“I didn’t. We were on our way to the shops. Lucky timing.”
“You take your sword to the shops?” Ramsay asked, eyeing the sword by the fireplace.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Sophie joked. “No, but I take it most places with me or leave it in the car. The Kelpies have been active lately. Doesn’t hurt to have it around.”
“No kidding. Glad you were there. So, I was sketching out some ideas …” I flipped my iPad on and scrolled through some sketches.
“Oh no way, those are cool. Is that chain mail?” Sophie leaned in and I paused, happy to hear a good response from her already.
“Yeah, I was kind of just playing with the idea of it. Maybe incorporating it in a modern way? Sort of a nod to the knight?”
“Even cooler. I’m the Knight.”
“You are?” Ramsay raised an eyebrow at her.
“Sword, right?” Sophie indicated the sword, and Ramsay nodded and said nothing else.
A lot of nodding. Few words. It seemed like Ramsay absorbed wild news quite well.
“I’d like to see you in that top,” Lachlan said to Sophie, and their eyes locked. I swear the temperature went up ten degrees in the room until Agnes swatted the air between us.
“No sexy talk right now, people. Focus.”
“Right, so yeah, I was drawing and then I guess I kind of zoned out? But I kept drawing and then, well, yeah. It was this. And when I realized what I’d drawn I also noticed that I was wet.”
“Wet?” Ramsay’s voice shot heat straight through my core and I blinked at him, caught on whatever swam in the murky depths of his eyes. My cheeks heated.
“Like with sea water. It was salty. My face and hands were actually wet,” I clarified quickly, realizing how that had sounded. I held up the iPad to show the image of Ramsay in the loch, clutching Calvin at his chest.
“Oh shit, Willow. That’s a great drawing.”
“You’ve taken some liberties with his looks, but it’s not bad, I guess.” Lachlan deadpanned and Ramsay punched his shoulder.
Admittedly, Ramsay looked very much the superhero in my drawing with bulging muscles and fearsome Kelpies hovering over his shoulder.
“You should send that to me. I’ll print it and frame it for Lachlan,” Ramsay said.
“Better to start a fire with, naw?” Lachlan and Ramsay descended into boy banter while Agnes tapped my leg and leaned in.
“This makes sense, you know.”
“Does it? How?” I asked. Calvin awoke in Agnes’s arms, stretching and looking around until he found me. Instantly he stood, and tried to clamber in my direction, and Agnes handed him off. Once he was in my arms again, Calvin settled in, purring contentedly in my lap.
Damn it, but I was already in love.
“It’s the weaver. It’s a common theme in many myths. The weaver foretold the future. It’s like…weaving threads of fate together, you ken?”
“Threads,” I said, faintly. “That’s my father’s nickname for me.”
Agnes’s face lit with excitement. “Aye, that’s perfect, isn’t it? It’s all over the place in history when it comes to the ability to foretell the future. The Fates. Like in Greek mythology. Or the Norns in Norse. And the Parcae in Roman. All spinners of fate and destiny. Oh, and in some Native American myths there’s the spider woman. She spins fate and prophecies through her web. Yes, this all makes sense, given what you do.”
“It does?”
“Sure, you’re in fashion. You create, work with textiles, build something new.”
“It fits.” Ramsay joined the conversation again, and his easy acceptance of something that I was still coming to terms with pacified some of the nerves that twisted in my gut.
“It does.”