Taming the Highland Beauty (Guardians of the Isles #7)

Chapter Five

T he wind whispered across Lottie’s face as she stood on the rocky shore of Loch Dunvegan. The waves lapped at her bare feet as she gazed into the distance, where the horizon met the water. She felt it for the hundredth time—the ache, the emptiness—as if a part of herself had been torn away.

For eighteen years she had lived with the MacLeods. The first year had been anguish, but after that she had settled into her fate and learned to accept what had happened. Yet on days like today, the yearning was more than she could bear. It had been nearly two decades since Lady Janet had taken her pelt. That was not entirely truthful. It had been nearly two decades since Lottie had surrendered her pelt as penance for what she had done, leaving her stranded on land. Her children, once chubby-faced and curious, were now grown adults. Would they still remember her—their mother who vanished without a trace?

As Lottie lingered at the shoreline, the seals of Dunvegan came to her, their sleek silvery-grey bodies breaking the surface. They bobbed in the swells, their eyes filled with longing. A few of the seals still remembered her, recognised her scent, and pleaded silently for her return. But without her pelt she was bound to the land, unable to slip back into the sea and become one with the waves.

Lottie closed her eyes and tipped her head back, allowing the salt-scented air to flow across her cheeks. But today the air was unusually pungent, carrying the acrid scent of burning wood and leaves. Lottie opened her eyes and followed the coastline to her right where billowing black smoke hovered at the edge of the sea cliffs.

She tensed. A fire had started in the woodlands. Did the MacLeods know? She lifted her skirts and turned back towards the castle only to see Callum MacLeod coming across the beach.

“I am so glad I finally found you,” he said as he approached.

“The fire. Is anyone hurt?” She noted the streaks of soot on his face as he came closer. “Were you harmed in the fire?” She scanned Callum for signs of distress, and when she found none, her gaze clung to his face.

“I am unharmed,” he said in a calm, reassuring voice.

Lottie released a tight breath. Whether in seal or human form, she had always been a healer. It was the reason she had allowed Lady Janet to capture her pelt. She had come to heal the boy, and to try to heal Lady Janet’s husband who had injured his head in battle. Though Lottie had healed the laird’s wounds, she was never able to purge him of the erratic behaviour that followed. The man became cruel, suspicious of everyone, and transformed from a loving father and husband into a tyrant who would eventually kill his wife through neglect.

That Lottie could never completely cure the old laird, or save Lady Janet from her fate, was why she had stayed at Dunvegan even though she longed to return home. And when all the MacLeod boys, except Callum, left Dunvegan to pursue their interests, she had stayed for the young man before her. Through their shared pain and loneliness, she and Callum had forged a bond that was every bit as strong as that of mother and son.

“If no one is hurt, then why are you looking for me?” Lottie asked, confused. “What could be so important that you did not take a moment to cleanse yourself of this soot?” She reached up and tenderly ran her finger across his cheek, causing the ash to smudge against his skin.

He reached for her fingers and held them. “My mother said something strange, something I have never heard her say before. And it concerned me.” His gaze held both curiosity and fear.

“What was that?” Lottie asked, but she already knew. She had seen the pain in Lady Janet’s gaze earlier this morning. It was the same ache that haunted Lottie—the need to make amends before it was too late.

“Lady Janet alluded to the fact she had hurt you in some way.” Callum’s gaze narrowed. “I always knew, since I was a child, that there were secrets between the two of you. Perhaps it is time for you to tell me those secrets and let me help you both.”

“If only I could, Callum, but it is not my secret to share,” Lottie replied with a tender smile designed to reassure, but inside she once again felt the weight of Lady Janet’s actions. Her true family was beyond her reach, a distant memory at best. “It is your mother who must decide whether to reveal the truth or not.”

Callum’s fingers tightened on Lottie’s as he brought her hand down to settle between them. “Then let us go back to the castle and call Mother forth. There is no more room in our lives for secrets, not when Mother is about to fade away.”

Lottie hesitated as her heart wavered. For the first time in eighteen years, she might have a chance to recover her pelt if Lady Janet was truly filled with remorse. Her breath caught at the thought of freedom. To be a selkie was to belong to the sea—to dance with the tides and sing with her children once more. But she had lived another lifetime as well in the human realm. To remain human was to hold fragile moments in her hand—the taste of honeyed tea, and to feel the warmth of Callum, a second son’s hand wrapped around her own.

Perhaps she could choose both worlds, both families—to be both selkie and human. She drew a deep breath of the salt-ladened air, allowing it to fuel her spirit as she took a step towards the castle. “Let us find your mother.” For the first time in eighteen years, Lottie felt a glimmer of hope that her life might be something more.

*

An hour later, after Callum himself had bathed and changed his clothing, he sat in the great hall with Lottie, his mother, Pearl, and his brothers as they waited for Gille, Aria, and Gwendolyn to come down. Callum frowned at the empty doorway. What was keeping them? The hum of his family’s voices usually calmed him. This afternoon, it had no such effect.

It seemed that Mrs Honey had waited long enough for the women to arrive as well, as she signalled her maids to start serving the afternoon meal. Moments later, the savoury scent of roasted mutton filled the chamber. Callum stared down at the plate set before him. His favourite double-crusted meat pies, mashed turnips and gravy, and apple wedges. Yet he found he had no stomach for food. He wanted answers for Lottie’s sake and action for his mother’s.

He scraped his chair back, intending to go search for the missing fairy when suddenly Gwendolyn and Aria walked through the doorway, followed by a woman with familiar burnished red hair. But the beastly fairy he recalled from the forest was not the graceful young woman who entered the chamber.

Her wild tangle of red hair had been tamed and pulled away from her face, causing a cascade of curls to tumble across her shoulders and down her back. Her face had been scrubbed of soil and soot to reveal a peachy complexion that almost glowed. The jut of her forehead seemed less pronounced, and her nose seemed more rounded. Startling green eyes, the colour of the Cuillin hills in the springtime, gazed about the room with both curiosity and amusement. Her pupils seemed less dilated, less animalistic. And the dark green dress she wore highlighted a perfectly proportioned figure that had previously been hidden beneath the moss-covered cloak she had worn in the forest.

Callum shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Of course she would be lovely. After all, it was fairy blood that flowed through her veins. By the time she stood before him, he had recovered enough to motion towards the empty seat beside him. “Come, sit. Once you are done eating, we will see what can be done to help my mother.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the seat with all the refinement of a great lady.

Aria sat across the table beside Pearl. The three fae or part-fae women next to and across from Callum could not have been more different. Where Aria’s skin was fair like clouds reflected in the waters of a clear summer brook, Gille’s was rosy and warm like the colours of the leaves in the fall. And Pearl was much like her name—radiant despite her age, with a youthful pinkish tint to her cheeks.

But of the three, it was Gille who caught his attention. While the fairy took up an apple wedge and nibbled at the flesh, he continued to study her. He had convinced himself over the last several years that fairies were lesser creatures, evil and vile, for all the hardship they had brought to his family. When Aria had first arrived, Callum had been angry with his family for accepting her. But time, and her ability to protect those he loved, had worn him down. She was half human, he had told himself as justification for why he had finally accepted Aria as family.

Gille was fully fae. He should feel nothing but revulsion towards her. Instead, Callum found he was experiencing a multitude of wild emotions that took him completely off guard. Anger and sympathy battled with an odd sense of guilt that he may have had a hand in destroying her forest and setting off the chain of events that might end her life in six and a half short days. Dragging his gaze back to his meal, Callum forced himself to eat, neither tasting nor enjoying his food.

When everyone else had finished, Gille settled her hands in her lap and instead of engaging in the conversation that flowed around them, she leaned towards him. “When do we get started?”

“Now, if you would like.” Callum stood and waited for Gille to do the same before encouraging her to walk before him in the direction of his mother, leaving Pearl and Aria behind. He could not help but admire Gille’s bravery. She held her head high and her shoulders straight, not collapsing into a heap of tears over her situation.

A hush came over the chamber as they stopped before Lady Janet. “Mother, this is Gille. She has come to help set you free. In return for her help, I also promised that we would help her break the curse Oberon placed on her.”

A curse will be difficult to break , Lady Janet said, her voice hesitant.

“You can help her, though.” Callum nodded at his mother, praying that she would agree to some sort of assistance. He was not certain Gille would help free his mother otherwise. He needed answers about Lottie as well, but that could wait for another time when he was alone with his mother.

The Grey Lady’s gaze shifted to Gille. Cursed and damned, the two of us. Lady Janet released a mournful sigh that whispered through the chamber. We can find some way to help each other, I am certain.

The Grey Lady floated closer until the mist that coiled along the floor curled at their feet. And even though Callum was relieved that his mother had agreed to help Gille, he shivered as a sudden chill shot through him, making him long for the warm, affectionate woman his mother had once been. “Over the last two years, our mother has been steadily growing more solid, more human, until the last few months when she started fading away again.”

“Do you have any idea why this is happening?” Gille asked Lady Janet.

Sorrow twisted the ghost’s features. I have made so many mistakes.

“That is part of life. Mistakes are stepping stones to wisdom,” Gille replied, her voice gentle. “Would you allow me to touch the spectral part of you to see if I can understand what keeps you trapped here and in so much pain?”

Aye. Anything you can do to help me would be most appreciated.

Aria and Pearl came forward. “Would you like us to help you?” Aria asked her sister. “Much of my magic was taken from me by Oberon, but I could try to help.”

“And though my magic has been drained by the fairy king, too, I still feel the pull of it deep inside,” Pearl offered with a smile. “Together we might have more insight about how to solve this problem.”

Gille nodded, and together the three fairies locked hands and stepped into the mist surrounding Lady Janet. Callum clutched his hands before him as they faded from view. With luck and a little fairy magic, they might help his poor, suffering mother cross over into the afterlife.

*

Gille tensed as a paralysing cold seeped into her bones. It was not the familiar chill of cold air seeping through the castle’s stones, but something far deeper. It clung to her like a shroud, a tendril of sorrow that pulsed through Lady Janet’s translucent form. Gille reached out, her hand passing through the ghostly apparition with no resistance as she tried to connect with what little remained of Lady Janet’s core.

Gille’s own body felt like a forgotten shell. No comforting warmth radiated from Gille’s skin, no steady thrum of her heartbeat. Just a chilling emptiness that mirrored the hollowness she sensed emanating from the ghost.

The vibrant world around her dulled with each passing second. The rich tapestries lining the walls became leached of their colours, transforming into a drab display of browns and greys. Even her own dress, a dark emerald green, took on a sickly hue. The hands that had joined with hers only moments ago vanished, leaving behind a phantom touch—a cold, distant pressure that sent shivers down her spine. And then even that faded, leaving her with Lady Janet in a colourless void, the echo of a touch the only reminder of connection.

In stark contrast to Lady Janet’s pale, insubstantial essence, vibrant memories flickered and danced before Gille’s eyes. A scene of the MacLeods only a few years ago as they danced before a bonfire, their laughter echoing through the night air. A wave of joy washed over Gille only to be ripped away as quickly as it had arrived. Tattered, shattered, suddenly broken.

The image of Oberon, his face contorted in rage mirroring the storm he had conjured over the loch, and an answering primal fury flickered hot within Gille. The image disintegrated then flashed to English soldiers advancing in a tide of destruction that collapsed Dunvegan’s stone walls. A corresponding sense of grief crushed Gille like a physical weight, the air thick with despair before the image crumbled like the wall and disappeared.

A flash of Lottie, tears streaming down her face as she stood alone on the shore, followed by another of Lady Janet disappearing into the trees. Each memory was a sensory overload. The joy, the rage, the grief—emotions so intense they threatened to drown Gille with their intensity. There was no filter, no buffer, just a torrent of raw feeling. One fragmented memory slammed into the next, a chaotic sea of emotions with no rhyme or reason.

And then, with a jolt, clarity struck. These crumbling memories, and so many others, were the anchors dragging Lady Janet down. Her very essence was fracturing, mirroring the splintering of her past. Perhaps, the key to helping the ghost find peace was not just ushering her into the afterlife but putting the pieces of her life back together. To help Lady Janet sift through these memories, to identify the ones tethering her to the mortal realm. Once she found resolution, perhaps then she could finally let go and find her way to eternal rest.

Gille recoiled, pulling away from the onslaught of emotions. She had promised Callum she would help, but a sudden weight of responsibility pressed down on her. Could she save Lady Janet and herself within the next few days? Or would she have to pay the ultimate price—her own life—to fulfil her pledge?

The weight of indecision threatened to consume Gille as she staggered backwards. She cried out, the sound lost in the muted silence of the mist. Then, Gille felt herself falling. Hands reached out for her, but she fell too quickly for them to stop her and she crashed onto the cold stone floor. A jolt of pain lanced through her skull, forcing a gasp from her lips. The spectral mist around Lady Janet dissipated, the world spinning wildly. Blurry figures swam into her vision, their voices a distant murmur.

Overwhelmed, Gille surrendered, closing her eyes and sinking into the blessed darkness.