“The choice of what path ye will tread,” she replied. “The choice of who ye want to be. Who ye want to become. Ye are trying to live in two worlds, lad. This one—” She gestured at the room around them. “And yer true one. But ye canna live in both. I think ye know that.”
Anger suddenly flared in Niall’s gut. Who was this old woman to lecture him? She didn’t know the first thing about him!
But as much as he wanted to dismiss her, he had a gnawing feeling that she was speaking the truth. He’d been walking a tightrope for so long now that he no longer saw the drop on either side. But it was still there, ready to swallow him whole should he falter.
“Thank ye for yer wisdom, Lady MacAskill,” he replied, his tone as polite as he could manage but still holding a hint of sarcasm.
He finished his drink and set the empty goblet on the table. The burn of the whisky was comforting, a familiar sensation that was more than welcome. He was about to walk away from this unsettling woman when she placed a hand atop his and gazed up at him. He fought the urge to step back under her commanding stare.
“Ye are not alone, Niall Campbell,” she said softly. “No matter what ye may think. Someone will come who will help ye find the path ye were meant to tread. One who willseeye, Niall Campbell.” She gave his arm another squeeze. “Yer choice is almost here, my dear,” she said. “I hope ye make the right one. History, the future, and the balance itself, may depend on it.”
With that, she walked away, quickly swallowed by the crowd. Niall stared after her, his thoughts whirling. Irene MacAskill. The name was like a bell tolling in his mind, but he still couldn’t think why. He shook his head, annoyed that he would let her affect him so.
Get a hold of yourself, he told himself.You have a job to do.
Pushing thoughts of Irene MacAskill out of his mind, he smoothed his features to the cocky half-smile people expected of him, an expression that suggested he was privy to a secret that others weren’t, and snagged another goblet of whisky from a tray.
Across the room, he spotted Alistair MacTavish, a younger son of Baron MacTavish. The red-haired man was talking loudly with a group of cronies. Niall smiled to himself. MacTavish was another of the people he’d come here to meet. If he couldn’t get close to Lady Murray, MacTavish would have to do. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a total right-off after all. He tucked one arm behind his back and sauntered towards the group of men, letting the noise and bustle envelop him and wash away all thoughts of eccentric old women and their odd predictions.
Chapter 3
Charlie stumbled asshe stepped through the arch and put out a hand to stop herself from falling. She staggered sideways and her hand brushed against a smooth stone wall. She leaned against it, drawing in long, deep breaths as waves of dizziness rampaged through her. She felt as though she’d just jumped from a great height although all she’d done was take a few steps through a door. Was she coming down with a cold or something?
Finally, the dizziness passed. Charlie pushed herself off from the wall and looked around. She was in a dim hallway covered with dark wood paneling and plain floorboards. From somewhere deeper into the building, she could hear the sounds of music and merriment.
Yes, this must definitely be the shop owner’s house,she thought.And I’m about to gatecrash their party!
Still, what choice did she have if she wanted to be let out?
“Hello?” she called. “I don’t mean to trespass, but I got locked in your shop! Can you come and let me out? Hello?”
She waited a few seconds, but when there was no answer, walked a few tentative steps along the corridor. A closed door stood at the end and the music sounded louder beyond it.
She knocked on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
There was still no response, so Charlie turned the handle, opened the door, and poked her head through. Beyond lay another hallway, this one much larger and much grander than the one she’d come from. The wood paneling continued on the walls, but here it had been burnished to a golden sheen that reflected the lights of hundreds of candles burning in a chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
