Page 14 of The Story of his Highland Bride
She brought the offending stone over to him, and as her thumb pressed something on the side of the strange object, two images appeared: first, a picture of two people, so clear that he gasped and reeled back in alarm. Clearly, they were trapped within the stone that radiated evil. But before he could take a closer look, the image disappeared, replaced with a worrying symbol: some kind of canister, shot through with a lightning bolt. A curse, if ever he had seen one. Perhaps, the curse that was keeping those two people imprisoned inside the stone.
“I ken I said I wouldn’ae harm ye, but if ye try yer trickery on me, ye’ll leave me nay choice!” he barked in a throaty growl, his fear adding a tremor of menace to his voice.
His hand shot out, tearing the stone out of Eloise’s hand. He thought he heard her scream in horror as he gripped both ends and, with one mighty effort, broke the wretched thing in half. It snapped with a dull crack, raining a spray of black shards down onto the floor. Along the jagged line where the stone had been severed in two, more peculiarities emerged: little fragments of silver and tiny snakes that writhed. But the people who were trapped did not suddenly appear before him, as he had imagined they would.
“What the Hell have you done?” Eloise cried, with tears in her eyes, as she threw herself at him.
With surprising strength, she strove to wrestle the halves out of his hands, while wheezing sobs racked her chest. Her fingernails scratched like a feral cat, her face wild with fury, but he would not relinquish any part of her witchery. Not now he had seen what she was truly capable of. He had hoped to come away from the bedchamber with some trust in her, but seeing those two people, stuck inside the stone, he realized he had misplaced his faith. Shewasa witch, and there was no telling what vengeance she would wreak upon him and his people.
Perhaps, she would trap all of them inside a stone, too. Indeed, as he looked up into her maddened eyes, a shiver of true fear splintered through him. Just how powerful was this witch? What sort of devil, so beautiful and enchanting and ferocious, had heallowed past his battlements? He had thought he was inviting in a lost soul, but now, for the first time, he feared for his own.
8
“You bloody idiot!” Eloise howled, battering Jackson’s chest with her fists.
If he felt it, he didn’t show it. But Eloise certainly felt every blow; the sides of her hands bruising with each frantic hit. He really hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. He’d already made up his mind about what she was; she could’ve told him that she was a queen in disguise, and he’d still have labeled her a witch. Or, maybe, he’d have guzzled down a story like that like a pill coated in syrup, accepting it readily.
“That was expensive!” she continued to rage, desperately trying to scratch and claw the two halves of her phone out of his grasp. “That had all of my photos and messages on it! It had the last photos of my mum and dad on it, you stupid, stupid little man!”
Her heart shattered as she realized it was true; she’d always meant to save the old photos onto her laptop or get them printed, but she’d never gotten around to it. Peter used to teaseher mercilessly when she’d run to the phone shop every time her phone had a glitch or the port wouldn’t charge, asking her why she didn’t just buy a new one. He didn’t understand, and nor did Jackson.
“Ye imprisoned souls in there!” Jackson snapped in reply, catching hold of her wrist as he stood to his full height. He barely had to move his arm to divert her away from him, though that wouldn’t stop her trying to beat seven shades of heartbreak out of him.
“I didn’t imprison anyone in there, you idiot!” she shrieked. “It’s a phone. It’s a thing we use in 2016 to speak to people! It had… everything on it, and you’ve just bloody snapped it like a twig! What the Hell, Jackson? I know you’re medieval, but why didn’t you ask what it was before breaking it?”
“What is the meanin’ of this, eh?” A sharp, shrill voice pierced the conflict, prompting Jackson to lower his guard for half a second.
Using that half a second to her advantage, Eloise wrenched the two halves of her phone out of Jackson’s hands and hurried to the far side of the room—as far away from him as possible. There, with her back pressed to the wall, her breaths shallow and heavy with sobs, she slid down the cold stone until she sat crouched, resting her forehead on her knees. She held the link to her past and the future against her chest, wishing she’d never shown it to Jackson, wishing she’d never gone to the Cairns, wishing she’d just stayed in London and endured her heartachein her office, hunched over her laptop like any good writer would.
“She’s a witch, Nan,” Jackson hissed, as the bedroom door closed and softer, slower footsteps shuffled across the flagstones. “I dinnae want to believe it, but she is. She’s a threat to our people, and she needs to be sent away as soon as possible.”
The newcomer tutted loudly, the footsteps drawing closer to where Eloise was crouched. “I ken ye’re a wary man, Jackson, but I never thought ye could be cruel.” Two kneecaps cracked as someone kneeled beside Eloise and fished her hands out from where she’d been hiding them. “Get out of here before ye cause her any more distress, eh?”
“Nay, Nan, ye’re the one who must leave,” Jackson replied hurriedly. “And daenae touch her! Ye daenae ken what she’s capable of!”
The woman, Nan presumably, sighed as if a pesky flea had just bitten her. “Ye daenae order me around, Jackson. I’ve seventy winters to yer one-and-thirty, Lad. I willnae be told,” she said tersely. “So, get yer arse away from this bedchamber before I hoof ye out meself. I’ll tend to the lass, see if I cannae undo all the woe ye’ve weaved here.”
Eloise finally allowed herself to take a peek at the woman who had come to her rescue. In front of her kneeled an elderly lady who could’ve been her grandmother—wizened, with a mass of gray curls piled high atop her head, and a fierce fire behindher rheumy eyes. No one would’ve dared to mess with Eloise’s grandmother when she was alive, and she doubted anyone would’ve dared to mess with this woman, either. Not even Jackson.
“Ye stay away from her!” Jackson tried to argue, but the old woman just rolled her eyes and cast him a sour glance.
“Leave this room at once, Jackson. I mean it. This lass isnae a witch of any sort. I’ve a feelin’ for these things, and she’s nae one.” The old woman flashed a mischievous wink at Eloise. “It takes one to ken one, and she’s… just a lass that ye’ve terrified out of her skin. Poor bairn is shakin’ like a leaf.”
Jackson moved as if he meant to physically separate the two women, but must’ve thought better of it as his grandmother shot him another death glare. With some huffing and puffing that highlighted the majesty of his powerful chest, he turned on his heel and slammed out of the door, tossing one final remark back over his shoulder: “Daenae make me regret this, Nan. I swear, if she causes trouble because ye’ve done this, ye’ll find yerself with only yer own company for as long as I see fit.”
The old woman waited for a couple of minutes after the door had slammed back into the jamb before making her introductions. She had a sweet, soothing voice that made Eloise think of Sunday afternoons at her grandmother’s cottage in Wales, sipping sugary tea and eating whatever delicacy her grandmother had baked for that weekend.
I miss you so much,Eloise ached inwardly.
“Now that the storm has wafted itself out, we ought to have ourselves a cup of somethin’ warmin’ and have ourselves a discussion,” the old woman said. “I’m Lorraine, and ye must be this Eloise that I havenae stopped hearin’ about. Kaitlyn is already very fond of ye and, nay offense to me grandson, but I’ve always trusted that lass’ opinion more than his.”
Eloise swallowed thickly. “I’m fond of Kaitlyn, too. It’s… um… a pleasure to meet you, Lorraine.”
“Och, the pleasure’s mine.” The old woman helped Eloise to her feet, before guiding her to the armchairs by the fireplace.
A pot hung over the blazing fire, though Eloise hadn’t understood the purpose of it until that moment, when Lorraine removed it from its hook with a cloth around her hands and poured out two cups of steaming, fragrant liquid. She passed one to Eloise, and settled down into the deep, leathery give of the armchair.
“I’ve always believed that the women of these ancient households must’ve held the most power, just wielded more delicately,” Eloise said, taking a sip of her tea. It wasn’t the sugary, earthy kind she was used to, but a spicy, fruity concoction that tickled the back of her dry throat.
