More so, I only saw the adventure that lay ahead.
Only saw my Scot of Yesteryear, as I had always lovingly called him.
Before I headed inside, I pulled out the Seedling Turned Letter from Storm that found its way to me after my father’s funeral and reread it, cherishing every word. I was eager to meet the man I had only ever thought was part of my fanciful imagination. A hero Storm had spun in her letters who had become so very real to me.
Now it seemedhe truly might be.
More incredible still? He was a living, breathing Scottish laird living over six hundred years in my past.
“Assuming this is real, aren’t you the least bit nervous?” Hazel had wondered, troubled because my sisters had received similar messages from Storm, though at different times, and learned they had soul mates living in medieval Scotland.
Had a part of us always suspected our heroes were real? Yes. Every last one of us. Did we believe my letter when it claimed they were our soul mates, or fated mates, to be precise, needing our help, or Scotland’s history would be altered? Not so much. What difference could four modern-day women possibly make?
Quite a bit, according to Adlin MacLomain.
Ah, yes, I skipped that part, didn’t I? It just so happened my letter included the address for this colonial, which was, coincidentally enough, for sale. Better still, as if he had been waiting for my call, our realtor, Adlin, picked up the phone on the first ring.
And things only got crazier from there.
When I showed up to look at the property with its gorgeous aspen and barn across the dirt drive, he looked nothing like a realtor but something straight out ofLord of the Rings,with his long, white robes cinched at the waist and his long, white beard. Most might say he was in some sort of costume, but I knew better the moment our eyes connected.
He was a wizard.
He knew what I was, too, despite my blue jeans, heeled boots, and fur-trimmed plaid jacket.
Actually, he knew more about me than I did.
“So he confirmed we are witches?” Willow had wondered when the four of us talked about it later. “Realwitches?”
“He did,” I replied.
“Just as I’ve said time and time again,” Ellie had muttered, frowning at Willow because she’d never taken our gifts seriously. “Why do you think we thrive in Salem?” She sighed and shook her head. “Salem, Massachusetts,notNewHampshire.”
Salem, Massachusetts, had been renowned for witchcraft since the Salem Witch Trials in sixteen-ninety-two. Most considered it a complete farce because witches didn't really exist, but Ellie claimed there had indeed been some truth to it, however sad and criminal the trial's outcome.
As to the topic at hand, and moving for the sake of finding love across time? Ellie could give us that stern, big sister look all she wanted about where to find authentic witches, but after all was said and done, she’d received a similar letter, so there could be no doubt witches thrived here just as much as they did back home.
“And we’re half dragon?” Hazel had said. “You’re sure? Adlin said that?”
“He did.” I’d cringed a little as I shared that bit of information, not because the concept frightened me but because of our father. And it only got more daunting from there. “As are the Scottish Highlanders supposedly destined for us.”
We had tossed that idea around for a while, some of us more accepting of it than others, but what choice did we have? Even though some fought the premise, there was no denying we were drawn to this old colonial more with each passing day.
More drawn to wherever it would lead us.
Now, here I was, striding toward the house we purchased, finally fully moved in, and anxious for what came next. Should I be nervous about time travel? Especially to the turbulent medieval period? You bet. Anyone in their right mind would be.
Yet I was not.
All I felt when I stepped through the front door and inhaled the fresh scent of apples and cinnamon was a surge of excitement and the feeling of being exactly where I was meant to be.
“Just in time,” Hazel said from the kitchen as she pulled freshly baked apple crisp out of the oven. She offered me one of her brilliant smiles, the sort that tended to put people at ease, and gestured at the table. “Join me for some?”
“Sure.”
I hung my jacket on the coat rack, poured myself coffee, and sat, eyeing my overly cheerful sister, knowing she was more on edge than she let on. Hazel was what I would call an old soul, taking on the role of a wise protector for me and my sisters despite typically running quieter with an introspective nature. Unlike me, she wasn’t prone to confrontation or facing things head-on but sat back and watched before setting us on the right course in a roundabout way. Shedidget confrontational every so often, though, and watch out when that happened.
“How are you doing, sis?” I wondered, fully aware she already had my coffee to the temperature I liked despite our reasonably simple coffee maker. One of the many mystical gifts that came in handy when she ran a successful coffee shop with homemade baked goods before selling it to move here.
