Emma was starting to think Gerald might be a little too involved in that sort of thing, but she didn’t think that was something Nathaniel’s brother needed to know.
“The other thing is, my mum always talked about someone named Moraig,” Gavin said thoughtfully. “She was a MacLeod woman who lived in a little house near Benmore castle. Everyone always claimed she was a witch.”
“I don’t believe in witches,” Emma said without hesitation.
“Neither do I,” Gavin said wryly, “but don’t tell my brother the dreamer. I’m sure Moraig was nothing more than a woman who liked to keep all that rubbish about Highland magic being in the forests alive. It’s just tourist stuff, don’t you think?”
“Why would I think anything else?” Emma asked with a light laugh. “Got to keep them coming somehow, right?”
“Absolutely.” He was silent for a moment or two. “Have you talked to Nat lately?”
“He’s out of range,” Emma said, hoping she wasn’t interfering where she shouldn’t. “I’m sure he’ll get back in touch with you the moment he can. He’s talked about you a lot.”
“It was good to reconnect,” Gavin said. “I don’t want to lose that. You only have one set of siblings, I guess.”
Fortunatelywas what almost came out of her mouth, but she stopped the word just in time. Her siblings were who they were and they did what they had to, but that didn’t mean she had to like them.
“On second thought, I don’t think I’ll fly over unless you need me,” Gavin said slowly. “Nat won’t like to have me nanny him. But you’ll let me know, right?”
“I will,” she said. “Thank you, Gavin.”
“No problem. Keep my brother honest.”
She was more concerned about keeping him alive, but she agreed that she would before she hung up and came to terms with the things she’d just learned.
A girl named Ceana was listed as one of Malcolm MacLeod’s bastards. She had been born in 1372. Nathaniel’s mother was named Ceana and she had apparently been an orphan in the Benmore village at age fifteen.
Coincidence?
There was only one way to find out.
•••
Anhour later, she was past frustrated with things she couldn’t seem to control.
She looked for the dozenth time at the page from Jamie’s book that she’d ripped out. It was full of holes, but that might have been because she’d spent the past hour first looking at it pointedly, then repeating the numbers 1387 out loud until she’d been tempted to shout them, then taking a pen she’d been using to make notes with and stabbing it through those numbers with more enthusiasm than she likely should have used.
A knock sounded on her door, almost sending her pitching forward onto the floor. She set her pen aside very carefully and deliberately, then went to open the door.
Mr. Campbell stood there.
She was so surprised to see him, she hardly knew what to say. “Um, hello” was the best she could manage.
He took off his cap and smiled. “Sorry to startle you, Miss Baxter,” he said, with a nod. “I went to see the young Himself and he sent me here. Said you’d be interested in what I have.”
“Patrick sent you?” she asked blankly.
He nodded. “Said you’d be interested.”
“Given your extensive collection of wonderful things and your knowledge of blacksmithing,” she said without hesitation, “I am definitely interested in anything you have.” She stepped back. “Please come in.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said. He bent and pulled something out of a leather satchel at his feet. He handed it to her haft first.
It was the dagger from his collection.
Nathaniel’s dagger.
“I know you admired this and so did the young Master Nathaniel,” Mr. Campbell said with a smile. “I thought perhaps you both would like to tend it for me for a fortnight or so. I’m off to see cousins in Florida, you see, and don’t particularly want to leave it in my shop.”
