Page 37 of The Story of his Highland Bride
They passed a few startled servants on the way, but Jackson could not have cared less. He was tired of pretending that the strange woman who he had found on the road and brought to the castle did not mean something to him. Besides, his grandmother had often said that he needed to be seen with more eligible ladies, so that his Clan would not think him unusual. Finally, he had found a woman who was worth being seen with, and he would not hide her any longer. If he did, it was akin to letting Father Hepburn win.
“Where are we going?” Eloise pleaded to know, as they reached the stables.
“We’re going to venture to those woods, to see if we cannae find our witch,” he replied, in a hushed tone. “I used to think me grandmaither had somethin’ of the witch about her, and if there’s one thing I ken about a woman like me grandmaither, it’s that she wouldn’ae be daft enough to let the likes of Father Hepburn capture her. She’d be a step ahead, too clever for him.”
It was not until he spoke it aloud that he believed it, remembering all of the tales that his mother and grandmother had told him when he was a young boy. In those stories, the heroes and heroines had always been wise and quick-witted, often toying with their enemy for their own amusement. If Irene was anything like the witches of old, she would be well hidden, somewhere not too far from where she was supposed to be, where she could watch Father Hepburn’s frustration when he could not find her.
“I hope you’re right,” Eloise said quietly.
After all, her entire future rested on it, whether he liked it or not.
Claymore plodded into the forest, guided by the lantern that spilled hazy orange light across the undergrowth. Jackson could see the trail that Eloise had spoken of; the tracks and the extent of the flattened grass confirming that a group had walked this way. Indeed, he thanked the heavens that she had only encountered the priest, who had likely stayed back while his holy soldiers went ahead to do the hard work.
“They’re nae here anymore,” Jackson told her, tightening his grip around her waist as she swayed to Claymore’s uneven rhythm. “There are tracks retreatin’ as well as arrivin’, so they must’ve given up when night fell.”
She twisted her head to look at him. “Can you see any signs of anyone being dragged, or a woman’s footprints?”
“There are too many to tell,” he admitted, wishing he could ease her worries.
Claymore pressed on for a while, as Jackson swung the lantern in an arc, trying to spot the cottage that Old Joan had spoken about.
A few minutes later, it appeared out of the trees, and Jackson’s heart sank and leaped at the same time. It had been burned to the ground, leaving only smoldering ashes and broken stacks of slate and stone. Of course, the sight did not bode well for its inhabitant, and he would certainly do his best to save her, but if the witch was not here, perhaps that meant Eloise would have to stay.
I can think of somethin’,he told himself.I could take her to the north of the territory, to that bothy by the loch. And then what… visit her whenever I can?It would never be enough.
“I kenned ye’d come,” a voice slithered out of the dark, wrapping around Jackson’s chest like a serpent. “Ye, Lass, ye came before. I’m pleased ye ran, for I was too occupied with savin’ meself to spare much thought for ye, and it wouldn’ae have pleased the Old Gods if ye’d fallen into a priest’s hands.”
Jackson shoved his lantern toward the sound, just as a silhouette weaved between the trees, coming closer. The witch, Irene, was younger than he had expected—no older than forty or so. Or, perhaps, it was a spell of some kind, cast to make her look that way. She had long, dark hair that fell past her hips, and sharp gray eyes that did not seem to take kindly to Jackson’s presence.
“I thought of you,” Eloise said suddenly. “I hoped you’d made it out alive. In fact, I kept wondering if I was a giant coward for not running in the opposite direction, to come to your aid.”
The witch smiled, and her gray eyes twinkled. “Me cottage was surrounded, but I thank ye for yer thoughts of me.”
She walked right up to Claymore, who nudged her palm in a display of affection that Jackson had never seen from his horse before. Not with anyone but him, anyway.
If he trusts ye, I have nay reason nae to,Jackson mused, relaxing a little. Claymore was an excellent judge of character.
“We’ve come to ask about the stones at Clava Cairns,” Eloise continued, “but if you’re too busy, we can come back another time. Or, we could help you find somewhere safe to stay, if that would be of use to you?”
The witch chuckled. “I’m content among the trees and the creatures, Lass. The Old Gods provide all I need, so daenae worry for me.” She stepped around to the side of the horse and reached for Eloise’s hand. “Tell me, what is it yer heart desires with the stones of Clava Cairns? Are ye here to ask me how ye might return, or how ye might remain? Neither will be easy, but the easiest path is always that which is guided by yer heart.”
“I… wish to return,” Eloise answered, faltering a little. It did not go unnoticed by Jackson: his heart aching at the sound of her hesitation.
The witch bowed her head and pressed Eloise’s hand to her chest. “The stones are a wheel, turning like the hands of a clock. Even I daenae ken their hours, for only the Gods ken that earthly secret.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Yer hour will come when the starlings summon ye. When they appear, the doorway will open, but ye mustnae linger, for it closes when the next hour strikes.”
“You can’t give me any idea at all when that might be?” Eloise urged, as Jackson held his breath. Just how long did they have?
The witch peered up at Eloise, still smiling her eerie smile. “Before midwinter is all I can say.”
“Oh… midwinter.” Eloise nodded slowly, glancing back at Jackson with a look of excitement that he did not understand. “We have at least a fortnight, maybe more!”
He frowned. “Nay, lass, we daenae. Midwinter is a week from now, and if it is before that day, then—” He trailed off, pained by the crestfallen expression upon her face.
“It wasn’t even December when I left,” Eloise protested, turning to the witch. “I thought I arrived on the same day I departed.”
The witch shrugged. “The wheel doesnae tick the way we mortals might think. It ticks to its own design. If this is when ye were sent through the doorway, this is when ye were meant to be sent through…” she paused, “nor can I tell ye what day it might be when ye return, so daenae ask. All Icantell ye is ye must do asye did when ye came, and all will be restored to how it was, as if ye were never here.”
As if ye were never here?Those words jarred Jackson, his hold tightening around Eloise’s waist. If she had to return to her time in order to save her life, he could just about bear that, but if she left and they forgot one another—that was not the promise he had made to her.
