The old woman’s words hung heavy in the air, unsettling Nora. The line between reality and lore blurred, leaving her torn between reason and the eerie possibility that these supernatural creatures might be more than just stories. And if they were, she might have one right outside her window.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Tartan Worth a Thousand Words
After a long drawn-out silence, Nora felt her heart racing. She hadn’t been seeing things; it hadn’t been a trick of the light. Something lurked in the loch. Betty had seen it too, and from the sounds of it, she was convinced it was indeed some sort of water spirit.
Looking back over her shoulder at the loch, Nora hoped she might spot the elusive creature once again, but all she could see was the white haze of heavily falling snow. The storm had picked up again, and the temperature continued to drop, frosting the edges of the large windows overlooking the loch.
“Betty, what passcode have you been using?” Alistair called out from the corded phone by the stairs.
“Nineteen fifty-three,” Betty called back to him.
He nodded to her and relayed the information to the person on the other end of the phone. After exchanging a few more words, he hung up and rejoined them by the fire.
“So, the reason you couldn’t get into your cottage was the passcode you were using was wrong. It should have been nineteen fifty-two. You were off by one,” Alistair said in a very gentle way, trying to save her pride as much as possible.
“Oh, dear.” A look of sadness washed over her face. “I guess my age is showing. I will leave you two be and head back to my own cabin now,” she said, beginning to stand on wobbly legs.
“Whoa, there, why don’t you stay and have lunch with us until you’ve thawed out a bit more,” Alistair said, guiding her to sit back down. Nora was taken aback by the kind and gentle way he was treating Betty, almost the complete opposite of how he had treated her when they first met. She was glad for that but also a bit annoyed.
“I’ll make us something,” Nora announced, heading over to the kitchen. She tried to recall what Stuart had delivered the previous night, hesitating to open the refrigerator without a clear plan. Conserving its cold was important, given the uncertain duration of the power outage. The remnants of Alistair’s burnt toast gave Nora an idea. Grilled cheese sandwiches.
Using a box of matches, Nora lit the stove and grabbed the old cast-iron pan. While she waited for it to heat, she buttered the toast and quickly grabbed the cheese from the fridge. As she sliced it, she watched Alistair and Betty engrossed in a conversation about Northern Wales and the King Arthur lore surrounding her town. Betty’s eyes sparkled with a mix of wisdom and a touch of mischief, making Nora wonder what other stories she held in the treasure trove of her experiences.
Prompted by something Betty said, Alistair laughed. Hisdemeanor had done a complete one-eighty in Betty’s presence, as if the armor he wore had melted away. He had an undeniable charm to him when he smiled, and the sound of his laughter stirred something deep within Nora, something she had pushed down since things had ended with Sam. She wasn’t sure she was ready to reawaken that feeling, but something about Alistair pulled at her, and she realized she may not have a choice in the matter. Her heart and head were yet again battling each other.
She continued to watch them as she cooked, but her mind began to wander back to the photo album and the man named Colin MacDonald. Something nagged her, and she needed to look at that photo again, at all of the photos again. She had a feeling that when she did, the puzzle pieces might start fitting together. Her mind returned to a particular photo of her grandmother sitting on a stone wall with a picnic blanket draped over it. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she couldn’t get the image out of her head. As soon as they got Betty safely back to her rental, she would pull out the album for another look.
“Order up,” she announced, walking over with three grilled cheese sandwiches on a tray. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but there really isn’t anything like a good grilled cheese to warm you up.” She handed one plate over to Betty and the other to Alistair before setting the tray down and taking hers over to the sofa.
“Not bad. Just needs a few onions,” Alistair said, chewing through a bite.
“Onions?” Nora asked.
“Oh, darling, you Americans eat so bland.” Betty laughed.
After they finished lunch and had tea, Betty looked much better, the color returning to her cheeks.
“I think I’m ready to get back to my cabin and crime novel,” she said, slowly getting to her feet.
“I’ll walk you back and make sure you can get in,” Alistair said,getting up and heading toward the door.
Betty gave Nora a warm smile as Alistair helped her into the oversized jacket. “Thank you both for your kindness.”
“Of course. Safe travels back to Wales, and I hope things work out between you and your granddaughter,” Nora said as Alistair walked her to the door and out into the storm.
Nora stayed behind, her thoughts returning to the practical matters at hand. She began searching for candles and flashlights in case the power outage lasted through the night. A few decorative candles adorned the mantel above the fire, and she found a flashlight in the closet by the bathroom.
Her breath was visible as she walked up the stairs, the second floor feeling much colder without the furnace running. Rooting around her room, she found nothing useful for lighting but grabbed the photo album. She headed back downstairs and over to the living room, where the large windows offered a bit more light to read by before the evening fully descended.
Settling onto the sofa and opening the photo album, Nora began to thumb through its pages, examining the photos closely. Only a few of the snapshots were in color, and she quickly found the one on her mind. It was a vibrant image of her grandmother bundled in a large wool coat and blowing a kiss to the camera from her seat on an old stone wall, a tartan blanket beneath her. The same tartan print that adorned Nora’s scarf. Her stomach flipped. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence.
Then something else caught her eye—the little red book resting next to her grandmother on the blanket. Nora’s heart skipped a beat as she leaned in for a closer look, revealing a small dark spot on its cover. Hastily turning to the photo of her grandmother holding the book and the bottle of wine on the Royal Mile, Nora examined the book in her hands. Partially concealed by her ring finger was the unmistakablemark of a bullet hole. Her heart sank, and questions swirled in her mind. Why include the book that saved a Scottish soldier’s life in these photos? Why would that soldier give up the miraculous book that had stopped a bullet and saved his life? Unless that very soldier was the one behind the camera taking the photos.
Flipping back to the other picture, Nora carefully peeled back the clear plastic to reveal a date on the backside: December 30, 1943, with a note underneath—New Year’s getaway trip to visit Marjorie.The pieces of her grandmother’s timeline in Scotland seemed to be falling into place, yet the mystery deepened since they didn’t add up to what Nora had been told.
Her grandfather hadn’t been stationed at Craigleith Military Hospital until January 1944, so this getaway had been with someone else, and she was pretty sure she knew who it was—Colin MacDonald. Just as she was about to flip to the next page and continue her search, Alistair came back in, windblown and covered in a layer of snow.
