None of this made sense. Mila’s mind spun with dizzying confusion. Her stomach churned along with it. “How can ye be here? How can ye be Teague’s grandmother?”
“I came back in time to correct the heinous acts of my ancestors at Glencoe. But I always had the damnedest time with wording my spells, and I shot myself back several years too far.” She smiled and pulled in a deep, satisfied breath. “Aye, but the goddess meant it to be. I met the other half of my soul, and we loved ourselves two fine sons into being, even though I was almost forty years old when I got here.” Her smile faded and tears rolled down her withered cheeks. “But they all died. My husband. Our sons. Murdered by those of my blood. Just as history had told it.” She closed her eyes. “My precious Teague, goddess bless him. He was born that terrible night. His mother, her sister, and I made it to a cave, and she birthed him during a howling snowstorm. It was the only shelter we could find to escape the Campbells.” She sadly shook her head. “We canna save him, child. He dies this year. I know ye know this because he told me what ye said.” She took Mila’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “History canna be changed, child. I know this because I tried and failed. Destiny is destiny. There is nothing can be done except to love him whilst he is with us. Get with child, Mila. Quick as ye can, aye? At least that way, a bit of him will be left behind.”
Mila jerked her hand out of the old one’s grasp. The loss of so many loved ones overloaded her senses, smothered her with a mixture of grief and rage at the unfairness of it all. Gran. Her parents. Robbie’s mother.
Furious determination filled her. She refused to lose any more. “I will save him. I will change history.” She rose and stepped away from the bed. “Fate can go straight to hell. I will not allow it to take him from me.”
Lady MacDonald gave another sad shake of her head. “I see ye got Francene’s stubbornness as well.”
“He has promised not to go near Stirling the rest of this year, and I will convince him to steer clear of it next year too.” Mila eyed the tiny woman, seeing her as the bubbly, larger-than-life best friend of her grandmother’s from long ago. She cast a glance back at the door, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And ye are telling me ye have a spell that sends ye through time?”
“I did have.” The elder shuddered. “I destroyed it. My entire grimoire, in fact. I couldna risk it being found once I arrived in the 1600s.”
“Dinna play games with me,” Mila said. “Every good Wiccan memorizes her most powerful rituals and spells.”
“Why do ye want to know?” Lady MacDonald glared at her. “Do ye wish to desert my grandson? Leave him to spend his last days miserable from the loss of his lady love?”
That halted Mila like a slap in the face. It made her think of all the things she missed from the twenty-first century.
Then she admitted the truth: she missedthings. Conveniences. She might not have those here, but with Teague, she possessed so much more.
“I will not leave him as long as he lives.” She squared her shoulders. “But if what ye say is true, I willna stay here. Nor will I keep Robbie here with the bloodiest times of Scotland’s history yet to arrive.”
The matron pulled a square of linen out of her sleeve and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Once he is gone, I will give ye the spell with my blessing.” She sniffed and pressed the cloth to the end of her nose. “I understand why ye wouldna wish to stay.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “But if ye didna use a ritual to travel to this time, how the devil did ye get here?”
“Robbie and I were eating lunch above the Three Sisters overlook. A strange storm engulfed us, made us both dizzy and sick as could be. When the clouds lifted, we were here.” Mila hugged herself. The memory of the experience still made her queasy.
Lady MacDonald nodded. “Aye, lass. Time travel is not for the faint of heart. Even with a ritual, ’tis a miserable bugger I would never repeat.”
Something thumped against the bedchamber door, and muffled cursing followed. “Mila, lass! Can ye open this feckin’ door?”
Lady MacDonald chuckled. “Apparently, my grandson does not possess Bethia’s skill of balancing a tray so she can open a door. Ye best rescue the poor lad.”
Mila hurried to open the door. Teague’s dark expression as he angled his way into the room with a tray almost too wide for the entrance made her want to laugh.
“What have ye got there, boy?” Lady MacDonald called out. “Ye didna have to bring one of Greta’s worktables. A tray wouldha been just fine.”
He glared at her as he gingerly crossed the room without allowing the contents to slide off the tray. “Does my heart good to find ye in such high spirits, Grandmother.” His tone negated the sentiment. He eased the offering down across her lap, then stepped back while brushing his hands together. “Fried bread straight off the iron. Butter. Honey. And I took the liberty of bringing the jam and some parritch with cream, too.”
She gifted him with a smug tip of her head. “Thank ye, laddie. Well done, indeed.”
He turned to Mila. “So the two of ye had a fine visit, then?”
Before Mila could answer, Lady MacDonald chimed in as she spread butter across the toasty brown bread. “We did at that. She is eager to get with child so I might finally hold my great-grandchild afore I cross over.” She added a stern nod at Teague. “Ye best take care of that, laddie. Put yer back into it, aye?”
“I did not—” Mila’s cheeks burned as if set on fire. How dare that old woman say such a thing?
Teague grinned. “I promise ye, Grandmother, there is no lack of trying.” He hugged Mila to his side and kissed her flaming cheek. “Is there, my dove?”
Mila glared at him, then at his grandmother. “No. There is not. And that is all I will say on that verra private matter.”
Lady MacDonald pointed at the door with her butter knife. “On yer way out, send in Bethia. I shall never eat this abundance of food.” She winked at Teague. “Thank ye, laddie.” Her attention shifted to Mila. “And I enjoyed meeting ye, child. I do believe ye two were destined for one another.” Her expression turned somber. “And as we all know, destiny canna be changed. Ye two may go now.”
“Aye, but there are stronger forces than destiny, m’lady.” Mila dipped a curt nod and led the way to the door. She would prove the old Wiccan wrong and crow about it the rest of her days. “Just ye wait and see, Mistress Cora.”
“Beg pardon?” Teague said.
Mila smiled. “Nothing, my love. ’Tis a wee bet between myself and Grandmother MacDonald.”
