Callum knows what he’s saying. It may be the truth, but the truth could put Donag to death.
And he did it for me.
I can’t help but steal a glance at Donag. I expect to find anger, but she’s as expressionless as a frozen pond. I’m fairly certain Callum just broke her heart. Broke both their hearts.
To protect me.
He doesn’t have to sacrifice Donag for me. Donag who took him in when he had nobody. She raised him. She loves him, simply wants to protect him. There must be another way, but things are moving too quickly for me to think. I shoot him a pleading, protesting look, but he stares back with cool resolve.
Callum wants to do more than merely protect me. He wants to tell the truth. To do what’s right.
“Dark sorcery in our very keep.” Hamish frowns with disgust as he turns his attention to me. “I knew you for a witch.”
I shrink back. “No…”
Callum told me the creative and horrific ways they punish someone suspected of witchcraft. Which makes it all the more astounding when he says in a voice clear and firm, “Rose is no witch. Donag is the only one with such power.”
Donag drops to her knees in front of the laird, suddenly obsequious. “I do it only to protect you, my liege.” Sheshuffles on her knees to get closer. “This girl is not of your blood. She was born of Gregor’s seed. Kill the child as you killed him. That is your true revenge.”
She dips her head, groveling. Which means she’s missed the glint in Campbell’s eye.
“So the lass speaks truly? Janet is her mother?” His questions are breathless, the sound of a desperately sad man craving a miracle. “My bride is alive?”
Donag’s head shoots up. Realizing her mistake, she starts to sputter a reply but Campbell lifts a hand to silence her.
He looks to me, his voice cracking as he says, “Explain.”
“Some magic pulled me here. I don’t understand it. I barely believe it. All I can think is, I must be here for a purpose. I think”—I meet Callum’s eye—“I think it’s for Callum. The universe brought me to him.”
Hamish snorts. “Nonsense. Are you truly going to listen?—”
“Enough!” The old man seems to hold his breath, hope and pain warring on his face.
It’s an expression I know intimately. I’ve worn it my whole life. The Campbell laird expects Janet to disappoint him, but he’ll keep trying anyway. In that, he has more in common with me than anyone I’ve ever met.
I risk a step closer and take his hand. It’s cold, the skin paper thin. “I think I’m here for you too, sir. Maybe the stars sent me here to put your heart at rest. My mother—your Janet—she didn’t leave because she wanted to. She was taken against her will. Taken to a place far away, to the future. It must’ve been terrifying for her.” A breathy laugh escapes me as a realization hits. “I can’t imagine anyonebutJanet could’ve survived it.”
The laird chuckles. “Aye, the impertinent wee sass. She woke every day cheekier than the last. She might’ve slept, but never did she rest.” He scrubs a tear from his eye.
I’d assumed Janet was his trophy bride, but he genuinely knew her. Loved her. The way he speaks her name, like a prayer. Might my mother have cared about him in return? She must’ve had some regard for the man. Maybe not enough to seek his bed, but she certainly enjoyed the safety he gave her, the indulgences. Like a cat in a sunbeam, she would’ve basked in his careful attention.
Maybe she hadn’t been the cold, selfish woman I’d grown up resenting. Maybe she’d been a girl, torn from everything she loved and thrust into a world that made no sense.
Her disdain for modern life takes on new meaning.
“She was so excited to take me to Scotland,” I tell him. “It took us a long time to save up. She was desperate to get back. She would’ve done anything to return to her home. To you.”
His eyes go distant as he says, “She was young when we wed. Folk warned too young. And I too old—more uncle than husband. ’Twas no surprise she sought a lover.” His gaze sharpens, and he clutches my hands with trembling fingers. “You’re not of my blood, lass. But if you’re Janet’s child—if you carry even a piece of her heart—then you’re of my clan.”
I squeeze back, grateful for this strange and unexpected kinship. For both of us, Janet’s attention has been forever just out of reach. Ached for, yet continually denied.
Casting his voice around the room, Campbell declares, “Rose, child of Castle Dunrose, has my protection.”
Donag erupts. Gaelic hums from her in a low murmur,the language rhythmic and throaty, sounding an ominous drumbeat.
The laird spins on her, flashing from old man to lord master in an instant. “Haud yer wheesht! I spare your life, Donag MacGregor, for one reason: You alone have the power to return my Janet to me.”
Donag shuts up, but she looks pissed.
