by Baker, Katy
"Of course! Why?"
"The elevator hasn't broken down in months. Mr MacCarthy had the mechanism replaced. It's certainly not broken down today. When it does, the alarm sounds on my desk."
Lia stared at him. Was he messing with her? Playing some sort of joke? But no. Alan wouldn't do something like that. She pressed her hand against her forehead, feeling suddenly dizzy. Alan came around his desk and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Lia, are you sure you’re okay? You don't look so good."
Lia forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired. It's been a hell of a week."
He smiled in sympathy. "I know that feeling."
She walked off, sensing Alan’s concerned gaze on her all the way to the door.
When she reached her sparse apartment, she kicked off her shoes, poured herself a glass of wine, and sank down onto the sofa. She flicked through the TV channels for a bit, not really noticing any of the programmes. The incident with Irene kept playing through her head.
Will ye allow yerself to find yer true destiny? Only that way can ye find the peace ye so desire.
The shrill ringing of her cell phone made her slosh wine all over her lap. With a curse, she snatched it up and saw Howard MacCarthy’s number on the display. Her heart sank. Great. What was he going to berate her for this time?
She pressed the phone to her ear. "Hi, Howard. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, Lia, it's more what I can do for you,” said Howard’s voice. “I've just got off a conference call with the directors in our Europe office. There’s a problem with one of our historical sites. I mentioned your design and they asked to see it. They were impressed, Lia."
"They were?" Lia replied. “But I thought you said it wouldn’t work?”
"I said it wouldn’t work for our bridge project but the European directors think it might on others. They want you to fly over and take a look."
Lia didn’t reply. Had she heard right? She was being offered a placement in Europe? And they were going to run with her idea? For a moment her head swam and she barely heard Howard's next words.
"...leaves on Sunday night. Can you be ready for then?"
She struggled to catch up. "What? Sunday? Sure. Of course. Sorry. Where did you say I'm going?"
"Have you been listening, Lia? One of our historical sites in the Scottish Highlands. They want you there ready to start first thing Monday. Do you want the placement?"
Did she want it? Was he kidding? Did she want the chance to work on a Scottish historical site? Did she want the chance to finally test her ideas?
"I'll need the project details emailing over," she said in a rush. "And the site reports as well as the architect drawings they've been working from. And I'll need to arrange a flight. And a cab to take me to the airport. Oh God! I'm not sure where I've put my passport. Will I need a visa? Can I get one in time?" She realized she was babbling but didn't seem able to stop.
"Calm down, Lia!" Howard said with a smile in his voice. "I'll have my PA take care of all the admin. I'll tell them to expect you on Monday." He paused. "Oh, and Lia? Your father would be proud of you."
With that, he hung up. Lia gaped at her cell for a moment, stunned.
Your father would be proud of you.
Ye will find yer true destiny and it may not be the one ye think.
With shaking hands, she put her wine glass down on the table and sucked in a deep breath. Jeez, this had been a crazy day. But deep inside she felt something she’d not felt in a long time. She felt...excitement. Anticipation. She climbed to her feet already running through a list of everything she’d need to take with her. She’d better get started.
Chapter 2
Ross MacAuley glowered down at the three villagers. "Ye are sure it's up there?"
The villagers, a ragged bunch if ever he saw one, nodded.
"Aye," an unkempt youth said. "Right on the brow of the hill. Ye canna miss it."
"A place of the Fae all right," said a woman, making the sign of the cross on her breast. "On the dark of the moon we've seen fairy lights dancing up there. It is an evil place."
Ross tossed them a few coins. Two of them—the youth and woman—fell to their knees, grasping at the coins. Ross's mouth twisted in distaste. They were poorly dressed and dirty, clearly on the edge of starvation. What was their laird doing to allow his people to fall into such a state? Ross's father would never allow such things.
He shook his head, pushing away that train of thought. What his father did or didn't do was no longer any of his concern.
The third villager hadn't moved. A thin, wiry man with lank black hair that fell to his shoulders, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Ross with narrowed eyes.
"I wonder why a God-fearing man would be interested in such a place?" he said.
"That's none of yer concern," Ross replied with a scowl.
"Maybe it isnae, but I'm sure the church might be interested to know why ye wish to consort with the Devil!"
Ross took a step forward, and the man shrank back. "If ye wish to threaten me," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I suggest ye do so with a weapon in yer hand. Do ye wish to threaten me, little man?"
The thin man backed hastily away. "I...I didnae mean aught by it, my lord.”
"Then I’ll be on my way. Good day to ye."
He swung up onto his horse, a huge black destrier gifted to him by his parents when he came of age, pulled the beast around in a tight circle, and set his heels to the beast's flanks.
"Yah!"
Traveler sprang into a gallop, eager for a run, and Ross allowed him his head, speeding away from the villagers without looking back. He was so near his goal. Finally, the long search might be coming to an end. Finally, he might find the thing he'd been so desperately searching for.
Ahead rose a steep hill covered in heather and straggly bushes. On the summit he could make out dark shapes standing starkly against the gray sky. From here they looked like broken teeth.
Traveler sped up the hill, his big hooves carving clots out of the ground, his hoof beats sounding like dull thunder. Halfway up the hill the rain started again, a heavy downpour that soon carpeted the land in a gray blanket, obscuring all but the closest landmarks.
Ross peered through the gloom, eyes fixed on his destination. He understood the villagers' uneasiness when it came to the Fae. After all, he’d been brought up on tales of what the Fae had done to his father and two uncles and been warned over and over again not to trust them. To keep away.
Ironic then, that now he sought them out.
He blinked water from his eyes, shook damp hair out of his face, and leaned low against Traveler's neck. The smell of wet horse filled his nostrils and the hiss of rain filled his ears.
Finally, he crested the summit and a chill wind drove the rain straight into his face. He pulled Traveler to a halt, and the stallion danced, annoyed at being denied his run. Ross brought the beast under control with a word and sat still, staring at the landscape before him.
The hill's summit was flat and on a clear day would no doubt give a panoramic view of the landscape around. Lumps in the ground suggested earthworks of some kind. A Pictish hill fort? Or the work of the Fae?
A few paces away several large blocks of stone rose from the grass. They were dark, covered in moss, and it was these that Ross had spotted from the trail below.
Knowing the Fae's distaste for iron, he unbuckled his sword and hung it on his saddle horn. Then, unarmed, he swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.
His foot sank into the mud. Cold, brackish water covered his toes, and he was glad of his sturdy boots. The hill's summit had formed a kind of depression, trapping rainwater and turning the ground marshy. Thick clumps of marsh grass grew here and there and the fetid stink of a bog carried on the air.
Ross picked his way carefully towards the stones. His heartbeat began to quicken. If what the villagers said was true, this might finally be the place he’d sought.<
br />
"Hai!" he shouted. "Is anyone here?"
His words were swallowed by the misty rain. There was no answer.
His hand clenched and unclenched involuntarily, grasping for a sword hilt that wasn't there. Oh, how he wished for his sword right now. But he hadn't come here to fight.
He reached the first of the stones. Halting, he craned his head back to peer up at it. The stone was taller than Ross and even if he stretched out his arms, he wouldn't reach the top. Moss covered it from head to foot, making it glisten like velvet in the rain.
"My name is Ross MacAuley!" he shouted, turning in a slow circle to take in the moss-covered ruins rising all around him. "I come to make a bargain! Answer me!"
He waited, listening to the drip of the rain and the thump of his own heart. Nothing. He could have been the only person in the whole world. Anger began to churn in his belly. He kicked the standing stone in annoyance.
"Answer me, damn ye!"
A clod of moss came away under his boot, revealing the stone underneath. Ross paused as something caught his eye. There were lines on the stone beneath the moss, showing pale through the dirt. Frowning, Ross began scraping off more of the moss, revealing the stone beneath.
Only it wasn't stone at all. It was brick.
Beneath the moss, lines of mortar criss-crossed the monolith. With a growl, Ross realized what he was looking at. This wasn't a standing stone at all. It was the remains of a wall.
"This isnae a Fae place!" he roared. "It's a damned croft!"
How could he have been so stupid? In his eagerness to find the Fae he'd allowed himself to listen to the superstitious prattling of a bunch of villagers! He should have known better. Hadn't his father always taught him to examine the facts? To base his judgements on evidence?
The croft had been built on marshy ground which was probably why much of it had collapsed. And the fairy lights the villagers swore they saw dancing up here? Likely naught more than marsh gas.
"Why willnae ye answer me?" he bellowed at the empty hilltop. "Why willnae ye show yerselves?"
His voice echoed off the stones, throwing his own words back at him. He hung his head, the bitter twist of defeat filling his stomach. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to grab his sword and fight someone. If he didn't, he was sure his frustration would devour him from the inside out.
Will I never find them? he thought. Will I never be able to put things right?
"Ye will make yerself hoarse shouting like that, my lad," said a voice suddenly. "Especially when there isnae anybody up here to hear ye."
Ross spun, hand going reflexively to where his sword should be but relaxed when he saw it was only one of the villagers. The old woman was short and squat, barely reaching Ross's chest. She was wrapped against the rain in a brown cloak and a hood pulled up around her head. A creased and wrinkled face peered out from the hood, smiling warmly at him.
"I thought none of ye would venture near this place," he said.
The old woman shrugged. "For me it holds no fears."
Her eyes, he noticed, were so dark as to be almost black and they sparkled with intelligence. She had rosy cheeks and a bright smile, despite the rain and wind. She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled.
"What are ye doing up here?" he asked. "It isnae the kind of weather to go out walking."
"Is that so? Then why are ye here, my lad?"
He crossed his arms. "I have my reasons."
"Do ye now?" She raised an eyebrow. “What possible reason could a Highland warrior have for seeking out a place of the Fae?"
He snorted. "This isnae a place of the Fae! It’s just local superstition inventing reasons to explain what they dinna understand. I must be on my way. Good day to ye."
He made to walk off but the old woman's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Her fingers were warm and surprisingly strong.
"Is that it, lad? Would ye give up so easily? Yer father and uncles had more perseverance than that."
Ross looked at the old woman sharply. "What do ye mean by that? Ye dinna know my family."
Her eyes were like shards of flint as she watched him. "Do I not? Ah, then forgive me, I must have mistaken ye for another son of Laird Logan MacAuley. But that canna be right, can it? Because there is only one now where once there were two."
Ross stiffened. "Ye know naught. Unhand me, woman."
She ignored his command. Her fingers felt as strong and unyielding as tree roots wrapped around his wrist. "Dinna I? I know ye are filled with a guilt ye canna assuage, Ross MacAuley. I know ye have forsaken yer family and yer future to try to ease that guilt. Ye think the path ye are on will allow ye to do that." Her grip tightened painfully. Her eyes seemed to pin him to the spot. "But it willnae, lad. The path ye walk will lead only to despair. Surely the son of Clan MacAuley should realize that?"
With an angry growl, Ross ripped his hand from the woman's grasp. "Despair? That will be a small price to pay for all I’ve done. There isnae any other choice for me."
"There is always a choice, lad," she said softly. "Always another path to tread. Ye canna change the past. But ye can change yer future."
"I have no future," he replied. "I will search until I find what I'm looking for. And then I will die."
"We shall see," she said sadly. "Naught is set in stone. There is still a chance for ye, Ross MacAuley, if ye have the courage to take it. If ye have the courage to set aside the burden of the past and the iron weight that drags at yer soul. If ye can do that, then it's just possible ye might find the thing ye have been seeking all along."
She gave him a small, sad smile and then turned and walked towards the brow of the hill. For a moment Ross watched her go, too unsettled by her words to do more than stare after her. As she reached the brow, he stirred.
"Wait! How do ye know so much about me? Who are ye?"
She looked back and gave him that sad smile again. "My name is Irene, lad. Irene MacAskill." Then she turned and disappeared into the misty rain.
Irene MacAskill! The name exploded in Ross's mind like cannon fire. His family had told him all about the strange old woman who turned up out of nowhere and turned people’s lives upside down. It was Irene MacAskill who, over twenty years ago, had brought his mother, Thea MacAuley, to the Highlands from the future in order to save his father.
Irene MacAskill was one of the Fae.
He burst into motion. "Wait! Irene, come back!" He skidded to a halt on the brow of the hill, peering into the shifting curtains of rain. There was no sign of the old woman.
"Wait!" he bellowed. "Come back! I wish to make a bargain! I offer ye my life! Please!"
For a moment he heard nothing but the drumming of the rain. Then, as if from far away, Irene's voice carried on the breeze.
"I make no bargains. What is, is what must be."
The voice faded into silence, lost in the gloom of the storm.
"Irene!" he bellowed. "Irene!”
But there was no answer. Despair washed through him and he crashed to his knees on the sodden ground.
There is still a chance for ye, Ross MacAuley, if ye have the courage to take it.
He fought down a hysterical laugh. Irene was wrong. There was no chance for him. The only hope he'd clung to these years was that somehow he would find the Fae and strike a bargain that would allow him to make restitution for what he'd done.
Now, it seemed, even that hope was slipping through his fingers.
Climbing to his feet, he went in search of Traveler. The stallion had taken shelter by one of the half-tumbled walls of the croft. His head hung down, his mane plastered to his neck with the rain. He looked as miserable as his master.
Ross swung into the saddle and nudged the horse into a walk. He didn't know which direction he would take.
He didn't much care.
LIA PUT HER HANDS ON her hips and surveyed the site with a critical eye. Ahead of her sat the ancient Scottish abbey—a site of national historical importance—that her team was trying t
o save. The building was barely recognizable through the scaffolding and white plastic sheets that covered it as Lia and a team of international architects and engineers battled to stop the building from collapsing as its foundations continued to sink.
Lia could still hardly believe she was here. The Highlands of Scotland. Who would have thought she'd be working on such an important site? And leading her own team? Sometimes she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Around her the Highlands spread out in an undulating, dramatic landscape of craggy moorland, deep valleys and sparkling lochs. The sky above was as dark and gray as a piece of slate, threatening another downpour. The Highland weather, Lia had discovered, could be a belligerent and unpredictable opponent. They'd had to stop work twice today already in the face of torrential downpours and quickly cover the excavations to stop them filling with water.
But even this couldn't dampen Lia's spirits. From the moment she'd set foot in the Highlands she'd found her mood lifting. And it wasn't just the fact that here nobody looked at her askance. Nobody whispered behind her back, pointing at the young protégé who'd become a laughing stock. No, it was more than that. There was something about this place that made her feel...different. The endless skies, the glittering lochs, the towering peaks. For the first time in as long as she could remember she felt...content.
A rumble of thunder sounded over the hills in the distance, startling her from her thoughts. Lia barely had time to register the sound and glance upwards before the skies opened and a torrent of rain came hissing down.
In seconds the abbey and its scaffolding was hidden by a thick gray wall of rain. With a few yelled curses, Lia’s team scurried away from the site like rats from a sinking ship and hurried into the canvas mess tent. It had been set up to give some protection from the elements and everyone knew that in there they could find a mug of something hot to drink and a cookie to go with it.
Lia began walking towards the mess tent, weaving her way through the tumble-down walls and ruins that filled the abbey grounds. She guessed these ruins must once have been guest quarters for the rich folk visiting the abbey along with kitchens and breweries, stables and storage rooms. There was little left of them but broken walls over grown with ivy.