He stopped before the full-length silver mirror.
'Slud! 'Twas true. A hawk stared back at him. Turning his head this way and that, he peered closer to see his eyes were still intense blue.
Could this be a nightmare?
Nay, everything felt too real.
A plague upon Wilona MacRae! How could she do something so vile and evil to him?
He knew not how such magic worked. How could he change himself back into a human?
A fresh breeze from the open window ruffled his feathers, distracting him. Though the room was sizable, 'twas still confining, like a cage.
A craving for freedom and open space surged through him.
He rushed to the open window and somehow knew how to use his wings to propel himself up to the windowsill. He sat perched three floors up, but the ground did not appear far away. The urge to fly overwhelmed him. He leapt, then outstretched his wings. He was shocked to find himself gliding over the stone walls and out into the gray Highland mist above the moors.
Chapter 3
Present-day, North Carolina
"When areyougoing to get married, dear?" asked the tiny whitehaired lady at the hors d'oeuvre table.
Danielle MacRae forced a tight smile. If this weren't her younger sister's engagement party, she would've beat a hasty retreat. Even the delicious barbeque scents coming from the grill couldn't have kept her here. Almost everyone she'd chatted with this evening had inquired about her marital status. Talking about her inability to find a date was her least favorite topic.
Dani ladled herself a generous serving of pink Caribbean punch, hoping it was spiked with plenty of rum.
"Aren't you the older sister?" Mrs. Deweese, her parents' longtime neighbor, raised her voice to be heard over the squealing future flower girls splashing in the pool nearby.
Dani nodded, taking a generous sip of the citrusy punch. "No good men are available," she said.Or attracted to me.
If this were historical times, she would've been considered a spinster at twenty-four. Since most of the guys she'd gone out with over the years had been wrong for her, she'd spent most of her time focusing on earning a Ph.D. in English literature.
"Well, you're a beautiful girl." Mrs. Deweese grinned like a pixie. "One day, when you're least expecting it, you'll meet a good man."
Dani couldn't help but smile at the sweet lady who used to give her butterscotch candies as a child. "Thank you. I hope you're right."
After Mrs. Deweese excused herself and walked away, Dani noticed a new arrival—a guy she had dated briefly years ago, when she'd been seventeen. He hadn't spotted her yet, and she didn't want him to. She slipped behind a pavilion column and glanced back through the flowering vines. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she didn't want to rehash high school with him nor talk about her nonexistent social life.
Her sister, Gracie, was too busy to notice if Dani took a break from the party.
After glancing around to make sure no one watched her, she slipped inside the house and into her dad's library. No one would look for her here, she hoped. She would stay away from the French doors where the draperies halfway covered the windows. Late evening had not yet turned to night.
Dozens of tidy, organized bookshelves dominated the room, giving her a thrill. She took her book nerd tendencies after her father, whom she'd been named after. She had not inherited the social butterfly gene like her mom and sister. This library, and her dad, had influenced her to become an English professor.
She hadn't visited this room in several months. Her dad had bought a new case with glass doors for his treasured books. After turning on the lamp, she peered inside and spied several first editions—his favorites to collect.
The cover of the antiquarian book of Scottish folktales caught her eye and she smiled. She hadn't thought of that book in years. A childhood memory struck her, one of her earliest. At age three or four, she'd begged her dad to read the stories to her while she studied the ancient artwork drawn centuries ago. He taught her the meanings of the unusual Scots words. Sometimes he translated as he read. A few of the folktales had frightened her as a child, but they still fascinated her. She loved the stories of princesses, shapeshifters, and loch monsters. The Scots had wild imaginations for sure.
Her dad wouldn't mind if she looked at it, would he? After washing and drying her hands in the half-bath just off the library, she gently took the book from the case. It had originated in the early 1600s. Such ancient manuscripts were hard to find, and her dad had paid a pretty penny for it.
She gingerly opened the leather-bound cover and turned a page. The woodcut illustration had faded over the years, but she could still discern the red and blue colors of the laird's clothing. Her eyes scanned the hand-scribed words, wondering who had written them centuries ago. Probably a scholar.
As she read the ancient Scottish version of the frog prince, the story came alive in her mind, reminding her of why she had loved it all those years ago. She smiled at the nostalgic memories.
As a teen, she read more mature folktales, such as Tam Lin. She turned toward the back of the book and found the story.
"I knew you'd be in here."
