Chapter Three #3
It switched its tail with a slow, rhythmic swing, then lifted its hind leg and licked itself.
“There’s no need to be rude.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on now. Go home. I’m sure someone’s worried about you. You’re too healthy and well fed to be a stray.”
After finishing its bath, it meandered over to a basket under the corner cabinet beside the coffeemaker, settled into it, and went to sleep.
“Really?” She cleared her throat, only to be ignored. “You’re just going to sleep there like you own the place?”
Morganna had not mentioned that a cat came with the cottage, and Evie wasn’t about to undo her security system just so she could toss the smug little beast outside.
Without opening its eyes, the feline started purring, sending the deep, rumbling sound echoing through the low-ceilinged room.
“Well, then. That is kind of nice.” The tensed knot in the center of Evie’s chest eased.
On her grandparents’ farm, there had always been cats to snuggle.
The contented purring carried her back to a happier time that had been so much simpler.
“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Cinder. Yes, for that is what I shall call you, Mr. Cinder, after my cat when I was six years old. ”
The cat didn’t open its eyes. She might as well have been talking to the wall.
“I know you can hear me, so here’s the deal: I’ll leave the window open so you can leave whenever you want. Just don’t poop or pee on anything in here, okay? Morganna would not be pleased about that, I’m sure.”
The loud purring continued, and she got the distinct impression that it didn’t matter what she said; the cat was going to do whatever it wanted. Such was the way of cats.
She eyed the little beastie, glad that it had popped in for a visit.
She’d needed it. And maybe sleeping wasn’t such a bad idea either.
Surely everything would be easier to handle tomorrow once she was well rested.
She wheeled her luggage into the bedroom and took a slower look around than when she’d sped through, checking all the windows.
Tartan throws in muted shades of rust, sable, and sunset orange adorned the backs of the pair of wingback chairs sitting in front of a small, bright red woodstove.
Matching curtains framed the window. The queen-sized bed was a sea of pillows in the same prints as the faded yet colorful quilt that was doing double duty as a bedspread.
She breathed easier still. Somehow, this room brought back a flood of sweet memories of her grandparents.
Wasn’t it odd that it took a trip all the way to Scotland to relive all those precious times on the farm?
Gathering eggs with Grandmama. Riding on the tractor with Granddaddy.
Picking blackberries. Swinging out over the pond in the tire swing and letting go at the last second to drop into the water.
Grandmama and Granddaddy had saved her from the darkness of losing her parents and siblings.
They’d healed her with love and the happiest childhood they could provide.
“Mockingbird.”
It was the same voice as before, but this time, it didn’t startle her because it felt more familiar than it had earlier.
But how could it feel familiar? It wasn’t Granddaddy’s voice, gravelly and deep from smoking too many cigarettes over the course of his lifetime.
But deep in her soul, she knew beyond a doubt that she’d heard this particular deep voice before.
Maybe it was the ghost of one of her ancestors. She’d always been fascinated by that sort of stuff. A shiver of excitement rippled through her.
“Who are you?” she asked ever so softly. “How do you know me?”
Nothing but the faint rustling of the wind outside answered.
“Well…” She turned in a slow circle while stretching her arms overhead and rolling more of the tension from her shoulders. “Whoever you are, I’m sure my guardian angel could use some help right about now. Welcome—as long as you’re nice. If you’re not, then, as Grandmama used to say, scat!”
*
“She saw him.” Her jaw set in a tight, worried line, Morganna cupped the mug of warm, spiced wine between her hands. Troubled shadows filled her lovely eyes. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And she heard him.”
“Heard him?” Callum had instructed Farbis and Petra to ruffle the weave of time a bit and give the fated mates a few more hints about one another.
Still, he’d specifically told them not to do anything that would frighten one or the other of the mortals.
“What did she do? Does she wish to leave Scotland and return to her America?”
“’Tis my hope she blames it on her weariness.” Morganna slowly shook her head after sipping her drink, then she frowned.
“Too much nutmeg, my love?” He’d done his best to welcome her home with the toddy she’d always enjoyed.
“No.” She reached across the table and lovingly touched his hand. “’Tis perfect, my own. Just perfect.”
“Then why did ye frown? Tell me, dear one, so I might ease yer mind.”
She wrinkled her nose the way she always did when dreading his reaction. “I left Gavel to watch over her.”
Callum groaned. No matter how many folk assured him that the damnable cat sidhe had reformed his ways, he’d never trust that ancient soul stealer. “Ye know how I feel about Gavel.”
“He’s not stolen a soul in well over five hundred years.”
“A mere flick of a whisker for a cat sidhe. He canna help himself. Ye know that.” Topping off his whisky, Callum kept his gaze locked on the golden liquid that danced with the light of the flickering candles as if it would grant him the wisdom he needed to bring this current match to fruition.
“Why would ye leave Gavel to guard her? Why not Mercury? He could watch the place without her ever knowing it. He does a fine glamour of a red deer.”
“The unicorn canna guard her. She is a virgin. His glamour might slip.”
“A virgin?” Callum thought back about all he’d been told about Miss Evie Waterton. “The lass is two and thirty, is she not?”
Morganna cocked a brow, a sure sign she found his doubt offensive.
“Aye, and the lass is also a virgin. The scent of her is unmistakable. Ye’ll see when ye meet her tomorrow.
” She shrugged. “Petra told me ’tis becoming a more common thing among mortals these days.
They’re taking greater care about when they take a lover. ”
Callum downed his dram and leaned back in his chair. “Well, then. We best warn Mercury to steer clear of her.”
“Aye, and I also feel we should send her through as soon as possible.” She rolled her shoulders, shivering as though uncomfortable in her own skin. “Someone, either the gods or the Fae, already meddles in this match. I smell that too.”
“Are ye certain?”
“More certain than I have been about anything in a verra long while.”
“Are we still agreed that we should warn the mortals? Prepare them for whatever might come?” Callum eyed the whisky bottle, debating whether this conversation warranted another dram.
“Aye. But ye do realize that when we warn her, it will frighten her?” Morganna shifted with a heavy sigh. “This damn curse not only endangers us, but also these poor, unsuspecting mortals who are bound to it.”
He rose, rounded the table, and pulled her up into his arms to hold her. “We will prevail, my love. Never give up.”
With a tender smile, she touched his cheek. “Never will I give up, my dearest one, because I refuse to lose ye.”
“To tomorrow,” he whispered, then nibbled a kiss across the sweetness of her mouth.
“To tonight,” she replied, pressing closer. “I missed ye.”