Page 9 of Desiring the Highland Laird
“Everything in my shop is for sale,” she said with a grin as she replaced the pendant. “But that stone I’ll give to you for free.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“I insist.”
She opened the case and reached for the stone. Evie watched with rapt fascination as she plucked it off the dust-free shelf and held it out to her. The stone rested in her palm.
Evie hesitated, unable to decide if she should take it or not. Finally, she reached for it. As soon as she took it and the cool stone rested against her palm, a flash went through her mind. She sucked in a breath. She saw the castle and the face of the man—both from her dream. It was a fleeting thing before it disappeared.
The stone was smooth. The edges of the carving were well-worn, as though it were old. Centuries old.
“It looks as though it’s broken.”
“A piece of another stone, aye. You have the right of it.”
“Where is the other piece?”
“Pieces,” she corrected with a grin. “Lost. Not yet ready to be found.”
Evie looked at her, confusion flickering through her. She didn’t understand her cryptic response.
“Where did it come from?”
“The Isle of Skye.”
Icy pinpricks trickled through her as a sense of familiarity shuddered over her. Her heart did a wild thump against her chest. She didn’t know why. She had never been to the Isle of Skye, but when she heard that, another image burst into her mind.
The castle from her dream. But this time, it was clearer.
Why did she keep seeing it?
The image of the rugged castle was so strong in her mind, it was as though she stood right in front of it. The magnificent structure with its stone walls and imposing turrets was perched on the shores of a loch surrounded by cliffs.
“Let me package it for you.”
“Thank you,” Evie said.
She tore her gaze away from the stone and handed it back to Moira, who took it and headed to the register at the back of the store. She followed, her mind still in a haze and the image of the castle still burning through it.
She didn’t understand.
Behind the register, she noticed a picture hanging on the wall. Gooseflesh erupted along her arms. It was the exact castle she’d seen in her mind.
“What is that place?” she nodded to the picture.
Moira turned to glance at it then said, “Och, that’s Dundale Castle. Once the home of Clan MacLeod. It’s all but ruins now.” Then she gave her a look that pierced through her. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
She didn’t understand. It seemed as though the woman was full of cryptic messages.
“Where is it?”
“The Isle of Skye. You’ll visit there soon, in your proper time. Here you go, lass.” She handed her a blue velvet drawstring bag.
She didn’t know what the woman meant by her proper time and wasn’t sure how to ask her. Instead, she said, “I have no plans to visit.”
“Och, but you will.” She gave her a knowing grin.
It was difficult to stifle the sense of unease throughout her. “Are you sure I can’t pay for it?”
