LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past
“Och, ye are no that sweet. Ye will no melt,” Morag was saying as she stirred another ingredient into the pot hanging over the fire.
Jillian crossed her arms defiantly, letting Morag know she was not budging on the subject. “And I told you that I would go back when the rain let up!”
“Och.” Morag shook her head and slammed the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot so hard a splinter of the handle shot off and hit the opposite wall. “Now look what ye made me go and do.”
“Me!” Jillian screeched, aghast. “You did that yourself and you know it. Stop blaming everything on me.”
“I will blame things on ye if I want to.”
“And I will call you out on them, if I want to.”
Morag and Jillian were at an impasse.
Morag wanted Jillian to return to Greystone, and Jillian wanted nothing more than to wait out the storm and return when the weather was not so formidable.
In the end, Jillian won.
But Morag was not happy. Not one bit.