Page 29 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)

Grace sat down on the bed and tried to pull herself together.

The fact that she’d lost all her composure was just as bad as seeing those maids glare at her.

Even on the worst jobs when she’d been surrounded by screeching creative directors, drunken photographers and uncooperative, vindictive models, she’d never become so flustered.

Bolting had been out of the question. She’d always prided herself on being professional no matter how poorly she was treated in the studio or on location.

Her colleagues had nicknamed her “the golden refrigerator” because she had seemed so cold when she was really just hiding her nerves along with the rest of her emotions.

I can’t care what everyone thinks of me had been her mantra for so long Grace had become an expert at putting on a show.

Only Farlan had gotten past all her defenses.

He’d coaxed her into showing him the woman she was beneath the act.

She’d been passionate and playful with him, which was entirely out of character for her—or maybe it wasn’t, and up until now she’d been denying herself and what she really wanted.

She was sure they were perfect for each other, too.

For all that she had sacrificed to please her mother, didn’t she deserve the one thing she wanted so badly ?

I can do this. I just have to stay close to Farlan. Focus on him, ignore everyone else. All I care about is him anyway.

The door to the chamber opened, and Inga came in carrying a folded bundle of puffy fabric in her arms. She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw Grace, and tried to smile.

How do I ignore Tonje’s biggest fangirl?

“I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll come back later,” she said, turning to go back out.

“Wait.” Grace needed a temporary distraction, even if it was someone who made her cringe. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing. I brought something for your bed.” Hesitantly she approached her, and set the bundle down beside her.

“Since I came here I’ve been making quilts to pass the time, and I thought that you might like to have one.

” She ducked her head. “I admit, I was just going to put it on the bed and not tell you that I made it, but now that seems silly.”

Grace stood up and took the folded blanket, spreading it out to look at the patchwork design.

Stylized flowers cut from red-dyed fabric blazed against the cream-colored background.

All of it had been hand-stitched with swirls of white thread, which showed even more on the blue fabric backing.

The material seemed to be like the linen garments she’d worn for modeling, except thicker and softer.

The handwork was exquisite; somehow Inga had managed to make her stitches so small there were at least a dozen per inch.

“This is wonderful,” she told her, meaning it.

“Did your mother still have any of the quilts that I made for her?” the chatelaine asked.

Dimly Grace recalled an old, faded red and white coverlet with patchwork hearts, which she had slept with until Tonje had ripped it off her bed one day. She had taken scissors to it, cutting it to pieces before tossing them into the garbage can.

“I don’t know.” She folded it neatly once more and offered it to her. “It’s certainly a beautiful thing. You should keep it for yourself.”

“I’d like you to have it.” The chatelaine lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I know you don’t want anything from me.

But the nights grow cold here, and I find the woolen blankets that the clan uses a little too warm.

I also have dozens of quilts sitting in trunks in my room.

It would be nice if some of them were used. ”

She spoke very fast, and yet sounded forlorn.

For the first time Grace wondered what it had been like for her, trapped in this world with no escape, and no people to call her own.

She had been a young mother when she’d come here, and to be wrenched away from her family must have been horrifying.

Quilting had probably been her only distraction during the long, lonely nights.

In New York, Grace had crocheted scarves out of thrift-store yarn in her spare time so she had something to do at night that didn’t cost much money.

Tonje had been wrong about Inga. Was she misjudging her, too?

“Fine.” To keep from adding to her raging indecisiveness Grace would have agreed to anything. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Inga’s expression went from hopeful to concerned. “I am sorry for whatever I did to offend you, my dear. Maybe in time we can talk about that, but for now, just know that I’m here if you need anything at all.”

Talk about what her beloved Tonje had done to her, how she had terrified and bullied her, and the years she’d demanded almost every penny she earned. Yes, she was going to love that conversation. Grace wondered if there was any way to give herself amnesia.

“Of course, I will.” She went past her and stood by the door, hoping her grandmother would take the hint. “Have a good evening.”

As soon as the chatelaine left, Grace closed the door and braced herself against it.

For a long, terrible moment she imagined Tonje tearing to pieces the new quilt Inga had given her.

And really, why was she trying so hard to protect Inga from the truth about her darling daughter?

Maybe she deserved to know everything Tonje had done because of her disappearance.

There was just one problem with all of that.

I can’t do it because I’m not cruel like Mom. I can’t tell her the truth, any more than I can tear apart her quilt.

Grace glanced down at the pretty gown Olivia had given her.

It would catch everyone’s eye when she went back to the great hall.

She was sick of parading around like some great beauty.

Her outward appearance had earned her money, but it had never endeared anyone to her.

Men had wanted her because to them she had been some sort of bizarre trophy.

Women had schemed against her because they envied her looks and hated her for them.

Even her agent had disliked her, as she wouldn’t accept all of the many job offers she received.

Grace had also refused to work with designers who were infamous for treating models badly.

Her agent knew this, and yet more than once had accused her of being stuck-up.

No one likes the prettiest lass in the castle.

Time seemed to go fuzzy, and then Grace suddenly left the room without really wanting to.

She walked through the passages and out to the stables, where she went inside and closed the doors behind her.

She couldn’t stop herself as she climbed up a narrow set of stairs to a platform covered with hay bales.

What’s wrong with me?

’Tisnae you, lass.

A glow made her glance down to see some kind of white grit all over the floor. As she watched the grit began to move aside, forming lines as if an invisible finger were writing something in it.

T-o-r-r-a.

Just in front of Grace a thin white mist appeared, and the air turned icy cold. As it floated toward her she held up her hands, unconsciously imitating Inga’s gesture.

“Stop right there.” When the mist did just that, her jaw dropped. “You can hear me?”

Some of the grit popped up like tiny popcorn kernels, and Grace reflexively caught a few grains. They seemed to grow warmer as she gazed at them.

Aye, Mistress Johansen, I hear you, the female Scottish voice said inside her head, as loud as if the woman had been standing right next to her.

I’ve shared your body now and again since you came into the trap.

’Tis hard to speak with you unless you’re here, where I spent my last moments before the curse.

So that explained all her weird behavior. “You’re Torra? And you’re a ghost who possessed me?”

No’ exactly. My name, ’tis Torra, and long ago I became caught here when the McKeran Clan and Dun Talamh were cast into this place. That day my body turned to salt, and I became a roaming spirit.

Grace stared at the sparkling bits in her hand.

Aye, lass, ’tis all that’s left of my body. Because ’twas destroyed by the curse, I must live inside the walls and chambers of the stronghold. My gift permits me to possess any portion of Dun Talamh. If you’ll allow, I’ll show you another place and time.

The hayloft turned leafy green, and the air went from cool to frigid.

Grace’s breath puffed out and hung in white clouds as she looked around a huge, snowy forest. An old woman in a simple dark wool robe emerged from the trees, and smiled at her as her face began to grow younger.

Her features changed dozens of times before finally shifting into the young blonde woman Grace had seen watching her from the castle windows.

I’ve been reborn many times, but no’ because of my druid blood. ’Twas a magic inborn in me that no other of my kind shares.

She looked around them. “Is this place real?”

’Twas, long ago. While you hold the salt, I may share all my memories with you, lass.

The forest grew up around them, burned down and grew back over and over.

Grace watched a druid girl being cherished by her parents and then a handsome husband, only to be cast into slavery by a jealous rival.

After a terrible beating her body gave off a cloud of white mist, which floated away into the forest, traveling many miles before reaching another druid settlement.

There the mist surrounded a sleeping pregnant woman, and vanished into her swollen belly.

“What is all this?” Grace asked, her head spinning a little.

All druids may choose to be reborn in another body, Torra told her as she watched an older version of the baby gathering herbs. I learned that thanks to my magic I did not have to wait for death or journey to the Well of Stars to do the same.

“What happened to your old body?” Grace asked.

Everything became a blur for a second, and then they were back watching the sleeping slave girl, who gradually stopped breathing, turned dark gray, and dissolved into ash.

“I am never going to complain again about how much my life sucks.” Something occurred to her, and she said, “Torra, are you the reason I’ve been acting so out of character? Did you try to take me over? Did you make everything happen between me and Farlan?”

’Twas us both, Grace. You desired him from the first moment you beheld the lad.

I’ve wanted Farlan since I became trapped here with him and his clan, only he doesnae ken I’m here.

When I shared your body and your desires, I could touch and hold and kiss him.

I wouldnae steal your body or your life from you.

Grace should have been furious, but she understood that kind of longing. She also suspected that if Torra hadn’t taken over that her inhibitions would have prevented her from acting on her desires. It must have been terrible for Torra to be trapped here without any way to communicate with anyone.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, but you can’t continue sharing my body,” she told the spirit. “I don’t want to turn into a pile of ash, either.”

Aye, ’tisnae right to go on taking advantage. I’m glad Farlan has you as his lover. Now, ’tis something more I must tell you. My kind learned from the Fae long ago that one of their own had been banished to the mortal realm. ’Tis he that took my life and trapped all of us here.

A wave of exhaustion came over Grace, but she ignored it. “Then please, tell me. Who killed you and cursed the McKeran?”