“Is that a good thing?” The words barely make it past the sudden tightness in my chest. I never expected to feel anything about Gregor. But now, here he is, ghosting through my blood, shaping me in ways I never knew. A man I’ll never meet, but whose echoes live inside me.
Donag smirks. “And what else? Though I imagine ’twas also his downfall. He was all backbone and boldness. You get that fromhim. Nae from Janet.”
It’s my turn to gape.
“Well then, where is this cream?” She thrusts out an impatient hand. “Give it to me.”
I dig it from the pocket of my skirts, but when I don’t hand it off fast enough, she simply snatches the tiny jar from me.
Her hands tremble as she opens it. She sniffs it, sneezes, then gives me a hard look. “Trying tae poison me, is it?”
The accusation has me finding my tongue again. “Trust me, I know my way around a kitchen. If I wanted to poison you, I’d use something a lot more efficient than pepper.”
It was the wrong thing to say. The woman’s scowl deepens.
“Look,” I explode, caught between laughter and frustration. “It goes on your back, not in your mouth, though it wouldn’t hurt you either way.”
“How d’you ken of my back?”
I gesture to her curved posture. “I recognize the signsfrom my grandfather. And your groaning could wake the next village.”
A strong emotion skips across her face before she masks it again. I recognize that from Poppa, too—the same mix of shame and injured pride.
Sympathy stabs me, and I sigh. “Don’t worry. I’m sure nobody else can tell. I only noticed because of my grandfather. He has a bad hip and an aversion to complaining, which means I’ve gotten in the habit of spotting the signs. Plus the man is skeptical about medicine, so I make creams for him instead.”
She sniffs the balm again, this time twitching her nostrils wide. “I smell beeswax.”
I nod. “I infused it with pepper. Back home, I use essential oils, but Campbell’s got a pretty little pepper pot that served well enough.”
Donag grins at this bit of thievery, and I take it as a sign to continue.
“Go ahead, try it. It won’t heal you completely, but it’ll work better than some gross seal pelt.”
She scoops a wad onto her fingers, then pauses to glare at me.
“What? Oh.” I roll my eyes, but turn around to give her some privacy.
There’s rustling, followed by a quick shriek.
“What happened?” I spin back around to find her with hands outstretched, her eyes wild. Irrational panic seizes me. What if I did accidentally poison her?
“It prickles.”
“It’s supposed to.” I give her a relieved smile, struck that it’s probably the first real smile I’ve ever shown her. “It relaxes the spasms.”
She pins me with a weird look, like maybe she’s imagining what it’d be like to dissect me, and the smile bleeds from my face.
I raise my hands in defeat. “Look, Donag. You win. I give up. I tried, I really did. You don’t like my cream? Fine. Go ahead. Do whatever it is you’ve been wanting to do since I got here. Turn me into a toad, or feed me a poison apple, or whatever. Just get it over with already.”
She peels her lips into a menacing smile. “Nae frogs. All ken it’s the cat who’s the witch’s familiar.”
She looks at me and titters with amusement.
“Glad you find me so funny.”
“Keep your heid, lass. It’s just”—Donag shrugs—“sometimes you’ve the look of him. Of Gregor.”
The cottage goes utterly still. I whisper the strange, unacknowledged words, “My father.”
