“Aye,” he answered seriously. “A Highland lass has gone missing from Skye nearly every year, stretching back to medieval times. Some legends claim the fairies are responsible or the forest children are playing tricks, but maybe it’s as simple as a rogue Royal Army soldier running off with a local girl or a warring clan come to exact revenge. Scotland has a complicated history.”
Much like my fast-developing feelings for Harris, it seemed.
“And the land lends itself to mysteries and imagination.”
“It does, indeed.” Harris’s gaze held mine for a long moment before he turned away, heading farther up the path. He disappeared into the mist, and it forced me to move quickly to follow him or be left behind.
I couldn’t help thinking about all the women who’d gone missing.
Was he right? That a higher percentage of women went missing from here than other places? I cursed again the lack of data service for miles around. Before the train from Inverness had even stopped at the last station before the island, I’d lost service and had been unable to access the internet or even send a text message. I’d have to resort to using a local phone to call home, which wasn’t something I planned to do often anyway.
Mom wasn’t happy that I’d committed the entire summer to studying abroad. Her expectation had been that I would spend the summer at home, working at the local coffee shop and volunteering at the retirement home she and my dad owned. Because she ran the accounts and payroll while my dad spent his time on his next investment project, she always begged for any good help she could get. I didn’t even think she’d have been upset if I’d skipped going to university altogether in favor of working full time at the retirement facility.
I loved chatting with the elderly residents at the facility—many of them I was as close to as my own biological grandparents, and hearing their life stories always made me smile—but I knew there was moreout therecalling my name.
I hadn’t known wheretherewas, not until the Study Abroad on the Isle of Skye advertisement had come across my screen last winter. Struggling with my advanced geometry class and desperate for a break, I’d filled out the inquiry form on the website, and things had moved quickly from there.
Six months later, I was on a plane to Edinburgh, feeling exhilarated with the possibilities before me for the summer.
Was Leith Hall all I’d imagined it to be?
Notexactly.
But meeting locals like Keats and Harris made this experience priceless. The brooding neighbor down the loch didn’t hurt either.
Alder’s cottage seemed to part the mist then, the quiet shores of Dunvegan nearly licking at the crumbling granite boulders.
“Thanks for walking me home. I think I’ve got it from here.”
“Are you sure? It’s easy to get twisted around when the clouds are heavy like this.”
“Around the loch and through the graveyard—I’m just a hop, skip, and a jump from Leith.”
He nodded, eyes hooded as he took me in. His hands took hold of my shoulders, pulling me closer a moment before whispering in my ear, “See you soon,Fable.”
The way his accent curled around each letter of my name made every one of my nerves hum.
I waved once before he ducked into the mist and vanished from my line of sight. A chill ran through me. It occurred to me howat home Harris made me feel. Warmth emanated from his gaze whenever he watched me. I was reminded then of all of Leith Hall’s vast, cold loneliness. My only interactions were with the dogs and Keats, and none made for good tea companions. A vision of Alder, teacup poised in his large hand as the gruff edge of his voice wove Scottish myths and fairy tales, overtook me.
My thoughts lingered on the three rough-around-the-edges men I’d be spending my summer with. Leith could use a warning label that brooding men and dark secrets clung to its walls heavier than the mist outside the iron-paned windows.
My footsteps slowed as the graveyard appeared out of the mist. I admired a particularly tall statue in the back, its edges worn and crawling with a layer of verdant green. My eyes climbed over the darkened stone, wondering if it really had been my eyes playing tricks with the mist when I’d thought I’d seen the ghost of a little girl.
I took a few more cautious steps around small and crumbling headstones, eyes scanning the dates as I looked for any that might be about the age of Annie, the little girl who’d fallen victim to her mother’s fear and hysteria. My heart ached for the loss, even if it was no more than a four-hundred-year-old ghost story.
I tripped over a piece of headstone that’d broken off and fallen into the path. Righting myself against the nearest headstone made me cringe, especially when flakes of the fragile stone dissolved to dust in my palm. I wondered how many of the stones could even be washed clean so they were legible enough to make out names and dates.
I scanned the path ahead of me in search of any other rogue headstones. As I crossed the graveyard and Leith Hall towered in the distance, a tall figure caught my eye. A long dark cloak appeared to hang from the broad shoulders, and a distinct shuffle to the gait made it look as if the form was floating, not walking. I squinted through the mist, past the towering gravestone with what I could now make out as angel’s wings poised to fly flanking either side of the spire that shot into the air.
I took a few cautious steps forward, eyes rewinding to the spot I’d last seen the cloaked form. In place of the lingering apparition now stood a very tall and brooding Alder, his sights set on me. I frowned, wondering if he always looked so angry or if it was just my presence that brought out that side of him.
“Good morning.” I attempted to match the angry set of his jaw with cool civility.
“Why were you with him?”
“Him?” I groused. “Who?”
“You know.” His eyes burned with annoyance. “Don’t fuck with me.”
