The bell over the door jangled as I burst onto the street. Quickly, I locked the door behind me, leaving Quilliam behind, and dug my hands into my pockets.
The afternoon was grey and soft, typical Scottish weather that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. I should go back for my coat, but frustration drove me forward. I didn’t really have a destination in mind, I just needed to move, needed to outpace the panic trying to claw its way up my throat.
Part of me had always hoped I was being overly cautious. That I was throwing away my chance at happiness for nothing and that I was just being dramatic.That Gran’s grief had manifested as superstition. And I’d followed suit.
But this?
This was next level.
This wasn’t just a curse.
My ancestor had slaughtered a massive water serpent.
The gravity of it hung on me, causing my breath to come out in anxious puffs of air.
I walked faster, my legs burning as the road sloped upward. I needed to get away from the village and wherethe loch hugged its shores. I couldn’t look at that water right now.
The standing stones rose ahead of me like ancient sentinels on the hilltop.
They’d watched over Loren Brae for centuries now and were rumored to grant wishes over Christmastime. I’d never been brave enough to give it a go, but hell, maybe I should look into it. Maybe a desperate wish at the standing stones was the way forward.
“Agnes!”
I didn’t stop, though my stomach twisted at his voice.
“Agnes, wait!”
Of course.Of coursehe’d seen me. The Tipsy Thistle had a perfect view of Bonnie Books. Graham probably knew my schedule better than I did.
“Go away, Graham.”
“Nae chance, lass.” He caught up to me in a few long strides, his legs eating up the distance I’d tried to put between us. “What happened? You came out of the shop like the hounds of hell were chasing you.”
“Nothing happened. I needed air.”
“So you’re speedwalking up a hill in the rain with no coat on?” Already he was draping his coat over my shoulders and the scent of him, warm and familiar, washed over me. I wanted to bury my face into the cloth and soothe my battered heart in the warm confines of his oversized jacket.
“It’s barely rain. It’s mist.”
“It’s wet and it’s cold, Agnes. You’re not even wearing proper shoes.” He hooked my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Agnes. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing?—”
“Bollocks.” His eyes searched my face, seeing too much as always. “You’re shaking. And you look like you’re ready to cry.”
I lifted my chin.
“I rarely cry, Graham.”
“Well, maybe you should, if it lets out whatever has been dragging you down all week.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are so far from fine that fine is a distant memory.” His grip on my arm gentled, but he didn’t let go. “When are you going to get that through your head? I’m not going anywhere, Agnes. I’ve never been going anywhere. So whatever this is, whatever’s got you running scared, you might as well tell me, because I’m just going to keep asking until you do.”
I looked up at him. Rain had darkened his hair, and droplets clung to his eyelashes. He looked ridiculous. He also looked so damn handsome it made my teeth hurt from wanting to take a bite out of him.
“I can’t tell you,” I said, heaving in a sigh as I repeated the same refrain. “Not yet. I need to... I need to think. To figure out how to explain.”
