Prologue
Greetings to ye from the glorious Highlands of Scotland—in whatever century or realm ye happen to claim as yer own. In case this is our first meeting, I am Mairwen, Master Time Weaver. In truth, I am Master of all the Divine Weavers, ordained by the goddesses Bride and Cerridwen to ensure that the blessed Highland Veil remains intact and that the many worlds and planes of time that it separates remain separated, except for a few friendly visits here and there to unite fated mates.
Ye see, fated mates experience the strongest of all love bonds, and those love bonds strengthen the weave of the Veil, protecting it against those who would destroy it to spread chaos throughout every known reality. Darkness always seeks to take control. It must be kept at bay.
My apprentice, Keeva, helps me stay up to date with each world’s latest discoveries. Things that catch a mortal’s eye and lures them—beg pardon—I mean, entices them to visit Seven Cairns in the Highlands of Scotland. These effective enticements tend to change throughout the centuries.
At first glance, ye would think Seven Cairns no more than a quaint Scottish village known for its healing waters, but the Council of Weavers and I know differently. It is a portal, a carefully managed gateway, a door through the intricate yet powerful Veil that separates this world from the next, and the next, and so on through the untold layers of worlds, moments in time, and mystical places only thought to be legendary locations with legendary creatures. But that’s the thing about legends—there is often more truth to them than you might think.
So if ye find yerself compelled to visit a wee quiet village in the Highlands, dinna ignore yer intuition. The blessed Highland Veil could be in need of yer help and calling out to ye.
Chapter
One
Seven Cairns
Highlands of Scotland
Early Spring 2026
Mairwen shuffled the worn tarot cards. All the while, the holy water in the scrying bowl rippled as though eager to show her its secrets. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows of the Divine Weaver’s meeting hall, cutting across the eons-old table and enlivening the liquid, cleansing it to bring forth only visions of light and repel any threat of darkness. She welcomed the light’s blessing on her endeavors, for this particular reunion of souls rent asunder by time and worlds had proven to be most difficult.
Grand Chieftain Mathison Shadowmist, once the mighty ruler of the Ninth Realm, the realm of the shifters, had sought relief from his accursed existence for centuries, and the Divine Weavers of Seven Cairns had yet to solve the cruel riddle foisted upon him by one of the clans he once ruled.
But they were getting closer. Mairwen felt it in her bones.
Her ancient oak chair softly creaked as she leaned forward and gently blew across the divination waters while holding the tarot cards to her heart. “Speak to me, my lovelies. Show me the path to help the chieftain and thereby strengthen the Highland Veil.”
Then she dealt the cards in her preferred spread, the layout that seldom failed to reveal to her that which she sought. As she turned the cards over, the waters swirled as though gently stirred, then went as dark as the blackest ink. Narrowing her eyes, she focused her disapproval on the scrying liquid. “Dinna be stubborn.” She glared at the bowl, unleashing the fullness of her energies. “I tire of this quest. Reveal the path to me. Now.”
The waters remained dark.
“Fine.” She turned her attention to the trio of cards she had placed in front of the bowl. All were upright, and all symbolized hope, but a hope that had to be earned. The Hanged Man, Strength, and Temperance—the holy trinity of hanging on and patiently waiting for positive change. She turned over an additional card and breathed somewhat easier. The Star. The most direct symbol of hope. At least there was that.
Wearied by the less-than-helpful results, she sagged back in the throne-like chair that was her right as the Master of all the Divine Weavers. Grand Chieftain Shadowmist would arrive soon, as he always did, month after month, hoping those of Seven Cairns had found his fated mate, the woman foretold to break his curse. The disappointment in the man’s icy blue eyes always cut through her like a shard of glass. She had so hoped to give him better news this time.
“Mairwen!” Her apprentice Keeva burst into the room with Bedelia, the Master of the Love Weavers, gasping and struggling to keep up with the youngling’s energetic pace. “Bedelia found her! She is certain of it this time.”
While refreshing and uplifting, Keeva’s youthful exuberance could also be jarring, especially when it echoed off the rafters. “Keeva.” Mairwen used the tone she knew her apprentice would recognize as a gentle request to calm herself. “Decorum.”
The apprentice immediately slowed and tipped an apologetic nod. “Forgive me, Mairwen, but we have searched so verra long for Grand Chieftain Shadowmist’s other half.”
Mairwen straightened in her chair, hoping this wasn’t yet another false lead. The Love Weavers, the discoverers of lonely, fractured souls, had searched for the woman for centuries, only pausing when other fated mates’ spirits cried out to be reunited with their other halves. Even the other Weavers—the Divine Nine of Spell, Tranquility, Time, Dream, Conflict, Curse, Emptiness, Nightmare, and Hate—had offered their assistance to solve the chieftain’s riddle, but to no avail. The curse placed upon the mighty Shadowmist was the strongest barrier the Council of Weavers had ever encountered.
She waved them forward, motioning to the chairs at the table. “Sit and tell me.”
Bedelia gratefully plopped her ampleness into a chair while patting her chest and fanning herself. “By all the stars and realms, let me catch my breath.”
“Keeva, fetch Bedelia some water since ye’ve nigh on caused her to overextend herself.” Mairwen scooped up the tarot spread, set the deck aside, and calmly folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Take yer time, Bedelia. We have searched for centuries. A few more moments will cost us nothing.”
“Here, Bedelia.” Keeva handed the Master Love Weaver a glass of water, then settled in the chair beside her. “Please forgive me. It’s just we’ve been working on this particular match for so verra long, and I know today is the seventh, the day the grand chieftain always comes to us.”
Still fanning herself, Bedelia waved the apprentice away as she sipped the water. “Never ye mind, Keeva. I am excited as well, just a bit older and rounder than yerself.” She set down the glass and nodded at Mairwen. “We have found her. In the twenty-first century. An American planning to emigrate to Scotland.”
Mairwen was dubious. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as these two were saying. She decided to start with the simplest question first. “And why is she planning to emigrate?”
“Divorce,” Keeva blurted out before Bedelia could respond. Remembering Mairwen’s earlier gentle scolding, she shrugged deeper into her chair and bowed her head. “Sorry.”
