“Still don’t understand Latin.”
She grunts impatiently, thinks for a moment, then, “Cha togar m’ fhearg gun dìoladh,” she says with a nod, as if she’s clarified everything.
I throw up my hands. “Aoife, I swear?—”
“If ye harm me, I harm ye,” she translates at last.
I go still.
“But I didn’t harm Donag,” I protest.
“You harmed her Callum. ’Tis the same to her.”
“That’s insane.” Hopelessness crashes over me. I rake a hand through my hair. How can I save Callum if Donag’s trying to kill me? I can’t hide in this garden forever. “I’m just trying to save him.”
“And save him ye will.” Aoife’s eyes gleam.
“But I’m just…me. The kitchen girl.”
“Och, and who d’ye think does the rescuing when the men are doomed?”
I blink. “What?”
She lifts her chin. “The men do the fighting, aye. But ’tis we women who do the mending.”
It clicks. This isn’t over. I’m not alone. I can do this.
“No more blood,” I say firmly. “Nobody’s dying.”
“No indeed.” Aoife tucks the coin away before grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the potato cellar. “Off with ye now. Cozy up wi’ the tatties while I get to work. Mayhap they’ll grant ye some wisdom.”
As I hide, Aoife gathers what I’ll need. Callum’s sword, food, water.
By the time I step into the night—stiff, cold, and cobwebby—I’m ready. My plan is simple. Free Callum. Return to my own time.
I’m not going without him.
He’s my truest friend. Steady and kind, with the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. Better and wiser than these Campbells, who apparently consider ear-removal a reasonable punishment. If I go, Callum goes.
We’ll travel to this island he told me about. We still need to figure out details—exact timing, the chant, all that—but he once mentioned there’s a witch on his father’s side of the family, so maybe we can track her down.
The point is, we’ll figure it out. Together.
The climb up Tom a Chrodhaidh hill is brutal. I keep one hand on Callum’s sword hilt, mimicking how he holds it when on alert. I’ve looped the leather belt around itself to keep the scabbard above my hips. I doubt I could free the weapon quickly, much less use it, but doing as he would reassures me.
A branch snaps somewhere behind me. I freeze, opening my senses to the night.Nothing.Just the wind.
But now I’m terrified. What if Hamish is already there? What if I’m too late? What if he’s already hurting Callum?
I push faster up the steep hill, heather grabbing at my skirts like hands. My foot snags, and I stumble, thenstumble again, biting back a curse. A twisted ankle would doom us both.
The climb stretches endlessly, the hill rising like some cruel Highland illusion. Then, finally, a break in the darkness. A faint smudge of purple where land meets sky. I’m nearing the top at last.
The silhouette of a tree materializes from the shadows, black and skeletal, like something long dead. A cage hangs low from its branches. And at the base, something hunched, unmoving. A body.
No.
Callum’s body.
