“I will convince him.” Mila grabbed hold of the old woman’s hand. “And ye can come with us. There is Gran’s house in Edinburgh. I inherited it. Enough room for us all. Remember how grand it was?” The more she thought about it, the more excited and determined she became. “Tell me the ritual. The words. The rules. What powers it? Candles? Moon phase? Crystals?”
“I specifically worked it out to take mebackin time.” Lady MacDonald refused to look her in the eyes and held up a hand as though demanding silence.
“Surely we could change the wording?” Mila jumped to her feet. Her excitement refused to allow her to sit any longer. “Gran did that all the time. Reversed the ritual by tweaking it.”
“Yer Gran was more gifted than most.” Fidgeting among her pillows, the senior still refused to maintain eye contact. “It was fate, destiny, and blind-arsed luck that brought me back here. Pure and simple.” She stared down at her hands fisted in her lap. “I canna guarantee the thing would work again.” After a tense moment, she lifted her gaze and locked eyes with Mila. “And if it doesna work properly, it would kill us all.”
“We have to try.” Mila fought the urge to grab the stubborn lady by the shoulders and shake her. “They could come for him at any moment.”
Grandmother MacDonald passed a shaking hand across her eyes. “I told ye we couldna change his fate. He is destined to die.” Her voice broke, and she hissed out a wheezing sigh. “If his time is up, pray ye are with child. That is all we can do.”
“Like hell it is.” Mila leaned across the bed and shoved her face within an inch of the old woman’s nose. “Tell me that feckin’ spell. Now.”
“I dinna remember it,” Lady MacDonald whispered. As she slowly shook her head, her thin lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I swear on my beloved husband’s grave. I canna bring the words or the rite to mind. I swear it.”
“Ye lie.” Mila yearned to rage at her, bully her into telling what she needed to know. She wished she could reach inside the witch’s head and yank the information out by the roots. “Every good Wiccan memorizes her papers. We only reference them during rites as a safety measure.”
“Damn ye, child! I was never a good Wiccan.” The elder’s voice trembled with shame. “Francene, yer preciousgran, tried her best to teach me and help me hone my craft. Do ye not remember the many times I left her house in tears? Did ye never hear her tell me I should give up my silly dreams because I didna have the gift?”
“Ye musta learned something from her. Ye made it back here to find yer husband.”
“Francene sent me back after I begged her and swore I would attempt nothing regarding the craft ever again.” She threw both hands in the air, then let them fall back to her lap. “I think she wiped my memory clean whilst she was at it, because I dinna remember a feckin’ word of that ritual. All I know is that it worked.”
Mila cradled her head in both hands and pressed hard on her throbbing temples. Weariness and panic threatened to make her retch. “In other words, ye lied about destroying yer grimoire? About casting the spell yerself.”
“Aye. I did.” The senior plucked the coverlet up closer around her shoulders. “But now ye know the truth. Yer grandmother sent me back after she divined my destiny. She knew it to be the proper thing to do.”
“I canna bear this.” Mila turned away, frantic to figure out another means of escape. But where else could they go? And even if she found a place, could she convince Teague to come away with her? “I refuse to stand here and wait for them to come for him.”
“He willna leave here. Ye know that as well as I.”
“We canna hide him here at the keep. Walpole would tear the place apart a stone at a time to get his prey. I saw it in his eyes.” Mila paced back and forth, catching her thumbnail between her teeth.
“Dinna bite yer nails. Yer gran hated that.” Lady MacDonald fumbled around as though trying to change positions. “Help me to the window seat. There is something I wish to show ye.”
“Shall I carry ye?” Mila moved closer to the bed, knowing she could tote the tiny woman like a child.
“Ye will not!” The elder scooted to the edge and lifted both arms. “Let me hold fast to yer shoulders while ye wrap an arm around me to keep me steady.”
“Where are yer slippers? The floor might be cold to ye.”
Lady MacDonald glared up at her. “Forget the slippers. Did ye not say time is of the essence?”
“Fair point.” Mila leaned down and helped the elder slide an arm around her shoulders. “Steady now.”
Teague’s grandmother slid off the bed. She emitted a soft grunt with every pained step. Once they reached the cushioned window seat, she gave a relieved groan as Mila helped her settle down into the pillows. “Three years ago, I broke a hip. Never healed proper. I shouldha ordered that horse roasted for supper.”
Mila grabbed a blanket off the foot of the bed and tucked it around her. “Do ye need extra pillows?”
“No, lass. No matter what I do, the pain is the same. I have borne it so long, I wouldna ken how to act without it. ’Tis like we are old friends.” With a weary smile, she tapped on the window. “See that rise over there? The one that looks more blue than green because of the morning haze?”
Crouching, Mila squinted to see through the glare of the morning sun and the last of the mist burning away by its light. “That jagged one with the split down the middle?”
“Aye.” Lady MacDonald leaned back and pulled the blanket up higher around her shoulders. “That split is a ravine that leads to the cave where Teague was born. Get him there quick as ye can. It is thick with trees, ferns, and heather. They willna find him there.”
“Ye truly think he will go?” Mila liked the plan. Anything was better than nothing. Convincing Teague would be the problem.
“He will be close enough to feel as though he still watches over the keep. I dinna ken anything else he might come close to considering.”
