As he trudged up the beach to retrieve his clothes, he was surprised to see a figure standing on the shore before him.
Betty was watching him with a familiar spark in her eyes, leaning on the cane he had carved for her, her head cocked.
“Yes?” he barked.
She knew his temper well, there was no pretense here.
“Och, ye think I have come to speak to ye, do ye?” she asked, her casual stance never changing. She was not afraid of him, never had been.
“What do ye want then, woman?” he asked.
The rain had stopped, and a cool breeze blew between them. The light folds of her dress billowed behind her like a fairy’s wings.
“I’m in search of a flower,” Betty said, glancing down the length of the beach and back.
“A flower?” he echoed, rolling his eye. “And what kind of flower could ye possibly find on these shores?”
“Och, ye must ken them all, I’d wager, what with all the attention ye pay to the beauty of the world.”
Magnus scoffed as he stopped to pick up his léine, pulling it over his shoulders and feeling the fabric cling to his wet skin.
“It is a rare flower. It only blooms at night,” Betty continued, the white orb on her cane seeming to glow from the moonlight, even though the night sky above them was pitch black.
“Can yer apprentice nae fetch it for ye? An old woman shouldnae be out here alone at night,” he remarked, knowing that the comment would infuriate her.
“An old woman? I’m more capable than ye, lad. Ye’re one to talk, never leavin’ yer castle save for a pile of logs or a war ye cannae win.”
“Och, aye? Well, I can find ye a better laird if it’ll help ye.”
“Ah, ye can never be rid of me, Master Magnus. We both ken that.”
He stomped past her. Her words were true enough, but he didn’t need to hear them just then. She had been part of his life for so long. Despite her strange counsel and cryptic prophecies, he valued her point of view.
“It’ll need protectin’,” she called to his back.
Despite his determination to return to the castle and ignore her bizarre warnings, he came to a standstill, and he found himself turning back to face her.
“What’s that?”
“The flower,” she stated. “It’ll need protectin’ before it can bloom. Special care must be given for it to reach its full potential.”
Her wrinkled face was lit by the distant torches of the keep, her eyes almost black as she looked at him.
“Much sought after is the flower,” she continued. “Many predators might steal it away for their own use. It must be sheltered at all costs.”
Magnus frowned at her, not so much of a simpleton as to miss her meaning. “The lass will be gone in a few days, and then she will nay longer be me problem.”
Betty smiled. “I was talkin’ about a flower, Magnus. Ye have the lass on yer mind, then?”
He threw up a hand and dismissed her, turning angrily to walk back to the keep. The usual activities that he had always relied on to calm his mind had ceased to work, and he was beyond frustrated. He wondered if an entire bottle of whisky might do the job.
As he walked back inside, he found his man-at-arms waiting for him, leaning casually against a wall.
Kenneth looked him up and down, raised his eyebrows, and frowned. “Ye havenae needed a late-night swim for some years, M’Laird.”
“What would ye ken about it? Up through the night, are ye?” Magnus bellowed, happy to take out some of his annoyance on his friend.
“Did it do ye any good?” Kenneth asked, entirely unphased by Magnus’s foul mood.
