A s they drew closer to Seven Cairns, Jessa caught herself staring at it with her mouth ajar. Amazement and a healthy dose of eeriness shot through her. The eighteenth century Seven Cairns was identical to the one in the future. Well, almost identical. Rather than electric lights brightening the shop windows, oil lamps and candles burned. Instead of cars and trucks parked beside the sidewalks, horses, carts, and wagons waited. And the sidewalks weren’t poured concrete. Flagstones paved the ground, providing dry walkways for the villagers. But then again, maybe the walkways had been the same in the future. She couldn’t recall. The main road was the same. She remembered how she and Emily had admired the beauty of the cobblestone road even though all its bumps had made their little rental car vibrate like a windup toy.
Grant lifted her down from the saddle and gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ll be here with old Jock if ye need me.”
He understood she needed alone time with Emily.
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand, then joined Emily in front of the pub. “It’s the same but not,” she told her.
“I know. It takes some adjustment.” Emily nodded at the doorway. “Same people too. Lilias and her brother are probably behind the bar waiting on customers right now. Only their apparel changes to fit whatever century they decide it is. It’s all one grand illusion.”
“How do the inhabitants of the village collectively decide which century it is? Not everyone who lives here is a Weaver.” Jessa weakly waved at Nonie, the bookshop owner she’d met in the future. The woman was dressed as a sedate, gray-haired eighteenth century shopkeeper, yet in the future, she’d been a pink-haired, middle-aged woman who loved dressing in flamboyant styles. This was all so confusing.
“You’ll have to ask Mairwen how they decide what year it is,” Emily said. “I’m not that far into my training.”
“Training?”
Emily took Jessa by the arm and led her to the bench beneath the wide antique windows of the pub. Except now, they were no longer antique. They were probably the latest invention in window panes. “You remember me telling you about my great-great-grandmother from Scotland?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well…as it turns out…she was a Spell Weaver.”
Jessa shifted on the bench and fully faced Emily. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but I’ll bite. What is a Spell Weaver ?”
“A Mairwen person with an aptitude for magic.”
Pulling together everything she knew of the Weavers and Mairwen so far, Jessa found herself thoroughly confused. “But…your great-great-grandmother isn’t…if she was like Mairwen…Is she still here? Somewhere?”
“She had the goddesses strip her of her longevity because she fell in love with a mortal and couldn’t bear the thought of living on without him. She chose to die the same day my great-great-grandfather did.” Emily stared down at her folded hands in her lap. “They were a rare combination of fated mates—a Weaver and a mortal. Mairwen said it doesn’t happen very often.”
“But you inherited her magic?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel magical?” Jessa eyed her friend. She didn’t look any different.
“I’m not sure magical is the word. You know I’ve always driven Mama insane with my intuition. Maybe that’s part of it. Only time will tell.” Emily shrugged. “Maybe whatever I’m capable of is latent—like your ability to heal. That’s why I agreed to train with Ishbel. I’m curious.”
“I wish I could train with someone and figure out that healing thing. I never know when it’s going to work, and when it’s not.”
Emily reached over and squeezed her hand. “I wish you could come with me and train too, but riding a few hours here and a few hours back every day would be quite the commute in this century.” She nodded at Jessa’s flat middle. “And soon, it won’t be recommended.”
“I don’t feel pregnant.” Jessa clung to Emily’s hand with both of hers. “If the goddesses only allow us to visit in Seven Cairns, I may not be able to see you when I need you the most.”
“Don’t invite another day’s worries into today. Mama would give you the look right now. Remember?” A sheen of tears made Emily’s dark eyes glisten a deeper shade of brown. “At least we can still visit. Not everyone has that option.”
“I’m going to work on that with Mairwen,” Jessa said. “If this is a way station for us, it should be a way station for all the fated mates. I would think such harmony would not only make the Weaver’s matchmaking go smoother, but it would also give the Veil an extra boost of good ju ju. ”
“And from what little I’ve seen, we don’t want that Veil to fall.” Emily patted Jessa’s hand as she stared off into the distance. “Who would have thought? All this?”
“No kidding.” Jessa could feel time slowing, feel it dragging across her and snagging like a hangnail in a sweater. The Weavers were silently telling them it was time for Emily to go. “Where is the curtain you have to walk through to go back through time?”
“The one I used before was in the pub’s back room, but from what Ishbel’s told me, portals are scattered throughout the village.”
“Isn’t that dangerous? What if some unsuspecting visitor wanders through one?” Jessa envisioned a delivery person accidentally passing through to another time.
“A Weaver has to activate them—kind of unlock them and aim them.”
“Then you’ll always have to be the one to come back here, and I won’t be able to travel forward?” That seemed like a recipe for missed visits. What if Jessa needed to see Emily or Mairwen for some unknown reason but couldn’t move past the eighteenth century?
“All you have to do is ask one of the shopkeepers for help,” Emily said. “They’ll open a portal for you, or get a message to me. Whatever you need. You already know them. They’re the same ones you met in the future.”
“Everyone living in the village is a Weaver?”
“Most everyone, from what I understand. Several Defenders live here too. But it depends on the century, which Defender lives where, because they are mortal.”
Jessa held Emily’s hand tighter, feeling their time together slipping away. “I hate this, Em.”
“I do too, Jess.” Emily coughed and swiped her fingers across her eyes, trying to hide her tears. “I have to go now. The portal is pulling at me.” She rose and fisted her hands against her middle.
Jessa stood, too, then pulled Emily into a fierce hug. “I love you bunches, Em.”
“I love you more,” Emily said, choking out the words in a hiccuping sob.
“I’m going to stay out here—to make it easier.” Jessa hugged her again, then stepped back. “I’ll see you before too long. Learn some spells to show me.” She didn’t bother trying to dry her tears, knowing it was futile. The way she felt right now, she would never stop crying. “Learn how to conjure up a magic mirror or something so we can FaceTime.”
Tears streaming, Emily gave a quick nod as she backed toward the door to the pub. “I will.” She lifted her hand. “Bye, Jess. See you soon.”
Jessa held her breath and blinked fast and furiously against the onslaught of tears as Emily disappeared into the pub. She slowly lowered herself to the bench, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. Her friend was gone. She hadn’t felt this lost and abandoned since she was eight years old and hiding in the bathroom cabinet.
Strong arms gathered her up and held her close, gently swaying and shushing but wisely not telling her not to cry. Grant seated himself on the bench and settled her in his lap. But he didn’t speak. He was simply there , silently giving his strength, his support, and his love.
With Emily gone, and Mairwen probably hiding, Jessa’s impossible to imagine emigration to eighteenth century Scotland suddenly seemed startlingly real. And she was married. And pregnant. And who knew how long it would be before she talked to Emily again? She unleashed a desperate, keening wail that startled the dog sleeping on the steps of the bakery.
The shaggy canine joined in with a heartfelt howl.
Grant never said a word. He held her, gently stroked her hair, and occasionally pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
The longer they sat there, the more she felt the depth of his patience, support, and undeniable love. Few other men would give her free rein to cry buckets, wail until the village dogs howled, and snot all over them like a toddler. This was most assuredly the definition of true love.
She fished in her cleavage for the ever-illusive square of linen that would never effectively take the place of a gorgeous cardboard box of facial tissues—or at least as far as she was concerned, it wouldn’t. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and silently told herself to get it together before she cried herself into a case of the hiccups that would rapidly devolve into a puking session. That was too much to ask of anyone, no matter how much Grant said he loved her.
After another loud blowing of her nose, she pushed herself out of his lap, shook out her skirts, and squared her shoulders. “I am sorry.”
With an endearing tip of his head to one side, he studied her. “For what, my love?”
She arched a brow at him. “You know for what .”
He rose from the bench, wrapped an arm around her waist, and hugged her to his side. “While ye might find this difficult to believe, I would say ye’ve handled these past few days with courage and grace.” He brought her around to face him and tipped her face up to his. “Ye are a rare woman, Jessa MacAlester, and I am proud to call ye mine.”
“I have always felt like I was missing something,” she said. “But I don’t feel that way anymore.” She rested her hand on his heart, its steady thump against her palm, calming her jumbled emotions into a manageable bundle of chaos. “Em told me her great-great-grandmother gave up her Weaver lifespan because she couldn’t bear the thought of living without her fated mate, who only had the short lifespan of a mortal. Once upon a time, I never would have understood why, but now I do.”
He covered her hand with his, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed each of her fingertips. “Are ye ready to go home, my own?”
“Aye.”
* * *
Mairwen watched Jessa and Grant from the window of one of the upstairs rooms of the pub. A sense of completeness settled over her, and in the ether, she picked up on the joyful, humming glow of the Highland Veil. “We did well,” she told Keeva. “Even though this time was fraught with challenges.”
“Are ye all right, Mairwen?” the apprentice gently asked. “The goddesses spoke to us through the knowing. They told us of yer son.”
“Was it Cerridwen or Bride’s voice traveling through the collective mind?” Mairwen had hoped to mourn Valan privately for a while before having to deal with the other Weavers’ pity.
“It was Danu,” Keeva whispered. “It is the first time I have ever heard the mighty one’s voice.”
“Life goes on, Keeva. Always remember that. Life goes on, and our duty to the Highland Veil never ends.” Mairwen didn’t have the emotional strength to explain about Jessa and Grant’s twins, Morrigan’s loss of her son, or the need for them to consider all Jessa had suggested when it came to making Seven Cairns a meeting place for the estranged friends and loved ones of the fated mates across the realms of time and realities.
She was weary. Morrigan, the vile sister whom she had never quite found the strength to love, had come close to winning this time. That could never be allowed. And in her usual backhanded way, Morrigan had warned them of the others: Beira, Carman, and her sons, and many more. Mairwen closed her eyes and tried to shut out the names of all those from the darkness, those who sought to destroy the Veil.
“Did Emily pass through the curtain with no issue?” she asked Keeva to force herself to think of other things. “Has she returned to her appropriate time?”
“Aye, Mairwen.” Keeva leaned closer to the window, smiling down at Grant and Jessa. “Ishbel said she was a quick one. She’ll make a braw Spell Weaver.”
“Has Bedelia found Emily’s mate yet?”
“No. But she feels he is close.”
“Very well.” Mairwen shooed the girl away from the window and pointed at the door. “On wi’ ye, aye? Go help Lilias with her latest delivery or find Ishbel and see if she needs any help with Emily. I am going to stay in this time a bit. And rest.”
Keeva gave her an understanding nod. “Peace to ye, Mairwen.”
“Peace to ye as well, my child.”