He flinches like I’ve shoved a cobra in his face.
“But you were so interested in it,” I say sweetly. “Remember? The night of the cèilidh?”
“Such things hold no interest for me,” he says flatly.
I ponder it at deliberate length. “I could wear it as a necklace. I’ll have to find a bit of string.” I hold it up again. “What do you think?”
He looks like he just swallowed battery acid, his mouth thinning into an exaggerated frown. “I think you should beware those things of which you know little.”
Unfortunately, he’s probably right.
But I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to get him gone. “You never really answered me.” I keep my tonecasual, like this whole exchange has been perfectly normal. “Can I help you find something?”
Like flipping a switch, Hamish oozes back into his usual oily charm. “Are you coming in for dinner? I thought for once you might enjoy sampling what we serve at the Campbell table.”
Talk about the last thing I’d enjoy.
I smile, polite but firm. “There’s no way. I have too much to do out here. I’ve already set aside food for later.”
He hesitates, like he’s considering pushing back, but finally, with a brusque nod, he leaves.
And with him, my adrenaline.
I sag against the gate, legs shaky. The weight of the moment crashes over me, leaving me raw and spent.
Then something stronger flares to life—hunger. I swallow hard, registering the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. But I can’t just walk into the kitchen. Not after what I said. What if I ran into Hamish? I wouldn’t put it past him to track me down just to catch me in a lie.
I sigh and drag my weary, aching body back toward the cottage.
I’m halfway home when the first drops of rain hit. Fat, icy pellets sting my cheeks and instantly soak through my dress.
“Fabulous,” I grumble, wrapping my arms around my middle. “Starvingandsoaked.”
The rain turns the world gray and shapeless, blurring the edges of trees and buildings into ghostly shadows. Each gust of wind sends another wave of needling droplets into my face.
I break into a jog, but my shoes—these stupid, smooth-soled, old-fashioned shoes—are slipping allover the place. The path has turned into a ribbon of mud, making each step a treacherous gamble between forward progress and a face plant.
The wet wool of my dress grows heavier, tangling around my legs like seaweed. Night has fallen completely now, making the storm feel even more threatening. My fingers have gone numb, my teeth won’t stop chattering, and even the witch stone in my grip has turned ice-cold. Through the curtain of rain, the hulking black silhouette of the barn materializes in the distance.
Safe harbor.
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
Callum sleeps there.
I’m pretending not to think about that. I’m just being practical, I tell myself. Anyone would seek shelter in this weather. But as I veer off the path, slipping and stumbling toward the barn’s dark shape, I can’t quite convince myself that’s all this is.
The rain pounds harder. My sodden skirts tangle in my legs. But I forge ahead anyway.
Because maybe, just maybe, he’ll be there. And maybe, that’s what I’ve wanted all along.
The barn looms ahead, several yards to my right. I dart from the path. Duck inside.
The sweet scent of hay and animals wraps around me, warm and familiar. For several seconds, I just let the peace settle over me. My vision adjusts. Pale moonlight spills through the ponies’ stalls, illuminating dust motes that hang suspended in shafts of silver light.
I open my senses. There’s soft chuffing. A quiet whicker.
But I don’t hear Callum.
