Page 5 of To Wed a Witch (Reluctant Brides #3)

S ìne made her way along the familiar path to her cottage.

Dawn was still hours away, and she'd slipped from the Keep like a thief in the night, unable to bear another moment within those suffocating stone walls.

Her father would be furious when he discovered her gone, but she needed the peace of her own small sanctuary to gather her scattered thoughts.

The cottage sat in a clearing at the forest's edge, its thatched roof and whitewashed walls looking like something from a fairy tale.

Smoke still curled from the chimney where she'd banked the fire before leaving for the ill-fated market day.

Her goats bleated a welcome from their pen, and the chickens rustled sleepily in their coop.

Home. For now, at least.

Sìne pushed through the wooden gate and breathed deeply of the herb-scented air. "Paisley? I'm home!" she called softly, not wanting to wake the household if her maid had already retired.

Rosemary and thyme bordered the path, while lavender and chamomile crowded the beds near the door.

This garden was her life's work. Every plant was carefully chosen for its healing properties, every row planned and tended with loving care.

"Aidyn, my love, I'm here!" she whispered as she approached the cottage door, her heart already lighter at the mere thought of who awaited her inside.

To think she was to leave it all behind for a man who saw her as nothing more than a purse with legs. She shook her head at the thought, remembering whispered conversations overheard while the Keep servants thought her sleeping:

"His clan's near starving, they say. Been looking for a rich wife for months."

"Aye, and desperate enough to try anything. Remember the scandal with Lady MacNeil? They say he tried to kidnap her to force a marriage, but her husband put a stop to it."

"No wonder he's willing to take the witch. No sane woman would wed into a ruined clan, but perhaps he thinks she's daft enough not to ken the difference."

That last comment she'd overheard had cut deeper than she'd expected. Was that truly what Bhaltair Ferguson thought of her? That she was too addled by madness to realize she was being used?

Sìne had always known her reputation made her undesirable to most men, but she had hoped Bhaltair was different. The moment she saw him, she had felt a strong connection to him. His reaction to her demonstrated that the feeling was mutual.

She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. "Fool," she muttered. "Ye're nothing but a means to an end, and the sooner ye accept that, the better."

With a deep sigh, she opened the door to her cottage and crossed the threshold.

***

"W HAT DO YE MEAN MY betrothed is not here?" Bhaltair's voice carried a dangerous edge that made even Laird MacKay flinch.

They stood in his study where MacKay conducted his morning business, weak sunlight filtering through the narrow windows.

Bhaltair had risen early, hoping to break his fast with Sìne and perhaps ease some of the obvious distress he'd seen in her eyes the night before.

Instead, he'd been informed that her chamber was empty, her bed unslept in.

"She's... she sometimes goes wandering off alone to clear her head," MacKay replied carefully, his voice strained. "I'm sure she meant no disrespect. The lass has always been independent-minded."

"Independent-minded," Bhaltair repeated, his tone flat.

"She disappeared in the night after being chased by an angry mob, and ye call it independent-minded?

I call it dangerous and foolish! I had hoped to spend a moment getting to ken her first, perhaps ease her mind of any fears.

" Bhaltair began to pace the small chamber. "So where do ye think she is?"

MacKay shifted uncomfortably, clearly reluctant to say more. "Well... she's most likely back at her cottage in the forest, but perhaps it would be better if I sent men to fetch her. The forest can be... treacherous for those unfamiliar with its paths."

"No." Bhaltair replied with a grim expression. "I'll need a guide, but my men and I will fetch her home."

MacKay's face had gone pale, and he looked as if he wanted to protest further, but something in Bhaltair's expression brooked no opposition. "Of course," he said finally, sounding resigned. "Perhaps after the midday meal—"

"Now, Laird MacKay. Before she takes it into her head to disappear entirely."

***

W ITHIN THE HOUR, A small party made its way into the forest. MacKay's men looked nervous at the prospect of entering what they clearly considered cursed woodland, but none dared voice their concerns with Bhaltair glowering at them from his destrier's back.

The mist had lifted somewhat, but the forest still held an otherworldly quality that made the horses dance nervously and the men mutter prayers under their breath.

Ancient trees towered overhead, their branches so thick they blocked most of the morning light.

Strange sounds echoed from the depths with bird calls that seemed almost human, rustling that might have been wind or might have been something else entirely.

Bhaltair understood why the villagers called it haunted. There was a presence here, something watching from the shadows between the trees. But he felt no fear, only a growing certainty that whatever dwelt in these woods meant no harm to those who approached with peaceful intent.

The guide led them to a gated pathway where a cottage appeared through the trees, and Bhaltair's breath caught in his throat.

He'd expected some ramshackle hut befitting a supposed witch.

Instead, he found a charming dwelling that looked as if it had grown from the forest floor itself.

Neat gardens surrounded it on all sides, heavy with herbs and vegetables.

Smoke curled invitingly from the chimney, and somewhere nearby he could hear the gentle bleating of goats.

This was no witch's hovel. This was a home built with love and tended with care.

"Stay here," he commanded his men as he dismounted near the garden gate. "And keep quiet. I'll not have her frightened away again."

***

T HE MORNING WAS BEAUTIFUL and bright as Sìne worked her way through half the vegetable garden before her racing thoughts began to calm.

The familiar rhythm of weeding, tilling the earth, and harvesting plants helped center her in a way nothing else could.

If her plan was to succeed, she needed to pack as many provisions as possible.

"At least when I'm gone, someone else can benefit from the harvest," she murmured, sitting back on her heels to survey her work. She paused, realizing she was speaking aloud to empty air again.

"Everyone talks to themselves, don't they?" Sìne muttered out loud.

"Not usually, lass," replied a voice from behind her.

Sìne screamed and spun around from her gardening, instinctively grabbing a clump of dirt and hurling it at the intruder. To her amazement, the tall figure dodged nimbly aside, and she caught a glimpse of white teeth flashing in a grin.

Her heart stopped.

"Laird Ferguson?" She scrambled to her feet, brushing soil from her hands as she stared at him in disbelief. "Are ye real?"

"As real as can be, but please call me Bhaltair," he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Is that who ye really are? Perhaps ye're just a voice from the mist or an apparition taking the appearance of the laird?" She took a cautious step closer, as if she might reach out and test if he was real.

Bhaltair's grin widened. "I am he, flesh and blood, and not an apparition, I assure ye."

The morning light caught the brown highlights in his dark hair, and Sìne found herself staring at the way his simple tunic stretched across his broad shoulders.

He was even more imposing in daylight than he'd been by firelight, but there was something about his manner—relaxed, almost playful—that set her at ease despite her embarrassment.

"Then what are ye doing here?" she asked, suddenly aware of how she must look and even more concerning was the fact Aidyn was inside the cottage and Bhaltair's presence here could ruin everything.

She began almost trying to usher him away from the cottage.

"No one comes this far into the haunted forest."

"Haunted?" One dark eyebrow rose skeptically.

"Aye, well, that's what most people believe," she replied nervously.

"I am not most people."

She studied his face, taking in the steady gaze, the slight smile that softened what could have been a harsh expression. "I can see that. But why are ye here?"

"I came to fetch ye. Ye gave me no chance to speak to ye so we can ken one another."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "Oh. I see. I suppose that was... rather rude of me. But perhaps if ye return to the Keep, I can join ye there... later."

Noticing her obvious nervousness with his presence, Bhaltair gentled his voice. "Sìne, I ken this arrangement is not what either of us planned, but we're to be wed in mere days. It seems wise that we should at least be able to come to an understanding."

Sìne looked up at him, surprised by his reasonableness. She'd expected anger at her disappearance. Instead, he stood patiently in her garden as if he had all the time in the world.

She caught sight of his men waiting beyond her gate.

"Aye, well, that does sound reasonable, but unfortunately I will need some time to ready myself to receive ye.

If ye and yer men remain out here, I could fetch some cider and fresh bannocks.

Mayhap ye can take yer leave and we can continue this back at the Keep. "

Dugald's face immediately brightened at the mention of fresh bannocks, and he took a hopeful step forward. The other men shifted eagerly, clearly tempted by the offer of food and drink after their ride through the misty forest.