Page 10 of Wild Scottish Fortune

Historically, people weren’t kind to those who considered themselves witches. I didn’t want the label—not if it meant more disapproving eyes on me, and the very thoughtof it made my stomach turn. I would hate to lose everything I had worked for because of this.

“Doing it with a spell? Or a ritual? Something to clear them out?”

I gave a curt nod, wary now.

“Sounds like a house witch to me.”

I winced.

“And you can build houses. That’s even cooler, right?”

I gave a tentative shrug. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but I hoped wherever she landed wouldn’t put me out of a job.

To my surprise, Sophie beamed at me.

“Orla, I think you’re just the woman we’ve been looking for.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Orla

Ididn’t get to my crochet and true crime podcast after all.

Sophie had drawn me with her, promising just a quick chat.

Inside, Hilda and Archie, the castle caretakers, had joined us, insisting I stay for dinner while Sophie had basically blown my mind with a fanciful tale of Kelpies and magick, enchanted waters, and an ancient magickal Order that I, it seemed, was a part of.

TheOrder of Caledonia, to be precise.

Apparently it was a magickal Order that protected the Clach na Fìrinn, the Stone of Truth, basically one of the holy grails that many, many, many people had searched for the world over. This stone was so powerful that anyone who possessed it would hold allknowledge of humankind, which, I could understand, was a very dangerous tool. The kicker? It was basically sentient, understanding the need for its own protection, and the Order of Caledonia had sprung up to ensure the Stone never fell into the wrong hands. When the last of the Order had died over a year ago, the safeguard had fallen into place—the Kelpies—and now they haunted Loren Brae, driving away anyone who moved too close to the island where the Stone was buried. Until the Order was restored, the Kelpies would continue to threaten the town, and even I’d seen how much the village had deteriorated over the past year.

It wasn’t like I was immune to hearing the Kelpies scream at night either.

By mutual agreement, nobody much spoke of what we’d all heard on the icy winter winds that barreled over Loch Mirren, but whispers had reached my ears.

Now, having confirmation that the Kelpies were real and that the people at MacAlpine Castle were quietly fighting to restore the Order, was both a revelation and an affirmation in the same breath.

I’d felt it, hadn’t I?

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t.

I supposed, part and parcel with seeing ghosts, was the ability to sense enchantments and, well, when I’d moved to Loren Brae several years ago, drawn here by budding work opportunities and the need for a quieter way of life, I’d sensed an otherworldliness to the village. Maybe that’s what had pulled me here all along.

The Order of Caledonia.

Me. A supposed member of an ancient magickal Order.

Once my disbelief had been suspended, a trickle of excitement had buoyed me on my way home.

I’d never been a part of something before.

Not really.

No family to speak of. A few scattered friends on the streets, drawn together more by what we didn’t have than what we did. Grandpa Lou’s workshop had become a haven to me, but even then, I’d understood that it wasn’t really mine to keep.

When we’d lost Jacob, I’d run—and kept running—until I’d landed in Loren Brae, finally ready to set down roots and try to build something for myself. My crew was now the closest thing I had to family, and even then, I knew they went home to their own lives, while I returned to a quiet cottage. On my own.

The way I liked it.

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