The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

It made him want to hold her in his arms for a long time, too long, too tightly. So he shrugged. “Besides, I must speak with Gregor,” he said, latching onto that fact. “It is not fair for him to be off marrying a woman without at least one of us there to witness it.”

It was a good enough excuse, Roderick assured himself.

Then he looked at her again, and wondered why he needed an excuse to stay by her side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The ship dropped anchor in the bay of Kinlochbervie, the most northerly point on the west coast of Scotland that was accessible by sea, having a sandy beach to row a small boat upon. The coastline all around had been rugged and rocky, and their landing place looked like a haven to Maisie.

She stared at the small cluster of cottages, and beyond, at the land that rose up in front of them, majestic and breathtaking. Home. The Highlands. She felt the immensity of the moment unfurling inside her. It left her tremulous with excitement and anticipation, and yet nervous, too. It helped that Roderick was at her side.

Clyde volunteered to row them ashore, and when Roderick climbed out of the boat into the shallow waters, he asked him if he’d like to accompany them and set foot on his homeland. The old man shook his head, adamant that it would be unwise at this point in his life to take such a risk.

Maisie wasn’t disappointed, but she understood. If Clyde were to return, it would be to discover that his older brothers and sisters had passed on, and the new bairns would not know him. She felt sure his people would welcome him anyway, but he loved the sea, and he loved what he held in his heart—that part of the Highlands that would always be his, no matter where in the world he was.

He looked at her for a long moment before he said goodbye. “I’m glad to have known you.”

“Even though I am a Jezebel?”

“You are far better than every other Jezebel I have encountered.” He chortled. The sound was a rare treat.

“I’m honored to have known you, too, Clyde.”

He bowed over her hand before she climbed out of the boat to wade the last few feet with Roderick.

When they sat down on the beach to put their stockings and boots back on, it occurred to her that Roderick had not said goodbye, which led her to believe they had already exchanged words, and the shipmen would know when to expect him back.

Shortly after landing, Maisie found herself engaged in conversation with the folk who came out of the cottages to see who it was that had come ashore. Hearing their Highland burr, and exchanging words in Scottish Gaelic, Maisie knew how close to home she really was now. Roderick watched, smiling over at her, as she explained to three of the local women the purpose of their journey.

“I asked,” she told him, “and they said we can be in Fingal by tomorrow morning.”

Roderick purchased supplies aplenty, cheese and fresh baked bannocks, a skin full of water and one of mead, and a brace of recently caught fish. With detailed directions and descriptions of natural markers on the landscape to look out for, they set off.

As they began to make their way along the narrow path between the peaks and crags, heading inland toward Fingal, Maisie could scarcely believe it. She was not only overcome by the beauty of the place, she recalled it—as if her memories were bringing it alive for her again.

As they went, she pointed out places she recognized from when they would walk about with their mother and their cousins, foraging and harvesting as they went. Roderick was eager to know all about it. He was every bit as fascinated with the landscape as she was, if not more so.

“It is so different to the Lowlands,” he commented. “Much more so than I would have expected. We had a good welcome at Kinlochbervie, though.”

“Did you not expect the locals to welcome us?”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve heard some wild stories about this part of Scotland, and given that Clyde was the Highlander I knew best until I met you, you can see why I hesitate to claim understanding.”

She laughed. She noticed that he’d suggested he knew her better than he knew Clyde, who’d been with him for so much longer. It made her hope that was a good sign. She was nervous about what would transpire between them once they arrived in Fingal. Would he turn around after he’d spoken with his friend Gregor, and head back to Kinlochbervie immediately? She hoped not. She was also nervous about what lay ahead for her. The state of her nerves left her adrift in a sea of emotions, and if not for the sensible, solid man at her side, she feared she would have got lost several times over.

As daylight dimmed, Roderick found them a place to rest for the night. In a sheltered spot between two trees the thick grass underfoot made a good bed. The trees leaned together like old friends and were still laden with leaves, providing a thick canopy overhead. He collected soft scrub and ferns to make it warmer and more comfortable.

Then he set about collecting dry branches and kindling for a fire.

Maisie stood by, watching. “You can do this? You can make a shelter, on land?”

“I wasn’t always at sea, and my da believed that making a warm bed for the night if you’re out hunting was the most basic of skills a man should learn.”

He gestured. “Sit yourself down. I’ll prepare the fish for roasting once I’ve got a fire going.”

Maisie did so, and watched in silent pleasure as he kindled the fire, then arranged the fishes on a thin branch he scraped down with a dirk, building a trestle to rest the spit upon. After the sky dimmed it was the light of the fire she watched him by. It felt as if they were the only two in the whole world, and she felt content to enjoy that for the evening.

After they had eaten, and he joined her under the trees, they watched the glowing embers of the fire as they rested.