Chapter 12 #2
A cold weight settles over me. We treated her like she was just someone to tolerate, but maybe she was scared. Confused. Lonely. So why hadn’t she been kinder to me? We could’ve been a team. She could’ve made me feel loved.
I’d have loved her, with all my heart.
“But why—?” My voice cracks.
Callum waits, his expression unreadable. Then I realize he’s touching me, his hand tracing slow, gentle circles along my upper arm.
Heat rises to my cheeks. I look away. Even his kindness is intense.
He drops his hand. Clearing his throat, he shifts. “It begins with the Campbell. He rules these parts. You must be wary. He’s not been the same since Janet, that is, your mum, disappeared. She was his beloved bride—”
I snap my head up. “But he’s so old.”
“True enough. His first wife died, and Janet was found to take her place. Your mother was of the Craignish Campbells. A known beauty.”
“Of course she was.”
He ignores my grumbling. “She pleased him, spirited as she was—”
“Spirited.” I roll my eyes. “So that’s the word for it?”
His lips twitch. “—and young enough to bear him a passel of bairns.”
“What’s that?”
“Bairns?” He frowns. “It means babes. Children?”
“Got it. Campbell wanted Janet to have his babies.” I chuff a laugh. “Join the club. But fair warning—she’s not a fan of kids.”
An invisible fist clenches my throat, and I gulp it away.
“I still don’t understand how she ended up in the twenty-first century.”
His gaze grows distant. “So far in the future. What a wondrous place your home must be.”
“Upstate New York? Yeah. Wondrous. Now, focus, please.”
A startled grin bursts across his face, transforming him. The bruised, scarred, bump-nosed thug is suddenly a guy who’s dangerous for different reasons.
He leans closer, whispering hot on my cheek, “You’re the one who keeps interrupting.”
I edge back. “Well. Then. Let’s continue.”
Callum barks a laugh, looking surprised he did. “I like how you speak.” He chucks my chin. “You’ve my apologies, Rosie.”
Nobody’s ever called me Rosie before. It catches me off guard, like a step missed on a staircase.
He shrugs. “’Tis a long story, but the short of it is, Donag was jealous of Janet.”
“What? Why? Donag is so much older than my mother would’ve been.”
“Donag was a beauty in her day.” Callum chuckles at my shocked expression. “Aye, she was. But that’s a different story entirely, and I’ve been warned to keep to the point.”
I snort. Callum’s answering grin lights up his whole face.
“Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted”—his eyes glint with teasing—“Donag wanted to be rid of your mother, so she sent her as far away as she could imagine.”
“She sent Janet to the future.” At his nod, I press, “But why that specific year? Why not the 1950s? Or the year 3000?”
“It has to do with the clan lineage. Donag has no love for the Campbells.”
“I’m hearing that a lot.”
“Donag wanted Janet to feel total desolation. She sent her to a time when the Craignish line is no more.”
“But I’m her family. I’m still here.”
“Aye, but the family name follows the men.”
“Surprise, surprise.” I roll my eyes. “So at some point, the last male Craignish Campbell in our family tree died, and that’s when my mother arrived?”
He nods. A shiver runs through me as I try to wrap my mind around it.
“So…is Donag related to you?”
“We’re of the same clan, but she and Gregor aren’t my blood kin. When my Da died, they took me in.”
“Wait. Who’s Gregor?”
“Gregor was Donag’s husband. They had no bairns of their own, so they raised me.”
“And made you a servant to the Campbells.” I scowl. “Some favor.”
“’Twas better than dying, Rosie.”
I glance down the barn at the shadowy stalls, contemplating this brutal world and its barbaric rules.
“How old were you?”
“I was ten when Da died. I last saw my mother when I was three.”
I sigh. To lose everything so young, then to be raised by Donag?
“I thought Poppa’s cousin Irene was scary.” I try for a weak smile. “But Donag’s an actual witch.”
His voice softens. “I work to forgive her. She’s lost much. And Gregor was killed only recently. Her grief is still raw.”
I hold his eyes, then finally give a grudging nod. “Fine. Grief has made her…erratic.”
“Aye. Though she soon realized her error. Campbell made all suffer for Janet’s disappearance.”
“So she tried to summon my mother back to fix it?” At his nod, I press on. “Okay, one problem. She wanted Janet. But I’m not her.”
“No indeed.” A small laugh escapes him, as though the idea is absurd. “There’s no confusing the two of you.”
It stings. “I know. She’s sooo pretty.”
Agitation flashes across Callum’s face. “You misunderstand. Janet is…” His expression shifts as he studies me. “You are not as…”
“Go ahead. Say it. I’m not as what?” Feminine? Mysterious? Charismatic? Beautiful?
His jaw tightens. Then, with a sharp nod, he seems to resolve something. I brace for the worst.
“I told you how you’ll survive here, aye? That you can do it? Donag’s curse calling you here is proof of my words.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah. And what exactly did that mean?”
“For the summoning to work, Donag used a rag with a bit of Janet’s blood. But you share her bloodline. The curse called forth a lass ‘fierce as the sun.’ Don’t you see?”
He pauses meaningfully, but I don’t see. Not at all.
“Donag thought she was calling Janet.” His gaze searches my face. “But it was you. You are braver than your mother. Stronger.”
Stronger. Braver. Could that be true? Nobody’s ever said I’m anything more than Janet.
I blink. “You’re saying I’m braver than my mother?”
His touch is easy, a reassuring squeeze on my arm. “I’m saying you can do this.”
For the first time, I almost believe him.
I look at him, really look, and he meets my gaze without hesitation. There’s a question in his gray eyes, as if he’s trying to puzzle out the secret heart of me.
I’m the first to look away, but my focus lands on the bruise along his cheekbone, a stark bloom of purple. I want to trace its outline, to erase the shadows. Above his eyebrow, a scab has formed—the red-black crescent a perfect echo of Campbell’s ring. The one he was wearing when he hit Callum.
Would it match the ring hanging around my neck?
I step away. “I still don’t understand how someone can travel through time. Isn’t the past already set in stone?”
“Donag explained it once. How time isn’t a river, flowing in one direction. ’Tis more like a loch, surrounding us.”
“Until we paddle too far and drown?”
A laugh cracks from him. “No, Rosie.” He squeezes my shoulder. “You float in the middle. Like a selkie queen.”
The comment is both thrilling and unsettling. I blurt, “I can’t be the strongest Campbell girl in all of history. What was the whole curse?”
“It went something like…” He considers for a moment, then recites:
“We summon a lass, hair red as kite’s wing.
Nae young nor old, in her nineteenth spring.
Fair as the dawn, with roses on her cheek,
Yet fierce as the sun, her spirit not meek—”
“Wait!” I snatch his hand but, startled by the heat of his skin, let go instantly. “You won’t bring someone else here if you say it out loud, will you?”
He laughs that frowny laugh again—the one where he looks surprised to be making the sound—and taps a finger under my chin. “I can’t imagine there’s more than one such as you.”
Deep inside me, a tiny ember glows to life.
His expression is unreadable as he finishes, the words settling between us like a spell.
“Her heart’s true longing lies on Scottish land.
Come to us now, beside kin take thy stand.
Come thee, bold lass, whose soul burns steadfast.
Come she, whose beauty time cannot outlast.”
With a shrug, he adds quickly, “So you see? It was meant for your mother. But you are those things more than she.”
He says it so casually, but I don’t feel casual at all. My mouth has gone dry. I understand the red hair, red cheeks part. And sure, I’m nineteen. But steadfast? Beautiful?
Is this how guys speak in the past or just this guy?
He goes distant all of a sudden, and somehow that’s even more unsettling.
I change the subject. “So, what?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “Witches can just chant a thing and make people disappear? So can’t someone just chant me back out of this hellhole?” I’m trying to be snarky and regret it instantly.
Callum straightens and pulls his body away from mine. His hand drifts from my shoulder, and I feel about ten degrees colder.
For a moment, something fragile hung between us. Something rare as any magic. But I broke the spell, and I hate myself for it.
Until he admits, “I imagine there’s a way.”
The cold inside me hardens into resolve, settling deep in my bones. Callum is right. I can do this. Poppa would expect no less. He’d tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. If I can survive Janet, I can survive anything.
Poppa. I have to get back to him. Back to my life.
I will find my way home.
I need a plan. Planning will feel good. It’ll feel like control again.
Besides, I have an ally in Callum. That’s more than Janet had when she landed in modern time.
The realization shames me. Strengthens me.
I have to get back. I have to see my mother. Suddenly, I have a million things to ask her. A million things to say.
“When can we start figuring it out?” I ask eagerly. “Is there something I should do now to prepare?”
He pauses, his gaze heavy on me. “Is my time so verra different from your own?” His voice is quiet. Almost sad.
The shift catches me off guard. I exhale, feeling unexpectedly sad now, too—for him. Because he has no idea.
“It is, Callum,” I say softly. “It really, really is.” Sorrow tightens my throat. “I just…really want to go home.”
“Of course,” he says quickly. “And I’m sorry. For what Donag’s done to you. I truly am.”
“So you’ll help me?”
He nods solemnly. “As I can.”
“And if you can’t?”
“We’ll find a way.”
“You mean…figure it out together?”
He shifts. “I suppose that’s what I mean.”