Page 25 of The Women of Wild Hill
We are the daughters of the triple-faced goddess who sees the beginning, the end, and every pregnant moment in between.
Sadie
Sadie Duncan bounded down the stairs of the family castle, a pack of hunting dogs at her heels. As always, the air indoors felt cold and clammy. Sadie had learned from an early age that the only way to stay warm was to keep moving. No one could recall the last time she’d stopped.
Sadie had lived all nineteen years of her life in the crumbling castle on the shores of a still, gray loch. She had no desire to go anywhere else. Only two other humans lived alongside her—her father and Malcolm, a middle-aged man of mysterious origin who was now something akin to a boarder. The paucity of people was fine with Sadie, who found most humans to be hopelessly dull. The castle was filled with all the things she loved more—horses and dogs and, most of all, ghosts. It was, she believed, an ideal existence.
She joined the castle’s two other occupants in the dining room, where breakfast (if you could call it that) was being served. There was no money now for kippers or sausage. Malcolm had scavenged eight eggs from the feral chickens that roamed the grounds and baked a rustic loaf for toast. Sadie grabbed a boiled egg, smeared some precious butter on a slice of bread, and took a seat at the far end of the massive table that had seen countless meals over the centuries.
Dressed in a pair of handsewn tweed pants, Sadie propped her riding boots up on the corner of the table while she peeled her egg.
“Why are you dressed like a man?” her father demanded. He was wearing his best suit, she noticed. That was never a good sign.
Sadie bit into her egg and swallowed. Her father was no longeras fit or handsome as he’d been in his youth, but he was still far too young to be senile. “This is what I wear every day,” she reminded him. “I haven’t worn a dress in years.”
“We are expecting a guest. Go put on something respectable.”
“Who is it?” Sadie countered. “And why would they care what I wear?”
When her father didn’t answer, she knew something was on the verge of going horribly wrong. “Don’t tell me you invited the American?”
Her father despised all the silly Americans with Scottish names who returned to their ancestral lands to roam the moors and trawl the lochs in search of some long-lost heritage. They all went home with kilts and sporrans. The richest of them left with fancy new wives.
Angus Campbell had been introduced to Sadie’s father by a wealthy neighbor. He was six years older than Sadie and heir to a sizable fortune. From the very first moment he’d stepped through the castle’s door, he’d been smitten with the girl. She, on the other hand, had made it clear she had no plans to marry. But then as now, men like Angus Campbell didn’t see any need to take no for an answer. He’d stalked Sadie like a hart, following her on her daily excursions and popping up where he wasn’t wanted. One afternoon, when a storm rolled over the land, he’d spied on her as she stripped out of her clothes and danced in the rain. She’d planned to make him pay for that crime, but she hadn’t yet found the chance.
Still waiting for an answer from her father, Sadie pulled her boots off the table and leaned forward. “Tell me. What does it matter what I wear today?”
His silence was answer enough. She could have murdered him.
“You’re planning to sell me to Angus Campbell like a fattened hog, aren’t you?”
Her father glanced over at Malcolm, who seemed to be expectinga response as well. Then he slammed his fist on the table, rattling the already chipped dishes. “Look around you! We can’t live another year like this. Do you want to see the castle torn down? You would see your beloved ghosts without a home? Angus Campbell has promised to pay for repairs. All he wants in return is you.”
“This was my mother’s castle,” Sadie reminded him. “It should be mine, not yours.”
Sadie stood up and marched out of the room. She heard someone come after her. Assuming it was her father, she reared around to confront him when she reached the main hall. But it wasn’t her father. It was Malcolm.
“What do you want?” Angry and humiliated, she dragged her sleeve over her eyes as she spoke.
The man who answered bore little resemblance to the quiet and mysterious guest who’d long lurked in the background. “Do you know why I’m here?” Malcolm asked. “Have the ghosts told you?”
It was a simple enough question, but one Sadie was surprised to find herself unable to answer. “No,” she admitted.
Malcolm had always been there. He was part of the scenery. When she was little and her grief-stricken father drank himself senseless, Malcolm was there to look after her and make sure she was fed. The day Sadie got lost on the moors, it was Malcolm who happened upon her and carried her home on his horse. The night she jumped from the balcony, convinced she could fly, Malcolm was there to set her broken leg.
He’d been by Sadie’s side her entire life, and only now could she truly see him. He was a compact man, his handsome features offset by a serious countenance. This was no boarder or hanger-on. The man she saw in front of her had a purpose and a mission. And in that moment, Sadie saw herself clearly as well. She’d long been a girl with her head stuck up her arse. The time had come for all that to end.
“You’re here because of me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“The day your mother found she was with child, she had two visions. In the first vision, she saw herself dying in childbirth. The second vision showed you as the head of a family with powers unlike any the world has seen. It was very early in her pregnancy. Your mother could have chosen her life over yours, but she didn’t. After her prophesy came to pass, your aunt in Edinburgh sent me here to watch over you until you were able to fend for yourself.”
“Why would my aunt send a man to look after a little girl? Why not a maid?” It didn’t make sense.
“Men have powers in this world that are denied to women. Until the scales are balanced, the Old One’s male disciples are called upon to offer our protection.”
Sadie’s spirits immediately began to rise. “Does that mean you will help me now? I can’t marry that horrid American.”
“I serve your family, and I will do whatever you ask of me,” Malcolm told her. “But it is my duty to remind you that your mother’s most important advisers still reside in this castle. Perhaps you might do well to consult them?”
