Page 16 of Cottage in the Mist
Again she felt as if the words held more meaning than just the things that had happened between them last night. Even now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow they had always known each other.
“Bram?” she called again, this time with more conviction.
From somewhere within the trees that surrounded the cottage she heard a noise. An answer. With a smile she walked across the clearing, stepping into the shadow of the trees, just as the sun burst out from behind the clouds.
For a moment everything was quiet, and then the hairs on her neck stood on end. Turning slowly back toward the cottage, she found herself holding her breath without understanding why.
For a moment the clearing before her looked the same, and she started to turn away, to call for Bram again. But then her mind made sense of the reason she’d felt so uneasy, and she turned again to face the clearing.
Theemptyclearing.
Where only moments ago there had stood a stone cottage, there was nothing but vines and weeds accentuated by a tumbleof stone where once, at least in her mind’s eye, there had been a chimney.
6
“Act, you pair wee lamb, I canna believe you were out there in that storm.” Agnes Abernathy dabbed the cut on Lily’s head one last time and then firmly affixed a bandage. On the surface, Agnes had the buttoned-up sensibility of a wise old woman, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her an impish quality that hinted at a much younger soul. “That should hold you for now. The cut isn’t deep. But the knock on your head was pretty severe.”
Lily winced at the pronouncement. Severe enough to have made her imagine the cottage in the mist.
And the man who’d changed her forever.
Grief did strange things, but she wasn’t a person normally given to fantasy. And yet this morning she’d woken in her car with Jamie Abernathy, Agnes’s husband, pounding on the window, worried no doubt that her injuries had been far worse than they actually were.
She hadn’t bothered to tell him that she hadn’t spent the night in the car. That she hadn’t been out in the storm much at all. How could she possibly explain the light in the woods? The shelter of the cottage. The warmth of the fire. The heat of the man.
There was no cottage. Or at least there hadn’t been one in a very long time. She’d seen the ruins with her own two eyes. Touched the tumble of stones with her own two hands.
There was no cottage.
And so there could have been no man.
She’d made it all up. Out of desperation or panic or God knows what. And now… now she was sitting in Mrs. Abernathy’s cozy parlor at Duncreag trying to pretend that nothing had happened. That everything was normal.
“Are you sure you dinna want me to call the doctor?”
Lily pulled her thoughts away from last night, shaking her head. “No, really. I’m fine. Just a little banged up. It could have been a lot worse.” In truth she wasn’t sure how, but she wasn’t ready to discuss it. Especially with a woman she hardly knew. No matter how lovely she might seem.
“Aye, I suppose it could. That river can be nasty. Especially with the kind of rain we had last night. I’m grateful that you and your wee car weren’t washed away.”
“You and me both,” Lily sighed.
“’Tis no’ much of a welcome we’ve given you, I’m afraid. But that doesn’t mean we’re not delighted you’re here. Valerie was really worried.”
“I’m grateful that you called to let her know I was okay. My cell isn’t working up here. I forgot to arrange for European coverage when I left.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have done you any good.” Mrs. Abernathy shrugged. “Between the hills and the valleys there is no’ much coverage even if you’ve got a Scottish phone. Can I get you anything else to eat?”
The woman had been fussing over Lily since her husband had brought her home.
Home. Now there was a thought. The tower was imposing. Magnificent in its own way, but it was hard to think of it asanyone’s home. Even though the inside had been remodeled to turn it into an inn, the bones were still clearly medieval.
Something chased across her spine and she shivered.
“How about some more tea?” Mrs. Abernathy urged, her keen eyes taking in Lily’s discomfort.
Lily nodded, holding out her cup, grateful to be taken care of.
Mrs. Abernathy poured the tea and then sat back, her gaze assessing. “I canna help but feel that there’s more to the story than what you’ve told us.”
