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

Chapter Seven

I t took another two hours for Gille’s dizziness to settle. When she could finally stand, she washed herself then made her way to the armoire. She selected the most demure gown Gwendolyn had lent her—a light grey, black, and red tartan dress with a stomacher and underskirt embroidered with tiny rosebuds and leaves.

Gille struggled into the gown, secured the ties, then smoothed it over her waist before examining herself in the small looking glass above the washstand. It had been a long while since she had seen her own image reflected in something other than a stream. She looked... softer. Reaching up she touched the skin on her cheek. Aye, her skin was silky to the touch instead of the grit and coarseness she used to feel in the woods. The bath had helped, or was it something more?

Befuddled, she looked lower at the dress she had chosen, and bit down on her lip. The dress clung to her breasts and hips. Gwendolyn was obviously smaller than herself. She tugged at the bodice. No matter how much she tried to pull it up, the fabric persisted on falling lower. With a sigh Gille gave up. The dress would have to do. Besides, who ever looked at her closely enough to notice such things?

A wave of heat tingled through Gille that had nothing to do with the fire in the hearth. This morning Callum had looked at her in a way no man ever had before, either fae or human. With trembling fingers, she lifted a comb and parted her hair in the middle, then pulled it back, securing it with a black ribbon on the washstand that she tied in a simple bow. Then, to soften the effect, she tugged two tendrils loose at her temples. She checked her appearance once more and nodded. Perhaps Callum had just been concerned about her and the odd looks he had given her would not continue.

Either way, she could not avoid going belowstairs if she was going to help Lady Janet, and possibly herself. Resolved to do what needed to be done, she headed out the door and down the stairs. At the landing she paused, and her heart gave a jerk. Callum was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. His dark eyes followed her as she descended and stopped before him. She caught the fresh scent of soap, and he gave her a smile that was different than any smile a man had given her before.

She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Are we to get started straight away?” she asked Callum as Alastair, Tormod, Orrick, and Keiran came to join them.

Callum’s gaze did not waver, but his smile slipped. “We are eager to start healing Mother’s memories, but we can wait until you have broken your fast.”

“If I am going to reconnect with your mother as I did last night, it might be best to do that on an empty stomach. Besides, I would rather make use of the early morning hour.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “But before we go, there is something I must say to you.” She needed to make amends before she lost her nerve. “I realised this morning while trying to regain my equilibrium that I had been unfair to you.”

At his questioning gaze, she drew a deep breath and continued quickly. “I blamed you wrongly for the fire in the forest. I was angry and frightened. The villagers were not going to leave unless I went with them. The fire was a result of their actions, not yours.”

“I am sorry you had to take a bump to your head to realise that, but I will accept your apology on one condition.”

“What?”

“That you accept mine.” His brows lifted in challenge. “I should have asked you to help Lady Janet instead of trying to force you.”

“Thank you, and I accept.” She smiled at him. “Does that mean we agree on a truce?”

“I suppose it does.” Callum’s smile returned. “What do we do now? Where do we start in trying to stitch Mother’s memories back together?”

“I need to go to the garden beyond the gates.”

His gaze narrowed. “It would be safer if we stayed behind the gates of Dunvegan. The villagers might have followed us here.”

“While Dunvegan is beautiful, it is made from stone, and very little grows behind the walls of the keep. My magic comes from nature. I must surround myself with the natural beauty of the gardens to draw fully on my power, or I might not be able to heal your mother.”

“So be it then,” Tormod cut in. “The men are in the courtyard, waiting to protect all of us should the villagers be waiting outside the gates.”

Reluctantly, Callum nodded. “Stay close.”

Gille walked alongside Callum as they made their way to the castle door, where he paused and lifted a tartan shawl from a hook near the door and handed it to her. “It is still a bit chilly out there this morning.”

She accepted the finely woven cloth even though she would have preferred her own moss-covered cloak, but now was not the time to argue that point. In silence, she draped the MacLeod tartan around her shoulders and proceeded across the courtyard, surrounded by the castle’s guards. Behind her walked Alastair, Tormod, Orrick, and Keiran, as well as Lady Janet, who floated behind them all, and Lottie.

Callum must have noticed her curiosity at the healer joining them today because he said, “Lottie asked to join us. She has a stake in whatever Mother’s dreams reveal as well.”

Gille could not argue that point and simply nodded as she progressed towards the gates. Despite the large group, Gille managed to block out the sound of the footfalls on the earthen path and focused her senses on nature’s magic.

A chill hung in the air, making each breath a visible puff. The scent of damp earth mingled with those of heather, peat, and pine to create a distinctive Scottish perfume. In the distance sheep bleated softly, their calls echoing in the pre-dawn stillness.

As the gates opened, they headed to the right, crossing the stone bridge. With each step, the yellow and gold morning sunshine increased. At her feet, wisps of mist clung to the pathway, shimmering like spun silver in the growing light. The natural world became visible around her, leaving Gille with a sense of renewal. A new day stretched before her filled with the possibility of both repairing Lady Janet’s memories and finding a way to break her own curse.

Callum’s brow furrowed with concern. “Which part of the garden would be most suitable?” he asked, keeping pace beside Gille. “Perhaps the picturesque Round Garden, or the serene Water Garden?”

“The Walled Garden,” Gille replied, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “It is the oldest part of the estate, and where I felt most at peace during my previous visit.”

They entered the secluded Walled Garden, a vibrant tapestry of plants and flowers. Fragrant herbs lined the path, while raised vegetable beds overflowed with healthy greens and delicate blooms, promising sustenance for the MacLeod clan. The land pulsed with a sense of purpose, its connection to the family who had stewarded it for generations as undeniable as the hint of forgotten magic that seemed to linger from the largest trees to the tiniest seeds.

Gille stopped in the centre of the garden, her gaze sweeping the landscape. “This is the ideal location,” she murmured, then gestured for Lady Janet to approach. Lady Janet drifted closer, while Alastair, Tormod, Orrick, Lottie, and Keiran observed from a distance, their faces etched with worry.

The morning dew shimmered at Gille’s feet, and as the ghostly mist surrounding Lady Janet mingled with it, Gille knew it was time to begin. She stepped forward, the chilling mist that made up Lady Janet enveloping her legs. A shiver ran down her spine.

Callum’s hand shot out, grasping her arm. “Are you certain this will work?” he whispered urgently. “Weaving her memories with... dew?”

Gille met his worried gaze and nodded. “The morning dew holds the essence of the dreams, whispers on the breeze, fragments of forgotten moments. It will aid me in piecing together Lady Janet’s past.”

“But won’t it further deplete your own life force?”

Gille offered a reassuring smile. “Without this knowledge, I will have no life left in six days. I accept that danger.”

A faint, mournful echo drifted through the garden. I will not harm her , Lady Janet’s voice promised.

Callum released Gille’s arm and stepped back.

I am ready , Lady Janet’s voice echoed once more.

Gille’s gaze locked with Lady Janet’s. “Is there a specific memory that feels fragmented?”

“Aye.”

“Excellent. Focus on that memory and try to hold on to it.” Gille reached out to a nearby foxglove, her finger brushing against a spiderweb, collecting a glistening dewdrop. She brought the dew to Lady Janet’s incorporeal form. The mist seemed to absorb the droplet, and as it did, Gille closed her eyes, allowing her own memories to surface. Memories of her mother, Pearl, teaching her an ancient language, a language as old as the trees themselves. Gille whispered the near-forgotten words.

A collective gasp rippled through the group. Gille opened her eyes to see Lady Janet’s form flicker, solidifying for a moment. Gille gathered more dew, closing her eyes once more and allowing Lady Janet’s memories to flow through her own thoughts.

A vision of Alastair and Gwendolyn standing at the altar in the chapel, exchanging their wedding vows, materialised. The image wavered, threatening to vanish, but Gille reached out, weaving the dew around it, mending the fractured memory.

“Another memory,” she urged the ghost.

Another image flickered into view, that of Tormod and Fiona, wrapped in each other’s arms before the Samhain fire. A bell tolled as midnight approached. Then the memory began to dissolve, until Gille wove it back together with another dewdrop. The entire MacLeod family came into focus, smiling at Lady Janet. When silence settled, Tormod smiled. “It seems you are not quite ready to leave us, Mother.”

Lady Janet’s smile echoed his sentiment. I suppose I am not.

Lady Janet’s smile was genuine and solid now, but Gille could feel the immense strain on her own energy. “Perhaps one more memory,” she encouraged the ghost.

Gille plunged back into the swirling mist, her mind reeling. A flash of grey fur vanished before she could grasp it. Then, a gnarled beech tree, ancient and imposing, materialised in the depths of the forest. A heart-wrenching cry shattered the stillness, morphing into a bird’s song. Gull or eagle, it was lost in the whirlwind. A glistening seal, a flash of red fur—a deer perhaps? The images bombarded her, a fragmented tapestry woven with urgency. What story were they trying to tell?

A jolt of pain ripped through Gille as the multi-coloured images continued to flash before her eyes, and Gille cried out. Strong arms yanked her back, pulling her out of the swirling mist and into the cool morning air.

“Gille.” Callum’s voice was laced with worry as he held her close. “Are you well?”

Gille gasped for breath, her gaze flickering back to Lady Janet. The ghost’s form shimmered, wavering between translucent and almost solid. “I need to go back,” Gille forced out, her voice raspy. “There is something important in those memories.”

Callum’s grip loosened as worry etched his face. “Be careful, Gille,” he murmured before releasing her. She stepped back into the swirling mist that shrouded Lady Janet.

Images flickered before Gille’s unblinking eyes. A young woman’s laughter, bright and joyful, echoed across the shimmering waters of the loch. A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes as a young boy frolicked in the water, splashing his arms with abandon. Then he suddenly vanished beneath the surface followed by the flick of a seal’s fin then tail. The scene abruptly shifted, and a wave of fear washed over Gille from Lady Janet’s form.

A feverish child. A mother’s raw desperation clawed at Gille. A dark-haired man materialised, his voice laced with fury and blame. Madness flickered in his eyes as he loomed over Lady Janet, who stood protectively in front of their ailing child. The child... those eyes... unmistakably Callum’s.

The memory dissolved, replaced by a poignant scene by the loch. Selkie skins lay abandoned on the shore, their wearers, beautiful women, vanished. A gasp tore from Lady Janet’s spectral form, her hand flying to her head. Lottie... The sound, a whisper, as a torrent of emotions swirled within the mist.

Gille reached out, her touch a beacon of comfort amidst the storm. The memory flickered back... a struggle by the loch, a stolen sealskin—light coloured with dark spots—and a desperate flight into the woods. Before it could vanish, Gille wove the memory with a dewdrop, anchoring it to Lady Janet’s form.

A choked sob racked the ghost. Shame and regret pulsed in the swirling mist. I hid it , Lady Janet confessed, her voice a mere tremor of sound. Near the knotted beech tree, deep in the forest. I... I needed her. Callum needed her.

The weight of the revelation pressed down on Gille. Callum, the man who had cared for her with such tenderness last night, the man whose eyes mirrored those of the child in the memory, was somehow connected to the stolen sealskin. A pang of fear twisted her gut, but it was quickly overshadowed by a fierce determination. She would not let Callum lose his mother, nor would she let Lottie remain trapped.

As Gille pulled back from the mist, she met Callum’s gaze. His worry deepened, laced with a flicker of something more—a possessiveness that sent a spiral of warmth through her. In that shared look, a silent vow formed. They would face this curse together.

Gille quickly told the others what she had seen so that Lady Janet’s spoken confession made sense.

“I am to blame for Callum’s sickness.” Lottie came forward with tears in her eyes. “I was the one who pulled Callum down into the deeper waters. I only wanted to play, not realising he would die without air.”

She drew a fractured breath. “It was my fault he drew water into his lungs, water that led to his illness.” Lottie’s gaze shifted to Lady Janet’s ghostly form. “And when you went after my pelt to secure my services as a healer, I allowed it to happen, so great was my guilt.”

Callum frowned. “I do not remember being pulled beneath the water or being ill. Though I do recall Lottie’s attempts to heal Father were met with many angry words and a few violent swings at Lottie’s head.”

Tears continued to trail down Lottie’s cheeks. “Your mother stepped in to protect me from the worst of it, especially while I was ministering to you, Callum.”

Callum cast a puzzled glance between Lottie and his mother. “Even so,” he continued haltingly. “Mother trapped you here against your will.”

“Nay.” Lottie wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I came to Dunvegan willingly as penance for what I had done to you.” She pinned on an overbright smile. “Thankfully, you were young and strong, and with the right herbs, you fully recovered.”

Drawing a long breath, Callum looked to his brothers. “We have an obligation to Mother but also to Lottie, to make things right.”

“Agreed,” they all said in unison.

“Where do we start searching for Lottie’s sealskin?” Callum asked Gille.

“We must return to the forest. There, we might be able to find a tree I saw in your mother’s memories,” Gille said.

Callum’s brows furrowed. “What if it burned down along with much of the forest?”

“We must hold out hope,” Gille said, her voice stronger than before. “That sealskin holds the key to sending Lottie home, and perhaps...” she hesitated, as warmth came to her cheeks “...perhaps to breaking the curse that binds me to the forest.”

Callum stepped forward, his hand settling over hers. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine. “We will do whatever it takes to break both curses.”

Callum’s hand instinctively grasped Gille’s. Its warmth seeped into her, a stark contrast to the chilling exhaustion that radiated from within. Weaving Lady Janet’s memories had been a draining task but seeing the ghost’s form solidify made it worthwhile. However, a nagging question gnawed at Gille.

“Why, Lady Janet?” Gille spoke, her voice laced with empathy. “Why steal Lottie’s pelt and condemn her to a life on land?”

Lady Janet’s spectral form flickered with sorrow. I had already lost Keiran. I could not bear to lose another child. A mournful sob escaped her lips. When Callum fell ill with a fever, desperation clawed at me. The castle healer was away, tending to a difficult birth in the village. Her gaze dropped to the mist swirling around her feet.

The pelt was not my first desperate attempt , Lady Janet confessed. Against your father’s wishes, I stole the Fairy Flag, hoping to use its last magical flicker to heal Callum. But the laird caught me. He forbid me from ever touching the flag again and threatened that if Callum died, I would never see any of my children again.

A flicker of recognition crossed Alastair’s face. “I... I have a faint memory of that. Why did I forget?”

“It was not just you, Alastair,” Tormod chimed in. “We all blocked out memories of our father.”

I could not let Callum die. Lady Janet turned to her sons, her voice thick with emotion. Nor could I let that man harm any of you.

Orrick spoke, his voice gentle. “We understand, Mother. We will help make things right—for you, for Lottie, for Gille.”

“Do you recall where you hid Lottie’s pelt?” Gille pressed, praying it was not lost to the fire that ravaged a part of the forest.

Only fragments of that memory remain , Lady Janet replied, her voice fading.

“We will piece them together,” Gille declared, releasing Callum’s hand but feeling his reassuring presence behind her. Just as she readied herself to delve deeper, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquillity of the garden. Familiar shouts and angry yells pierced the air.

“Villagers,” Tormod said, reaching for his sword. “They must have seen us enter the garden.”

Alastair, Orrick, and Keiran followed suit, pulling their weapons, as did the guardsmen. But instead of reaching for his blade, Callum shifted Gille close, shielding her with his body.

Figures emerged from the trees, sending a fresh wave of panic crashing over Gille. Among the villagers, clad in a horrifying crimson, were English soldiers. The villagers, driven by fear, had sought help from the very enemy they had once fought against.

Gille’s heart hammered against her ribs. Though the numbers appeared even on both sides, the MacLeods were essentially trapped in the Walled Garden.