Page 53 of The Finest Scottish Fate

Chapter Thirteen

As they entered the corridor leading to his father’s solar, Drummond drew closer to Evie and kept his arm protectively around her. An air of unrest had come over the tower, keeping pace with the unholy storm raging outside. The tempest had to be the work of the Fae. Or the gods. Or both. This was early October, and never had the Highlands brought them so much ice and bitter cold this early in the season.

He prayed they’d managed to store enough food and fuel for the fires to get them through what looked to be a winter that was eager to start. He caught hold of Evie’s hand. Touching her brought him the only calm there was to be found. “After we meet with Father and yer guests, Murdoch and I must ride out and see to the livestock. Griogair will stay at yer side, aye? I shall return as soon as possible.”

“Morganna”—Evie glanced behind them—“and the others will keep me safe.” She gave him a look that meant trouble. “But I really think I should come with you. For some reason, I don’t think we need to separate. That plays into their strengths. We must maintain a united front.”

“Plays into whose strengths?” He slowed their progress down the hallway. “And ye are not coming with me. Ye will surely catch yer death in this weather.”

“And you won’t?”

“I have endured far worse for many days. Dinna fash yerself about that.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to subject yourself to even more risks and the possibility of hypothermia. If you happened upon a sleeping bear, would you avoid it or poke it?” She pulled away and fisted her hands atop her hips, halting in the middle of the hallway. “Well?”

“I dinna ken what hypother…whatever that word was. I canna even remember how ye said it, and of course, I would never poke a bear. To do so would be certain folly.” He took hold of her by the shoulders, returned her to her place beside him, and tucked her arm through his. “Why would ye even ask me such a thing?”

“Because taking risks like riding in this weather is the same as poking a bear to see what happens.” She pulled away again and tucked her arms across her arisaid, tightening it around her and refusing to allow him to escort her as was proper.

“The livestock must be seen to,” he said. “Those watching over them need to know they’ve not been forgotten. They need more supplies as well because the storm has surely slowed them as they move the herds to a more sheltered glen.” He’d not add that if he took her along, he’d be so worried about watching after her that he’d not get anything else accomplished. Taking hold of her by the shoulders again, he leaned closer until they were nearly nose to nose. “This is how it is done, lass. How it must be done. This is how I take care of my clan.” Still holding her fast, he turned and glared at Morganna. “Tell her.”

The Fae of the Dark Ones stepped closer and gently rested a hand on Evie’s arm. “A good leader does not cower by the fires whilst his people face the savagery of the Highlands.”

Evie tossed her head and squared her shoulders like a warrior facing battle. “I am still going. Mercury and I will be fine.”

Morganna glanced up and down the long hallway. “Unicorns dinna particularly like ice and snow. Count yerself fortunate that he didn’t turn back when we stepped from the hill and discovered this was their weapon of choice.”

Even though he didn’t feel comfortable discussing this in the hallway, Drummond had to know. “Whose weapon of choice?”

The immortal slowly shook her head. “If I were to guess, I would say Beira, the ancient Queen of Winter, as well as Fae from both realms. Beira is one of the Seven.”

“One of the Seven?” He knew all the myths and legends about the goddess who hated relinquishing the land to the warm kiss of spring, but he had never heard that she was one of seven. “Seven what?”

“One of the Seven who helped the Fae unleash the curse on those of us from Craig Durness. The curse that only the matching of a thousand fated mates across time can undo.”

“I told you Morganna was cursed,” Evie said in a hushed voice. “Remember?”

Faint murmurings from behind the door farther down the hallway gave him pause. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this.” Frustrated beyond measure, he again offered his arm to his stubborn wife. “It is time for ye to meet my father. Everything else can wait for now, and then ye and I shall discuss what shall be done—and also what shall not be done, ye ken?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and nodded. “I understand.” Then she took his arm and locked her eyes on the door ahead of them. “I hope he likes me.”

“I can help in that regard,” Morganna said from behind them as they continued onward.

“How?” Drummond risked a glance back at her and was immediately unnerved by her smile.

“Ye will see.”

Feckin’ hell. He pushed open the door and ushered Evie inside.

The three visitors from Craig Durness rose from their seats, as did Murdoch, but Drummond’s focus was on his querulous father. Old Angus MacMuirrow was a shell of the man he had once been. Pillows kept him upright in the chair, and his valets had swaddled him in wraps from the tips of his toes to his sallow jowls. Even his hands were wrapped in strips of wool, and a scarf covered his head. With all those coverings, the chief couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

“Father—” No response. His sire didn’t even blink. Just stared straight ahead. Drummond raised his voice, wondering if the man would be better off returned to his bedchamber, where he could recline in his bed. “Father?”

MacMuirrow lifted his watery-eyed gaze and seemed to realize that he wasn’t the only person in the room. “Drummond?”

Drummond moved closer. “Aye, Father. I have brought my wife to meet ye.”

His father frowned. “Yer wife, ye say?”