Page 4 of Her Scot of the Morrow
Now she sat across from me, more often than not keeping her eyes downcast, yet I didn’t miss the way she glanced at me every so often, with a flash of hope she just as quickly masked. She wanted her sisters to be free of this pact as much as we hoped in the end we could free her from the Sutherlands’ clutches.
As we ate and I continued being cordial and diplomatic, I did my best to keep my eyes off the four paintings hanging on the wall behind Lilias, supposedly created by the sisters’ father, Malcolm, and magically tethered in place.
More pointedly, keep my eyes off the weeping willow tree.
I would never forget the first time I encountered Willow's towering tree, standing apart from all the rest with its especially vibrant leaves and elegant branches. How graceful they had beentwirling in an unseen wind, capturing my attention because it almost seemed otherworldly.
More than that, it beckoned me.
So, despite looking forward to going hunting, I had leaned against the tree and waited, certain someone important was coming. Looking back, it should have alarmed me, given the turbulent times we were living in, but instead, I was eager. Excited in a way I’d never been before.
Then Willow appeared as if she had walked out of the tree itself.
I might have only been a wee lad then, but something about the pretty little girl with her sun-kissed brown hair and luminous dark amber eyes called to me the moment our eyes connected.
And whatever that pull was, never let me go.
Despite how wounded I was when she left me because she couldn’t understand my obligation to marry whether I liked it or not, it was my duty, I still thought of Willow every day. Or, as she well knew, I tried speaking to her telepathically despite the centuries between us.
Now, I would see her again soon, or at least I hoped to, and yet I had no idea what to expect. Would she bother speaking to me outside of curt, clipped words born of anger, bitterness, and now, obligation if it meant keeping her sisters safe? As it were, she excelled at ignoring me nowadays if not tuning me out altogether, and I didn't blame her entirely. I might have felt the same if I were in her position.
Fortunately, as the evening wore on, I was rarely engaged in conversation, and after dining, I was led back to my chamber by two guards. Warriors ordered to remain outside my door for the night lest I do something foolish, as Dugal phrased it, and not honor my word. To that end, I wasn’t entirely sure what to donext because I thought I would at least be allowed outside. After that, it would only be a matter of Willow’s tree finding me.
So, what now?
I eyed what meager furnishings were in the room, my interest piqued by an old trunk set against the far wall. I couldn’t say why, either, until I saw a flash of an all too familiar ring sliding onto Willow’s delicate finger in my mind’s eye.
“’Tis the trunk, isn’t it?” I murmured, smiling. I opened it and carefully rummaged around in the clothing, only to find a small dagger I knew Hazel had tucked in there when she was here last. A mystical Viking blade that tended to transform depending on where it was needed. A blade that had made its way to us from Clan MacLomain’s Viking ancestors, and then from the Wolves of Ossary, one way or another, helping bring fated mates together and saving everyone from certain peril wherever in time it ended up.
Understanding what it would do, anticipation blew through me as I wrapped my hand around its hilt and stood, only for everything to swirl away. Though the sensation was jarring, it was brief. My feet were soon on solid ground again, and my torchlit chamber became a dark, cold night someplace else entirely.
Though not so dark that I couldn’t see the beautiful brunette standing in front of me.
Although it had been over a decade since I last laid eyes on Willow, I recognized her instantly, and she’d only grown more stunning. Her luxurious mane of sun-kissed brown hair was pulled back, and she wore a black form-fitting aviator jacket, dark, fitted trousers, and heeled boots. Tall and lithe, I had always thought her built like the tree she had been named after. Elegant and willowy with just enough curves.
She stared at me for a moment, her gaze fixed on me, before she blinked, and her brow furrowed, her voice strained. “You’re only here so I can protect my sisters. Mainly Ellie.”
I had no chance to reply before she strode into what had to be the old colonial in twenty-first-century New Hampshire, without a backward glance.
“Welcome, Sloan,” Adlin said, drawing my attention his way with a rather merry smile given the circumstances and Willow’s icy reception. “’Tis good to see ye again. I cannae tell ye how pleased I am Willow’s Morrow magic still works.”
He introduced the lovely blonde who had been standing nearby, quietly assessing me and Willow. “Sloan, meet Willow’s sister, Ellowyn, or Ellie as everyone calls her. Named for the elm tree.”
“Nice to meet you, Sloan.” She moved with a gentle, almost graceful fluidity when she gestured at the door Willow had slammed shut behind her. “Please come inside so we can get to know each other and figure out what lies ahead for you two.”
“Nothing can lie ahead,” I forced myself to say because I had no choice. “I promised both my king and my late father I would honor my upcoming nuptials, and I will.”
“Of course you will, lad.” Adlin opened the door, encouraging me to join them as well. There was a quizzical, if not whimsical, look in his light blue eyes when he arched his eyebrows at me and cocked his head. “For it has been a verra long engagement, aye? Far longer than most marriage pacts.”
“It has,” I agreed, more grateful for it than I would admit lest I let my king and the memory of my father down. “I couldnae say why, either, other than ‘tis her wish and her father tends to dote on her more than most would.”
“’Tis not such a bad thing in our day and age, where too many fathers tend to look at their daughters as possessions who might gain them favor or wealth,” Adlin said, as I duckedinto a relatively limited entryway clearly not designed for male dragons. “Your lass Lorna is verra lucky in that regard.”
“She is,” I granted, keeping various other words I would use to describe her off my tongue, including opportunistic, vain, and greedy for an elevated standing in society.
All attributes that made me wonder why we were not already married, given that I would elevate her standing. Yet, she continually put it off, claiming it would be best to wait until things settled at the Sassenach border so King Robert would have the time, and God willing, according to her, the inclination to attend our matrimony. For surely, nothing would honor her and her kin more than the King of Scotland as our esteemed guest.
“Make yourself at home,” Ellie encouraged me with a soft smile, gesturing into the cozy living room with a fire crackling on the hearth. “If the hour doesn’t bother you, I’ll get some food and whisky, perhaps?”
