Chapter 1 #2
I sag a bit with defeat and take a step back, allowing him to walk through and close the door behind him.
I’ve only seen Lachlan a handful of times since being back here.
There was a hint of attraction thrumming between us.
Or maybe just from me. But that’s nothing new.
I’ve always had a crush on him. Only now it had almost begun to seem like he was beginning to see me as something more, too.
“Oh, I saw his truck and thought he was here.” I flick my thumb to the truck parked in the driveway.
Torin leans around me, surprise lighting his eyes when he spots the truck. “Huh, well, he’s not inside. He must’ve ridden with one of his crew members to town.”
I purse my lips, disappointment washing through me. Lachlan is a contractor and is in very high demand, managing many of the historic manors between here and Orkney, where he now lives.
We walk side-by-side, our pace quick, on the way to the Hall, and I fill him in on Gran’s fits that have occurred today. Torin grunts his disapproval when I finish telling him all about my exhausting day so far.
As we make our way back up to the southern wall and enter the garden, a light breeze ruffles the lavender petals of the wisteria blooms that twine up the gate, their lovely flowery fragrance filling my nose.
The birds chattering in the trees add an ambiance of tranquility as Torin opens the back door for me and we make our way inside. When mumbling reaches our ears, we share a look of confusion.
A few words carry down the hall as Gran whispers, “You’re too big for the chimney now, my dearie.”
But that’s all I am able to hear before we round the corner into the room. I spy the bird I thought was stuck in the chimney, now settled on Gran’s right shoulder.
The image before me takes a moment to register in my mind before I sputter out, “Gran! What is—are you ok?!”
My hands clench into fists at my sides, and my eyes widen as I take in the absurdity before me.
This raven isn’t nearly as large as the one by Torin’s house, but it’s still a sizable creature resting on Gran’s small shoulder.
Fear floods my body, and I’m torn between running away screaming or throwing something at the bird to get it away from her.
But a quick glance over at Torin reveals him trying very hard to conceal a grin, stalling my panic.
I guess this isn’t a dire situation after all, but a humorous one.
How many times does one see a wild bird perched on someone’s shoulder?
All I can imagine is grizzly bird attacks, with talons and beaks, damaging eyeballs.
Gran slowly turns her head my way, annoyance simmering in her eyes. “I’m just talking to a friend. Can’t you see he’s excellent company?”
The raven turns in my direction and tilts its head. Is it agreeing with her? My mouth slowly parts, and my eyes bulge.
Realization slams into me, two ravens. I’m in for a world of trouble. Torin begins chuckling, and I whip my head back towards him in utter disbelief.
“Looks like I won’t be needing this after all,” he says and leans the net against the wall. “Miss Adi, would ye and your new friend,” he points to the raven, “like to take a walk about your favorite garden?”
Gran gracefully stands from her chair, a queen rising from her throne, and takes Torin’s offered arm. She soothingly dotes on the raven as they pass me. The state of the room now lies bare before me. I don’t even try to stifle my groan.
Ash and soot rained all over the hand-scraped wood floors and antique furniture.
A splattering of what I assume to be Gran’s tea is flung about the cream-plastered walls, the puzzle on the table, and various spots on the sage green damask curtains.
My left eye begins twitching with each calamity.
I know it could be much worse; there could be bird poop everywhere or a dead bird on the rug, cementing my cursed future from Badb or the Father, now that I know there are two ravens.
But still, this was the cherry on top of an already challenging day.
The sinking feeling conjured by vengeful gods is slowly beginning to dissipate, giving way to the anxiety that slithers its way up from the pit of my stomach as I take in the amount of cleaning that has just landed in my lap.
Perhaps I’ve overreacted, and it wasn’t an omen after all, and it was just typical bad luck.
I wasn’t always this way; I didn’t use to have such crippling anxiety and fear.
But in the last few weeks, Gran’s disease has become chaotic, and her outbursts more violent.
I don’t really have the nerves to handle the conflict this disease brings, and that’s all I’ve been doing lately.
Most of my life before my parents’ deaths was uncommonly peaceful.
So, I didn’t develop the necessary skill set for battle.
Gran, however, is a formidable opponent, an extremely battle-hardened woman. She should be running a country or coordinating war strategies, not wasting away from vascular dementia.
The mundane task of cleaning begins to soothe away any lingering anxiety.
But the state of all this almost ruined priceless antique furniture makes my heart ache.
I rub a hand across my chest and take slow breaths.
I didn’t grow up wealthy. Although my parents and I were supported by a trust fund, thanks to Gran, we lived very meagerly.
Only keeping what we could easily pack as we flitted from place to place.
There was no limit to our travels, as my parents often combined my schooling with whatever adventure we were currently experiencing.
This is actually the longest time I’ve ever stayed in one place.
I could have continued our way of life and traveled wherever I wanted, but it felt unbearable on my own.
Besides Lachlan, I’ve never had any friends.
When you live in a very religious-dominated country, as a pagan, people find you strange and don’t really want their children around you.
Because of that, when I did reach adulthood, I had a really hard time connecting with anyone else my age.
The loneliness eventually became debilitating, and seeing as the only people I have left live here, it was a natural next step. The last five months have begun to give me the purpose I so desperately needed while drowning in the abyss of my grief.
My legs burn as I bend down to plug in the vacuum cleaner to finish tidying up the mess.
My jog to Torin was the most physical activity I’ve done in some time, and my poor muscles have begun withering away from the lack of use.
I used to climb mountains and spar with my parents, and now I can barely jog the quarter mile to Torin’s. Pathetic.
The light ringing of the doorbell breaks through the sound of the vacuum, and I tip my head back, groaning loudly.
When I swing the door open, I see none other than my saving grace standing on the worn flagstone steps—Lachlan.
My breath catches in my throat, and my heart begins to beat erratically.
He’s so tall, he’s nearly eye level with me from where he stands, three stairs down on the stoop.
The light breeze ruffles his longer, dark, unkempt hair, and my fingers flex against the door frame, aching to reach out and touch the silken tresses.
“Key,” he breathes, his eyes dancing as he takes me in. “Are ye alright?”
The familiar cadence of his Scottish accent causes my blood to heat, but more than that, my heart swells at his use of my childhood nickname.
Gran took to calling us Lach and Key, partially because we were always attached to each other at the hip and partially because my naturally sunny disposition always brought Lach out of his surly one.
My eyes line with silver at his obvious concern, and I quickly usher him inside and into the parlor.
“Not really, it’s been a day,” I complain, trying to hold myself together.
“Gran’s having a rough time. She’s been yelling and throwing things; not wanting to bathe this morning or eat, and of course, she did not want to get dressed.
It was a battle to get anything done, and then I finally got her settled in the parlor with one of her puzzles, and I heard a poor bird trapped in the chimney—”
“A bird?” he asks, his eyebrow arching.
The motion causes my eyes to lock onto his, the familiar pools of green wreaking havoc on my already overworked heart.
But I nod and forge on. “I had to go get your dad for help, and the whole time, I’m worried about leaving Gran in the house alone, and then when we got back to the manor, the bird was on Gran’s shoulder! She was talking to it, but all I could think about was it attacking her!”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile carving through his granite-hewn bone structure as he chuckles at my hysterics. It makes my entire body tingle when he looks at me like that.
“Looks like I got here just in time to be the hero then; what do ye need?”
I motion to the drawing room. “It’s fine now. I got it all cleaned. It’s just been an emotional day.”
Lachlan nods as he takes in the state of the room and stoops down to pick up a black feather I must’ve missed.
The motion has his muscles flexing through his long-sleeved shirt, and I stifle a sigh.
But a dull ringing begins building in my ears, and I wonder if I’m going to have a panic attack from the stress of the day or from the attraction I feel towards him.
As he stands upright, he turns slightly towards me, and I glimpse an emerald-colored jewelry box in his other hand.
The annoyance of the ringing climbs higher now, bordering on a piercing shrill.
My eyes zero in on the box in his hand as he holds it out to me.
I look up at his face to see his lips moving, but his voice doesn’t permeate the shrill sound.
I’m doing my best to act normal, but the ringing isn’t lessening; my breathing shifts into quick pants as my panic rises.