Tendrils of icy cold creep through my veins and butterflies attack my stomach. All the doubts that I’ve kept pushed down so deep I wouldn’t acknowledge they were there break free and form a dark cloud of thoughts. I close my eyes and take a deep, shaky breath, then ask the last question I have.
“Can I beat him?”
Each beating of my heart hurts. As silence stretches the pain grows until I’m sure I can’t stand any more. Yet she doesn’t answer, leaving me waiting. And waiting. When she finally speaks it’s in such a soft whisper, I’m not sure I heard her right.
“I don’t know.”
ChapterTwenty-Three
I chokeas my chest tightens. I stare off across the vast open country of Scotland and watch the sun setting. The sun is a perfect metaphor. Darkness chasing away the last rays of light and extinguishing hope.
“I have to go,” I tell Moira.
I’m numb. Hope is as fleeting as the retreating light. I don’t know why I hoped for something different, but I did.
“Quinn,” she calls, and I stop. “I don’t know you can’t win either.”
“But you won’t help?” I ask, watching her in the peripheral of my sight.
She bows her head and sighs.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Huh. Guess I’m on my own. I should be getting used to it.”
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. I stride away, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. The mists swirl around my feet as I walk. White eddies mark my passing and a long since familiar tingle of magical power passes over my skin.
The air chills until it is almost freezing. My breath fogs with every exhale and I’m rubbing my arms and core, trying to force warmth. The wind blows harder, and I lean into it, keeping my head down to lessen its bite on my bare face.
“What is this bs?” I ask myself through chattering teeth.
Snow dances in the air. Winter shouldn’t be here yet. We’ve still at least two months. I know we’re high up so maybe the snow comes even earlier than I expect? It doesn’t make any sense but the more I walk the colder and the worse the storm gets.
It isn’t long before I’m in a whiteout. I’m sure I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but I’m not going to try. I keep rubbing myself, trying to keep the barest hints of warmth. Shivering, every breath feels as if it’s freezing my lungs.
Time loses meaning. All I can do is take the next step as I strive to return to the clan. Return to Duncan. I need to apologize to him. I’ve screwed up everything. He didn’t mean anything by his comment that I took such great offense too.
The Fae won’t help me but he will. He and I together, I know we can stand against Lord Nicholas. We fought him before when Duncan was hurt, and I was weak then from having traveled back. That must be why magic has been so hard to gather and wield. If I give myself some time to rest and regain my strength, I’ll be able to take down that Dark Fae.
The storm lessens and the snow stops. I’m still shivering but it’s not as bad as it was. I dare a glance up and see the sun is shining. A warmer breeze brushes across my face and I take a deep breath, filling my nose with the scents of an array of Highland scents: moss, heather, and the sparse trees.
I walk faster now that the wind isn’t blowing me back. Soon I’m completely free of the freak storm. The air is warm, and the mists are retreating, chased away by the bright rays of sunshine.
The standing stone that Moira stepped around comes into view ahead, letting me know I’m on the path home. Regrets chase themselves through my thoughts. All I want to do is find Duncan and tell him how sorry I am. I was dumb. I overreacted.
I break into a jog. My skirts are too heavy for a full run to be practical but at least I’m moving faster. My time with the Druid doing all that cardio, which I hated every minute of, is paying off now. I begrudgingly grant him respect for it as I run without tiring.
I reach the edge of the cliff and look down on the clan village from a greater height. When I do my stomach drops to the ground. The camp looks completely different, and the instant I see it I know something is wrong.
The camp isn’t the same, but I’m sure it’s the right one. It takes a moment for me to pick out the changes. The thatch on the roofs looks new. The area has been cleaned up of debris, but more than anything else there are less people than there should be and those I see move with an air of heaviness that screams something bad has happened while I was gone.
I try to spot Duncan, but I don’t see him. I do see Chief Johnne, and again I’m taken aback. He looks older; his shock of red hair is grayer more than red. He favors his left leg as he moves around the camp flanked by two other men.
Hurrying down the path I make my way to the camp, and the first person I run into is Agnes. Of course it is. Mentally I curse my luck but put on a smile and force myself to be friendly.
“Agnes, what’s happened?” I ask.
“What’s happened?” she asks, shaking her head. She is thinner, haggard, and there are new lines on her face. She looks as if she aged at least ten years since I saw her a few hours ago. She draws herself up and I brace for the storm I know she’s about to unleash, but she sags with a heavy sigh and waves me away. “Go on. I’ve not the breath to waste on you.”