Page 7 of First Light

That’s right. She was in Scone, Scotland. Lachlan’s hometown. The town where he’d run through the dense pine forest and hunted deer with his father. The town where he’d learned to ride horses and all the other idyllic things he’d told her about.

She stared at the glass in front of her. It hadn’t been there before, had it? Or had there been a glass sitting on the table the whole time?

The room around her began to spin.

“My dove?” The man leaned in and spoke softly. “Why did you come to Scone?”

“I… I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?” The man took a drink and watched her.

She hadn’t seen the forests or deer that Lachlan had talked about. The trees she’d seen had been sparse and leafless from the cold. There were more sheep and cows than deer.

Maybe she was in the wrong place after all. The childhood Lachlan had described seemed like it had come from one of the fairy tales she taught in her Intro to World Mythology class, not a rural village an hour outside the Scottish capital.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked again.

“Lachlan Murray.” Carys blinked, looking up into the man’s blue eyes. “Do you know him?”

His mouth formed a smallo, but he quickly hid his surprised expression behind a cocky grin. “Lachlan of Moray? Oh aye, I know that name. Tell me more.”

“It’s Murray, not…” She blinked when she heard his accent. “You’re not Scottish.”

His smile curved slowly. “No, I’m not. In your way of thinking, I’d be called Irish, I suppose.”

“So is this an Irish pub or a Scottish pub if the bartender is Irish?”

His smile got bigger. “It’s my pub. Do you want to know my name?”

She looked around the pub, but it was strangely quiet. She saw people on the other side of the room, but their voices were distant and muddled. The only one she could hear clearly was the man across the table from her.

She blinked, trying to clear her head. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Hitting you?” He sat back, his eyebrow rising in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Not hitting me. Hittingonme.” She racked her brain for theScottish term Lachlan had used once. “Chatting me up. Are you chatting me up?”

“Am I?” The man’s red lips curved into a smile again. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m looking for Lachlan. Ilovehim. And he loves me. That’s why none of this makes sense.”

He let out a soft sigh. “Oh, it makes too much sense, doesn’t it?”

“What makes sense?”

His glittering eyes softened. “The distances we travel for love.”

“Yes.” She reached for the glass and realized it was empty. Where had the whiskey gone? Had she drunk it already? She didn’t remember drinking it. “You understand then. I came here because I love him. And I need to know what happened.”

Do you?A teasing voice that sounded like her mother’s whispered in her mind.Curiosity, my Carys. You will follow the rabbit into the forest, never seeing the wolf that follows at your back.

She opened her eyes and saw the man more clearly. “How do you know Lachlan?”

He leaned back in the wooden booth and lifted the whiskey bottle. “How about another drink?”

She heard the door to the pub open again, and a gust of cold wind dusted her shoulder, making her shiver and pull her sweater up her neck. “I don’t want any more whiskey.”

“It warms the blood.” The man looked amused. “But I suppose it depends on what kind of blood you have.”

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