Page 37 of Her Magnificent Mistake
The path turned to steps—expertly fitted into the existing stone walls—and then a level path for a few turns, before coming to the not-quite-a-fairy bridge. Marcia could see it only existed because the masons needed to switch to the other side of the burn to continue the path…but the bridge was anything but utilitarian.
She paused at the apex to peer up the waterfall. “Does it continue?”
“The cottage—and the top—is still some distance. Are ye weary? Do ye want to stop?” Hawk readjusted the straps of the basket.
“No,” she admitted with a grin. “This placeismagical. Even knowing how the path and bridge was built, does not make it seem less magical. If you told me fairies or sprites built this place after all, I might just believe you.”
Chuckling, Hawk squeezed her fingers and tugged her onward. He slid slightly on one of the mossy stones and stumbled, knocking his gray hat from his head. Scooping it up with a muttered curse, he sent her an exasperated grin as he shoved it back on his head.
“There are auld legends of mischievous spirits living here along the burn in the Glen. The fairies who lived here when this was wild land. They cause harmless mayhem—perhapstheydon’t like my valet’s style in hats, though I’d hoped they may prefer the gray and allow me to keep it on my head this time.”
Trotting along behind him with a grin, Marcia lifted her free hand to the amulet she wore. Lady Mistree had claimed she must treasure it, because it was the home of a sprite. Perhaps she meant one of the old legends that Hawk spoke of?
She grinned at the fancifulness. Spirits, sprites and fairies?
This place was making her imagine the impossible.
As they climbed—although the slope was gentle and the stairs wide, so he only stumbled occasionally when he turned back to her—Hawk continued to tell her stories about the area, both legendary and more recent. He described his grandfather’s intentions in making this magical place more accessible to others, and how the work had kept a good number of the village men employed for the better part of a decade.
“Houses bought, children educated, all because they had guaranteed work,” he finished with a palpable sense of pride.
“He sounds like he was a forward-thinking man,” she said warmly.
“Grandda and Artrip used to come up here together, I remember that much.” And yet he soundedsurprisedto have remembered such a thing. “Ye heard him going on about the sacred nature of…well, nature? Grandda thought the same thing, but he believed nature could be harnessed and tamed.”
Marcia hummed. “It sounded as if Artrip might disagree.”
“Perhaps. I’ll have to ask him,” he murmured, as if distracted. “Och, here’s one of my favorite spots!”
He tugged her toward an alcove in the stone, and she gasped in delight when she saw the bench carved into the wall.
Bench? No, this was more like athrone.
Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Hawk made a show of wiping away the mist from the stone. “Yer dominion, milady,” he announced grandly, and Marcia made a show of lifting her skirts regally and settling into place.
From here, the view was unrivaled. It was as ifshewas the queen of the fairies and nature itself had gathered to put on a show for her. The waterfall in front of her wasn’t one of the largest they’d seen, butwasthe prettiest, hitting multiple rocks on the way down to divide into small falls, sunlight sparkling into little rainbows.
“In the morning, the dawn rises between the Douglas firs up there, hits the pool, and lights up this whole place,” Hawk explained. “It truly is beautiful.”
“It is.” Smiling, she tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
His excitement had frozen as he stared down at her. She wondered what he was looking at, but then his hand slowly rose and his callused fingertips brushed against her cheekbone.
Oh Lord…
“Nay, thankye, Marcia. Thank ye for seeing it, forwantingto see it. This place…”
Shaking his head, he turned to stare at the waterfall, his touch dropping away.
She lunged, grasping his hand in hers. “It means much to you, does it not?”
“Pook’s GlenisTostinham, to me. The magic, the mystery. The memories,” he admitted. “I love it here, and I am grateful for the chance to share with someone…special.”
Special.
He thought her special?
Marcia thrust herself to her feet, not sure if this was panic or anticipation fluttering through her. “And what does Allison think of the Glen?” she asked, a little overloud.
