Page 26 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

G ryffe longed to sweep his precious Emily up into his arms, carry her to their bedchamber, and never let her out again until she got this foolish notion of visiting the Dreaming out of her head.

But he couldn’t. To do so would hurt her, and that, he would never purposely do.

As he had told her before their frantic lovemaking in the library, he knew there was a part of her heart she would never give him.

He sensed it like something ominous lurking in the shadows, and he hated it.

But he would not prevent her from trying to make peace with that part of herself that longed for her home.

He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles popped.

She might long for her other life, but never would he let her leave him.

Never. He would find a way to follow her to the ends of the earth—no matter what earth they found themselves on.

He let his narrow-eyed gaze drift across Emily, Ferris, Nicnevin, and that damn Fae panther, Grimalkin.

They had gathered in the center of the broad battlement atop the north tower of MacStrath fortress.

Not only was it the highest point of the castle, but the one most open to the sky and the moon—a great help when it came to successfully crossing the breach into the Dreaming.

Emily’s nervous fidgeting betrayed her fears that had almost reached the brink of terror. He saw it in her eyes and ached to take advantage of it to dissuade her from continuing this dangerous endeavor. But that would not be fair to her. Not after he had agreed they would go.

Ferris looked ill at ease, Nicnevin was pleasant and calm enough to be even more infuriating than usual, and the useless beast that refused to leave Emily’s side occasionally gave a bored yawn while looking around and slowly flipping the tip of its long black tail.

When Emily slipped her hand into Gryffe’s, he bowed his head and fought the urge to roar that they would not go and for everyone to leave the battlements.

“What do we do now?” she asked with the quiet innocence of a child.

Before Gryffe could explain, Nicnevin clapped her hands, shattering the midnight sky with lightning. “We cross!”

Fetid air slid across his flesh, changing to the cloying wetness of cold mud as the Dreaming’s border swallowed him.

Emily’s hand slipped free of his grasp, throwing him into a panic.

He burst out of the disgusting barrier that kept the mystical place within its boundaries and turned to dive back in after her, but the wall went solid.

Such was the way of the Dreaming. You might enter it at your own will, but you only leave when the Dreaming releases you. “Emily!”

Ferris emerged farther down the way, growling like his wolf and shaking like a wet dog casting off the rain. Nicnevin followed him, ever smiling.

Gryffe attempted to re-enter the barrier where they had stepped through, but again, the wall resealed, forbidding his exit. He spun about and bore down on his mother, grabbing her by the throat. “Where is she? What have ye done with her?”

Nicnevin’s eyes flared wide. The scent of her fear goaded him onward. He tightened his hold on her long, slender neck. “I will kill ye, if ye have harmed her. Ye know I can do it. Yer blood in my veins gives me that power.”

She wet her lips and flinched with a failed attempt at swallowing. Her delicate throat swelled and flexed within his grasp. “I did nothing but pull everyone into the Dreaming,” she said, her voice cracking with the effort. “Set Grimalkin to searching. She will find her.”

With the dark queen still in his grasp, Gryffe glanced around the formless clearing that held them. “Grimalkin is gone as well. Neither of them made it through with us.”

“I dinna ken, my son,” Nicnevin said, her quiet voice revealing she too feared the worst for Emily.

“I swear I have no knowledge of what happened to either of them.” She tried to swallow again and flinched harder, her face reddening.

“But know this, if Grimalkin is with her, she will be safe from anything the Dreaming might attempt.”

“Emily!” Gryffe bellowed into the void, making the pale gray mist surrounding them swirl into eddies that spiraled out as far as the eye could see.

But only silence answered. He shook his mother again, not caring that she was growing ever weaker.

“I have always known ye to be cruel and black-hearted—especially as far as I am concerned—but why would ye do this? Why, when ye have beat my ears raw with yer nagging about me taking a wife and siring an heir?”

“I swear on my eternal love for yer father that I had nothing to do with any of this.” The sadness in her eyes was almost convincing. “Why else would I suffer yer enraged hold when I could easily shapeshift and escape ye?”

There was that. He let his hand fall and turned away, bowing his head, frantic to solve this damnedable puzzle and find his beloved Emily.

Her hand had slipped from his while they were within the barrier.

Was it possible the Dreaming had rejected her even though she was a royal Fae’s mate and also possessed the ancestry of a divine Weaver?

“Think ye she remained at the castle? Could she have been denied entry?”

“Ye were holding her hand, aye?” Nicnevin frowned at the now sealed barrier as if examining it for cracks.

“Aye. Her hand slipped from mine after the border swallowed me.”

“After and not before. Ye are certain?”

Her expression made his heart drop. The hope that Emily had remained at MacStrath fortress crumbled into dust. “Aye. After. She is not back at the keep. Is she?”

His mother sadly shook her head. “No, my son. I am sorry.” She turned and swirled a hand through the mists that shielded all the dreams until they decided which of them to visit. “She is here. Somewhere.”

“If we dinna find her, she will not know how to get back.” Gryffe drew his sword for no other reason than it made him feel better to slash and stir the surrounding mist.

“We will find her,” Ferris said, baring his teeth as he drew his sword as well. “I hate this feckin’ place. It toys with anyone fool enough to wander across its borders.”

“The goddesses created it to preserve and protect the mortals’ dreams so they might study them.

It does what it does because that is all it knows.

” Nicnevin meandered deeper into a bank of swirling gray fog.

“Emily’s instincts should help her find her way to dreamers she would know.

” She turned back and gave Gryffe a pained look.

“As long as she is able to remain calm and listen to her heart. A great deal depends on yer precious one, and how well she can control her path and choose wisely.”

“She has been so heartsick for those she left behind.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to recall the names of those his precious one missed the most. Other than the Weavers they had seen at Seven Cairns, he knew she missed her parents and brothers, but couldn’t bring any of their names to mind.

“Jessa. Jessa is the friend who was like a sister to her. She told me Jessa might believe it’s really her because she too traveled back in time to find her fated mate—except her timeline remained in her reality. ”

“’Tis a shame that Weavers do not dream,” Ferris said. “Even the Dream Weavers have no dreams of their own. They only manipulate the dreams of others.” He arched a brow. “Glennis and Gillespie are the Master Dream Weavers. If they happen to be in here, they could help us find her.”

“We are wasting time.” Raw urgency and dread pounded through Gryffe, setting him on edge even more. “How do we find Emily’s Jessa? If we find her dreams, maybe Emily will be there.”

“What does she look like?” Nicnevin asked.

Gryffe shook his head. “I dinna ken.”

His mother’s scowl darkened with hopelessness. “Is she like our Emily? Not from Scotland. Possesses an accent unlike any we have ever heard before?”

“I dinna ken,” Gryffe said in a rasping, despondent whisper. “All I know about the woman is her name, that Emily loves her, and she has three wee bairns that Emily loves as well.”

“A mortal woman with three wee bairns.” Nicnevin released a heavy sigh. “That does not exactly narrow the search all that much, but it is all we have, so it is a place to start. Do ye ken if she is Emily’s age?”

He scrubbed his face again. “What the hell do ye think?”

Nicnevin’s brows arched higher. “I shall take that as a nay . Come, my warriors. Let us begin our search for females with bairns. Keep that thought foremost in yer mind so the Dreaming will part the mists and show us the way.”

* * *

“Gryffe?” Heart pounding so hard she almost couldn’t breathe, Emily crouched as low as she could, cowering in the shadows of some dimly lit room she had never seen before. How had she ended up here? The last thing she remembered was a strange pulling that had yanked her away from Gryffe.

The cold emanating from the slate floor surrounded by walls of chiseled stone blocks made her shudder.

Had she landed in a dungeon? A single torch stabbed into a crude black iron bracket on the opposite wall did little to light the place.

Its flames crackled and hissed, occasionally sending ribbons of dank smoke upward.

The thing smelled like the greasy black tar that pavers used to patch potholes back in Jersey.

Fur brushed against her hand, making her bite her tongue to keep from shrieking as she skittered away from it.

Then the black shadow opened its golden, glowing eyes, and she realized it was Grimalkin.

She threw her arms around the great beast and hugged it.

“Thank goodness, you’re here,” she whispered.

Grimalkin didn’t purr or respond. Instead, the panther lifted her nose higher and huffed the air.