Page 1 of The Finest Scottish Fate

Prologue

Time can’t stop true love…but it can certainly complicate it.

In the mist-shrouded Highland village of Craig Durness, nestled along the wild northern coast of Scotland, peace is as fragile as fairy wings and just as fleeting.

Centuries ago, the gods, goddesses, and the Seelie and Unseelie courts banished those who dared to love across boundaries and defy ancient edicts. Along with that banishment, they placed a brutal curse upon the rebellious band of mythical misfits.

The curse? Until a thousand fated mates torn apart by time itself—each of them born in different centuries—are matched and willingly choose the eternal love of a fated pair, the banished rebels will be hunted. Persecuted. Not allowed a moment’s peace. And the misfit’s village sanctuary, Craig Durness, will also be at risk until the time-separated soul mates are properly rejoined.

Even though the attacks on their existence have become more frequent, this rogue alliance of exiled fae royals, trolls, kelpies, dragons, witches, and Scottish werewolves will not give up without a fight. Living in secret among the mortals of the Scottish Highlands, they cloak their forms with magic and pose as quirky matchmakers, eccentric travel agents, and overly enthusiastic tour guides, luring unsuspecting tourists to Craig Durness for more than just scenic views and ancient folklore.

This village and its matchmaking plots are the rebels’ last hope for true happiness and peaceful lives with their chosen mates. They are determined to save the world they’ve built and those they cherish before time runs out.

After all, in a world where time separates hearts, and myths walk among men, love may be the strongest magic of all.

Chapter One

Craig Durness

Northeast Highlands of Scotland

Fall 2026

Callum Mountainsong, banished Fae prince of the mighty Seelie, stood in the open doorway of Craig Durness’s meeting hall, scrutinizing those taking advantage of the braw, sunny day the Highlands had seen fit to give them. No matter how many centuries his mystical brethren successfully hid in plain sight among the unsuspecting mortals, he still felt it his duty to ensure they didn’t allow their glamours to slip and reveal their true forms. The task of wiping a mortal’s memories of what they accidentally witnessed was a messy business none of them enjoyed. It was far better to avoid creating the memory in the first place.

However, in truth, he and his brethren sometimes purposely revealed themselves to a special few, those born with the blood of the old believers still whispering in their veins. Sadly, those mortals had become fewer, especially now in the twenty-first century. Magic and its believers had been relegated to myths and legends found in books—or this time’s other forms of entertainment: videos, movies, and social media.

He snorted and resettled his stance. Those things called movies and videos on the internet almost always left a bad taste in his mouth. They got so much wrong. He often wondered if that was the work of the gods and goddesses, suppressing the truth about the magic in any way they could.

“Stop glowering. Ye’ll scare the tourists we’ve worked so hard to lure here.”

His mood immediately brightened.

“Morganna.” He uttered her name as softly as a prayer as he turned and pulled her into his arms. Morganna Nightwhisper. Exiled princess of the Unseelie. The infamous Dark Ones. Those that his kind, the Seelie of the Light, were forbidden to love. He and Morganna had sacrificed everything they had ever hoped to become or possess, just so they could possess each other, and if he had it to do all over again, he’d not hesitate. Their love was well worth the sacrifice.

“Tell me, my beloved mate, which of these lovely tourists is the next match on our list?”

Avoiding his gaze, she fidgeted with the thick locks of his silvery-white hair, tucking the longest of them behind his ears. “I thought we discussed cloaking yer natural shade with a darker glamour. More than one visitor has noticed the unnatural brilliance to yer hair when ye move through the shadows. One remarked that ye but needed pointy ears to pass yerself off as an Elven from their favorite show on the internet.” She wrinkled her nose, her dark amethyst eyes sparkling. “I canna recall the movie they named, but I dinna think it was one ye particularly liked.”

It wasn’t the shade of his mane that bothered his ebony-haired love. Nay, it was news she didn’t wish to share with him. The scent of her avoidance floated in the air with the pungency of a briny sea wind tainted with the rotting fishiness of a catch left in the sun too long. “Speak it, Morganna. I would know what it is that ye dinna wish to tell me.”

She allowed her subterfuge to fall away, and he wished she hadn’t. Her sorrow and frustration flowed into him. “We lost three of the pairings from our count against the curse. The strain of the differing centuries”—she gritted her teeth, baring them like an angered beastie—“and incessant meddling by those who would see us fail tore them asunder. We chose poorly, my love. I fear they were not fated after all, or else their love would have prevailed through the trials.”

She bowed her head as if the weight of this loss was hers alone to bear.

He pulled her back into his arms and nestled her head to his chest, not caring that all were watching, and those of the magical world knew that their powerful Morganna had shared the bad news with their leader. “Dinna fash yerself, my own—we will do better. Because we must.” And he meant the words with all his heart. He refused to lose what they had built here at Craig Durness. This place was proof that only love mattered—not boundaries or races or differences of any kind. The archaic rules of the Fae and the gods were wrong.

“What of the next match?” he asked, determined to push onward.

She stepped out of his embrace with a peeved expression that spoke volumes. Once again, trouble brewed.

He gave way to a weary groan. “The woman from this century or the man in the past? Which is the problem?” Females tended to travel through time more easily than males. As the life bearers, the Wheel of the Ages handled them with a kinder touch. But the females of this century were also more difficult to coax away from the niceties that the twenty-first century offered. “Jadrack and Epsily were convinced beyond any doubt that she and her fated mate are ready to be reunited.”

“The dragon and the kelpie are always convinced the fated mates are ready.” Morganna turned and fixed a narrow-eyed scowl on the pair in question. They currently stood outside their small teashop on the square, arguing.

Jadrack Greyguard, a fearsome black dragon from deep within the Scaleheart Mountains, would kill for his mate, Epsily Oakchest, a wily kelpie, a shapeshifting water spirit from Loch an Lagain. Epsily would kill for Jadrack as well. But more often than not, it seemed as though the two would just as happily kill each other. They argued as fiercely as they loved.

“Jadrack. Epsily. A word, please. Immediately.” Callum silently summoned the pair to avoid bellowing across the village square and startling the trio of mortal females who had just arrived yesterday. He nodded at the new arrivals. “What about them?” he asked Morganna.