Chapter Seven #2
The smug woman, or fairy, or whatever she’d said she was, smiled.
“That spirit of yers will serve ye well here.” She pushed away from the wall, dusted off her hands, then examined her manicure, frowning and picking at a chip in the purple polish on one of her nails.
“I came here to help ye get settled and see that ye got off to a good start with yer Drummond so ye can make a well-informed choice about yer future.”
“A well-informed choice?” Adrenaline and fight-or-flight vigor pounded through Evie. Either that or the strange muck Morganna had given her was more powerful than any energy drink she’d ever downed. “Are you saying I can go back? If so, take me back now.”
Morganna’s smugness disappeared. “Ye said ye believed in fated mates. In true love. Destiny. In what was meant to be. Was all that a lie?”
“All that was said while I was in the twenty-first century and expecting it to happen there.”
Morganna took hold of her by the wrist and firmly tugged, leading her back across the room to the small desk beside the window. “Sit and hear me out. I beg ye.”
It wasn’t so much Morganna’s request as the tone of it that touched something inside Evie, making her decide to hear what the odd Scottish woman—or fairy—had to say.
She was almost pleading. But rather than sit in the chair at the desk, Evie backed up to the fire.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand over here.
It was a cold, wet ride from the sidhe hill. ”
“Would ye rather clean up first and get into a dry shift and kirtle?”
“How am I going to clean up with no plumbing?”
Morganna rolled her eyes. “Ye’ve not traveled back to the time of the Neanderthals, lass.
There is soap and water here. It just takes a bit more effort to make use of them.
” She motioned for Evie to step to one side.
“There’s a kettle on the fire. The water should be fine and hot by now.
Yonder is the pitcher and bowl, with more water, and cloths and soap at the ready.
Come. Let’s get ye done up proper, and I’ll tell ye everything ye wish to know while we do it. ”
Evie rubbed the seat of her wet jeans, which had begun to steam as she stood in front of the fire. Dry clothes would be nice, and she couldn’t very well wear what she had on forever. “Fine. Bring the kettle and start talking.”
Wrapping the long corner of her shawl around her hand, Morganna pulled the iron pot from the fire, carried it over to the bowl, and poured the hot water.
As she returned to the hearth, she nodded at the steaming ceramic basin.
“Ye might want to add some from the pitcher if it’s too hot, and mind the soap.
I dinna ken how strong they make it here at Dubh Tower.
Although with Drummond’s status, he may have imported some of the finer soaps from the East.”
Evie remembered Grandmama telling stories about making lye soap from lard and wood ash, and how it would burn like fire if you didn’t rinse it off good and quick.
She sniffed the bar. It possessed the clean yet earthy scent of olive oil and seemed mild enough.
After testing the temperature of the water in the bowl, she washed her hands and face with no adverse effects.
Nothing else needed washing. She’d just showered this morning.
“What am I going to do about deodorant when the time comes?”
“Herbs and oils,” Morganna said. “Dinna fash yerself. I shall help ye learn all that ye need to know.”
“What I need to know is why you and Callum hijacked me to the fourteenth century. What business is it of yours when it comes to my ‘fated mate’?” She made air quotes with her fingers even though she’d always hated whenever anyone did it.
“What are you? Some kind of psychopathic matchmakers or something?”
Morganna blew out a heavy sigh as she hung the kettle onto the bar and swung it back over the fire.
“There are some fated mates, some halves of souls, that the gods and goddesses tore asunder and tossed into different centuries so that they might never find one another again, no matter how many incarnations they go through searching for one another.” She draped what appeared to be a white linen nightgown over her arm and joined Evie at the long cabinet that held the pitcher and bowl.
“It was part of the curse. It swept thousands of fated mates into the darkness of its spell.”
Evie wrung out the cloth she’d used and hung it on an iron hook in the wall above the cleaning station, then dried her hands on a fresh cloth. “What curse?” she asked as she bent to untie her boots.
“The curse on those of Craig Durness. Here’s yer shift. That’s yer first layer.” Morganna placed the nightgown on the cabinet and took the boots after Evie removed them. She placed them outside the door. “The maid will clean them for ye.”
“Okay.” Evie shed her clothes, too wet, cold, and frustrated to be shy about getting naked in front of Morganna. “Go on. What is the curse on those of Craig Durness?”
“Since we defied the beliefs of our races and rejected the tenets of the gods and goddesses, we were charged with successfully reuniting a thousand fated mates torn asunder and scattered across the centuries.”
“Or what?” Evie donned the linen shift and shimmied it down over her body. The weave against her skin was softer than she’d expected.
“And now the kirtle.” Morganna held up a dark burgundy gown so Evie could pull it on over her head.
“Or what?” Evie repeated as she tugged the fitted wool garment down into place. “What happens if you fail to rejoin at least a thousand of the fated mates torn apart by the curse?”
Morganna tightened the laces of the kirtle and adjusted the neckline of the shift revealed by the gown. “Craig Durness and the magical beings seeking refuge there will be wiped from existence.”
“What?” Not wanting to believe what she’d just heard, Evie stopped fussing with her sleeves and stared at Morganna. “What do you mean, wiped from existence? By whom?”
“What do ye think it means, lass?” Morganna held up a long pair of white wool stockings, along with a pair of matching ribbons. “The Fae—both the Seelie and Unseelie—and the gods and goddesses wish to destroy us.”
“How could they do that? By what right?” The injustice of it all burned through Evie. That wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. And why in the world had they sucked her into it?
“We knew when we rebelled that there would be a price to pay.” Morganna pointed at a cushioned stool. “Sit so I can help ye with yer stockings.”
“And you decided that whatever that price was, it was worth it?”
“Aye.”
“Why did you rebel?”
“Because we loved,” Morganna answered quietly.
“What?” The look in Morganna’s eyes made Evie swallow hard. Pride, sacrifice, suffering, and a strong-willed determination to persevere made the woman’s dark purple eyes glimmer.
“Who did you love?” Evie asked.
“Our true loves, our meant-to-bes, as those of yer time say, were forbidden to us—according to the rules of our kind and the commands of the gods and goddesses.” As she tied a ribbon above Evie’s knee to secure the stocking, Morganna tried to smile but failed.
“I was the princess of the Dark Ones, the Unseelie. Expected to choose a suitable consort from among those of my race. Callum was the prince of those of the Light, the Seelie, and was expected to do the same. But as soon as we met, we knew our hearts belonged together, even though it was forbidden.” She placed a pair of simple leather boots on Evie’s feet and tied the leather laces to secure them.
“Forestor, the one ye so craftily recognized as a troll, fell in love with Thedia, a dwarf. Jadrack, the dragon, loves Epsily, a kelpie. Petra, a mortal witch, loves Jarrah, a wulver—the kindest of Scottish werewolves. We all loved with our hearts and our beings, not with our appearances or our specific kind.”
“It’s not fair to be persecuted for who you choose,” Evie said. “Love is love.”
“Not all think so.” Morganna rose and went to a table that held brushes, combs, and a selection of jewelry that would look perfect in a museum in Evie’s time.
She picked up a brush, several small combs, and a handful of ribbons.
“And unfortunately, those who dinna believe as ye do are the ones in power.”
“Unless you break the curse?”
Morganna nodded. “Unless we reunite the fated mates.”
“But why me?” Evie cringed at her whiny tone, but she really didn’t want to be a part of this. Granted, she felt bad for Morganna and everyone at Craig Durness, but why did she have to get sucked into this, too? “How do you know for certain I’m one of the fated mates that you need?”
“Ye’re but half of a pair.” Morganna pointed to the footstool again. “Sit, and I’ll fix yer hair into a lovely French braid—but dinna call it that here. That is a term from the future.” She brushed and detangled Evie’s damp tresses, pulling and yanking hard.
“Hey! Take it easy.” Evie snatched the brush away from Morganna. “I’m not tender-headed, but I don’t want to end up bald either.” She shook the brush at her. “Now, be gentle, and tell me how I got pulled into this curse along with the rest of you, and why you think my fated mate is Drummond.”
“Do ye not believe him to be yer fated mate?”
“I haven’t really thought anything about that,” Evie lied.
Just thinking about Drummond made her feel all melty inside.
No man had ever made her feel like that before, and it scared the daylights out of her.
“I’ve either been sick or wondering what the heck happened to me.
” She wasn’t about to admit that she was drawn to Drummond or had the impossible feeling that she’d known him forever.
Morganna arched a dark brow, giving her the sort of look her mother always had whenever Evie had done something she shouldn’t. “To protect ye, I need ye to be honest with me, lass.”
“Protect me from what?” Evie braced herself for another onslaught of the hairbrush.