23

Keyanna

“It just felt like there was something there, you know?”

I lean back in the old metal chair stashed in the corner of the barn, letting my head rest against the inner wall. There’s no response, just like there hasn’t been for the last ten minutes I’ve been talking, but it doesn’t stop me from word-vomiting all my thoughts.

“I just heard about this journal, and it felt like one of those ‘this is it’ moments. I know my dad didn’t have it back at our place in New York. I just know it. So it has to be here, right?” More silence. “But…” I huff out a breath. “We’ve been searching all over the property for the last week, and there’s nothing. Not even a fucking stray letter stashed in a drawer. What in the world could he have done with it?”

Two eyes blink back at me lazily, her jaw working subtly as she stares at me with a bored expression. I blow out a breath, rising to my feet and crossing the distance between us so I can scratch at her jaw.

“You’re a good listener,” I tell Bethie, “but you smell terrible.”

She makes a low mooing sound, huffing through her nostrils, which results in a spray of wet air that has me holding back a gag. “Seriously,” I groan. “Do you have to be so gross?”

“There you are,” I hear from the barn’s entrance behind me. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Lachlan pushing off the doorframe and sidling up to where I’m still giving Bethie scritches. “I see you’ve finally decided the cows aren’t going to eat you.”

“Jury’s still out,” I tell him. “But she is weirdly cute. I guess.”

“You hear that, Bethie?” He runs his fingers along her cheek, scratching behind her ear as she tilts her head into his touch. “That’s a high compliment coming from this one.” I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite land. Lachlan doesn’t miss this. “Are you in here hiding so you can sulk?”

“I’m not…sulking,” I lie.

“Aye, you are.” He steps away from Bethie, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in to press a kiss to my hair. “I told you. You can’t let this get to you. S’not your responsibility to solve everything.”

Then why does it feel like it is?

“I just thought we’d find it,” I admit, my voice soft. “Like at the castle.”

“That was a freak accident, Keyanna,” he says gently. “You’re not a bloody dowsing rod. And I don’t expect you to be, all right?”

I nod stiffly. “I guess.”

“Now, have you been practicing?”

“Yeah. Not that I’ve gotten any better.”

Which I guess isn’t entirely true. A week ago, I couldn’t control this weird magic inside me at all—but after another instance of blowing out all of Lachlan’s lights and one unfortunate near-setting of his rug on fire…we decided I had to try something.

“Show me,” he says.

I sigh as I step away from him, flexing my palm and trying to grab hold of that feeling that always seems to take me whenever something happens with my magic. It feels almost like a well that’s being fed water—so full that it overflows and bursts into a physical manifestation. Like my body simply can’t contain it any longer.

I close my eyes and try to poke at that feeling, imagining it as an actual well. Imagining that it’s me filling it with water to the brim. I start to feel that humming warmth under my skin after a moment or so, and there is a lick of excitement in my belly that still hasn’t lessened with every instance of this, coaxing that energy higher, stoking it, filling my well.

I imagine that water pouring over the stone edge of the well in my mind, directing it to somewhere more specific. Somewhere small. Somewhere that I can control it. The heat rushes through my body and gathers in my palm, and when I let my eyes drift open, a tiny flame flickers there.

I smile as I watch it, peeking up at Lachlan, looking for acknowledgment of my success.

“That’s a fancy party trick,” Lachlan chuckles.

I narrow my eyes. “Would you like me to set your ass on fire with my party trick?”

“No, no,” he says, grinning. “I take it back. You’re definitely all powerful.”

“Whatever.” I close my palm and make a fist, letting the flame sputter out. “Could be useful someday.”

“Aye, it could,” he says, more serious now. He pulls me back into him, pressing a kiss to my hair. “You’re incredible, Key. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

I feel a swelling sensation in my chest that is almost painful, clinging to him.

I don’t know how to tell him that with every day that passes, every day that I know him a little more—I grow more and more afraid. It seems nonsensical to me that the idea of losing him would feel so detrimental after such a short time, but it’s there, regardless of reason. Every passing day with no answers feels like a loss. Even with mornings spent in his bed—the nights spent alone are almost haunting in their loneliness. Like a reminder that the deeper I let myself fall into this thing we’re doing, the more painful it will be if I inevitably lose him to his curse.

“How do you do this?”

He pulls away, looking confused. “Do what?”

“Go through every day not knowing what’s ahead? Aren’t you terrified?”

His brow furrows, a serious frown passing over his features before he looks away altogether, staring at nothing. “Aye, sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t dwell on it. It would drive me mad. It’s better that I keep going as if the answer is out there. Even if some days are harder than others.” A smile touches his lips when he looks back at me, his eyes softening. “Lately, it’s been a bit more bearable.”

I bury my face in his shirt, colliding with him so roughly that he lets out a quiet oof as I wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m scared,” I admit. “I shouldn’t be scared, right? You hated me a few weeks ago.”

“Och.” He pushes his fingers into my hair, forcing my head back so I have to look up at him. “It’s like you said. I don’t think I ever hated you, Key. Not really. I think it was just easier to pretend that I did.”

I turn my cheek, resting my face in the crook of his neck. “What are we going to do?”

“Tomorrow? We’re going to finish searching the attic. Next week? I can’t say for sure.” I feel the ghost of his lips at my hair, his wide palm cradling my head. “But right now…I think we’re going to go get a drink.”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” I remind him.

He snorts. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of a night out on the town.”

“Don’t remind me,” I grumble into his T-shirt.

“Come on, princess,” he chuckles. “Let’s get a pint. We’ll feel much better after.”

“Says you.”

“Well, at the very least, maybe it’ll get you to stop talking to the cows.”

I trudge after him when he leaves me, following him toward the barn entrance and wondering how in the hell he can be so calm. Part of me worries it’s an act, that he’s projecting this easy attitude to try and bring me some semblance of peace. The thought of that threatens to make me want to yell at him, but then again, I don’t want to waste time arguing with him. Not when he’s obviously dealing with this in the best way he can.

Fuck.

I really do need that drink.

---

“Okay, but we know that, after the war, your family settled the area where the town is now,” I say, poring over an old census book I found in the back of the small library in Greerloch.

Lachlan brings his mug to his lips, taking a long draught before sighing. “Aye. There used to be a manor a few miles from Hamish’s property. It burned down in the sixteen hundreds.”

“You guys have really bad luck with houses.”

He chuckles. “I’d say we have bad luck with a lot of things, love.”

My stomach clenches at the word. He doesn’t say it often; I’m not even sure it occurs to him that he does, but I collect each one like keepsakes, each one giving me a burst of butterflies.

“But if my family did get involved with the kelpie, then it’s safe to assume that, at that point, they had the bridle, yeah?”

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, eyeing the lingering bodies in the pub, tourists who are still hanging around after the games. “One would assume.”

“So where was my family when yours founded Greerloch?”

“As far as I know, your family has lived on the same plot of land since the day they bought it from mine.”

“You know, that part has been bugging me.”

“Why?”

“Why would your ancestors sell their land to mine if we had a hand in turning you guys into monsters?”

“Well,” Lachlan says thoughtfully, frowning down into his beer. “I’d venture to say if they had the bridle, there wasn’t anyone that could really tell them no.”

“So, what? They use it to bully your family into giving up part of their land, and then they just…said fuck it and chucked the thing?”

Lachlan frowns. “I…guess?”

“That doesn’t seem strange to you?”

“I turn into a fucking dinosaur after dark,” he grouses. “Nothing really strikes me as strange anymore.”

I wave him off, chewing on my thumbnail as I let possibilities tumble through my thoughts. I can feel something there on the fringe of it all, just out of reach—something I can’t quite grasp. If the bridle went to the MacKays, and the Mackays have never left, then surely—

A cheery “Hello, Keyanna,” sounds from over my shoulder, jarring me from my mental tug-of-war. To his credit, Lachlan only stiffens a little when he notices my cousin standing behind me, no doubt remembering the conversation he and I had the last time we spoke to Brodie.

I twist in my chair, offering him a smile. “Hey.”

“Bit early for a drink, yeah?”

He grins as he says it, letting me know he’s just poking fun, and I cock an eyebrow back at him. “Bit of a pot-meet-kettle situation, don’t you think?”

“I’ll have you know,” he protests, “I’m here for the fish and chips.”

“Best fish and chips this side of Inverness!” Rory calls from behind the bar.

Lachlan cranes his neck. “What did I tell you about eavesdropping?”

“Aye, but I never listen to you. Why would I start now?”

Lachlan frowns, shaking his head as he settles back into his chair, muttering, “Eejit.”

“Oi.” Brodie’s eyes grow round, and he leans over the table with interest. “What’s this?”

I glance down at the census book still open in front of me. “A dead end, that’s what.”

“Still looking into that history, aye?”

“Trying to,” I tell him. I watch Brodie bob his head as a thought strikes me, sitting up a little straighter. “You’ve been looking into all this too, right?”

“Aye, a bit,” he says. “Mostly just for fun. My da used to say we had Vikings in our ancestry.” He scoffs. “But he’s probably full of shite.”

“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh, trying not to think about magical shape-shifting horses. “Probably.”

He glances at the book again. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“We’re good,” Lachlan says tightly, and when I look over at him, I notice his jaw is clenched.

I make a face at him, trying to convey with my eyes that I am prepared to slap the shit out of him if he doesn’t tone down the macho bullshit.

“I don’t think it would hurt to ask Brodie for a little help,” I stress. “It’s just for fun, after all.”

Lachlan gains the look of a scolded child, shifting in his seat. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Sit, Brodie.” I pat the seat next to me. “Sit here.”

Brodie still looks slightly unsure, but takes the offered seat nonetheless. “Sure. I’ve got time.”

“We were actually looking into when the MacKays first settled here,” I tell him. “They bought the land from Lachlan’s family, right?”

“Oh, aye,” Brodie confirms. “The auld farmhouse was actually built right along the border of where the Greer land starts.” His face lights up, clearly passionate about the topic. “The Greers already had their dead buried there, aye? That meant their servants and such too, so the MacKays that had worked for the Greers for centuries prior were all there. So, they took what they could as close as they could to the burial grounds to be closer to their family.”

“I…didn’t know that,” Lachlan says with genuine surprise. “Is that true?”

Brodie nods, regarding Lachlan warily. “It is. Never could find the original deed, though. Just saw it referenced a lot.”

“Did you ever see anything about a journal when you were browsing?”

“You mean the one Duncan supposedly found?”

My brows rise. “Rhona told you?”

“No, not really.” He shrugs. “I heard her mention it before, but there’s mention of an original record from the first one who settled that land.”

My heart flutters. “You know who it was?”

“Sure. His name was Tavish. He was a stable hand for the Greers back at the original keep.”

Lachlan leans in. “The castle?”

“Mhm.” Even with the way Brodie is clearly unsure about sharing all this so casually with me and Lachlan, he looks tickled to have someone interested in his project; it almost makes me feel guilty for not telling him the whole truth. “He married someone else that lived in the keep. Maybe a servant? I’m not sure. Her name is never mentioned. I reckon they’re the first MacKays to settle where Rhona and Finlay are now.”

My heart is thumping in my chest now; something about this information feels relevant. Important even. If Lachlan has always been told that a stable hand named MacKay fell in love with the kelpie, that he helped her escape…it has to be this Tavish.

It takes all that I have not to jump up from my seat, a frenetic energy building inside as I meet Lachlan’s gaze from across the table. I see a similar expression of shock mirrored there, his mouth parted and his blue eyes wide as he digests the same information as I’m hearing.

“What?” Brodie asks, justifiably confused. “What is it?”

“I…” I do a spectacular impression of a goldfish as my mouth opens and closes and then opens again—finally swallowing down the thick lump forming in my throat. “Nothing,” I say finally. “We just had a bet going. Sounds like I might win.”

A muffled laugh escapes Lachlan. “I don’t know about that.”

“You two are sweet,” Brodie sighs. “It’s a bloody awful sight for us single folks.”

“Word of advice,” Lachlan says, lowering his voice. “Maybe move on from Blair, aye? You’re barking up the wrong tree. Wrong forest, really.”

“You’re kidding,” Brodie says with genuine surprise on his face.

Lachlan shoots him a sympathetic look. “Afraid not.”

“Figures,” Brodie snorts. “That’s about how my luck runs.”

“My da used to say s’better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all,” Lachlan says.

Brodie frowns. “I think Tennyson said that, mate.”

“You’re kidding.” Lachlan’s mouth parts. “That auld stoater had me thinking he was a bloody poet!”

Brodie throws his head back and laughs. “Trust me, if that’s all you have to be disappointed in your father for, you’re doing all right.”

“Och.” Lachlan shakes his head. “I heard your da is a bit of an arse.” He winces when he realizes what he’s said. “Sorry.”

Brodie seems to remember then that he doesn’t actually like Lachlan; his smile fades as he shifts in his chair, averting his gaze with a shrug. “Aye, well. That’s just the way of it sometimes. I reckon it’s my fault for not turning out the way he wanted me to.”

“What way is that?” Lachlan asks.

Brodie’s eyes are colder when he answers, “To hear him tell it, more like you, I’d wager.”

“Me?” Lachlan makes a face. “I help out with the farm. Surely he’s prouder to have a smart one like you, aye? With your fancy job back in Inverness.”

Brodie bristles even further if possible, and for the life of me, I can’t pinpoint where this conversation went off the rails. They had been doing so well.

“Aye, well.” Brodie sniffs. “Best be seeing about that fish and chips before I starve, yeah?”

“Thank you for your help,” I say, having to hold myself back from asking what just happened.

He nods stiffly. “Good luck with your search.”

“You too,” I call back. I wait until he’s out of earshot before leaning over the table to ask, “What the hell just happened?”

Lachlan shrugs. “Beats me. The guy just doesn’t like me, Key. I reckon there’s not much I can do about it.”

I frown at that, but I guess I don’t have time to dwell on it. That’s a problem for another day. We have more important things to worry about right now.

“The story. Do you think…?”

“Aye. Definitely,” he finishes before I can get the question out.

“What do we do now?”

Lachlan frowns, turning his face toward the window. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s enough time left before dark to do anything today.”

“Oh.” I wither at the idea of saying goodbye to him for another night; I think because each time I do it, there’s a small part of me that worries he won’t come back. “Right.”

I can see those same fears etched into his features as he studies my forlorn expression, finally reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. “You want to come with me?”

“What?” I rear back. “I don’t think it works like that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like that. I just meant the shore. Just for a while.” He looks toward the window again. “There’s time yet…and I want to show you something.”

Given that I’m increasingly desperate these days to spend more time with him, I don’t need much persuasion. “Sure,” I tell him. “I can go.”

“Look at me.”

My eyes snap up to his as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, no doubt trying to ease some of the tension that has to be radiating off me.

“There’s still time,” he promises. “All right?”

I let out a breath. “Since when did you start being the positive one?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” he answers indignantly. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been revered for my sunny personality.”

I say nothing, simply arching my brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get off your arse and come with me, yeah?”

I can’t help but grin.

“That’s more like it,” I chuckle.

I try not to think about the sinking sun as we say goodbye to Rory and Blair and even Brodie—try not to imagine a possibility where it will go down and not bring Lachlan with it when it returns. One of us has to keep hoping for a solution.

But it’s getting increasingly hard to be the one to do it.