“Who knows?” Neil replied with a shrug. “They passed into legend, just like all the old magic.” He grinned and raised his whisky in a toast. “But here ye are, come right out of the stories to help us. I’m glad the old magic is back—Islay sorely needs the strength.”
Elise didn’t reply. She took a sip of her whisky, trying to get a grip on her scattered thoughts. War Weavers. Spellweavers who used their magic for battle.
Could this be…could this be whatshewas? Could this be why her magic was so difficult to control?
She set down her cup. “Thank you for your help. We’d best be going now.” She stood abruptly and headed for the door. Andrea, looking a little startled, downed her whisky, then followed.
“If ye do decide to blast those pirates into smithereens, be sure to leave a few for me to curse!” Neil called after them.
Elise hurried outside without replying.
“Are ye all right?” Andrea asked, closing the door behind them and placing a hand on Elise’s shoulder. “Dinna pay any heed to Neil. He’s always been one for wild tales and tall stories.”
Elise managed a faint smile, but her thoughts were racing. If Neil’s tales were just that—wild stories with no truth to them—then why did it feel right? Familiar, even?
She turned and began trudging up the track. The sun was beginning to set, turning the sea to crimson. The tide was coming in and to Elise’s ears, its whispering voice seemed to be speaking secrets, if only she had the ears to hear. War Weavers. Was this the link she’d been missing?
They reached the keep as twilight settled over the sea. Torches burned bright along the walls of Dun Arach, their glow soft against the darkening sky. Laughter drifted from the courtyard—the sound of music and the rumble of barrels being rolled into place.
They joined the throng of people streaming from the village to the keep, each one carrying a lit torch so that the procession looked like a long golden snake slithering through the gates. Inside, the courtyard had come alive. Villagers and castle inhabitants alike filled the space, passing around cups of mead, ale, and whisky and calling greetings to each other. Excited children zoomed in and out of the throng, getting under everyone’s feet and having a whale of a time.
Elise hesitated on the threshold. The scene should have felt warm and welcoming. Instead, she felt like she was gatecrashing someone else’s party. For three days she’d been avoiding this. Avoidinghim. But now fate, or simple bad timing, had thrown her right into the middle of it all. She tried to work her way through the crowd, intending to flee to her room, but someone pressed a drink into her hand.
“Here’s to our MacFinnan spellweaver! And to the harvest!”
Around her, others joined in the toast. Her cup gave off a sweet-honey smell. Elise sighed. She could hardly refuse her own toast, could she? Raising her cup in a salute, she took a taste. It went down way too easily. So did the second.
Warmth spread through her limbs, loosening the knot in her chest just a little. As she downed the drink and someone poured her another, the world lost some of its sharpness. She felt herself begin to relax. She even laughed when a group of children managed to steal an old man’s hat and he set off after them, roaring like a bull.
Then, at some unseen signal, a hush went through the crowd. Darkness had fallen now, and everyone began pressing towards the bonfire, indicating the celebrations were about to begin in earnest.
Oh no. Elise tried to push back, to get away, but it was too late.
The press of bodies carried her forward, closer to the bonfire. Torches were being passed from hand to hand now, the flames painting faces gold and copper in the night air. The bonfire was going to be lit. And that honor fell only to one man.
“Make way for the laird!” someone shouted.
The crowd parted slightly, and there he was.
Jamie.
Elise froze. He stood on the steps leading down from the keep and surveyed the crowd. His pale hair caught the torchlight, and his expression was solemn as he gazed around, holding a flaming torch in one hand. The crowd fell silent, the hush broken only by the hiss of the torches and the low sigh of wind off the sea.
Elise’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She hadn’t seen him up close since that day on the beach. Since the kiss.
God, that kiss.
She pushed the thought away. She wouldnotthink about that now.
Jamie walked down the steps into the crowd, and they parted to let him pass. Elise tried to shrink back as he approached the stacked wood of the bonfire and held his flaming brand up high.
“People of Islay! Men and women of the Isles!” His voice was strong and full of conviction. The sound of it sent a delicious shiver across Elise’s skin despite her better judgment. “Tonight we give thanks for what bounty the Isles have given us. For crops from the land and fish from the sea. For water from the streams and salt from the waves. The wheel has turned and now the year turns towards the dark time. The lean time. Tonight we bid farewell to the light, not in dread of what is to come, but in thanks for what has gone before. We are the people of the Isles! Saltwater runs in our veins and granite fills our bones! So drink, make merry, and dance for the turning of the year!”
He thrust his torch against the pyre and the wood took almost immediately, lighting with a whoosh that sent sparks curling up into the night air. A thunderous cheer erupted, and the musicians began to play, drums, fiddle, and flute bashing out a merry tune that carried above the roar and crackle of the bonfire. People grabbed partners or formed into circles to begin dancing.
She needed to get out of here. She turned—and found Jamie staring at her across the heads of the crowd.
All the air seemed to get sucked out of Elise’s lungs. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away.
