Chapter Eighteen
The neatness of Rose’s study was like a balm to Elise’s sore nerves.
The room adjoining Barra’s infirmary that Rose had taken as her domain was just like her study at home.
Shelves covered the walls filled with bottles and jars of ingredients, each carefully labeled.
Dried herbs in bunches hung from the ceiling, sending a delicious smell through the room, and leather-bound journals of Rose’s medical notes were carefully arranged on the shelves in alphabetical order.
But the sense of calm came not just from the room, but from Rose herself. Her steadiness, her absolute certainty that problems—no matter how large—could be untangled with patience, tea, and a well-organized stack of books.
Elise smiled to herself. Rose might live in a different time and place now, but some things hadn’t changed and likely never would. That was oddly comforting.
Right now, Elise was sitting on the floor in front of the hearth.
Catriona, Rose’s ten-year-old stepdaughter, lay on her stomach on the rug, her black-and-white dog, Patch, sprawled beside her.
Rose was reading, sitting at the desk behind, peering intently at an unrolled scroll she’d laid out on the desk.
They’d been at this for hours, scouring all the old records held at Dun Mallach for any mention of War Weavers. So far, they’d found exactly nothing.
Elise sat cross-legged beside her stepniece, a deck of cards in her lap. “Now,” Elise said, fanning the cards out like a row of bright petals, “pick a card. But don’t let me see it. The magic won’t work otherwise.”
Catriona giggled. “Rose says it isnae magic at all but just a trick.”
“Does she indeed? Well, let’s see what you think, shall we?”
“If ye say so, Aunt Elise.”
Aunt Elise. She liked being called that. It showed that she was welcome, that she belonged, that Rose’s family had space carved out for her too.
Catriona plucked a card, looked at it, and held it tightly to her chest.
“Right. Now, you remember what it is? Good. Put it back.”
Catriona did so, and Elise began her patter.
She spread the cards out again and began running her hands over them, muttering arcane words that she made up on the spot.
Catriona’s gaze followed her hand, Patch perked up his ears, and then Elise snapped her fingers, deftly sliding a single card from the deck and flipping it over. “Is it this one?”
Catriona shrieked with delight. “Aye! How did ye do that?”
Elise grinned and waggled her fingers. “Like I said: magic.”
Behind them, Rose pushed away the scroll she’d been reading and frowned. “You’re a bad influence on her, you know that?”
Elise grinned and ruffled Cat’s hair. “I certainly hope so. How about I teach you to play poker next?”
Rose just rolled her eyes at that.
Elise laughed, liking this feeling. Right now, she was just a sister, an aunt, a woman sitting before a fire teaching card tricks to an entranced ten-year-old. It felt good.
But beneath the warmth sat a tiny burr of frustration. Every so often it jabbed her, reminding her of the truth: While Jamie and Cailean pored over maps and battle plans, she and Rose were here, turning page after page of fruitless books—and getting absolutely nowhere.
She wanted to help. Needed to. But so far their search for anything on War Weavers had yielded nothing beyond a few vague mentions and superstitions. If Cat hadn’t been present, Elise would have let forth a string of her most colorful and inventive expletives.
Rose stood and crossed to the shelf, scanning for another volume.
Elise watched her, thinking of how much her sister had built here—not just the study, but the infirmary next door that hummed with quiet purpose.
Elise had often helped Rose with her healing but had never quite been able to match her.
Rose’s magic had a gentle touch while Elise’s had always been like a battering ram.
“You know,” Elise said, cocking her head, “when we were girls, I always knew you’d make a home out of whatever corner of the world you ended up in.”
Rose glanced her way. “And I always knew you’d be the one blowing holes in the world to see what lay beneath. To be honest, I’m surprised I was the one to come to this time first. I’m the sensible one, remember? You’re the one who likes adventure.”
Elise shrugged. “Likes adventure, sure. Does not like lack of plumbing and no internet.”
Patch’s head suddenly jerked up. He barked once and raced to the door, scratching frantically. Elise exchanged a glance with Catriona, then climbed to her feet and crossed the room. She opened the door—
And froze.
A woman stood on the threshold, soaked from the sea mist, midnight hair windblown, eyes bright with disbelief.
“Elise?”
“Jenna?”
Her niece let out a disbelieving laugh. “My God, when Rose contacted me I only half believed it. I thought maybe she’d taken a whack on the head or something. But you’re here. You’re really here!”
Elise let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sob, and pulled her niece into a fierce hug. Jenna’s arms wrapped around her instantly, holding her tight.
They clung to each other, the kind of fierce, bone-deep embrace that belonged to family who knew too well that life could rip them apart at any moment. Rose and Catriona hurried over.
“Whack on the head indeed!” Rose harrumphed.
She ushered them all inside and in no time at all Jenna had been divested of her cloak and had a cup of Rose’s tea pressed into hand.
“How did you get here so quickly?” Rose asked her.
“By driving our ships as hard as we could,” Jenna replied. “Once Arran and I heard what had happened…well, we had to come. And as quickly as possible.” Her bright eyes fixed on Elise. “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s so good to have us all together again!”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Elise said, reaching out to squeeze Jenna’s hand. “We’ve needed you.”
“Of course you have,” Jenna said, breaking into a grin. “You two are a walking disaster without me.”
Rose raised an eyebrow. “I’ll ignore that. But it’s true we’ve been searching everywhere for information about War Weavers and found absolutely nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing but children’s tales. We’re at a complete dead end.”
Elise felt her frustration spike again, the pressure building behind her ribs.
“We don’t even know why it matters. Or what it means.
Only that something about it feels…right.
Lir sent me here for a reason. What if this is it?
What if I’m meant to be a War Weaver, only we can’t figure out that entails? ”
Jenna set down her cup with a small, triumphant clink. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word, “I might have found something.”
“What?” Elise demanded. “Where?”
Jenna reached into a leather satchel at her feet, rummaging past bundles of herbs, a small knife, and three mismatched stones she’d probably collected for some purpose known only to her. Finally, she pulled out a thick, weathered book.
Elise’s breath caught. The thing looked ancient—its cover cracked, its spine reinforced with stitched leather cords that had long since frayed. “Where did you get that?”
“An old man on Mull,” Jenna answered, turning the book so the worn crest on the cover caught the firelight.
“He kept it hidden behind a false drawer in his cottage so that nobody from the church found it. Said it had been passed down through his mother’s line for generations.
His grandmother was accused of being a witch so you can understand his caution. ”
Elise stared at the crest. Two crossed spirals beneath a stylized moon. Something about it called out to her, set her senses tingling. She reached out a hand as if to caress the cover. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep,” Jenna said, opening to the first page. “This is a book of war magic. Stretching right back to the start of the MacFinnan line.”
“So the old man on Islay was right…” Elise breathed. “War Weavers were real.”
“Oh yes, they were real all right,” Jenna said, eyes glittering. “They were the ones who made the great binding spells, the magic that originally protected the Kingdom of the Isles. It says their power is very great. But wild and erratic. Difficult to control. Sound familiar?”
“It does,” Elise breathed.
Catriona looked between the three of them. “So ye are a War Weaver then, Aunt Elise?”
“I…I…don’t know.”
“But we’re going to find out,” Jenna said. “We’re going to learn exactly what War Weavers can do.” She grinned at her family. “Starting right now.”
*
Jamie padded along the corridor as silently as possible, being careful to keep out of sight. Which was utterly ridiculous. He and Elise were both adults and wasn’t he Lord of the bloody Isles? So why did he feel like a misbehaving youth afraid of being caught doing something he shouldn’t?
As honor dictated, Cailean had given him and Elise different rooms—and they were at opposite ends of the keep of Dun Mallach. But if anyone thought he was going to keep away, they were sadly mistaken. So he stole through the keep like a thief, keeping to the shadows until he reached Elise’s door.
Cailen’s words echoed in his mind: If she’s the one for you, lad, you hold on with both hands.
As if Jamie needed telling.
He knocked softly on the wood. “Elise?”
There was a rustle of fabric and then he heard her voice—warm, distracted, maddeningly unaware of the way the sound of it twisted him up inside. “Come in.”
He pushed the door open and stepped through.
Elise sat cross-legged on the bed, a monstrous leather-bound book resting across her thighs.
A pile of loose notes surrounded her, and a candle burned by the bedside, outlining her in soft gold.
Her hair was a riot—falling loose around her shoulders, springing in every direction as though she’d been raking her fingers through it in frustration.
She glanced up, blinking as though surfacing from deep water. Her expression softened when she saw him. “Jamie.”