Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
K ate perched on the edge of a weathered gravestone, clutching the brooch so tightly that the intricate Celtic knots left indentations on her palm. The brooch was as cold as the midnight chill that had settled over the ancient cemetery. Mist clung to the ground like ghostly fingers, weaving between the tilted markers and caressing the moss-covered stones of the ruined chapel.
“Where are you?” Kate whispered, her voice ragged from unshed tears. “Please... I want to go home.”
But was Atlanta truly home anymore? The thought of returning to her empty apartment, to her color-coded planners and predictable life, felt hollow now. Yet staying meant facing the accusation in Moira’s eyes whenever she passed. It meant enduring Connor’s cold distance. His grief-hardened face turned away from her as though she were invisible. It meant living with death on her conscience.
A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. “I don’t belong here,” she murmured to the silent graves. “I never did.”
The wind picked up suddenly, whipping a strand of chestnut hair across her face. A crow cawed from atop a nearby headstone, its black eyes glittering. Her breath caught as the mist began to swirl and thicken until it took the shape of a woman.
“Ye belong where yer heart leads, child of two tides,” came a voice like ancient stones grinding together.
The old woman stood before her, more substantial than Kate remembered. Her wild silver hair floated around her face as though underwater, and her dark eyes reflected starlight that wasn’t visible in the sky. She wore a cloak of midnight blue, adorned with what looked like pinpricks of light, a map of the constellations woven into the fabric.
“You’re real,” she rose to her feet. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined you.”
The old woman’s mouth curved into something between a smile and a grimace.
“I am as real as the ground beneath yer feet and as fleeting as the breath that leaves yer lips.”
She gestured toward the brooch in Kate’s hand. “Ye think that trinket will return ye to yer time?”
“Won’t it? That’s how I got here.” Kate studied the woman’s weathered face, her heart pounding. “Are you... are you the Cailleach?”
“Aye, that I am,” the old woman answered, her voice like stones shifting in a riverbed. “What ye seek doesna lie in the place behind or ahead, but in the heart ye run from.”
The Cailleach moved closer, her steps making no sound on the damp earth. “Time isna a river, daughter of turning stones. It is a pebble in a pond, and every footstep ye’ve ever made still ripples ‘round it.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I just want to go home. I don’t belong here. I’ve caused nothing but pain by being here.”
“Ye havena finished what ye began.” The old woman’s gaze was penetrating, seeming to look through Kate rather than at her.
“The threads of yer fate are woven with his. Cut one, and both unravel.”
“With whose?” She asked desperately. “Connor’s? Is that why I’m here? For him?”
The Cailleach raised a gnarled hand, her fingers splayed toward the star-strewn sky.
“Ye stand at the crossing hour, child. Neither here nor there. Neither then nor now.” Her form began to shimmer, becoming translucent at the edges. “Choose wisely, for some doors, once closed, canna be opened again.”
“Wait!” Kate reached out, but her fingers passed through the Cailleach’s arm like smoke. “Please, I need more than riddles!”
The wind rose to a howl, drowning her words. The old woman’s form dispersed into mist, leaving behind only the echo of her final words. The heart kens what the mind canna fathom.
Kate stood alone once more, the brooch heavy in her palm. “Great,” she muttered, wiping tears from her cheeks with her free hand. “Another cryptic non-answer from the supernatural guidance counselor.”
The distant thunder of hoofbeats shattered the cemetery’s silence. Kate’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned toward the sound. A horse and rider materialized from the darkness, moving fast along the muddy path. Even before the rider’s face became visible in the moonlight, she knew who it was.
Connor.
He reined his mount to a halt at the cemetery’s edge, dismounting in one fluid motion that spoke of a lifetime in the saddle. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud, and he strode into the graveyard with purpose in every step. His dark hair was unbound, wild in the wind. There was violence etched across his face.
In the moonlight, his face was a study in devastation. The scar above his right eyebrow stood out starkly against the skin, gone pale with fury and something deeper. Betrayal. His blue eyes, usually warm when they looked at her, had turned to ice.
“Bloody hell, lass,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Ye actually did it. Ye stole it, after all ye were given? After I—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching so tight she could see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
Kate couldn’t speak. The words lodged in her throat, choking her with their weight. She had no defense to offer, no explanation that wouldn’t sound like madness or betrayal.
“Give it here.” Connor extended his hand, palm up. When she didn’t immediately move, he took a step closer. “The brooch, Katherine. Now.”
The use of her full name made her flinch. She looked down at the precious artifact in her hand, its surface catching the moonlight. Slowly, she extended her arm, offering it to him. “I only meant to borrow it.”
He snorted, his fingers brushing hers as he took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through her system. He examined the brooch, then looked back at her, his expression unreadable.
“Did ye ever mean a word?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. “Or were we all mere pieces on your chessboard?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Her composure cracked.
“Then what was it like?” His voice rose, echoing among the graves. “Enlighten me, for I canna fathom why ye would flee in the night like a thief. Why ye would take the one thing that matters most to my clan?”
“I didn’t know how to stay,” she whispered, tears flowing freely now. “But I didn’t know how to go, either. I thought the brooch could help… after the story you told me.”
“Old tales. Nothing more.” Connor stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“If ye truly wish to leave, go.” His voice was so quiet she strained to hear him.
“But doona lie again. Especially not to me.”
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders rigid with hurt. Kate watched him go, feeling bereft without the brooch she’d come to see as her lifeline.
“Connor,” she called after him, her voice breaking on his name.
He paused but didn’t turn. “Aye?”
“I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago, that I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks.”
Slowly, he faced her, his expression guarded but attentive. At that moment, Kate knew there was no going back. It was time for the truth, all of it, the consequences be damned.