didn’t stop her.” Meg fiddled with the edge of the woolen throw over her lap. “It was right after the anniversary of my birth and Uncle Harold received a letter from my father saying he was coming to claim me. That it was past time I was married. He wrote he had a match in mind but wanted to ascertain that I was free of witchcraft first. That was when Aunt Mary said that one of my mother’s patients had brought the letter with the journal and key after I’d come to live there. They didn’t want to frighten me with the letter, so they held it back until now.”
Rachel squeezed Meg’s hand. There was gentle strength in her grasp, warm and full of power. “So you ran away.”
Meg looked down at her lap. “Do you know how they test for witchcraft?”
“Torture, for the most part.”
“They examine you, prick any bumps or birthmarks to see if you bleed. They dunk you in ponds or see if you burn.”
“Meg,” Rachel whispered. “I tried to get her to come back to Scotland with me after your birth.” Her eyes filled with regret, like little pools of blue. “She was so sad there until you came into the world. Then she spent her days pouring her love into you.”
Silence weighted the air between them while the fire crackled and spit and warmed their legs.
“Harold kept you safe,” Rachel said, as if coming awake again. “Always liked him, and that wife of his has spirit.”
Meg felt a stab of homesickness. “Aunt Mary is fierce. When I was a young girl and she gave me the healing journal, she said I had to learn to read so I could hear my mother’s advice on how to fix people.”
Rachel pointed toward the book. “And you think Isabelle wrote clues in it.”
“I’m certain.” Meg flipped the pages open. “Each of her descriptions has a little something extra and some of the descriptions are obviously not correct, like where one would find an abundance of garlic.” She pointed out discrepancies and odd sounding descriptions as she read the words. “I don’t know what it all means. ‘Find this plant in a cave, a cold cave with many paths and a warm heart in the middle.’”
“You know Gaelic?” Rachel asked.
“My mother asked my uncle to make sure I learned it. I think she wanted to make certain I would understand her clues.”
“Harold speaks it as well?”
Meg shook her head. “Whenever a Scotsman came through, Uncle Harold would ask him to give us both some instruction. Then we studied on our own. Although I’m not very fluent.”
“Oh, I’d say you translated that quite well,” Rachel said.
“Caden.” Meg’s voice quieted and she cleared her throat just a bit. “He translated it on the journey north.” She tipped her gaze back down to avoid her aunt’s stare. The steely look heated the crown of her head as she bent to read.
“Was the journey north long?” Rachel asked.
“Five nights, not counting the one Nickum saved me from a pack of wolves.”
“Wolves?”
“Yes, right before I ran into the skirmish and met Caden.”
Her aunt’s eyes froze Meg’s breath. Meg tried to smile. Her cheek twitched and it came out lopsided.
Rachel’s face softened. “He is a handsome man, Meg. Strong and most likely virile. God makes them that way here in the Highlands. When you meet my Alec you’ll see.”
Meg shook her head. “Caden and I…there’s nothing between us.” She stared at the page, though her eyes didn’t see any of the words.
Her aunt chuckled softly and began to hum. Together, they continued to study the journal while Meg spent the rest of the day avoiding the subject of Caden and how he meant nothing to her.
The next morning Meg requested a bath. Lake scum and road dirt still coated her skin.
“Ye’ve been ill, lass,” Evelyn protested.
“I am well.” Meg moved her shoulder under the poultice wrap. “And I am desperate to smell like my old self. I even brought a bar of soap.” She pulled the lilac-scented bar from her leather bag.
“’Tis
Rachel squeezed Meg’s hand. There was gentle strength in her grasp, warm and full of power. “So you ran away.”
Meg looked down at her lap. “Do you know how they test for witchcraft?”
“Torture, for the most part.”
“They examine you, prick any bumps or birthmarks to see if you bleed. They dunk you in ponds or see if you burn.”
“Meg,” Rachel whispered. “I tried to get her to come back to Scotland with me after your birth.” Her eyes filled with regret, like little pools of blue. “She was so sad there until you came into the world. Then she spent her days pouring her love into you.”
Silence weighted the air between them while the fire crackled and spit and warmed their legs.
“Harold kept you safe,” Rachel said, as if coming awake again. “Always liked him, and that wife of his has spirit.”
Meg felt a stab of homesickness. “Aunt Mary is fierce. When I was a young girl and she gave me the healing journal, she said I had to learn to read so I could hear my mother’s advice on how to fix people.”
Rachel pointed toward the book. “And you think Isabelle wrote clues in it.”
“I’m certain.” Meg flipped the pages open. “Each of her descriptions has a little something extra and some of the descriptions are obviously not correct, like where one would find an abundance of garlic.” She pointed out discrepancies and odd sounding descriptions as she read the words. “I don’t know what it all means. ‘Find this plant in a cave, a cold cave with many paths and a warm heart in the middle.’”
“You know Gaelic?” Rachel asked.
“My mother asked my uncle to make sure I learned it. I think she wanted to make certain I would understand her clues.”
“Harold speaks it as well?”
Meg shook her head. “Whenever a Scotsman came through, Uncle Harold would ask him to give us both some instruction. Then we studied on our own. Although I’m not very fluent.”
“Oh, I’d say you translated that quite well,” Rachel said.
“Caden.” Meg’s voice quieted and she cleared her throat just a bit. “He translated it on the journey north.” She tipped her gaze back down to avoid her aunt’s stare. The steely look heated the crown of her head as she bent to read.
“Was the journey north long?” Rachel asked.
“Five nights, not counting the one Nickum saved me from a pack of wolves.”
“Wolves?”
“Yes, right before I ran into the skirmish and met Caden.”
Her aunt’s eyes froze Meg’s breath. Meg tried to smile. Her cheek twitched and it came out lopsided.
Rachel’s face softened. “He is a handsome man, Meg. Strong and most likely virile. God makes them that way here in the Highlands. When you meet my Alec you’ll see.”
Meg shook her head. “Caden and I…there’s nothing between us.” She stared at the page, though her eyes didn’t see any of the words.
Her aunt chuckled softly and began to hum. Together, they continued to study the journal while Meg spent the rest of the day avoiding the subject of Caden and how he meant nothing to her.
The next morning Meg requested a bath. Lake scum and road dirt still coated her skin.
“Ye’ve been ill, lass,” Evelyn protested.
“I am well.” Meg moved her shoulder under the poultice wrap. “And I am desperate to smell like my old self. I even brought a bar of soap.” She pulled the lilac-scented bar from her leather bag.
“’Tis
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