Page 62 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“There is something ye should understand about Dubh Tower, m’love. The walls have ears, and they report back to me. Nearly always.”

“Why are you doing this?” Her jaw tightened with the obvious clenching of her teeth. Frustration poured from her.

“To show that what exists between us is more than simple lust.” He took her hand and grazed a tender kiss across her knuckles. “We are one because we finally found each other after being torn asunder and tossed to the winds of time. We are one soul, one heart, finally melded and made whole again. Aye, each other’s touch brings us ecstasy beyond belief, but we are more than that; we are spirits meant to love each other, to choose each other, again and again across the centuries.” He released her hand and smiled. “And ye must accept that with no doubts whatsoever.”

“Even the healthiest of couples have doubts and disagreements.”

“Aye, ye’ve said that before. But the doubts ye possess are concerning enough to keep us targets for the gods and the Fae.” He intended to force her to suspend her twenty-first-century logic and embrace all the wondrous impossibilities of their world. “’Tis a sad thing indeed that yer world no longer believes in the truth about the legends, in the very realness of magic, and all the inexplicable wonders to be embraced if ye but believe in them.”

Idly watching those of the clan meander into the great hall and take their seats at the long trestle tables, she squinted as though trying to focus on the farthest point in the room. “Science and technology have demystified my world.” Then she barely nodded. “And you’re right. It is sad.” Still perusing the room, she wrinkled her nose. “When are the Heberdys going to leave?”

“They await their solicitor. Or perhaps wait for word from their solicitor.”

“What’s a solicitor?”

He didn’t know what such a person might be called in her time. “A person who handles legal matters for the clan. Clan MacMuirrow has one as well, but as you might imagine, Heberdy prefers to make use of his own.”

She still appeared confused. “Why are they waiting for word from their lawyer? You had nothing to do with that contract.”

“Aye, but they still wish to try. Not only do they resent the loss of the match, but also the loss of how such a marriage would benefit their clan.”

“Great. Yet another hurdle.” She made a hissing sound that reminded him of the wee moggy that kept the mice out of the stores. “And by the way,” she said, “isn’t refusing to sleep with me kind of like closing the barn door after the horse has already gotten out? You can’t exactly un-ring that bell, you know.”

He almost laughed but thought better of it. His precious, passionate wife was frustrated. Good. “It will help ye come to realize we are more than the perfect coupling.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love ye, Evie, and I intend to make ye love me too—with no reservations.”

She glared at him, but then her scowl deepened as she stared past him. “That tall guy over there by the hearth has pointy ears.” She slid her left hand along the table and wiggled the finger with the ring. “Look. It’s turned green.”

Drummond stole a glance that way, then turned back to her, scooped up her hand, and kissed it again. Without looking away from his beloved wife, he addressed Murdoch: “The tall, pointy-eared bastard at the hearth, man. Do all the guards possess the iron cuffs and chains Morganna had the smithy fashion?”

“Aye, and I’ve a set on me belt right now. I shall bring him to ye.”

“Morganna will be down any minute,” Evie whispered. “Should I stop her? Will he be able to see through her glamour?”

“I dinna ken.” Drummond forced himself to relax and rested his hands on the arms of his chair. They must not alarm the spy or give themselves away. “I canna believe that one was so lax as to allow his ears to show.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?”

“It verra well could be.” He nodded at the arch leading to their private stairwell. “Go upstairs. Keep yerself and Morganna out of harm’s way in the solar, aye? The Fae are not to be taken lightly, and Griogair will keep ye safe.”

After staring at him for a long moment with a look so panicked and full of heartbreak that it tore at his soul, Evie dove forward and kissed him long and hard. Jerking back, she locked eyes with him. “Don’t you dare get hurt,” she frantically whispered. “You hear me? Don’t you do it.”

His heart full, he sampled the sweetness of her mouth yet again, then whispered back, “Go upstairs, m’love. Make haste.” He braced for an argument, but it didn’t come. She simply gave him a worried nod, then hurried out of the hall.

The louder rumbling of murmurs within the room made him turn and give his full attention to the matter at hand. With iron chains rattling from his wrists and between his ankles, the Fae spy labored to put one foot in front of the other as Murdoch dragged him forward. Morganna had sworn it would be so, and Drummond hadn’t doubted her this time. The Fae race, whether Seelie or Unseelie, could not overcome the power of iron against their flesh. It muted their magic, and if left in contact with it long enough, it weakened their immortality to a brittle thread easily snapped.

Yet even in his weakened state, the Fae smiled with such smugness that Drummond wanted to shove the iron chains down the immortal’s throat. He had the audacity to offer an exaggerated bow. “Good day to ye, m’lord. Peregrine Wendless, at yer service.”

“Seelie or Unseelie?” It was hard to tell in the being’s current glamour of a Scot who appeared old enough to have seen his fair share of battles but still young enough to chase the lasses.

“Seelie, of course.” Peregrine tapped a fingertip high on his cheekbone. “Ye can always tell by the eyes. Seelie eyes are the clearest blue-white of an angel’s feather tip, whilst the Unseelie are the deep purple of an ugly bruise.” He snorted a laugh. “I would have thought yer Unseelie pet would have shared that with ye.”

“I recommend ye leave Dubh Tower and never return lest ye wish yerself entombed in cold cast iron. Our smithy just finished a fine coffer that should fit ye nicely.”

“Oh, I’m happy to leave.” Peregrin bowed again, then let loose with an ominous chuckle. “Ye see…I was the decoy. The bait.” He flexed his fingers as if grasping for something just out of reach. “Damned if ye didn’t use the strongest iron, though. It appears I am here till ye choose to release me.”

Ominous dread shot through Drummond like a searing gulp of raw whisky. “Bring him!” he told Murdoch, then charged out of the hall and raced up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. He unleashed a roar of anguish when he came upon Griogair on his knees in the open doorway of his solar.

“M’lord,” the giant of a man groaned. “They…they…dis­appeared in front of my verra eyes. They are gone.”