or run a marathon. Sometimes, magic turned physical, and she had the bruises to prove it. “So, what are we working on today? Same old stuff?”
When Ishbel remained silent, she turned to find the Weaver studying her with a worried scowl. Emily tensed, or more aptly, her already tensed muscles ratcheted into even tighter knots. Of late, she stayed so overly wound it was a wonder she wasn’t a cramped bundle of misery. “What?”
“We have talked about how yer emotions feed into the magic, ye ken?” Ishbel moved closer, her long, silky robes of purple and red splashes fluttering around her as if she were a colorful butterfly.
She had released her gray hair from its usual messy bun, and the silvery curls cascaded down well past her waist. “Yer aura is full of chaos, child. Murky with troubled shades. Perhaps ye best spend yer day elsewhere and leave the energies be. They dinna take kindly to those who poke at them with negativity. Mayhap Mairwen could give ye a massage.”
“I am not negative.” Emily huffed at her own snappishness. She sounded like a sullen brat even to herself. “Or at least I wasn’t until you accused me of it.”
“What is wrong, child? What has ye so upset?”
“I am not your child, and I’m not upset.”
Ishbel spread her hands and offered an apologetic bow.
The Weaver’s placating dramatics and faint smirk made Emily even pricklier. She plopped onto the bench and dropped her head into her hands. She was upset, had felt that way for days, and was sick and tired of it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and nothing I try helps.”
“What about meditation? Seeking the problem and working it out the way I showed ye?”
“No luck.” Emily stared at the toes of her boots and noticed some of the stitching had torn free.
Great. She had spent a bundle on those and even sang their praises to her bazillion followers on her influencer channel.
Looks like she would have to go back online and tell everyone she had been wrong.
And that was just it. She had been wrong about so many things.
“I am tired of being wrong, Ishbel. Tired of screwing myself over by making the wrong choices.” She snorted a sad laugh.
“And I have no one to blame for my misery but myself.”
Ishbel settled down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I have never seen ye like this, child…er…Emily. Ye worry me when ye are so troubled. Is part of it because we have yet to find yer fated mate?”
Every frustration churning within Emily roared even louder, making her twitch to shake Ishbel away, then immediately feel guilty about even thinking that. “I didn’t come here looking for a fated mate and don’t expect to find one.”
“Why did ye come here, lass?”
“To help Jessa find happiness. She deserved it.”
“And ye dinna believe ye deserve that same happiness as well?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ye nay had to.” The determined glint in the Spell Weaver’s pale green eyes warned she was not yet finished. She shook a finger as if winding up for one hell of a sermon. “Why do ye not believe ye have every right to be as happy as yer friend?”
“Why do you believe I can’t be happy without the complication of a relationship?”