Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AGNES
The morning light crept in, clear and golden, bringing with it the kind of Scottish winter’s day that felt like a gift.
The loch was still beneath the pale sky, Loren Brae almost perfectly reflected on its smooth surface, and if I was any good at photography, I would have grabbed my camera to capture the postcard-worthy image.
Today would change everything.
Granted, a lot of days had felt like that over the past few weeks, hell, years even. But, still. Today was a red-letter day.
I stood at my window, watching the soft morning light spill across the water, dipping over the hills, and lingering over the roofs of the village, and smiled.
We’d done it. We’d actually fulfilled the Order of Caledonia, and today, we would take the final steps.
Archie and Hilda had invited us to meet in the castle’s garden, for we needed to officially complete a ritual that would bond the Order members and release the Kelpies from their overprotective duties in their watch over the Clach na Fìrinn.
“There’s a bonnie lass.”
I turned to find Graham in the doorway, two cups of tea in his hands.
He looked better than he had any right to look after nearly drowning twice in two days.
Faelan’s healing had worked wonders, leaving only faint shadows under his eyes to mark the ordeal, though the bruises still marred his chest and bandages were still wrapped around his feet.
I sucked in a breath.
I’d come so damn close to losing him. Even the thought of yesterday, desperately bargaining with the Beithir while precious seconds ticked by, had my nausea rising and my eyes stinging.
“Och, darling.” Graham took one look at my face and put the teacups down, crossing over to gather me into his arms. “Don’t. It kills me to see you looking like that.”
“I almost lost you,” I said into his chest. I’d said the same, in many variations, through the night.
It had become a refrain that looped in my head, and I wasn’t sure if it would ever fully go away.
In some senses, I now understand my mother better.
Her desperate grief. And I wasn’t even going to get started on how small and scared I’d felt facing down the Beithir.
Trauma had a way of sinking its claws into you like that.
“Takes more than getting dredged through the loch a few times to shake me, love.” Graham caught my chin and tilted my head up, brushing a soft kiss over my lips. “Tell me what else is on your mind.”
I took the tea he offered before turning back to the window and gestured toward the island tucked out on the loch. “I’m thinking about the ritual today. Just all the … heaviness of it? The weight of it? It’s just … it’s a big deal. And I’m still not really sure what it all means. For me.”
Graham came to stand beside me, mirroring my pose, his shoulder warm against mine. “Having second thoughts?”
“No. Not exactly.” I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers. “It’s just ... this is permanent. The Order, the Stone, the Bookkeeper role—once I complete this ritual, I’m bound to it. To Loren Brae. To the service of something larger than myself.”
“And that bothers you?”
“It should, shouldn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life valuing independence. Making my own choices. It’s why I love running my own business, after all.”
“And now?”
I looked at him—this man who had waited years for me, who had nearly died for me, who was going to marry me despite everything I’d put him through. Though, to be fair, he’d given me plenty of sleepless nights through the years.
“Now I guess I’m starting to understand that being tied to something isn’t the same as being trapped by it. Maybe belonging somewhere, to someone, to something larger than myself … maybe it’s the whole point.”
Graham set down his tea and pulled me into his arms as though he just couldn’t stop touching me.
“For what it’s worth,” he said against my hair, “I think you’ve always belonged here.
And by here, I mean in my arms. As for the rest of it?
Bloody hell, Agnes, stop underestimating yourself.
You were born for this. Whatever this is.
Whatever may come. Because you’re a warrior at heart, darling, with one of the most compassionate souls I know.
I have zero doubt that whatever comes next, with the Order, or anything beyond that, you’ll have any issues navigating. But might I make one small suggestion?”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe just be a touch faster on asking for help next time? Bloody hell, but we could have cruised along with this whole curse thing if you’d let the lot of us dig in and help.”
Guilt hit me and I frowned. He wasn’t wrong. Annoying, aye, but he wasn’t wrong.
A knock at the door interrupted us, and Sophie’s voice came through the wood.
“Agnes? It’s time.”
I took a breath and then let it out slowly.
“Coming,” I called.
“Och, Sophie,” Graham called as I moved toward the door. Sophie opened it and peeked inside.
“Hi ya, Graham. Glad to see you less near death this morning.”
“Aye, you and me both. Say … have a look at this bonnie lass of mine. That Agnes Wright, she’s a belter, isn’t she?” Graham’s grin stretched ear to ear, his face glowing with pride. It literally warmed me straight through until my toes curled in my socks.
“Soon to be Agnes Kincaid, if you can manage to drag her down the aisle.” Sophie was positively beaming.
“I figure I’d let you get through the ritual and all that. We’ll have it next weekend.”
Sophie squealed and grabbed my arms while I gaped at Graham.
“We will not—”
“Don’t you have an ancient ritual to get to?” The last thing I saw before Sophie dragged me from the room was Graham’s laughing expression.
It was a far cry from the deathly pallor on his face the day before, and I realized, it really didn’t matter when we married, so long as I could keep him smiling like that.
Sophie dragged me down the hallway, talking so fast that I could barely keep up, and once she mentioned bridesmaids I just tuned her out completely. My brain, quite simply, could not fathom planning a wedding next weekend. Surely the man was joking.
He was joking, wasn’t he?
The women of the Order had gathered in the castle’s formal garden—a walled space behind the main building that was Archie’s pride and joy.
Though it was winter, and the garden was resting, it was still impossibly beautiful.
Ancient rose vines climbed the weathered stone walls and a rowan tree stood at the center, its berries bright as drops of blood against the grey sky.
Would we be taking a blood oath today? I really had no idea what the ritual would look like.
Hilda and Archie were waiting beneath the rowan, a massive leather-bound book open on a stone pedestal between them.
The book was old, older than anything I’d seen in the archives, its pages yellowed and fragile, its binding cracked with age.
But the script inside was clear, written in a hand that seemed to shift and shimmer as I watched.
“The Leabhar na Fìrinn,” Hilda said as I approached. “The Book of Truth. It contains the original rituals of the Order, written by the founders themselves.”
“How old is it?”
“Old enough.” Archie’s voice was reverent. “It’s been in my family’s keeping for as long as we can remember.”
I was quite literally vibrating with the need to read every last word in that book but now was not the time. Still, I lingered, easing closer, hoping to read a few more words.
“Och, just look at them, Archie.” Hilda leaned into Archie, her eyes warm and dangerously shiny. “Our wee flock has come into their powers.”
“Aye, that they have.” Archie cleared his throat, his voice gruffer than usual, and I cast a look at him in surprise. Were his eyes a bit shiny as well?
“Don’t give me that look, lass. Just a wee tickle in my throat.” Archie glared at me and I smothered a grin.
The other women gathered around the rowan tree.
Sophie stood tall and steady, her crows perched in the branches above.
Lia was beside her, traces of flour still visible on her apron.
Knowing her, she’d likely been comfort-cooking since dawn.
Willow stood wearing slouchy jeans, chunky boots, and a leather bomber jacket with a high collar, looking impossibly chic for a magickal ritual.
Orla, dressed in her favorite overalls, was talking shop with Kaia.
Murdoch sat on her shoulder, his dark eyes seeing everything.
Shona was surrounded by the faint green shimmer of her garden magick, the vines around her seeming to lean toward her presence.
Faelan stood slightly apart, Gloam at her feet, and watched patiently while Liora whispered to Bracken who was chittering on her shoulder.
We were the nine. The complete Order. And we were family.
“All right, all right, that’s enough. Come on, lasses, gather close,” Archie barked and we all drew forward to form a half circle around them.
“We gather here in the old way,” Hilda began, her voice taking on a formal cadence. “Under the rowan tree within sight of Loch Mirren. We gather to restore what was broken and to bind ourselves to the service of truth and to the protection of the Clach na Fìrinn.”
She turned to Archie, who lifted a small silver bowl from beside the pedestal.
“The water of Loch Mirren,” Archie said. “Unbeknownst to us, a curse had also plagued its depths, and the water had grown unpure. But no more. No longer will the Cailleach’s malice taint this water. It is now restored to its true nature—a source of life, not death.”
He passed the bowl to Hilda, who dipped her fingers in and touched them to her heart.
“By water we are bound,” she intoned. “We honor those who came before us, whose roots were grown and nurtured on these very shores.”
She passed the bowl to Sophie, who repeated the gesture. Then to Lia. To Willow. One by one, each woman touched the water to her heart.
When the bowl reached me, I hesitated.
“Agnes?” Hilda’s voice was gentle. “Are you all right?”