Chapter Twelve #2
“Portia, your cat came to me at General Montheath’s house.
I was going to leave Glenfinnan. I’d exhausted every resource in the surrounding area without success.
I decided I must go to Edinburgh. There is a man there who specializes in country tales and traditions.
Someone suggested he might know of Fenella’s legend.
I doubted it but I was on a cold trail. I didn’t know what else to do.
And then your cat woke me. I was asleep, in a deep dream, and I didn’t know what it was waking me, and I threw her off the bed.
She ran under the wardrobe to hide and I started thinking about how strange it was that a cat had managed to steal inside Monty’s house.
The place is a dog haven. They bark at everything.
Monty has no control over any of them. And yet, not one of those hounds made a sound to alert us there was a cat on the premises.
So I looked under the wardrobe and the cat wasn’t there.
I couldn’t find her anywhere in the room. ”
“Perhaps you dreamed her,” Portia suggested gently.
“You can’t feel dreams. I heard the cat purr, felt the roughness of its tongue. Your cat was in the room and that is when I decided I needed to stay here.”
Portia looked down at the words of the spell written in the book. Owl was an independent creature and she did have a habit of appearing without fanfare. “There must be a hidey-hole or some other opening for a cat to use to find her way into Montheath’s house. Cats are very clever that way.”
Harry shook his head. “I know to my bones, Portia, your cat is a part of this. I told you that once, and I feel it more certainly than before.” He took the book from her.
“But if your cat is Fenella, then why give us the book? Her hatred was so strong, she would never offer any clues to lifting the curse.”
She didn’t speak. What he was saying defied common sense.
“We need to find your cat,” Harry said.
“Owl comes home when she feels like,” Portia answered, a bit uncomfortable with the idea of him hunting her pet.
“I must find the cat.” He came to his feet and started dressing.
Portia watched him a moment, disappointed that her afternoon with him would end so abruptly. “Where will you go?” she asked.
He looked at her, surprised. “With you, of course. The cat comes to you—”
His voice broke off as he realized the import of what he’d said. “The cat comes to you,” he repeated softly. “You and I were meant to meet. That’s why the cat didn’t want me to leave Glenfinnan.”
Now he sounded completely mad.
“That’s nonsense,” she snapped, strangely annoyed. She reached for her clothes and began dressing.
“Is it?” he asked, sitting on the stool and pulling on his boots. “Can you not imagine, just the smallest bit, that we were destined to meet?”
Portia pulled her dress over her head and stood a moment, wanting to reject his theory . . . and wanting to accept it.
Had they been destined to meet? It would seem that she was always in his path. He’d almost run over her that first day and then there was the connection of General Montheath and her mother. They could be coincidences, and she found she wanted to believe that they were.
“I can’t accept that there are forces at work that we can’t touch or feel,” she confessed.
“Do we not pray to God?” he challenged.
“God is good. You are speaking of an evil.”
“Or not. Rose wasn’t evil. What if Rose was the one who had reincarnated herself? What if your cat is her?”
“What if you stopped speaking this insanity.” Portia reached back and pulled the laces of her dress, quickly tying them into a bow.
She grabbed her stockings and shoes. Her feet were cold now and she was out of sorts because the afternoon spent making love to him that she had looked forward to with sweet anticipation was destroyed.
“I need to take that basket to Lizzy,” she said, putting on her shoes.
“Good, I’ll go with you,” he answered, picking up the basket.
“No, put it down,” she ordered sharply. She began folding the blankets. They left them in the bothy. It was easier than one of them carting them around, except now she wasn’t so certain she should meet him on the morrow.
He noticed her change of mood. “What is it, Portia?” he asked. He stood five feet away from her. “I’ve spoken of the curse before,” he said slowly. “I know it is hard for those who aren’t affected to grasp the reality of it.”
She nodded. “I don’t think you are mad,” she said.
“Not truly.” Or at least she didn’t want to think he was.
She wanted to believe in him. “But this talk of the cat being Rose or Fenella—” She faced him, her doubts clear.
“It is not rational. And Lizzy truly is nothing more than a sad soul who dotes on herbs and flowers.”
“Then she’ll know about mugwort.”
“But you want to know about reincarnation.” And every ounce of good sense Portia had resisted his speaking to Lizzy about that spell. Something bad would happen if he did. The warning was very clear in her mind.
“I don’t believe it wise we are seen together,” she said, tying her cloak at her neck. “I thought we knew we must keep up an appearance.”
“Why do you fear my going with you to Lizzy’s?” he asked.