Page 29 of Love's a Witch
“I hope you never have working batteries for your TV remote and that your tea is always cold.”
“Oh, vicious. I like it. Need a ride?”
I gave Knox the same cheerful two-fingered salute my disgruntled neighbor offered me in the mornings. He laughed and drove away with a jaunty honk of his horn.
Damn him, but that stupid horn made me want to smile.
Confused and frustrated, I bent my head against the snow and trudged home.
No, not home.
Just a place to stay for a short time.
I was pretty certain that Briarhaven would never be our home again.
CHAPTER NINEKnox
Normally, my family would host a town cèilidh in our ballroom, but since Sloane was basically persona non grata in my household, I couldn’t imagine dealing with the wrath of my parents if they found out I’d allowed the birthday celebration to take place at our castle. The wind howled, shaking the windowpanes in my dressing room, and I grimaced as I wrapped my kilt around my waist. The kilt, while favorable to mucking through boggy swamp land, wasn’t particularly amenable to the blistering wind of an icy winter storm. If you catch my drift.
I shouldn’t even be going to this party.
I really wished the MacGregors would just take the hint and leave town. It would be easiest for everyone if they did.
I suspected that was not what would be happening, but one could dream.
My phone buzzed on the side table, and I glanced at it, sighing. Another snow-related emergency. It had been never-ending since the MacGregors had returned, and my sleep was suffering for it. Which was why I was in such a sour mood. At least that is what I kept telling myself.
A clatter of wheels on marble floors was the only warning I got before my door flew open and Haggis, my pet Highland coo, whohad suffered from stunted growth and a birth defect which left his back legs immobile, came crashing through my door in his wheelchair. He was about the size of a golden retriever, with the personality of one, and had decided that I was his favorite person in the world. Oswald, my blind cat, who had been napping on the bed, jumped up and arched his back.
“Sorry, lad.” I scratched behind Oswald’s ear as Haggis pressed his sloppy, wet nose into my knee.
Ever since I was little, I’d had a penchant for rescuing hurt things. I’d find birds with broken wings and run to the apothecary, begging for them to be saved. I had a soft spot in my heart for those that needed a little more assistance to navigate life. It was part of what made me a good provost, or so my brothers told me, and I’d also inadvertently turned my house into a foster home of sorts for broken animals needing their hearts healed. Right now, it was just Oswald and Haggis, my two permanent residents, but at times it had expanded to everything from a phoenix to an emberwolf, and even, during one memorable summer, a young kraken. Once healed, we’d snuck him back through the loch that connected to the sea, and none had been the wiser for it.
Except for my parents, of course. They’d taken one look at the kraken, affectionately named Sugar, and hightailed to the Alps for the summer. That’s what they got for raising three boys.
Haggis bellowed at me, demanding attention, and I laughed. Bending over, I scratched behind his ears as well. His shaggy fur was a burnished copper color, and he shook his head, pressing against my hand. While the healers hadn’t been able to do much about his birth defects, they had assured me that he was in no pain. This was just how he was. With that knowledge in mind, my brothers and I had managed to build a four-wheeled chair for him. All we had to do was lift him into the harness that wrapped below his belly, and then the frame sat around his four legs. He simply usedhis front legs to propel himself around. Once he’d gotten the hang of it, he’d never looked back.
Oswald sniffed and licked a paw.
Dreadful creature.
“Is that right? I saw you curled up sleeping on him the other night, when the snow arrived.”
You saw nothing, you eejit.
Oswald huffed and stalked across the bed, shooting me a dirty look over his shoulder.
“Och, are you sure about that, mate?” I looked down at Haggis, who winked at me.
He likes my fur. He kneads my shoulders when they’re sore with his wee paws.
“Oh, do you hear that, Oswald? Sounds like you’ve been givin’ your wee pal a shoulder massage.”
Oswald hissed and arched his back. He bumped his head against a tassel hanging from the curtains that framed my bed. I chuckled.
My bedroom, adjoined to my dressing room, was about as castle-y as you could get. A four-poster bed in rich mahogany dominated the room, with red velvet curtains done up with gold fringe. The walls were painted a deep navy blue, the wainscoting a crisp white, and a muted tartan carpet in blues with thin threads of red and white warmed the cold stone floor. My mother had designed every inch of this house, and Oswald well knew she’d be furious if he shredded another one of her curtain tassels.
“Don’t you dare.”
