Ceana finished her additional supper with the enthusiasm of one who had apparently not eaten recently. She gulped theremainder of her ale, then set everything down on the floor at her feet. She glanced carefully at her surroundings, shivered, then looked at Moraig.
“I must repay you.”
“No need,” Moraig said easily. “Highland hospitality, my gel.”
Ceana shook her head. “I cannot, mistress. I cannot take charity.”
Moraig suppressed a smile at theand because you’re a witchthat had been added not entirely under Ceana’s breath. She understood that as well. She considered for a bit, then nodded, as if she’d just hit upon the perfect solution. “I have some mending that needs seeing to, if you can do that.”
Ceana closed her eyes briefly. “Witchly items?”
“Even a witch must have warm things for winter,” Moraig said mildly. She paused for a moment or two, then smiled. “There is a lad coming from the village in another day or so to help with my roof if that won’t trouble you. Perhaps you two can discuss pleasant things whilst you’re working.”
Ceana wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think I can take advantage of your hospitality that long.”
“Winter is hard upon us, my gel. No need to rush off until you’ve your feet under you. Your future will wait for a bit longer until you have. Perhaps you might see what the village holds for you in the spring.”
Ceana looked at her with large, haunted eyes. “The village is gone, mistress.”
“The one near the keep is,” Moraig agreed, “but another has taken its place a bit farther down the way.” She smiled. “And then there is the wide world beyond that to explore. I’ll show you, when you’ve rested.”
“I feel as if I’m dreaming.”
“’Tis Scotland, lass. What else can you expect?”
Ceana closed her eyes, let out her breath slowly, then looked at Moraig. “I think I might do well not to expect anything at the moment.” She hesitated. “Who is the lad, if I can ask?”
“Just one with a good heart,” Moraig said. “Fleeing an oppressive father, or so I gather, and in need of something to do. Archie is his name, if I remember it correctly. Perhaps you might understand what drives him.”
“I imagine I might,” Ceana said with a yawn.
Moraig smiled to herself as she rose. She gathered Ceana’s supper things up and took them into the kitchen, supposing that room was also something the poor thing didn’t need to investigate at the moment.
She soon saw her guest settled on a pallet in front of the fire, then settled herself in her own chair with a fine candle and a good book. If Ceana stared at both as if she’d never seen their like before, well, that was something for the gel to think about later as well.
She looked up from her book eventually to find the girl at her feet sound asleep. There were still lines of tension on her face, but perhaps that was to be expected. One didn’t travel as far as Ceana Fergusson had obviously come without having the journey take its toll.
In time, though, those lines faded. Sleep was the great healer. With enough time and good fortune, it could also give one dreams, which was perhaps the most healing thing of all.
Moraig MacLeod, witch for a clan that had once been and would be again, closed her book, and leaned her head back against her chair. She would seek her bed eventually, but for the moment she was content to simply sit in front of her fire, listen to the rain on her roof, and allow herself the pleasure of wondering what the future would hold for that dreaming lass at her feet. She would do whatever she could to nudge things along, of course, but time would do the rest.
It certainly had in thepast.
Chapter 1
PRESENT-DAY SCOTLAND ON A CRISP FALL MORNING...
Scotlandin my dreams.
Emmaline Baxter took a firmer grip on the key to her rental car, looked around at the rain-drenched everything, and congratulated herself on successfully getting herself to her present location with her luggage, her sanity, and her person intact. It had been a long journey, in more ways than one, but as anyone with any romance in her soul knew, when you were taking charge of your life and running full tilt into your perfect future, you ran to Scotland.
She stood still, lifted her face to the sky, and savored. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been rained on enough over the course of her life, but this was Scottish rain. It felt different somehow, as if it were the sort of stuff that had fallen on centuries of history and bagpipers and guys wearing kilts and carrying swords.
It was magical.
That was actually a fairly accurate word to describe her trip so far. She hadn’t had any trouble flying from Seattle to London, the train north had been on time, and her reserved car had been waiting for her in Inverness as promised. Getting from Inverness to the village of Benmore had been a bit of an adventure, but she supposed that was due more to weariness than it was to being set free with keys to a car designed to be driven on the wrong side of the road. She hadn’t encountered anything more dangerous than the sight of fluffy sheep grazing on hillsides as she’d wended her way north. The day had been a success so far.
She was, however, starting to see the smallest of clouds on the horizon, and it had everything to do with the hotel she was looking at presently.
