Page 42 of Her Scot of Bygones
“Aye,” I agreed, joining them. I clasped Evan’s shoulder, my dragon eyes flaring with purpose. “Ye’ve my word too, friend. Whatever it takes.”
“All of us will,” Broderick assured. “Until then ye’re a welcome guest, Evan, for as long as ye like. Ye’re under MacLeod protection now, so consider this yer home.”
“Many thanks, m’laird,” Evan said. “’Tis truly gracious of ye, and I accept yer offer for as long as Dugal remains chieftain.”
“Then here’s hoping he’s not by the time this is all said and done,” Hazel said. “Because as much as I would love for you to stay here indefinitely, I know how much you love Sutherland Castle.” Feeling his inner turmoil as much as I did, she squeezed his hand again in comfort. “As much as you love my sister, who is still trapped there.”
“Aye,” Evan said softly, shaking his head. “She doesnae deserve the life she suffers. My only consolation is the joy her wee one brings her.”
“Yet another reason to do away with Dugal and Elspet.” Hazel looked at Aspen. “Speaking of trapped sisters, any word on Willow considering today is already yesterday’s tomorrow…”
“What is it?” Wearing a quizzical expression, Aspen cocked her head in question when Hazel trailed off.
“It’s just ironic, is all,” Hazel murmured, narrowing her eyes. “Considering Willow has said that very thing to me when she tried to help me let go of the past. She would say yesterday is gone, and today is already yesterday’s tomorrow, so let go and loosen up. Our past is behind us.”
“Thatisironic.” Aspen arched her eyebrows. “If that isn’t strange enough, I happened to hear her slip up one time andname her Scottish hero. The one inspired by Storm’s letters. She claims she never said it because she didn’t buy into any of it, but I remember. He was her Scot of the Morrow.”
“How telling, given Sloan told Elspet Willow could be coming as soon as the morrow.” Hazel eyed Aunt Chara and Aspen. “That’s a pretty medieval word for a little girl to come up with.”
“’Tis,” Aunt Chara agreed.
“And you two don’t think she’s really coming today or tomorrow?” Hazel said.
“We don’t,” Aspen said. “We think it might be a riddle or maybe some sort of magical keyword. What we all feel with certainty is that Sloan was telling the truth about the two of them connecting.”
“Yet Sloan is promised to another,” I reminded.
“’Tis true.” Broderick gave me a look. “But ‘twas not an arrangement that necessarily involved love.”
“Nay,” I agreed, recalling how dutiful Sloan had been years ago when his father arranged it, always willing to sacrifice for king and country. “This particular marriage was a favor to the king himself, was it not?”
“’Twas,” Uncle Marek responded, reminding us of the details. “She’s the daughter of one of his favored warriors and eager to climb the ranks. A marriage to a MacLeod of Sloan’s status, belonging to a clan so favored by the king, would be a climb indeed.”
“So this wasn’t a love match,” Hazel confirmed.
“Nay.” I perked an eyebrow at Broderick. “Yet they havesomethingbecause she’s around on occasion?”
“Aye, ‘tis something.” He pointed out the obvious. “And whatever that is has kept Sloan volunteering more often than not to do the king’s bidding or be by his side.”
“Which, yet againironically, has led him straight back to this pact and Willow.” Aspen’s pointed gaze went to me. “I couldn’t help but notice you don’t have the Viking blade anymore.”
“Nay.” I shook my head. “The last I saw ‘twas in Flame’s mouth en route to Sutherland Castle.”
“And the last I saw, it was hidden in a trunk in Sutherland Castle, where I left it,” Hazel added.
“Then ‘tis likely right where ‘tis supposed to be,” Aunt Chara said, a soft, knowing smile curling her mouth as she gazed outside. “After all, more fated mates discovered each other and true love was found, ruling out yet another sister descending from the Sutherland’s sorcerer, aye?”
“Aye,” Hazel and I agreed.
Aspen looked out the window and smiled as well. “Then I would say it’s time for another marriage, and it seems fate or perhaps a magical spell cast on us years ago agrees.”
When she gestured that we join her, we were astounded by what had appeared beside her aspen tree in the distance.
“It’s our hazel tree,” Hazel marveled, tears springing to her eyes.
“It is,” Aspen said softly. “And interestingly enough, it’s on the same side of my aspen as it is in the tapestries of the four trees our father created at Sutherland Castle before evidently traveling to the twenty-first century and having us.”
“It’s true then, isn’t it?” Hazel asked just as softly, reveling in the mystical moment. “He’s somehow behind all this.”
