T he bubbly young woman with the gorgeous streaks of purple running through her long black hair bounced around the cottage with enviable energy, pointing out all its amenities. She opened a tall, narrow cabinet in the tiny but pristine bathroom. “And here ye will find plenty of sheets and towels. As many as ye will ever need. Just place the soiled ones in the hamper beside the door that lets out to the garden. Laundry’s picked up on Mondays, and that’s when the cabinet gets filled with fresh.” She closed the cabinet and patted the door. “But if ye find yerself needing more, or needing anything for that matter, dinna hesitate to call or text me. We want yer stay here at Seven Cairns to be as perfect as can be.”
Jessa tried to remember the different storefronts she’d seen in the small village on the way in. “Is there a laundromat near here? For when we need to wash our personal things?”
“A laundrette?” The girl who had introduced herself as Keeva but never mentioned a last name turned and frowned at their two large bags and backpacks sitting just inside the front door. “Ye nay brought much, did ye? Just the one big suitcase for the each of ye and then yer small bags? I wish I could pack like that. Mairwen said ye paid for the full month. Ye’ve nay changed yer minds, have ye?”
“We travel light,” Emily said, then tipped a nod at Jessa. “And all she ever wears is black, so it’s good for more than one wearing.”
“Are ye in mourning, then?” Keeva eyed Jessa as if trying to decide what sort of creature she might be.
“No. Black is just easier. Is there a laundrette here in Seven Cairns?”
“Sorry, no.” Keeva shifted in place, suddenly seeming uneasy. “But I’ll speak with Mairwen. I’m sure we can figure something out for when ye need to wash yer things.”
“Or we could drive back to Inverness for a wash. It’s not like we’re restricted to Seven Cairns,” Emily said.
At the moment, the prospect of an hour-long drive, one way, to wash clothes sounded exhausting. Jessa forced herself to unclench her jaws and not take out her weariness on those around her. Maybe she should’ve drunk one of Emily’s energy drinks with all its dyes and additives. “I’m sure that’ll be fine. Excuse me. I need some fresh air to perk me up.” She crossed the small, cozy cottage, opened the back door, and stepped out into the warm sunshine. Scotland’s mild early summer was much nicer than Jersey’s sweltering humidity.
A waist-high fence of flat stones stacked and woven with amazing artfulness surrounded a surprisingly sizeable backyard that was an eclectic mix of colorful statuary, haphazard pots of greenery, large patches of moss, and clusters of wildflowers. Stone and ceramic cats, in a variety of colors, lounged in various poses around the yard. Brightly painted chickens with comical expressions joined them. Most noticeable and largest of all were the statues of hot pink sows with such joyful faces that Jessa couldn’t help but smile.
She ran her hand along the back of the nearest concrete pig that the sun had warmed enough to give the impression that the creature lived and breathed. For some silly reason, touching the happy sow loosened the tightness in her chest and made it easier to breathe. “If all else fails, I can wash my clothes in the bathtub and drape them out here to dry. There are plenty of places to hang them.” She’d done that before when low on money, and it had worked out just fine.
Lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes and pulled in another deep breath. The air even smelled sweeter in Scotland, cleaner, somehow, and full of promise. On impulse, she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot across the soft moss, wiggling her toes in its cool sponginess. Maybe this place was a little bit of heaven after all. Stepping stones created a trail around the yard, and there was even a peacefully gurgling water fountain in the back corner. A plump little brown bird splashed and fluttered in it, enjoying its bath while completely ignoring Jessa.
Her tension and weariness drained away, leaving her feeling boneless and ready to drop into a slumbering pile of carefree nothingness. She was half tempted to stretch out under the tree in the corner opposite the fountain and take the welcoming backyard up on its silent offer of a nap. “Why not?” she asked the bird flitting in the fountain’s water. “Em said to chill, right?”
Since she could still hear Keeva through the open windows, happily chattering to Emily, Jessa decided not to stretch out flat on her back. Instead, she settled down at the base of the tree and leaned back against it. Its sprawling roots with their knobby knuckles protruding up from the ground and the concave shape of the enormous trunk cradling her as if she were a part of the garden rather than a visitor. The wind sighing through its leaves relaxed her even more, making her eyelids heavy. She relinquished the battle and let them flutter shut.
“There she is,” Keeva called out. “Miss Jessa—wake up, lass. Ye canna sleep at the base of that oak. The fairies might steal ye away.”
“They would return me when they got to know me,” Jessa said through a grumbling yawn. “And call me Jessa. I can’t be that much older than you.”
Keeva offered her a mysterious grin. “I promise I am a good bit older than yerself, miss. Looks can be deceiving.” She held out a hand to help her up. “Come, yer friend wants to see the path to the healing springs.”
“Tell her I’m relaxing, and we can find the path tomorrow. What is she doing, anyway? Unpacking?” Jessa had no desire or intention of moving from the tree’s comfortable embrace. It was as though she was melting into it, and all that was wrong with the world was slowly ebbing away.
Keeva caught hold of her hand and tugged while scowling up into the tree’s branches. “Stop it. It’s nay time yet, and ye know it. Besides, she is not for ye.”
“What are you talking about?” Jessa yanked her hand out of Keeva’s. Why would the friendly Scot abruptly turn rude?
The lass backed up a step and seemed almost startled. “No, no—not yerself, miss. Forgive me. I was scolding the oak.”
“Scolding the tree?” Jessa stared at her, the back of her neck tingling and the hairs standing on end. She scrubbed her arms and suddenly noticed a cloying dampness seeping up from the ground as though it was trying to repel her. She hopped to her feet and brushed off her behind. “That’s odd. The ground wasn’t wet earlier.”
“Sometimes it takes a while for the earth to send its tears up to ye,” Keeva said. She looped her arm through Jessa's and smiled. “Come on, lass. Yer Emily’s waiting inside for ye.”
Jessa halted and fisted her hands against her middle. A breathtaking eeriness paralyzed her, locking her in place. Every yard ornament had moved. And not just a few inches, but drastically. The largest of the pigs was now on a different side of the fenced-in area. Some of the cats had disappeared, and all the chickens now surrounded the fountain as though gathering for a drink of water. “Keeva.”
“Aye?”
“What time is it?”
Keeva glanced at her watch. “Half past two. Why?”
“That means I can’t have been out here any longer than fifteen minutes or so, right?”
The girl recoiled, squinting as if Jessa had lifted a hand to strike her. “I really couldn’t say, since I didn’t look at the time ye arrived.”
Keeva was lying. Jessa could almost taste it. She marched over to the pig that had moved the greatest distance and tried to lift it, straining to shift the heavy thing until she was left trembling with the effort.
“Miss Jessa, if ye dinna want the pig there, I can call my brother and one of his mates. They’ll put it wherever ye want it to be.”
“The pig already moved, Keeva. Stop acting as if you don’t know that.” Heart pounding, Jessa turned in a slow circle, pointing out all the differences. “Those chickens weren’t over there, and some of the cats are gone too.”
“I better fetch Miss Emily.”
Before Jessa could stop her, Keeva disappeared into the cottage.
“I am losing my mind.” Rubbing her eyes with a shaking hand, she stumbled over to the bench against the side of the house and dropped onto it. She bent forward, pulling in deep breaths as she put her head between her knees.
“Jess, come inside.” Emily rubbed her shoulders, then gently pulled. “Come on. You need rest. I’ve already turned down your bed. All you have to do is climb into it.”
“I need to go home, Em. I should never have come here.” Jessa remained locked in place with her head between her knees. “Get out my laptop and see if you can switch our return tickets to, like, right now. Or as soon as we can get back to Glasgow.”
“You’re just tired. Once you’ve rested and settled in, you’ll be fine.”
“I will not be fine.” Jessa jerked away from her. “Since we’ve arrived in Scotland, I’ve seen Mr. MacSexy everywhere, but it always turns out he’s not really there. Our hostess scolded the tree for making me feel so comfortable, then said the earth wept for me, and every one of those freaking yard ornaments was in a different spot twenty minutes ago, and I was the only one out here.” She thumped herself on the chest. “I didn’t move them, and neither did Keeva. Did you sneak out here and move that pig that weighs more than our rental car?”
Frowning, Emily sat on the bench and wrapped an arm around Jessa's shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Jess. Let’s just sit here for a while and catch our breath, okay? It’s kind of nice out here.” She pointed at a plump little stone dragon peeping out from behind a planter of geraniums. “That little guy is kind of cute. You like dragons. Did he move too?”
Rattled to the point of pure despondency, Jessa shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Probably,” Emily repeated. “It would be cool if he did. Maybe we could take him home as a pet.”
“Humoring the insane can be a dangerous thing, you know.” Jessa glared at her, wishing she could be as calm and put together as Emily.
Her friend grinned. “I’ve always loved living on the edge.”
“Ho to the house,” a deep voice called out from beyond the fence and out of sight from around the corner of the cottage.
“Maybe that’s Mr. MacSexy!” Emily whispered excitedly. “Come on. Let’s see.”
With her heart not pounding nearly so hard and able to breathe again, Jessa rolled her eyes, then pushed up from the bench and followed Emily to the side of the yard where a set of wooden steps, complete with handrails that she’d not noticed before, leaned up against the fence. The step-stool-like thing reached the top of the stone barrier, enabling a person to exit the backyard by using the steps to climb over it. Jessa couldn’t remember for certain, but she thought they called it a stile. Having had her fill of surprises for the day, she lagged back, tightly hugging herself to keep from shattering into bits. Emily could handle their visitor.
“Keeva sent me,” said the man Jessa couldn’t see. “Said ye needed a pig moved?”
Emily turned and looked at Jessa as though they were asked that question every day. “You need a pig moved, Jess?”
“No. The pig moved itself.” She refused to deny it. “While I was under the tree, that biggest hot pink pig moved itself clear across the yard.” She knew it sounded ridiculous, but it was the truth.
“You saw the pig come to life and walk across the yard?” Emily asked, still infuriatingly calm.
“No. My eyes were shut.”
A man so striking that he could star in a superhero movie cleared the fence with ease by resting his hands atop it and leaping over. Silvery blond hair, smiling blue eyes, and a neatly clipped mustache and beard perfectly set off the muscular vision dressed in a faded blue tee, a kilt, and hiking boots. With his hands on his hips, he fixed the yard animals with a fierce scowl. “Which of these beasties is causing ye all the trouble, miss?”
Jessa glared at him. “Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to make fun of the tourists?”
“Who’s making fun of ye, lass?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for him to catch on and stop being a jerk.
He grinned. “I’m Evan, by the way, and ye are?”
“Jessa.” Apparently, last names were never used around here, so she decided not to share hers.
“What a glorious name, and I wasn’t making fun of ye.” He tipped a nod toward the largest pig. “I know they move. Seen it myself, though usually, ’tis only at night during a full moon. Yer arrival must’ve made them so happy they couldn’t wait till then.” He winked. “Scotland is filled with magic, lass. Ye’ll be hard pressed to find those who dinna believe in it.”
She wasn’t buying any of that malarky, no matter how handsome the salesman. “Then why did Keeva panic?”
He shifted his broad shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “Keeva does that sometimes. It’s cause she’s afraid she’ll stir Mairwen’s anger.”
“And you’re not afraid of Mairwen?”
He backed up a step and lifted both hands in surrender. “I have a healthy respect for Mairwen. She’s reasonable enough unless she gets her back up. Then is when I fear her.” He aimed a smile guaranteed to break hearts at Emily. “And yer name?”
Emily sauntered toward him, ignoring his question. “You cleared that fence with ease and did it silently. Admit it. You moved the yard animals to play a trick on the unsuspecting tourists.”
Evan shook his head and looked as if he was about to deny it, then offered them both a dramatic, apologetic bow. “Aye, ladies, I did it. ’Twas just meant as a bit of fun. Surely, ye’ll grant a man a bit of leeway. How else was I to meet ye?”
While it was irritating, Jessa grudgingly admitted it was flattering too, and it made her feel a great deal better about the whole yard statues coming to life situation. “I suppose Keeva was in on it, too?”
“Aye, cost me a promise to work on that wreck of a car of hers.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making his already huge biceps bulge even larger. “So do the two of ye grant me forgiveness?”
“Only if you promise not to do it again,” Emily said, “and you bring us dinner tonight.”
“Done!” He gave her a victorious smile and another lavish bow. “I’ll bring ye the finest Seven Cairns has to offer. Around eight or so. That’ll give ye time to get good and settled in. And now, if ye will excuse me, ladies, I need to get back to the shop afore old Drummond wakes up and misses me.”
“Your boss wouldn’t appreciate your taking time off to pick on the tourists?” Jessa asked, storing that bit of information away in case she or Emily needed it for future reference.
Evan laughed as he hopped back over the fence. “Drummond’s not my boss. Although he likes to think so. He’s my cat.” He threw up a hand as he jogged away. “See ye at eight.”
“His cat,” Emily repeated, still staring after him. “A guy like that toeing the line for his cat. You believe that?”
Jessa eyed the expression on the nearest concrete pig. The thing looked even happier than before—almost as if it were about to burst out laughing. She shook her head. It had to be travel fatigue and anxiety. As she headed for the door, she threw up her hands. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
* * *
“Did no one tell the watchers to behave themselves?” Evan, the Tranquility Weaver almost as powerful as the Master Tranquility Weaver Shona, burst into Mairwen’s sanctuary without knocking. “Neither woman believed the lie I told them. I saw it in their eyes. Their magic looked right through me. Ishbel is right. Both have a touch of the gift.”
“Keeva?” Mairwen didn’t bother pausing in the study of her writings. A ripple in the energies had already whispered there was trouble in the air. She had hoped her apprentice had it well in hand. Apparently, her hope was not to be. When the girl didn’t answer, Mairwen set down her quill and fixed Keeva with a look guaranteed to make her confess.
“I told the watchers to behave,” Keeva said, “but they’re drawn to Jessa. They like her better than most of the fated mates we’ve brought here.” She carried another ream of parchment over to the stack on Mairwen’s table and placed it with the others. “And it’s not just them. The earth and oak embraced her as well. So I panicked and fetched Evan.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and bowed her head. “I am sorry. It seems I have failed ye yet again.”
Mairwen folded her hands atop her papers. “Ye did right to fetch Evan. The lass needs some tranquility. The Conflict Weavers pushed her to the edge of reason with the discord they unleashed in her life to bring her here. I must speak with Malcolm about teaching his Weavers to use more restraint and finesse.” She eyed Evan, studying the shifting colors of his aura. “Ye are not meant for Jessa or her friend. Go with caution in this task, Evan.”
“I know my boundaries, honored one. I did what I could to calm them and will ensure there are no misunderstandings when I take them their supper later.”
His scowl surprised her, making her wonder if he had sensed more than he was telling. “What else have ye to share?”
“It is not only the Weavers and watchers meddling with Jessa Tamsen. There is another. An uninvited another.”
“She is here? In Seven Cairns?” Mairwen rose and hurried to the window, opening it wider to breathe in the wind and search for that which she hoped not to find.
“Not her but one of her own.” Evan joined her at the window. “In the garden. Near Jessa while she slept.” He turned and shot a disappointed look back at Keeva. “The oak was protecting her. As was the earth. Did ye not feel that?”
“I sensed nothing,” Keeva said, her voice shaded with panic. “And thrice I swept the cottage and the grounds for evil and sensed nothing.”
“This is not just yer failing, Keeva, but mine as well.” Mairwen frowned at the view before her, a quiet, peaceful Scottish village, because that was how the Divine Weavers intended to portray Seven Cairns to the world. One main street lined with the sorts of shops and pubs tourists would expect in a sleepy Highland town. Quaint, white-washed cottages and dwellings with colorful gardens and even brighter doors and shutters dotted the landscape on the fringes of the village. Most of those who lived in Seven Cairns were not twenty-first century humans but Divine Weavers from across the realms. A few from this world did live there, but they were far from average mortals. Descended from generations of the loyal Defenders of the Veil and sworn members of the Order, the Weavers considered them treasured allies even though they were only humans with sadly brief lives. She sent her senses into the wind once again, spiritually touching everything she crossed, like a worried gardener searching for invasive insects. Had they all grown overly complacent here within the boundaries of their carefully constructed sphere?
“Why would she be so interested in this particular mate bond?” Mairwen asked, speaking more to herself than Evan or Keeva.
“Could be because the last bond snatched one from her clutches that she had decided should die by war,” Keeva said. “Perhaps she plotted to take Grant MacAlester in his stead.”
“The Mor?—”
Mairwen whirled and silenced Evan with a look. “Her name is not to be uttered on our holiest of grounds. It could give her the very toehold she seeks.”
He dropped to a knee and bowed his head. “Forgive me.”
“What should we do?” Keeva asked softly, moving to stand beside Evan.
Mairwen had no idea what to do. All she knew for certain was that she would protect Seven Cairns and the Highland Veil at any cost. She nodded at the door and shooed them away as if they were children. “Out wi’ ye. I’ve much to stew over. Be more vigilant and share this with all, so they might be vigilant as well.”
* * *
“What will ye do when she brings her?”
Grant shifted in the saddle and resettled the worn leather reins in his hands, ignoring Henry’s question as they waited on their mounts atop the rise overlooking the mouth of Cromarty Firth. A ship with a fair-sized cargo of tea, spirits, and lace was due in this evening. The infernal man, who was nosier than an old woman, should concentrate on securing the goods and moving them to their next stop rather than worrying about Mairwen’s return.
“MacAlester? Did ye hear me?”
“I’ve not gone deaf yet, unfortunately.”
“Dinna be red-arsed with me,” Henry said in a low voice in case enemies lurked in the shadows. “’Tis best to be prepared. At least Mairwen warned us this time that she would return rather than just appear all unexpected like as is her usual.”
The man had a point, but Grant wasn’t about to agree with him. Not here in the dead of night while watching for those who might cause his men difficulties with the business at hand. “If ye wish to go down and help Gordon and Lachie with the wagons, dinna let me be stopping ye.”
Henry snorted. “Thank ye kindly, but I would much rather stay right here and nettle yer arse. Me father was a Defender, as am I, and ye might as well be for all ye’ve done to help us. All that’s missing from it being official is ye’ve never taken the oath to defend the Highland Veil.” His gruffness dropped to a more hushed tone of reverence. “Mairwen wants that for ye, ye ken? And they say she carries the blood of both Bride and Cerridwen. If ye’ve the least bit of sense about ye, ye’ll not cross her.”
Grant decided to goad the man just to see what he would say. “I have no intention of crossing her—other than refusing to allow her back inside my keep with some woman she’s found for me to marry.” He eased his horse back into the shadows to remain hidden from the nearly full moon’s light. “And I believe in doing that which is right for the sake of rightness, not because I belong to some secretive, exclusive order. So there will be no vow-taking either. What would ye do if ye were me?”
Even though the shadows concealed Henry’s expression, Grant could tell the man stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. Henry sputtered and hissed like a boiling teakettle before regaining control and quieting himself. “If I were ye, I would accept the mantle of the Order and marry the feckin’ woman Mairwen told me to marry.”
“Ye’ve no imagination, Henry. Or backbone when it comes to Mairwen.”
“And ye’ve no sense of survival,” Henry spat back at him. “I’ve plenty of backbone when it comes to her. I respect and honor the woman as the descendant of the goddesses that she is.”
“Henry is a wise man,” Mairwen said quietly from deeper in the shadows. “Ye would do well to heed his advice.”
“Dammit, woman.” Grant struggled to calm his poor horse. He’d alarmed the beast when he’d startled and yanked on its reins. “Ye once said ye wished for my clan to believe ye nothing more than an old woman gifted in the ways of herbs and healing. Appearing like this, out here in the dead of night, square in the middle of an important endeavor, is not the way of a harmless old woman.”
“I came to warn ye,” she said, as if he had not said a word.
“Warn me?”
“Ye’ve Defender blood in yer veins, MacAlester, and there are those who would drain ye of it.”
“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“Stay vigilant, listen to Henry, and when I return, keep your heart and mind open about the woman I bring with me. I shall also send a few Weavers to watch over ye.”
A disturbing sense of compliance washed across him, one that he knew had not been of his own doing. It was not his nature to yield to anything—not even when it was in his best interest. “Stop with yer spells, witch.”
Henry gasped like a wee lassie startled by a mouse. “He means no disrespect, Mairwen.”
“Aye, he does,” she said with a weary sigh. “But it is his way, and I accepted that about him long ago. I still mean to protect him.” She pointed at Grant, making a chill ripple through his flesh. “Do as ye are told or regret it, ye ken? I canna snatch ye back once Death wraps his bony fingers around ye and pulls ye from the living.”
Then, the surrounding shadows darkened with an eerie murkiness, swallowing Mairwen from view as a heavy fog rolled in and covered the firth and its port.
“This is her doing.” Grant bared his teeth and nudged his horse into motion, trotting down the hillside toward the shoreline. Past experience with the witch told him she was long gone. If anything happened to Lachie and Gordon while he couldn’t see them, he would hold her personally accountable and somehow make her pay.
The steady thunder of wagon wheels and horses’ hooves came toward him through the fog. He slowed his mount and took refuge off the side of the narrow road, but didn’t call out. Reports of soldiers, excisemen, and their paid blackguards being seen in the area demanded the utmost caution.
As the first wagon rolled into view, he breathed easier. His cousin Lachie urged the team of Shires onward, grinning like a fool as the enormous horses easily pulled the fully loaded wagon up the ever-steepening incline. “Ye’re like a blister, Grant. Ye dinna show up until all the work is done.”
Grant laughed as he rode alongside the wagon. “A wise laird knows when to trust his able men and let them alone. Any trouble?”
“None. That fog came in at the perfect time. Made it so we could load the wagons faster and head out afore anyone was the wiser. If ye prayed it in, ye best be thanking whichever saint ye asked for their help.”
“I shall remember that when I say my bedtime prayers.” Grant had a fair idea that Mairwen had called in the fog, but he wasn’t about to share that with his cousin. He also wasn’t entirely pleased to find himself beholden to the witch, who was most definitely not a saint. He twisted in the saddle and scowled at the swirling fog that appeared to be thickening by the minute. “I canna see a feckin’ thing. Gordon watched the lads and ensured they loaded the crates proper, aye?”
Lachie shot him an insulted look. “I thought ye said a wise laird trusted his able men?”
“A wise laird also worries. This shipment will go a long way when it comes to adding to the coffers meant to get us through winter.” He frowned and stretched forward, straining to better see something up ahead. A figure, a woman, stood in the middle of the road with the heavy fog swirling around her so only her head and shoulders were visible. Sudden recognition chilled him to the marrow of his bones. Her hair was the shade of dew-kissed pumpkins illuminated by the rising sun. Her abundance of curls was tousled, tumbling down her back and over her shoulders. Her smile plumped her cheeks and flashed in her eyes. “Feckin’ hell,” he muttered. It was the woman from his dreams. Had Mairwen been foolish enough to drop the lass out here in the middle of a smuggling run?
Then he noticed Lachie was not slowing the team. “Halt, man! Afore ye hit her. Halt, I say!” He spurred his mount forward, reached over, and grabbed the harness of one of the lead horses.
“What the devil!” Lachie yanked on the reins, struggling to stop the team. Once the wagon halted, he stood and shook his fist at Grant. “Have ye lost yer feckin’ mind?”
“Me? Were ye damned and determined to kill her?” Grant jabbed a finger at the woman. Or, at least, where she had been. He stared at the spot, now empty except for the thinning fog.
“Her?” Lachie repeated. He leapt down from the wagon and trudged a good way up the path, then returned to stand beside Grant’s horse. “Are ye mad with drink?”
Grant wished it were that simple. “Nay.” He jerked his head at the wagon. “The fog played tricks on me. Let’s be on with it, aye?”
“Not until ye tell me the truth.”
Henry rode up, causing the silvery gray mist to swirl even more. “Since when do we try to get caught? The fog’s lifted from the docks, and they’re astir down there. ’Tis time to haul our arses out of here. Gordon and the lads have the other wagons headed this way.”
“The truth, Grant,” Lachie said, widening his stance as he folded his arms across his chest. “Who is this her ye thought ye saw?”
Grant gritted his teeth until his jaws cramped. He trusted Lachie as much as he trusted Henry. Both men were the brothers he had never had. Lachie was also a Defender of the Veil and might come close to understanding. “I thought I saw the woman from my dreams. The one Mairwen insists I must marry.”
Lachie puckered a thoughtful scowl, then tipped a nod and climbed back into the driver’s seat of the wagon. Kissing a clicking sound at the horses, he twitched the reins and got the team moving again, passing Grant and continuing up the road.
“And he’s not going to say a bloody thing?” Grant asked Henry.
Henry laughed and shook his head as he nudged his horse to follow the wagon. “What’s there to say? He knows what ye should do as well as I.”
As Gordon and the lads came into view with the other two wagons, Grant urged his horse onward. “Why the hell does it matter if I marry again?” he muttered to himself. But he knew that answer, as if Mairwen floated alongside him and whispered it in his ear. Fated mates shared the strongest love of all, and that love strengthened the threads of the Highland Veil—the barrier that must be upheld at all costs.