Caitrina rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I ken what you need.”
“Really?” Laurie braved a smile for her friend.
“You’ll feel better after we go plant shopping.” Caitrina gently touched Laurie’s shoulder.
Laurie calmed, yet felt somewhat bewildered. It was as if the other woman’s touch held some magical calming power. Sometimes Caitrina had a strange way about her.
“Shall we go?” She tugged the brim of her hat over her eyes.
“But what about the man?”
“Dinnae think about it.”
Maybe Caitrina was right. Perhaps picking out plants for the garden would take her mind off what she thought she saw beyond the gate.
“All right. Let’s go.”
They drove into the nearby village of Anderson Creek, to the Le Petit Café and Bakery, entering to the tinkle of little silver bells hanging on the inside of the door.
“Hello.” Caitrina waved to the owner.
The French woman signaled from behind the counter for them to seat themselves. They selected a cozy booth with a view of the creek.
“Did Mairi tell you about the ceilidh at the inn this coming Saturday night?” Caitrina asked. “It’ll be a full moon, a wonderful reason to celebrate.”
“No, she didn’t. What is a ceilidh?”
“’Tis a wee house party with good food, storytelling, traditional music, dancing. Everyone dresses in Highland costume. You ken? Lots of tartan. ’Tis a grand time.”
“Sounds like fun. Not sure what I’d wear though. I don’t have anything tartan.”
“We’ll find something, even if we have to go to the Celtic Image shop.”
As they finished their omelets, the bells on the door jingled again. A dapper older man sauntered in wearing dress slacks, a tweed jacket and cap, a walking cane at his side. His alert gaze spied Caitrina. Stepping up to their table, he removed his cap and bowed.
“Good day to you. ’Tis a pleasure to see such bonnie lasses.” He grasped Caitrina’s hand and brushed a kiss across the top of her knuckles. With a wink, he said, “Introduce me to your friend, lass.”
“Hello to you, Mr. MacNaughton.” Caitrina smiled playfully at him. “This is the lass living in the old cottage at the inn. Her name is Laurie Bernard.”
“Hello, sir.” Laurie produced a friendly smile for the handsome, elder gentleman.
His keen eyes measured her.
“Pleased to meet you, lass.” He inclined his head. “Enchanting old place, the cottage. I hope you decide to remain among us.”
“Thank you.” Laurie squirmed in her seat, awkward, but needed to ask, “Do you know of anyone who might…hike the woods near my cottage?”
Caitrina stared out the window. Laurie frowned, wondering why she looked away.
“Why do you ask?” Mr. MacNaughton narrowed his eyes.
“I saw a man this morning outside my garden gate,” Laurie said.
“Probably a guest from the inn out for a morning constitutional.”
I doubt that. “You’re likely right.”
The stranger didn’t dress like anyone she’d seen at the inn. The Scottish men at the inn wore modern kilts, not a blanket wrapped around pure muscle. Maybe she had imagined him.
“I see friends yonder, I must be off.” Mr MacNaughton ambled over to the counter to chat with the women seated there.
“He’s a terrible flirt,” Caitrina whispered from behind her hand.
They paid the bill and left the café. They drove for a few miles until they glimpsed the sign for May’s Flowers, apparently one of Caitrina’s favorite garden centers.
After parking, they strolled among rows of plants and flowers, stopping often to discuss the merits of one plant or another. Halting at one of the display tables, Caitrina picked up a nursery pot with light green foliage.
“Foxgloves will be perfect in the semi-shade near the rear gate.”
“I’ve seen them in catalogs. Digitalis purpurea. Am I correct?”
“Aye. They’re biennial, and they’ll self sow each year.” Caitrina tilted her head to the side. “Some say they attract faeries.”
“Faeries, huh?” Laurie touched a soft green leaf and smiled over the fanciful idea. “What color will they bloom?”
“This variety is a mix. The flowers come in white and shades of pink or purple.”
“Which color attracts faeries?” Laurie kept her grin to herself.
“All of them,” Caitrina said with a straight face. “Especially the pink.”
“Then I hope these plants produce pink flowers.” Laurie selected several pots and placed them in their cart.
Before leaving May’s, they crammed the small car with as many perennials and annuals as would fit, and made arrangements for the delivery of more plants the next day.
After visiting two more garden centers, Laurie slid behind the wheel and sighed. The morning had been long and judging by the height of the sun, the afternoon was slipping by. She glanced sideways at Caitrina. “You are tireless, but I’m hungry. Could we stop for a bite to eat?”
“We probably should return to the cottage. We don’t want the plants to dry out in the car. We can stop at the vegetarian restaurant in the village for a sandwich and soup to go. Teddy makes fabulous tomato, roasted-garlic soup.”
Laurie’s stomach growled. “You’re making my mouth water. Let’s hurry.”
The Baked Potato was a storefront vegetarian café located next door to the Celtic Image shop on the main drag of Anderson Creek. Tantalizing aromas greeted them when they stepped into the crowded restaurant. Several customers waited in line at the counter in front of them.
One stood out among the others, not only due to his substantial height, but also for his mode of dress. His handsome six-foot-seven body was clothed in a cream fisherman’s sweater, a red plaid kilt, and around his waist hung a fur sporran with a badger head.
He strode to them and gave Caitrina a cursory glance before smiling at Laurie. “Hello. You must be our new resident. Iain says nice things about you.”
Laurie expected Caitrina to introduce them. When she glanced at her friend, she found her glaring at the guy.
“Douglas MacKinnon,” Caitrina snapped. “Rude as usual.”
His eyes turned cold. “Love, where were you last night? You were supposed to meet me.”
“You assume much. I never agreed to meet you.” Caitrina grabbed Laurie by the arm and pulled her past Douglas to the counter. He chuckled from behind her as she ordered sandwiches and soup from Teddy.
Douglas leaned close to Caitrina, and she stiffened.
“Ach, lass. Why do you fight it? You know we are meant to be together.” Although he whispered the words near Caitrina’s ear, Laurie overheard.
He stepped back and raised his chin. “Talk about rude, Caitrina. Wouldn’t it be polite for you to introduce me to your friend?”
Visibly bristling, she turned to Laurie. “This horny toad owns the Celtic shop next door. Douglas, meet Laurie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Laurie shook his hand.
“My pleasure. As I said before this minx interrupted, Iain speaks highly of you.”
Laurie couldn’t help but notice the yearning in his tawny eyes when he gazed at Caitrina and felt a twinge of longing. Would be nice to have someone look at her that way.
The image of the man in the woods popped into her mind for the umpteenth time. What would it be like to have him desire her the way Douglas obviously wanted Caitrina?
“Come on.” Caitrina took the bag of food from Teddy and again grabbed Laurie by the arm, dragging her out the door. Laurie glanced over her shoulder at Douglas and gave him a finger wave. His hearty laughter boomed as the door shut behind her.
When they returned to the cottage, she walked into the living room, and Caitrina followed with the bag of food.
“My new dining set hasn’t arrived yet from the manufacturer. I hope you don’t mind eating at the coffee table.”
Putting the bag down, Caitrina sat cross-legged on the floor. “This is fine. Do you have any whisky? I could use a stiff drink.”
Laurie chuckled. “I have wine. Would you care for a glass of pinot noir?”
“Most definitely.”
After fetching glasses, the wine and a corkscrew from the kitchen, Laurie opened the bottle. She poured them both a glass and handed one to Caitrina.
“Douglas MacKinnon is attractive, don’t you think?”
Caitrina accepted the wine and held it up in toast. “Let’s drink to brawny men. May they be there when you want them, and disappear when you dinnae.”
Laurie cringed. The toast made her think of the mysterious man. She chuckled at the idiocy and clicked her glass against Caitrina’s.
They ate the tasty lunch, chatted and drank wine, more wine, and still more wine.
“I’ll pick out something for you to wear to the ceilidh,” Caitrina said.
Laurie followed her into the bedroom and into the walk-in closet. Caitrina selected a dark green skirt with a drawstring waist, adding a soft, cream-colored linen peasant blouse that tied at the neck.
She held up the blouse. “This will work with the skirt. It’ll be comfortable, no zippers or buttons, only ties. You can go to the Celtic shop for a tartan shawl to wrap around your shoulders. If you pick a plaid that matches the skirt, you’ll look perfect.”
Laurie tried to remember having seen the clothes before. She couldn’t. She tended to be impulsive when shopping. She’d probably purchased the items and never worn them.
Returning to the living room, she poured them both more wine while Caitrina pulled out the folder with the garden plan and made a note on the sketch.
Laurie set the wine glasses on the coffee table. “I was thinking there might be enough room at the south side for a greenhouse. I’m considering asking Iain if I can buy the cottage and some of the land around it.”
“Really?” Caitrina’s eyes took on a speculative tilt.
“Yeah. I think I’d like to live here permanently.”
“Well, then, a greenhouse might fit.”
“I wondered. Actually, I thought this might be a good setting for a garden center.”
With the tip of a finger, Caitrina scratched her chin, studying Laurie. “It would.”
Laurie cleared her throat. “I know there are already a few garden centers in the area, but none with special services like workshops or design clinics.”
“Interesting concepts.”
“Yeah, I thought so. I’d like to open a garden center here. That is, if I can work out a deal with Iain and Mairi.”
Caitrina’s expression remained noncommittal. Maybe it was too much to hope that she might want to join Laurie in a new business. She would wait until her plans were more firm before asking Caitrina to be her partner.
“I don’t mean to open a garden center right away.” Laurie bit her bottom lip. “After I learn more about garden culture. I already have a lot of business experience.” She picked up her glass and sipped the wine.
“In time, with my help, you might learn enough.” Caitrina, too, took a sip of wine.
They talked about the garden, browsed flower catalogs, discussed Laurie’s plans. They gossiped about who would attend the ceilidh. Time slid by. Day turned into night. A couple of empty bottles had rolled under the coffee table, and she opened another.
Her head pounded when she woke in the morning. Laurie lay on the bed, fully dressed, unable to recall how she’d gotten there. Oh, yeah, the wine.
God. What was she thinking?
While she’d slept, she had a bizarre dream. Now, when she tried to think about it, she couldn’t remember anything. How weird was that? Oh, well. Not important.
She dragged dead weight to the shower and leaned against the tile wall under a spray of cool water. More awake, she dressed, made coffee and drank a mug full. After forcing down toast, the woozy sensation faded. With a second mug of java in hand, Laurie walked outside.
The late morning sky threatened rain. She found Caitrina working in the garden. “This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
Caitrina stopped and looked up. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a Mack truck ran over me and thousands of foot soldiers marched through my mouth. Other than that, fine. How about you?”
“Alcohol has no effect on me.”
“Why not?”
Caitrina lowered her head and placed a root ball into a small hole. “It just doesn’t.”
That’s odd. They’d both drank a lot of wine. Laurie shrugged. “Aren’t you fortunate.”
“Here. Start planting these as I’ve laid them out.” Caitrina handed her a trowel and pointed to the trays of seedlings sitting on the freshly turned soil. “We’re in luck. Drizzly weather is a good time for planting.”
Laurie reached for one of the small fiber pots. A creepy sensation on her arm made her shudder and toss the plant aside with a curt scream. She brushed off a nasty-looking spider. “I hate the damn things.” Caitrina laughed, and Laurie chuckled. “Foolish, I know.”
They worked together until the middle of the afternoon. Laurie kept glancing toward the back gate. Would her dream man show up again? When—if—he came, did she want to see him? Her nipples hardened in answer, and she blew a stray hair out of her face. She needed to stop thinking about the stranger.
After Caitrina left, Laurie ate a sandwich, showered and dressed in clean clothes. Then she drove to the village. She passed the historic stone church and parked in front of the Celtic Image shop.
Inside, she scanned the merchandise. Racks of wool clothing—mostly tartan—lined the far wall. Other shelving contained linens and china and knick-knacks. Several glass-topped cases displayed jewelry and other novelties. Douglas MacKinnon stood at the front of the shop, behind a glass display counter full of knives, waiting on an older woman. He glanced up and waved.
Laurie strolled through the aisles, perusing the large selection of Scottish and Irish items. Welsh things also occupied the space. She stopped at one case to glance through CDs before moving on to a case filled with intricately crafted Celtic jewelry. Along with the modern, she found wonderful antique pieces. Her hands itched to touch the fine work.
“Hello.” Douglas approached her. “How do you like my store?”
“Nice. This jewelry is precious.”
“Aye, ’tis exquisite. I often get pieces from estate sales, pieces brought with emigrants when they came to America and passed down through the generations. The descendents don’t always feel as strongly about tradition as their forefathers. Some prefer to sell their heritage, rather than hold on to it. ’Tis really a shame. Such pieces should stay within a clan.” Douglas sighed. “Oh, well, my gain. Can I show you anything?”
“I came to purchase a shawl for the ceilidh at the inn tomorrow. I’d like to match this green wool skirt.” She pulled the skirt out of her tote bag.
“Do you have a specific clan tartan in mind?”
She hadn’t given it much thought. Shouldn’t she wear her clan’s plaid?
“Do you think the MacIntyre plaid might match?”
“I have a few different MacIntyre tartans.” Douglas searched a shelf containing an assortment of plaid items in plastic covers. He laid several on the counter for her to consider.
One was predominately green and blue with red and white stripes. The green in the plaid matched the green in the skirt perfectly, as if made from the same dyed yarn.
“This one.” Laurie pointed to the plaid she liked best.
“A nice match. ’Tis the MacIntyre hunting tartan. Now, would you like a ruana?” Douglas showed her a small poncho-like wrap, open in the front. “This is the long one. I also have a shorter version. Or, let’s see...”
Laurie leaned forward.
He retrieved a couple more bags from the shelf. “I also have stoles and shawls.”
Douglas laid them out for view.
She considered the stole, brushing her fingers over the soft wool fabric. This would be her first real piece of MacIntyre plaid. She’d been all over the world and bought all types of things, expensive and inexpensive. For some reason, buying this one simple item seemed a momentous occasion, as if she were committing herself to something. She gazed at Douglas through misty eyes.
“I like them all, but for the party the stole makes the most sense.”
“Excellent choice. Shall I put the others aside for you?” he said with what she assumed his most winning salesman’s smile.
She laughed. “Let me think about it and I’ll let you know. By the way, will you be attending the party?”
“I never miss a ceilidh.” His smile reached his eyes. “Will you spare a dance for me?”
“Sure, but if my guess is right, you’d rather spend time with Caitrina.”
“Am I that transparent?” He walked toward the front of the store. “Shall I ring this up for you?”
“Yeah.” Laurie followed him to the register at the front counter where a very large, very old sword secured to the wall above his head caught her gaze.
“Is that what you use when you practice with Iain?”
He chuckled. “Nae, ’tis for a client.”
“Impressive.” She took the bag from Douglas, her gaze lingering on the claymore. Rounding the counter, he gallantly offered his arm and escorted her to the door. Before she left, she gazed back at the sword and shivered.
* * *
Since the garden kept Laurie busy, she was surprised how quickly Saturday evening arrived. Although no one would see them, she put on her sexiest undergarments, a lacy sage green thong and matching under-wire bra with a front closure. They made her feel special. Feminine. She slipped on the peasant blouse Caitrina selected, allowing the string at the neckline to hang. The green skirt went on next, the hem grazing her ankles. Made of lightweight wool, it was perfect for the cool mountain air.
She wiggled her toes. What shoes to wear? She slipped into a pair of black hand-stitched China flats and wrapped the new MacIntyre stole around her shoulders. After clipping her hair up, she was ready to go. The reflection in the mirror proved the deep worry furrows had faded from her brow. She grinned, pleased.
Laurie hummed while walking to the inn, enjoying the short stroll through the meadow’s wildflowers, through the woods, and across the flower-laden gardens.
The atmosphere at the inn struck her with wonder. Candles lit the foyer and the parlor off it, the effect a charming glow. A crowd had gathered in the parlor, everyone seated or standing huddled around the elder Mr. MacNaughton. He sat on a tall stool in the center of the room, telling a story, his audience enthralled.
She stepped closer to listen.
“The lass the prince sought ran across the meadow, stopping at the edge of the Fir-wood to catch her breath. She glanced over her shoulder and her gaze darted from place to place.
The clouds cleared the full moon and shimmering light washed over the wood, its silvery glow falling upon her beauty. Her thick, auburn hair hung loose down her slender back, to her waist, like a river of fiery flames. Her skin was as white as the purest Madonna lily, her lips the precious red of the holly berry, and she possessed sparkling green eyes more glorious than the purest emeralds.
For you ken...the lass was born a princess. The prince’s unusually keen sight allowed him to see her from a great distance. He was not of human blood, but of the Sithichean. This in our ancient Gaelic tongue, the language of our Scottish fathers, means the faeries, although they go by many names in many other countries.
The prince found himself enchanted by the beautiful princess.
Hidden since childhood, she was the daughter of a beautiful mortal woman who captured the heart of Torguil, an ancient sithiche prince, a favorite of the high-queen. The immortal queen was a creature of great power, beyond the ken of mere humans, having descended from the gods who walked in ancient Scotia. Yet she was jealous of the princess.
Now, the halfling daughter of Torguil was unaware of the danger stalking her, not only from the young prince, but also from others...others more sinister.
Unmindful of the fate awaiting her, she ran through the Fir-wood, a place where the veil between the land of mortals and that of the fae was thin and where on full moons, there was an opening.
When the mist cleared, the princess found herself on a large knoll of rich green grass. She saw the prince pursuing her and stepped back, falling through space and time...”
“Hello.”
Laurie jumped with a gasp, disturbing the people standing around her. They stared with disapproval, a finger to their lips, signaling for quiet. Caitrina rolled her eyes, inclined her head toward the foyer and walked out of the parlor. Laurie followed, somewhat disappointed to miss the rest of the tale.
“You startled me.” She smiled. “Wow, you look wonderful.”
Caitrina had traded her dirty work clothes for a gauzy, emerald green silk dress that molded to her tall, slender frame. Around her shoulders, she wore a sash of green and purple tartan with shimmering golden threads. Pinned at her shoulder was a gold brooch intricately crafted with thistle designs and amethyst gemstones. Her rich hair, usually hidden under her floppy garden hat, fell loose past her shoulders to her waist, the auburn strands on fire with highlights that glistened in the candlelight.
“You look like the princess Mr. MacNaughton describes in his story.”
Caitrina shrugged. “You look nice too, but something’s missing.”
She opened her hand to show Laurie an exquisitely crafted Celtic brooch of silver, decorated with intertwining animals and spiral filigrees, adorned with six small moonstones. She pinned it to Laurie’s stole at the shoulder. “There. Perfect.”
Appreciating its fine artistry, Laurie brushed her fingers over the brooch. Moisture filled her eyes. “You are sweet, but I can’t wear this. It must be a priceless antique.”
“Douglas told me you were admiring the jewelry at his shop. He thought you might like to borrow the brooch for the evening.”
“Must be worth a fortune. What if I lose it?”
Caitrina glanced away. “’Tis a mere reproduction.”
Laurie didn’t believe her. She knew jewelry and was positive this piece was very old and extremely valuable, but the last thing she wanted to do was insult her new friend. She’d wear the brooch for the evening and be extra careful not to lose it.
With a mischievous grin, Caitrina dragged her into the dining room where the furniture was pushed to the side. A fiddler played and couples danced. Someone handed her a glass of wine, only for Douglas MacKinnon to take it away and place it on a nearby table as he pulled her onto the dance floor where he taught her the intricate steps. After that, she danced with Iain until he handed her off to Teddy, who in turn handed her off to another fellow. She giggled with merriment as she whirled around the floor.
The evening flew and when the gathering ended, Douglas and Caitrina walked her home. It was a nice night for a stroll with the full moon shining bright in the clear sky. They took their time, enjoying each other’s company.
At the cottage, Laurie offered them a nightcap, pouring them each a glass of port. They wandered into the garden to enjoy the beautiful evening.
“Do you feel the magic in the air?” Caitrina asked.
Douglas peered at the moonlit sky and chuckled. “Aye, lass. Strong magic.”
Laurie glanced around, feeling a sudden chill.
Caitrina grasped her hand. “Come. I want to show you the foxglove we planted. They’ve flowered. Pink.”
“Pink?” Laurie squeaked.
“Aye, faerie pink.”
Douglas’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Caitrina?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” She squeezed Laurie’s fingers. “Come on.”
Unease skittered along Laurie’s spine as she walked with Caitrina to the back gate. She frowned when she smelled the now familiar exotic fragrance on her friend. “What the hell?”
A tinkling sound confirmed her fear.
The gate swung open.
He stood just beyond the garden gate. Her pulse jackrabbited. Pulling away from Caitrina, she stepped back in panic.
Caitrina pressed a hand against Laurie’s back and shoved her forward. Terror forced the air from Laurie’s lungs as she tripped through the gate opening.
Nothing held her back, no barrier. She fell forward…over a precipice into a swirling fog, down...down...down through a dark tunnel. The walls spun. She plunged faster and faster. In the distance, she couldn’t tell how far, a blinding, bright light—just a white glow in a tunnel of blackness—showed. What was there? Death?
Oh God, what was happ—
All at once, she was sucked into the white brilliance. She choked on the scream in her throat, cringing against the intense whining assaulting her ears.
She spun, or everything around her was spinning, she wasn’t sure which. Her sensitized skin tingled as if zapped by an electric charge. Laurie squeezed her eyes shut against the brightness. With her eyes closed, she felt lost, more frightened. She opened them just as the light exploded into a million fragments of brilliant color, a dazzling kaleidoscope. Then she was falling again.
Down...down...down, faster and faster. Water flowed below her, a stream. She plummeted toward it. Bracing herself, she thought she’d crash into the rushing water, only to propel across it. She hit the ground hard and saw nothing more.