My mouth goes dry. I can’t dwell on his feelings. Whatever our connection is—whatever it was that made his apparition come to me or brought me to his doorstep—I can’t let it get any bigger.
The only thing that matters is finding my way home.
There’s too much to lose if I stay.
I can’t risk waiting till there’s too much to lose if I don’t.
Chapter
Seventeen
Ishouldn’t be thinking about Callum.
But I can’t stop.
At first, I let myself. Because why not? I’m lonely and scared, lying on my cot in the cold, dark night. A little harmless fantasy won’t hurt. The problem is, now that I’ve opened that door in my mind, there’s no closing it.
I mean, his accent—never before have I been aferocious wee thing. I’m addicted to it. Hooked on the way his laugh bursts out, catching even him by surprise, like he’s not used to it.
Then there’s his voice. Always husky, always sleep-rasped, no matter the time of day. It evokes things like dim lights and dangerous secrets, leaving me feeling all fuzzy and fraught.
But yesterday’s bandaging episode made one thing clear—this has to stop. It feels too good with him. Too natural.
I’ll endure anything if it keeps you from harm.
I can’t imagine there’s more than one such as you.
As brilliant and untouchable as the stars above.
His words reverberate through me. I’m a bell, and my body is hummingCallum.
I can’t risk getting sucked in. I need distance.
So I hatch a plan: Operation Avoid Callum.
I’m the reason he keeps getting hurt, so staying away from him will protect him in the long run. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him because of me. Which is not ideal.
I need to be selfish. I need to focus on my own safety.
Which means it’s time to stop waiting for Callum to save me. If he can gather information about witchcraft and time travel, then so can I. I’m smart. I can ask questions. I can figure this out.
It’s still dark when Donag rises to stoke the morning fire. Hearing me stir, she shoots me a skeptical glare.
“What are you about?”
Like I’ve been so lazy till now.
But I just give her a pleasant smile. “I thought I’d get an early start today. I’d like to do a little work in your garden later. The vegetable bed needs weeding.”
She considers this for a narrow-eyed moment, then grunts and turns back to the fire. Stabbing it with her poker, she mutters, “We’ll see.”
I gather my things, trying to ignore her suspicious muttering. She doesn’t believe me, but that’s fine. I don’t actually need her to, as long as she doesn’t suspect my real intentions: avoid Callum’s morning visit, arrive early to the kitchen, and take matters into my own hands.
When I stride off toward the castle, I’m all laser focus and girl power. I have a plan: if there are other time travelers out there, or even just stories about them, someone here will know.
Gossip is practically a competitive sport in the kitchen. I play my part perfectly, weaving stories about my imaginary village—people vanishing, strangers arriving with no past. Soon, the women are one-upping me with their own tales.
Unfortunately, none of them have anything to do with witchcraft or time travel.
