Wild Scottish Charm (The Enchanted Highlands #8)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Faelan

Iwas no stranger to new towns.

I had unpacked my things in more villages than I cared to count—most of them quaint, remote, and filled with locals who squinted at outsiders as if deciding whether they were worthy of their trust. But Loren Brae was different.

Already, I’d been welcomed, and was even on my way to making a few new friends, which made me wonder just what, exactly, was going on in this town.

For one, the last vet had fled.

People in Loren Brae didn’t talk about it directly, but I’d overheard enough murmurs while ordering a blackberry scone from the bakery that morning to piece together the general story.

Dr. MacAllister had barely handed the keys off to me before he’d disappeared.

Not just from the practice, but from the town as well.

No warning, no goodbyes. And the way people talked about it—with uneasy glances and hushed voices—told me it wasn’t because of an overdue tax bill or scandalous affair.

Something strange had sent him running.

Which was why I was standing outside the empty clinic, a simple stone building tucked on the shores of Loch Mirren, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

It wasn’t in my nature to borrow trouble, instead I typically ran from it as much as I could.

But I’d barely had one day with the prior vet to go over any outstanding files and patients before he’d hightailed it from town.

Unease prickled, and I glanced behind me at the loch, where the waves tumbled across the surface, tipping over into white caps.

It had been a week since Dr. MacAllister’s departure, and I’d hit the ground running.

The office itself was no more in order than the day I’d stepped through the door, thinking I’d have time for an easy transition as I was introduced to the people of Loren Brae.

Instead, I’d been left with a stack of files, no receptionist or assistant, and a flood of patients coming through my door.

Today I’d come downstairs early, hoping to get a handle on the medicine inventory so I could place an order if needed.

It seemed the only way to get this office into shape was if I did it myself while the clinic was closed.

The practice had come with a small flat above, with a separate entrance, and I’d been grateful for the package deal.

This was my first time officially owning my own practice, and for the thousandth time, I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake in moving to Loren Brae.

“All right, then,” I muttered, fishing the keys from my pocket and pushing the door open. “Let’s get your life sorted.”

The scent of old wood, herbs, and just a whisper of something sharp and metallic greeted me. The place was cozy—a reception desk covered in stray dog hairs, a small exam room with an oak table, a surgery and recovery room, and a large storage closet filled with supplies.

And curled up on the counter, watching me with unsettling intelligence, was a fox.

I frowned. “Now how did you get in here?”

The fox’s ears twitched, its golden eyes locking on mine. Then, with an almost lazy motion, it lifted its head and let out a soft chuff—less a warning, more a cry for help.

A chill ran up my spine. It wasn’t the first time a creature had looked at me like that.

I set my bag down and stepped closer. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

The fox shifted slightly, and that’s when I saw its front leg, tucked awkwardly beneath its body. I didn’t need an exam to tell it was broken.

But I could mend it.

I glanced at the front window, making sure no one was watching from the street. Being a newcomer in a small town meant all eyes were on you, and I’d learned long ago to try to fly under the radar as much as possible.

I leaned forward, reaching out a hand, slow and steady. “I won’t hurt you.”

The fox didn’t move at first. Then, as if sensing the truth in my words, it exhaled—a small, weary sigh—and let me touch its injured leg.

I brushed my fingers over the break, a breath catching in my throat as the fox’s pain flickered through me. Magick unfurled beneath my fingertips, warm and soft, a golden thread through the air.

Bones whispered their alignment, sinew stitched itself back together, and beneath it all, the fox’s heartbeat slowed, its pain easing. I exhaled, and the world settled.

The fox stretched its leg, testing the weight. Then, just to be dramatic, it hopped onto the reception desk and flopped down, tail flicking over the paperwork like it owned the place.

I winced. “Sure, go ahead, make yourself at home.”

The fox yawned, utterly unbothered, and I just shook my head as I found a bowl to fill with water and slid it in front of him on the desk. After he drank, he lifted his head and met my eyes.

Understanding passed between us.

“I see you, Faelan.”

My eyebrows winged up as I studied the fox, tilting my head.

Eriska, my mother, who’d insisted I call her by her first name as witchy women should, had always told me my familiar would find me.

But none had yet joined me, even though Eriska had foreshadowed it would happen one day in a town most powerful.

It seemed Loren Brae had its own secrets, just like I did.

“And I see you, wee one. Do you have a name?” I asked, happiness lighting me up. I’d finally found my familiar.

“Gloam.”

“Gloam. As in the gloaming?” I tilted my head to study his eyes—the color of whisky in firelight—and to examine his golden russet coat for any further injuries.

The gloaming was a time of day in Scotland when the day shifted to night and gilded light brushed across the land.

The fox resembled this light, and I could picture him shimmering through the twilight as he slipped through the forest.

“Aye. It’s nice to finally meet you, Faelan.”

“Och, so you are mine.” I lifted a hand and waited until Gloam bobbed his head once, before reaching over to scratch behind his ears. “I must say, Gloam, you’re an exceptionally handsome fellow.”

“I know.”

Gloam’s eyes slitted closed, and his mouth opened in a smile as I continued to scratch. I chuckled at his words. I could hear him perfectly in my mind, as though I had my Sony Earbuds in, and his voice sounded like he was permanently amused.

“Cocky as a wee dug with two tails, are ye now?” I laughed as Gloam opened his mouth and made a soft huffing sound, like he was chuckling at me, and I ran my hands over his sides. “Is there any other place you’re sore, my wee friend? I’m worried for you.”

“It’s just my leg. A trap.”

“Oh no.” I sighed. He’d been lucky with just the broken bone then.

Traps could also rip through ligaments or tear flesh, so I was pleased he’d only snuck away with a break.

Nevertheless, I wanted to keep him close for monitoring.

Today was Sunday, and I hadn’t planned to open the clinic today, because I needed at least one day to actually settle into my flat upstairs, as well as make some sense of the office.

Still, being interrupted by an emergency call wasn’t uncommon, and it would seem odd to anyone stopping by to spot a fox on my desk.

“That’s such a shame, Gloam. That must have been quite scary.

I’m glad you managed to get yourself here for help.

Listen, I had planned to organize down here, but I’m worried someone may see you.

Want to come upstairs with me and I’ll unpack a bit and you can have a wee rest while I do so?

I just want to make sure you’re in tip-top shape before you go back outside. ”

“I’m quite tired. I could use the rest.”

“I don’t blame you. We’ll get you sorted out.

” I scooped him up, and he burrowed into my arms, resting his head on my shoulder.

For a moment, I just held him, shocked at the realization of just how much I needed a hug.

Likely from a human, but this one still filled me with an overwhelming sense of comfort.

His fur was so soft, it was like cuddling a real-life stuffed animal.

Some of the tension I’d carried with me since moving here eased as I locked up and headed to the flat.

Nudging the door open with my shoulder, I carried Gloam inside my new home.

Our new home, I supposed, if the fox wanted to stay here with me.

From what I knew about familiars, they liked to choose their domain.

The flat wasn’t much, a simple one-bedroom, with the main door opening to a galley kitchen and lounge area and a second door that led to a bedroom with an en suite bathroom.

But it had a cozy couch, and two large windows that overlooked the stunning waters of Loch Mirren.

Already I could see myself curled up by those windows, watching the light play across the water, while reading my favorite romantasy novels with candles lit.

I didn’t need much, as I was used to moving, but still I liked to make each new spot my home in my own way.

I paused as I realized that this time, my stay would be different.

I owned the place and could decorate how I wished.

The thought intrigued me, as I’d been so good about not acquiring anything that I couldn’t pack up and easily leave with.

Looking around, I realized just how sparse it was in here.

The apartment had come furnished with a simple loveseat, a small table with two chairs, a bed, and a chest of drawers. Both rooms had small closets, as well, but I’d yet to do much digging. Now, I carried Gloam to the couch and settled him gently on the soft cushions.

“How’s that? Comfy?”

“Aye, that’ll do me just fine.”

“That’s grand then. I’ll just try to make sense of my life here, while you rest. Then we can have ourselves a wee chat, all right?”

Gloam just closed his eyes, and I took that as agreement.

I had about a million questions for my wee familiar, but since I had no idea just how long he’d been injured, it was more important that he rest for now and regain his strength.

Humming softly to myself, I crossed the room and put the kettle on and then moved to the first box in the middle of the floor.

Pausing, I brought a hand to my heart and took a deep breath, and then another.

Focusing on a spot outside the window, I forced Gloam’s pain from my body and exhaled a smokey dark cloud that writhed in the air before disappearing out the window.

Healing always taxed me, though I’d grown strong with it over the years, but I always needed to expel the pain I took in.

I’d need to gulp about a pot of my rejuvenating tea before I’d feel normal again.

Picking up the scissors, I slit the tape on the top box.

Two suitcases and four boxes. The entirety of my personal and professional belongings.

At least it made it easy to move on, as I’d done over a dozen times in the last seven years.

I’d forced myself to be sentimental over very few things in my life, and as I slit the first box open, my gaze moved to one of those items.

A framed photo of me and my mother, Eriska, taken about ten years ago.

We sat on the grass, a field of wildflowers haloing our heads, a picnic spread before us.

It had been a rare day of sunshine and laughter, neither of us talking of tomorrows, both knowing fate was unavoidable.

She’d always been destined to leave me, as it was written in the stars.

Or so she’d told me again and again, preparing me for the day she’d known was coming since she’d had a vision when I was just four years old.

It would have been easier if it had been an illness to take her, as maybe I would have been able to help—to do something, anything at all—but instead it had been a patch of black ice and an elderly driver that had ended her life.

And even though she’d prepared me for it, promising me our time together was short, her absence took up more space than her presence had.

The kettle clicked off, shaking me from my despondency, and I stood with the picture in hand. Moving across the room, I put the frame on the windowsill, where I could see it and speak to her when I looked out over the loch.

Gloam shifted, letting out a soft laughing sound in his sleep, and I pressed my lips together. I’d never had a pet before, though I’d taken in plenty of strays and nursed them back to health. I’d never wanted to get too attached, since I’d always known that the things you loved got taken from you.

It made moving on easier.

And letting go almost impossible.

A sharp hammering of knocks startled me, and Gloam popped awake with a startled yip. A doorbell rang somewhere in the flat, connected to the vet’s office below, and I moved to the window to peer down at the front door of the clinic.

A man stood there, cradling a dog, his shirt covered in blood, his face ravaged with grief.

So much for my day off.

“Stay here. This might take a while.”

“Be well, Faelan of the flowers.”

I paused at the door, shooting a surprised glance over my shoulder at Gloam. How had he known my mother used to call me that? Still, I had no time to delve deeper, as I raced down the stairs to the panicked man pacing out front.

One look at his face, and I knew we didn’t have much time.

Or maybe it was already too late.