But Irene was wrong. She wasn’t extraordinary. She wasn’t an adventurer or a warrior. She was just a dull woman from the twenty-first century who loved books, antiques, and her quiet life. Whatever ‘choice’ Irene expected her to make, she’d backed the wrong horse. Izzy would choose safety and comfort over uncertainty and risk any day of the week. Whatever Irene MacAskill had in mind, she could choose someone else.
When she got home, Izzy thought dreamily, she’d curl up on her sofa, box of chocolates on her lap, something binge-worthy on the TV, then shut out the world and forget this whole terrifying experience. Then, come Monday morning, she’d go to work at her safe, boring job and never again complain about the customers. Everything would be back as it should be.
And yet, she didn’t feel quite as relieved as she expected. She felt slightly...disappointed. But that couldn’t be right. Shewantedto go home. She wanted to go back to her safe, normal life. Didn’t she?
Will ye be the woman who let fear hold her back, or will ye be the woman who saw through the fog and dared to journey to her destiny?
Izzy thought about this. She didn’t know what Irene MacAskill had meant about destiny but she understood all too well what she meant about letting fear hold her back.
“Can I see that sword?” she said suddenly.
“Sword?”
“The broken one the villager gave you.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me. Please?”
Slowly, Magnus reached behind him and brought out the broken sword. The blade had snapped off, leaving only a few inches of steel sticking out of the hilt. But if she was right, those few inches would be all she needed.
She took it two-handed, surprised at its weight. Magnus watched her with a bemused expression as she held it close to her face and tilted it this way and that to catch the lantern light.
“What are ye doing, lass?”
“Looking for a maker’s mark.”
If there was one thing she knew about, it was antiques. She’d watched enough shows on TV and perused enough antique shops and flea markets to know that back in the day artisans often marked their work to show off their expertise and to let everyone know who’d made it. She hoped fifteenth century blacksmiths were the same.
She turned the blade this way and that and the light suddenly caught on a mark near the top, where the blade met the hilt. It looked like an elongated S with two dots underneath.
“Here!” she said excitedly. “Here it is!” She held it out for Magnus to see. “The maker’s mark!”
“Aye, I see it,” Magnus rumbled. “But how is that helpful?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Only one blacksmith will use this particular mark. Find him, and you ask him who paid him to make this sword. I doubt outlaws would be able to afford a weapon like this. But a member of the nobility who is backing them? Well, that’s another matter.”
Magnus stared at her, his blue eyes dark. Izzy felt a flush creep up her neck and was glad of the dim light in the barn.
Finally he said, “Ye have a quick mind and keen eyes, lass. I wouldnae have thought of that.” He took the hilt back and looked at the maker’s mark again. “This could be the evidence I need—if I can find the blacksmith who made it and get him to talk.”
Izzy already had an answer for that. “We just need to find a blacksmith, any blacksmith, who is part of their guild. They all know each other’s marks so any one of them could tell us who made this one.”
Magnus cocked his head. His curly hair, damp with sweat, had fallen around his face. The way the shadows caught the contours of his cheekbones made him look devastatingly handsome. “We?”
Izzy dragged her attention away from his face. “What?”
“Ye said ‘we’.Weneed to find a blacksmith. Last I heard, ye were desperate to go home.”
“I was. I am.” She huffed in frustration. “Look, at least it’s a start, isn’t it?”
“It is. But I’m surprised a twenty-first century lass would know so much about Highland weapons.”
Sheshrugged. “I read. And watch TV.”
He rubbed his chin, then put down the broken blade, covering it with a blanket. “All right. After I take ye to Dun Saith, I’ll track down this blade’s maker.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “BeforeDun Saith, not after. We need to move quickly, before this Lord McRae gets any word that we might be onto him.”
