Page 69 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter sixty-three

Mira

I pulled off the Ardrossan ferry and onto the island.

Late afternoon on the first day of December was cold and gray, with the kind of winter light that made everything feel hushed and expectant.

I didn’t stop in town, no scenic turnout this trip.

I headed straight for Baird’s cottage, taking the same winding road I’d followed that very first time, already knowing it would be a forty-minute drive.

It was the same song. Her song. My mom’s favorite.

Just like last time, right in the same spot.

But this time, there was no gut-punch of grief. Just warmth. Awareness. A presence so familiar and comforting it brought tears to my eyes—not from sadness, but from recognition.

It wasn’t coincidence. Not then. Not now.

She was sending a message. Both times.

Thi s place, this road—it was leading me exactly where I was meant to go. To the love I was meant to find. A love strong enough to stretch across oceans, lifetimes, and everything in between.

To Baird.

I was done denying the magic that existed all around me. Less than fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the gravel drive of the cottage. My heart was pounding, but when I looked around, my stomach dropped—Baird’s Range Rover wasn’t there.

I got out anyway, climbed the steps, and knocked on the door.

No answer.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. Anxiety spiked in my chest. Maybe he was just out—maybe on this cold, gray, drizzly afternoon, he and Bunny were tucked away by the fire at Robbie’s pub.

Clinging to that hope, I got back in the car and headed south, the drive taking another twenty minutes that felt like a lifetime.

I was starting to spiral. Second-guessing everything—my timing, my decision to come unannounced, the entire plan that had felt so certain just hours ago. By the time I parked and stepped into the pub, my nerves were coiled tight.

It was packed. Bodies crammed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with warmth and noise. But Baird wasn’t there. I scanned the room, heart hammering, until I spotted Robbie behind the bar.

I pushed my way through the crowd, my voice unsteady as I reached him.

“Where is he? Where has he gone?” I asked, breathless, panic leaking into the edges of my words.

Robbie narrowed his eyes at me, less than welcoming, finally relaxing a bit when he saw the pleading look on my face.

"Weel hello, Mira. I’m guessi n’ yer askin’ about Baird?

” Robbie asked as he mopped up the bar with a towel, never taking his eyes off me.

He looked wary but resigned. Like I was some kind of a problem.

I swallowed and nodded nervously.

“I don’t think he’s off-island—nae, I keep an eye on his herd when he’s away, and he would’ve told me if he was goin’. If he’s not at the cottage, I’d wager he’s in the upper valley checkin’ on ’em, near where he found ye swimmin’ in the Blue Pools the last time ye were here.”

I relaxed a bit at that, but my fears of how Baird would react when he saw me must have been written on my posture and prompted Robbie to continue.

“I told him not to hold out hope for yer return, but the daft fool kept it anyway— hope, that is —and for his sake, I’m glad ye’ve come back.

But listen to me, lass,” he said with a warning in his voice.

“That boy’s had more than his fair share of heartache, and he doesn’t deserve another ounce of it.

Don’t go back to him unless yer sure. Just…

don’t hurt me boy— I do think of him that way, ye ken .

He doesn’t deserve another broken day, Mira. "

I ran around the end of the bar and threw my arms around him, knocking him slightly off-balance.

He stiffened at first, clearly startled by being ambushed by a nearly hysterical, lovestruck woman.

But after a beat, he relaxed—just a little—and gave me an awkward, robotic pat on the back, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with all the emotion being hurled at him.

I pressed a quick kiss to his cool cheek, laughing through tears as I pulled back, realizing in that moment just how much he’d been like family to Baird all along. I felt the shock ripple through him, like his body hadn’t expected kindness to come in this partic ular form.

“You have my word, Robbie,” I said softly, a promise I intended to keep. And with that, I turned and headed back out the door to the car.

A light dusting of snow began to fall as I drove east. The landscape I moved through had now faded to a rich brown—winter leaching the life from the same heather moorland and hills that had shimmered in deep greens when I was here just a month ago.

I pulled into the gravel lot just past the campground, met with the same scene as before: a completely empty lot, save for Baird’s Range Rover.

Mud splattered the tires and streaked the lower panels, another quiet testament to how winter reshaped the island.

I pulled my rental in behind his SUV, blocking its exit—just in case I missed him before he returned. But I didn’t think I would. Some invisible thread bound us still, pulling me forward. I hoped he felt it too.

I tugged the knit cap I’d brought low to shield against the cold and wet snowflakes, locked the car, and headed for the trail.

I walked quickly and then started to run, urgency rising in my chest. I needed to see him.

I needed to see his face. And then just before the bend that led to the wooden footbridge, I saw him.

His tall frame. Broad shoulders. Long legs. A silhouette etched in my memory, walking toward me, Bunny at his side.

My heart thundered. I wasn’t sure if it was the run—or the sheer anticipation of seeing him again—that had set it racing.

He stopped in his tracks.

There was no shock on his face. No relief.

Just stillness. A passive, unreadable mask.

Maybe Robbie was wrong. Maybe Baird didn’t want me to come back. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

My stomach dropped. I hesitated. Was I too late?

Bun ny had no such doubts. She trotted up to me, tail wagging, and bumped my hand with her nose. I stroked her soft head, my eyes never leaving his.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice catching. “Sorry I doubted you. I believe you now…”

“What do you believe?” he asked evenly. His tone was calm. Too calm. No hint of feeling. I didn’t remember him being this hard to read.

“You love me,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.

His face remained stoic for a dozen heartbeats—until it didn’t. I saw it: the glint. That teasing light in his eyes.

He was going to make me pay for not believing him.

“Oh, well, yes— breaking news , Mira Garvie,” he said. “I’m quite certain I did tell ye this— more than once —before ye left. And how exactly do ye know that now? What finally convinced ye?”

I reached into the front of my jacket and pulled out the gold and emerald necklace around my neck, letting it catch the light between us.

“This,” I said softly. “I believe it now. Truly. Will you forgive me? I was such a fool.” My tears came freely then, hot and unrelenting.

“Is there anything else?” he said, his expression expectant.

And I knew what he was asking, the last truth he needed to hear.

“Yes—I love you.” I nodded and hoped he heard in my voice just how true that was.

I closed the distance between us in a handful of strides.

He caught me as I reached him, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

His kiss told me everything I needed to know.

It was a kiss full of relief, of joy, of passion held back too long.

It swept through me like fire and stillness all at once—fierce and tender.

And within it, I felt the same warm peace that had flooded my body when Agnes touched my hand.

A peace that told me I was where I belonged.

He broke the kiss and searched my face. “How long are ye staying this time?”

His voice wasn’t suspicious—just careful. Cautious. I cupped his face in my hands, feeling the rough stubble under my palms.

“How long will you have me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. His expression said it all—how it shifted, softened, lit from within. The last of the weight he carried seemed to fall away in an instant.

And in that moment, he looked like someone reborn.

Almost unrecognizable. The lines that had long etched themselves into his brow had softened, as if time itself had been rolled back.

His mouth, the one I’d seen so often drawn in restraint or sorrow, now curved with the faint, stunned smile of someone rediscovering the shape of joy.

But it was his eyes that revealed the greatest change. No longer shadowed or guarded, they gleamed—clear and unshielded, brilliant green—lit not only by the supernatural, but also now by something that came from deep inside him—the promise of a new beginning.