Page 59 of Cottage in the Mist
“But still, what if something goes wrong? I can’t let you do this. You don’t even know me.”
“Well, first off,” Jeff said, his tone brooking no argument, “I’m not going just for you. If Bram loses this battle—if he dies—then it’s quite possible that Iain will be in peril as well. And ifthere’s something I can do to save my sister’s husband, then you can be damned sure I’m going to try.”
“And second off,” Elaine continued, her hand on Jeff’s knee, “you are family now, Lily. If for no other reason than because Duncreag holds the same magic for you that it did for Katherine. But you know that it’s more than that. You belong here. You can feel it. And so do we.”
Tears sprang to Lily’s eyes. She’d lost so much. And somehow managed to gain even more. “I can’t… I don’t… it’s just that…”
“We’re all in this together,” Mrs. Abernathy finished for her. “And unless we get a move on, it will all be for naught.”
“So we’re going now?” Lily hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. And she surely hadn’t expected to have a partner in crime.
“No time like the present,” Jeff said.
“I assume you’ll be wanting the weesgian dubh?” Mrs. Abernathy queried, already pushing to her feet.
Lily raised a brow in question. “Sgian dubh?”
Elaine nodded. “’Tis a wee knife. It belonged to Iain once upon a time. Jeff used it to go back before. And you’ve got the ring, but more importantly, you’ve got Bram’s brooch.”
Lily reached into her pocket, the metal cat cold against her touch. “So we go to the cottage?”
Jeff shook his head. “I think we’ll have better luck here at Duncreag. In Katherine’s old room.” His gaze met hers, his eyes flickering with determination. “It’s your room now. That’s where I crossed over before. And where you saw Bram the night of the attack at Iain’s Duncreag.”
“So we just go there, hold our talismans and we’re transported?” she asked, certain it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
“Well, it takes concentration. And I suspect as Mrs. Abernathy said, it’ll only happen if that’s the way it’s supposed to be. But it’s our best chance, I think.”
“So this is it.” She turned to face Elaine and Mrs. Abernathy. “I’m really leaving.”
“Going home, is more like.” Mrs. Abernathy beamed, pulling her into her arms for a warm hug.
Across from them, Jeff looped an arm around Elaine, the two of them walking from the room, gazes locked on each other. As if in so doing they’d forever be bound. But then again maybe they already were.
“Is there anything you want me to say to Valerie?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.
The words pulled Lily away from thinking of her friends, her mind drifting to the past, and the woman who’d somehow known that this was her destiny. “Tell her what’s happened. And that I love her. And that I’m happy. Or at least that I’m trying to be. I think she’ll understand.”
Mrs. Abernathy nodded. “Of course she will. She only wants what’s best for you. And she’d be the first to tell you to grab it with both hands while you’ve still got the chance.”
Tears filled Lily’s eyes. “And tell the Comyns... well, tell them…” She trailed off.
“I think they already know. People forget that we Highlanders aren’t afraid to believe in a little magic. They’ve seen the portrait, after all.”
Lily blinked, understanding slamming home with a powerful thrust. “You don’t think the painting was of Tyra. You think it was of me.”
Mrs. Abernathy shrugged, her own eyes suspiciously bright. “I think anything is possible. Especially when love is involved. Now go on with you. Jeffrey will be waiting.”
“I canna get the man to talk,” Ranald said, walking into the clearing where their men were making camp. “I tried most everything I know. But he’ll say naught but his name. Murdoc Macniven.”
“Macnivens have pledged themselves to the Comyns, no?” Iain asked. Frazier and Bram both nodded in assent. “And do you know the name?”
“Nay,” Bram said. “But then I’ve no’ had interaction with Alec Comyn or his clan until that night at Dunbrae. Frazier? What say you? Have you heard of the man?”
All eyes turned to the old warrior, who was sitting on a log, absently twirling a stalk of thistle. He frowned for a moment, then lifted his gaze to encompass the others. “I’m fairly certain he’s the son of Dougan Macniven. Dougan was Alec’s father’s man. His captain, if I’m remembering true.”
“And did you see either of them during the fighting at Dunbrae?” Iain asked, his eyes narrowed in thought.
Frazier shook his head, his eyes full of regret. “No’ that I remember. ’Twas nigh impossible to see anything o’er much. The fighting was fierce.” The older man looked to Bram for confirmation.
