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“We had best begin,” she said. “We have a long journey ahead.”

They paused long enough for him to switch from the soft shoes to his sturdier boots. Granny’s shoes were placed in the bag, and the bag slung over his shoulder. Sorcha pulled from her bag an apple for each of them, which they ate as they walked.

“What do you know of this town we are heading toward?” he asked.

“Not very much. I know where it is, but I’ve not been there myself. Granny Winter showed me a map a few weeks ago, talking about the various places and some of their history. She pointed out that town on the map, but she didn’t tell me anything about it.”

His face pulled in an expression of pondering. “I have my suspicions she knew you were going to be making this journey. Why else would she have a bag ready with things that were needed, and why else would she mention this town to you?”

Sorcha smiled to herself. Grannyhadlikely known, or at least had had an inkling. There seemed very little that woman didn’t know or couldn’t predict. How she hoped Granny Winter had foreseen the possibility of success on this journey, even if success wasn’t entirely promised.

They had been walking for nearly an hour, speaking of inconsequential things, sharing stories from their lives and their likes and dislikes, recounting things that had happened in their village and the people they knew there. It was one of the most pleasant conversations she’d everhad. The villagers were not unkind to her, neither did they ignore her existence. But they kept her at a distance, likely because she lived with Granny Winter, who was treated with respect but also with uncertainty.

The path Sorcha and Duncan walked took them into a meadow. Grass fluttered in the breeze. Wildflowers were abundant. No matter that the countryside held difficult memories for her, she still found it the most beautiful and inviting of places. Duncan hunched down a few steps into the meadow and plucked from the ground a beautiful purple flower. Not all men would notice such things, but she wasn’t surprised he did. He had a gentle heart and a kind soul. She was surprised, however, when he offered the flower to her.

She accepted it. “No one has ever given me a flower.” She spun it between her finger and her thumb, mesmerized by the whirl of purple hues.

“Not ever?” The revelation clearly surprised him.

“I know giving flowers to ladies is something men often do. I suppose I’m simply not the sort of lady they think of doing that for.”

“I don’t see why that would be.” He stroked his pointed beard and mustache, his expression one of deep pondering. “You’re clever and kind. You’re the very best of company. Beautiful and pleasant. You have a kind heart, and you care about people.”

She felt herself blushing all the deeper. She was never paid such compliments. Granny Winter was not unkind to her, but hers was not a disposition which leant itself to saying flowery things. Sorcha breathed in the floral scent, then tucked the stem behind her ear.

They continued walking through the meadow. Shecouldn’t imagine being more content with anyone than she was with him in that moment. They’d very nearly reached the other side, where the meadow gave way to a small copse of trees, and their path continued on. A niggling doubt tugged at her mind. They were going in the right direction, weren’t they?

He was trusting her to get him to Carrifran. Was she certain they were indeed on the right path? She paused, still in the meadow, still within sight of the path through the trees. She turned and looked in the direction they’d come. Why was it she felt the need to go back? She couldn’t ignore the very real pull she felt.

“What is it?” Duncan asked.

“I find myself wondering if we’re proceeding in the correct direction. Something in my mind is telling me we should be going back.”

“Back in the direction of Loch Dreva?” He clearly did not agree with her assessment.

“Perhaps not that far,” she said. “We may have missed a break in the road or a turn we ought to have taken.”

“I didn’t see any,” he said.

That he was doubtful of her settled frustratingly on her mind. Did he not feel this same insistence that they were going the wrong way?

She studied the meadow, hoping to discover some clue as to what was pulling at her. She spied a flash of blue light at a distance, dancing on the tips of the blades of wild grass. The light called to her. Beckoned to her.

“We need to go that way.” Without hesitating or looking back at him, she rushed toward the spark, but it extinguished the moment she reached it.

Frantic, her eyes swept the area, searching.

The blue light appeared again, a bit farther ahead, back the way they’d come.

She chased it only to have it extinguish and reappear farther away. It moved faster, though she did too. The pull was undeniable, unmistakable. She couldn’t have stopped chasing it if she tried.

Back it went, back along the trail. On and on she followed, not to the path they’d been on but into a nearby wood. There was no path, just flickering blue lights, tiny blue flames popping up everywhere, guiding her in the direction she knew she had to go.

Duncan caught up to her, running alongside her, digging in his bag. He pulled out the crock of butter and tossed it toward the blue flame. It stopped. Hovered.

She stopped.

Duncan set his arms around her, his embrace firm but gentle. “I know this creature,” he said. “You mustn’t follow it, Sorcha.”


Tags: Sarah M. Eden Historical