Fergus’s hands trembled as he reached for the dagger. “My whole life,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I believed he left without a thought for me. My mama told me he’d promised a blade for my naming day, but he rode out before that day.” He swallowed hard, tears gathering in his eyes. “How could ye possibly ken this?”
I exchanged a glance with the lasses, who watched with wide, solemn eyes. “I just heard it,” I said simply.
Fergus looked from the dagger to my face, his expression a mixture of confusion, gratitude, and wonder. “Thank ye, from the bottom of my heart.” His gnarled fingers closed around the hilt. “Ye’ve given me back my da today.”
As Fergus cradled the dagger to his chest, a profound sense of calm washed over me, and then a soft woman’s voice filled my head.
The recipe for minced pie is hidden behind the loose brick in the leftmost corner of the kitchen hearth. My Nessa needs it for her wedding feast. Tell her the secret is the touch of cinnamon. Tell her I’m proud of the woman she’s become.
When it faded, I turned to Guinn and Bess, who were watching Fergus with a mixture of awe and sympathy.
“We’ve another task,” I said softly. “In the kitchens this time.”
Their eyes lit up with excitement as they bid farewell to Fergus, who seemed scarcely aware of our departure, so entranced was he by his da’s final gift.
The kitchens were a flurry of activity when we arrived, with servants preparing for the evening meal. The large hearth dominated one wall, its flames casting flickering shadows across the stone floor. Cook eyed us suspiciously as we entered her domain, but the presence of Bess and Guinn seemed to stay any objection she might have had to our intrusion.
“What are we looking for now?” Guinn whispered as we edged toward the hearth, trying to remain inconspicuous among the bustling kitchen staff.
“A recipe,” I replied, searching the hearth’s massive stonework. “Hidden behind a loose brick in the corner.”
“I’ll look!” Bess offered eagerly, already moving to the hearth’s edge. I caught her by the shoulder before she could get too close to the flames.
“Careful, lass. Let me.”
I knelt by the hearth, the heat from the fire warming my face as I examined the stonework. The leftmost corner, the voice had said. My fingers traced the rough edges of the bricks until one shifted slightly under my touch.
“Found it,” I murmured, working my fingers around the edges of the loose brick. It came away with surprising ease, revealing a small cavity behind it. Inside lay a folded piece of parchment, yellowed with age and smelling faintly of smoke and spices.
As I pulled it free, a young woman with apple cheeks and flour dusting her forearms approached us, curious.
“What have ye there?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
I unfolded the parchment carefully, revealing a recipe written in a delicate, feminine hand. “A recipe for minced pie,” I said, glancing up at her. “Are ye Nessa?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Aye, that’s me.”
“It was yer mama’s,” I explained, holding it out to her. “She wanted ye to have it for yer wedding feast. The secret is the touch of cinnamon, and she wants ye to know she’s proud of the woman ye’ve become.”
Nessa’s hands flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “My mama’s been gone five years,” she whispered through her fingers. “How could ye possibly ken about her recipe? I’ve been searching for it ever since she passed.”
I simply shook my head, offering her the parchment. “I just kenned ye were meant to have it.”
Her hands trembled as she took the recipe, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank ye,” she whispered, clutching the parchment to her chest just as Fergus had done with the dagger. “Ye can nae ken what this means to me.”
As we left Nessa to her tearful examination of her mama’s handwriting, another wave of peace washed over me. The lasses skipped ahead, chattering excitedly about our adventures.
“Why are ye helping the ghosts, Murieall?” Bess asked suddenly, turning back to me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see too much.
I hesitated, considering how much to reveal. These lasses were far too perceptive for their age, and I found I couldn’t bring myself to lie to them.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I said. “And I’m hoping that if I help enough of them yer mama will speak to me. I need her to tell me what truly happened to her.”
Bess’s eyes widened. “Ye’ve heard our mama?”
“Aye,” I admitted. “But I was foolish and did nae properly listen.”
Guinn reached for my hand, her small fingers curling around mine with surprising strength. “What matters is that ye are listening now.”
