Chapter 14

14

“You think Ramsay’s up there, don’t you?” Kendra watched Graeme’s jaw tighten on the suggestion, seeing at once that she’d guessed right.

It was also apparent that he hadn’t the foggiest about how her heart still raced from their encounter with the flying rock. His swift recovery had been startling. Ordo’s appearance hadn’t helped to settle her nerves. And now she was further flustered because she’d mistakenly thought Graeme had wanted to kiss her. While his mere proximity was enough to make her forget just about anything else, he appeared much better at keeping his focus.

Where that focus centered was obvious.

“I think he was there, aye. Ramsay or one of his goons.” He spoke at last, not denying her suspicions. “No one else would do such a thing. I promise you that rock didn’t sail down here on its own. Ramsay’s wanted me gone for a long time. He saw his chance today and took it.

“He’ll be gone now, running like a rat jumping a sinking ship. But he was at the ruin, I’m sure.” His tone was terse. “Likely with his usual pack of fools and lackeys.”

Kendra lifted a brow. “And if they’re still around?”

“Then they’ll regret they didn’t leave when they had the chance.” His hand went to the dagger at his hip—a Scottish dirk that now looked more wicked than earlier.

She’d asked him why he’d worn it and believed him when he’d said he always carried a knife when on the boat, not knowing when one would be needed.

Now she suspected his reasons went deeper.

She felt her brow pleat. “You wouldn’t use that on Ramsay, would you?”

“The blade’s for cutting tangled lines and whatnot.” He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “If I wanted to harm Ramsay, my fists will serve well enough.”

Kendra wasn’t sure she believed him.

She did cast another glance at the cliff. The steps winding up from the broken arch looked more treacherous than ever. One falsely placed foot or a wrong handgrip and they’d plummet onto the rocks.

Ordo might make the climb right behind her, but if she slipped and caused them to fall, they’d plunge right through him. Ordo might have a big heart, but he wasn’t very substantial.

Not at all, actually.

She knew Graeme would protect her. But she worried her feet might have a mind of their own.

Turning back to him, she drew a breath.

“Are you really up to the climb?” She still didn’t like the idea, even knowing how sure-footed he was. “You did take a nasty bash. That path is steep, the steps old and slippery.” She lifted a hand, lightly touching the bump at his temple. “Maybe we should just leave? Go back to Pennard and?—”

“Everything around here is old, slippery,”—he nudged a bit of seaweed—“or crumbling. Long may it be so. I’ll not allow Ramsay, Scotland’s Past, or anyone to destroy what makes this coast unique.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with Ramsay.” Kendra couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

“I am.” He didn’t blink. “I can’t think of the bastard without catching the reek of sulfur or tasting cold, rancid ash at the back of my throat. I still bear the scars from when he tried to bring Grath into his clutches. Now with Pennard and after this today,”—he tossed back his hair, his gaze not leaving hers—“he’ll be the wounded one.

Kendra shot a quick glance to the dirk at his hip. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“I said my fists would serve.”

Kendra frowned. “Violence never helped any?—”

“A few inches, and that rock would’ve hit you.” Graeme’s voice hardened, his glance flashing to the cliff top. “I can’t ignore such a threat. Whoe’er was responsible went too far. A few benches and a compressor in the water is one thing. Hurtling rocks at innocent tourists is something else entirely and needs addressing.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“For the same reasons most scoundrels do things: money, greed, and power.” He made the words sound dirty, distaste all over him. “Ramsay’s behind the trouble in the village and he’s playing it both ways. He’s hoping the locals will take a fright and sell their houses cheap, to him, of course. If that fails and they sell out to Scotland’s Past, he’s betting on the historians growing tired of all the upset and making a deal with him. He’d drive a shrewd bargain, aiming to get the whole village for nothing.”

“He didn’t get Lora Finney’s cottage.” Kendra seized the chance to help the unhappy spirit. “I noticed the house is under renovation and asked Iain about it. He said Scotland’s Past bought it from the Finney estate.

Graeme’s face darkened. “They snapped it up from Lora’s ex-husband’s sister in Inverness. She didn’t want it because the place is said to be haunted. Scotland’s Past outbid Ramsay’s offer. He was livid.

“Maybe he’d be even angrier if something really special was done with the house?” Kendra gave him a quick smile, feeling bold. She ignored his comment about the cottage having a ghost. Of course, it did. And she’d made a promise to the poor soul—one she intended to keep.

So she stood straighter, sought the most persuasive words. “It’s said the best revenge is success. Iain told me Lora Finney loved books and had quite a collection. I also heard she often won scone-baking competitions. Perhaps”—she glanced at the seals, then back to Graeme—“her house could be turned into a lending library for Pennard’s locals. I can picture a cozy place, full of bookshelves, driftwood, and watercolors of the sea. A few corner tables where people could enjoy tea and scones.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” The glimmer of a smile flickered in Graeme’s eyes. “Lora would’ve loved that,” he said, but then the warmth faded from his face. “It’s just a shame Scotland’s Past plans to keep the cottage gutted, using it for storage only.”

“Perhaps someone can change their mind?” Kendra meant to try.

Graeme snorted. “If so, it’ll only be Ramsay coming up with a scheme to get his hands on the house. I’m sure he’s behind the cottage’s ‘haunting.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if he cooks up even more mischief there, even something that would injure a workman.”

Kendra drew a long breath, considering. “All that to search unhindered for your family’s Shadow Wand?”

“Mainly, though he’d no doubt also try to parcel off the village online in one-foot-square lots to unsuspecting Scotland lovers, as he’d once hoped to do with Grath.” Graeme sounded sure of it. “That bastard is all about whatever lines his pockets and fuels his power.”

“It sure sounds like it, put that way.” Kendra bit her lip to keep from saying she still didn’t think Ramsay had anything to do with the rock.

Her thoughts kept returning to the green-black haze she’d seen on the cliffs and which she still believed bode ill.

So she tried one last time to dissuade Graeme. If she could keep him talking long enough, he might give up wanting to scale the cliff. Shading her eyes, she glanced above them, letting her gaze scan the bluff’s edge. “It looks pretty quiet up there now. I agree that if someone did push the rock, they’re surely gone by now.”

“I still want to look around.” He took her arm, leading her toward the half arch. “Whoever it was, their presence will have soured the air, leaving traces. In another age, I’d be sharpening a long spear.” He glanced at her, deadly serious. “Such an end would suit the fiend responsible. As is, he’ll suffer my wrath if he’s still up there.

“If not…” He didn’t finish, but the frown between his brows and the tight line of his jaw warned that he wouldn’t let the matter go.

“You do look ready to grab a spear.” Kendra had to repress a shiver.

“I am.” His tone held pride. “My hand itches to wield one right now. Just the sight should send the bastard fleeing. He’ll not want to meet the stabbing spear-head.”

“You sound like you’ve used such a weapon.”

“Perhaps I have.” He didn’t elaborate, stopping instead beside the Sea Wyfe to retrieve the pail of herring he’d mentioned.

Kendra didn’t tell him that there were beings who could snap a medieval long spear with a glance. Something told her such knowledge wouldn’t bother him. His face was grim now, hard-set and fierce. His stride was more than purposeful. And his grip on the handle of the herring pail was so firm, his knuckles shone white.

He didn’t look like a man who’d be deterred.

But the tautness left his face when they neared the half arch and Bart stretched his great head, his whiskered nose twitching as his huge eyes focused on the fish-filled pail in Graeme’s hand.

“I don’t want him to sense my anger.” Graeme’s features relaxed further as he tossed a herring to the seal and then tipped out a trail of the remaining fish from the bucket. He smiled, nodding encouragement when Bart slid off the ledge and went for the herring. “If a bull seal becomes agitated, every other seal in the cove will react, especially the females. They’re safe here. If something unnerved them, they’d flee elsewhere.”

There was a flurry of movement and barking as the other seals on the beach hurried forward, each one hoping to nab a herring. Kendra looked at Graeme, for a moment forgetting everything else. His expression as he watched the seals said so much more than words.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” She could tell he did.

“I always have.” He caught her arm and drew her aside when one of the seals would’ve bumped into her.

“They’re no’ as important to me as Jock, but they’re right special, aye.” Their eyes met, his dark gaze holding hers in a way that made her forget to breathe. “Seals are remarkable creatures. I’ve been looking after this herd for a while now, more years than I can count.”

“Something tells me they watch out for you, too.”

“They might, aye.”

“I think they do.” She was sure of it.

“Who knows?” He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at her. “Legend gives them enough ties to mankind and even more supernatural affinities. They’re said to offer men aid and sympathy, just as they’re believed to wreak terrible vengeance when wronged. Some older folk will tell you they can divine the future by listening to the seals’ cry or watching which direction they swim in the sea. In parts such as these, the tales don’t fade easily.”

“That’s one of the things I find so fascinating here.”

“Dinnae be too fascinated.”

“How can anyone not be?” Kendra looked out across the narrow cove to the rolling sea beyond, the long, white-crested rollers once more glittering in the morning sun.

“No one can remain unaffected.” Wind tossed Graeme’s hair, making him look untamed and so compelling. “My Hebridean cousins would argue the point, but northeast Scotland also holds magic. The veil separating the supernatural realm and the modern-day world is thin here. In some places or at certain times”—he looked at her, his eyes unreadable—“there’s no distinction at all.”

“Why do I think you believe that?” Kendra tried not to squirm.

“Because I do.” He smiled, dimple flashing.

“I’ve always heard there’s a storyteller inside each Scotsman.”

“And so there is. Just dinnae forget that behind every tall tale is a grain of truth.”

“Agreed.” Kendra glanced at the now-empty ledge beneath the half arch. Bart had claimed the rock shelf so purposely. Yet Graeme had said the seal always went to the Sea Wyfe, waiting there for herring.

Today he’d gone straight to the half arch, pulling himself up onto the rock shelf and then making a ruckus until Graeme hastened toward him, missing the worst impact of the hurtling boulder.

Many would say the big seal had saved Graeme’s life.

Kendra believed so.

Bart was only doing what she was sure Graeme did every day for the bull seal and his herd: protecting a friend.

She just wished…

Uncomfortable truths played out across her mind.

She might’ve prevented the rock from clipping Graeme if she’d paid more attention to her own instincts. Maybe said something when she’d spotted the ghostly herring fleet out near the horizon.

They’d been there just an eye blink, flashes on the horizon and a shimmer of mist only she could see. As spirits of local fishermen, the boats’ crews could’ve appeared as a warning to Graeme, a son of this coast. It was possible they had nothing to do with the recent troubles in Pennard and only sought to protect one of their own.

They’d be aware of his long-running feud with Ramsay.

Ghosts often seemed to know what would transpire before it happened.

“Are you ready?” Graeme stepped onto the rock ledge vacated by Bart. He extended his hand. “We shouldn’t wait any longer. I don’t want the wind to blow away any signs of the trespassers.”

“I know…” Kendra glanced at the huge bluff rising above them. A sheer rock face, it seemed to go up forever. From the top, it would plunge right down to the sea. The cliff path—what little remained of Castle Grath’s sea-gate stair—bore scant resemblance to the carved steps that once would’ve been safely ensconced within the walls of a stout stone tower.

The contours of the half arch were more than visible to her experienced eye, but its crumbling shell no longer held watchful guardsmen. Each crevice and ledge now housed seabirds who didn’t appear eager for company.

There weren’t any birdless handholds.

And the more she tipped back her head, the steeper the way looked. One wrong step, and she could work for Zack from the Other Side.

It was an intriguing notion, but not one she was ready to take on.

Not anytime soon, anyway.

She liked living.

And she lived to visit ancient places, so why was she letting a sheer cliff make her feel as if she’d rather be anywhere but here? Deep inside—even despite the daunting prospect of the climb and the dangers of the hurtling-rock incident—she was burning to get a look at the ruins of Castle Grath.

In fact, burning was an understatement.

Visiting such a site with Graeme was the chance of a lifetime. A memory she could wrap around her heart and enjoy time and again once she’d returned home to Bucks County. She could relive the day at will. Recounting the adventure the next time an assignment saw her winging it over the Atlantic—most likely back to England—in a dreaded middle seat in coach and with the passenger in front of her reclining his seat into her lap. The memories would soothe her annoyance when the little kid behind her repeatedly kicked her seat back and serenaded her with hours of wailing.

She’d cling to her moments with Graeme at the ruin when her future work stints ended and she had to make nice as she bid farewell to her British-based colleagues. It wasn’t easy to paste on a smile then, pretending she didn’t resent them being able to stay on what she secretly considered the right side of the Big Pond.

Braving the cliff stair would give her all those bonuses.

And it’d be a rare treat to explore such a ruin with a man whose ancestors actually walked the site when it was whole and thriving.

Her pulse leapt at the very idea.

And, she couldn’t forget, Ordo would be so pleased when she scrambled over the cliff edge, believing he’d seen her safely to the top.

She could feel the spirit guide’s presence, a shimmer in the air behind her.

So she took a deep breath and stepped forward, joining Graeme on the rock ledge.

“I’m ready.” She put her hand in his, suddenly more exhilarated than frightened.

“That’s my lass.” He looked at her deeply, his gaze warming. “We’ll be up there before you have a chance to be afraid.”

“I’m okay, really.” She didn’t hesitate when he led her up the first few steps, the broadest and most intact of the old cliff stair.

But her heart beat hard in her throat as they climbed higher, the wind picking up and the crashing of the waves on the rocks seeming to increase, filling the salt air with the roar of the sea.

It was exciting.

But she wasn’t about to look down.

Then, just when she thought the track couldn’t get any steeper, Graeme vaulted easily over the edge, pulling her up with him onto solid ground. Tumbled walls and rubble were everywhere, the dark, echoing ruins of some buildings almost intact. In the spaces between, knee-high grasses blew in the wind.

Kendra’s heart swelled, wonder filling her.

“Oh, man…” She put a hand to her breast, breathing deep. The air smelled of sea and cloud; old stone; and dark, rich earth washed by the rains of millennia. It was an elixir, heady and intoxicating.

“See? We made it.” Graeme slid his arm around her, pulling her close. He guided her away from the drop-off, using his body to shield her from the buffeting wind. “What do you think?”

“I’m speechless.” She was.

They’d really reached the top, and faster than she would’ve believed, just like he’d promised. And now that they were here, she wouldn’t have missed Grath for anything. The harrowing climb was well worth the sweeping view of the sea and, stretching behind them on the broad slope of the promontory, the secluded remains of Graeme’s ancestral home.

Castle Grath in all its ruined glory.

Kendra lifted a hand, pushing the hair from her face. “I don’t know what to say. It’s even more spectacular than I imagined.”

It was.

“I’m glad you think so.” Graeme sounded distracted, his attention more on the shadows and seeming solitude of the place than on her.

His narrowed gaze warned he expected to see more than weathered stone and grass-grown rubble. That he was searching for any telltale hints of who might’ve been up here, lurking about the ruin.

She didn’t sense a trace of badness.

Whatever evil had been in the green-black haze was gone now. The remnants of the tower stood to their left, silhouetted against the sea. Little more than a half circle of age-darkened stone, it still held a dignity that squeezed her heart. Three tall windows, set vertically, proved the tower had once commanded at least four floors, as traces of a winding stair were still visible near the top window, the narrow steps leading up into empty air.

“There’s so much more than I’d expected.” She slipped out of Graeme’s grasp, picking her way across welts of weed-covered rubble and past mounds of tumbled and lichen-encrusted stone. “It’s very much like the photograph Iain showed me at the Laughing Gull, but…”

She didn’t have words.

Graeme followed her, his gaze still moving about, reminding her of their reason for being here. “Just have a care where you step. I don’t want you turning an ankle in a rabbit hole or puffin burrow.

“It would appear our rock-pushing friends have indeed left, but the site is dangerous enough as is.” He stopped beside a half-standing wall that held the outline of a long-disused fireplace. The wall was one of two that stretched away from either side of the gutted tower, showing—as Kendra had guessed from Iain’s photograph—that Castle Grath had once been a huge and daunting stronghold.

“The well was just there.” Graeme stepped beside her, pointing to a rise in the ground covered with bits of rusted iron and nettles.

“The outbuildings were over there.” He indicated other walls, all in varying states of decay, tufts of grass springing from between the cracked stones. “Kitchens, storerooms, a doocot whose stone nesting boxes are still intact, though the seabirds have chased away the pigeons that once roosted there. And”—he frowned—“if you look close, between the fallen masonry and weeds, you’ll also see the scars Ramsay and his goons left in the ground.

“They even tore into the clan graves.” His gaze went to the far side of the bluff, where pillared archways adorned a length of fairly sturdy walling. “The chapel was there, though little is left except the walkway that connected it to the keep. Ramsay should’ve known that even if my family had hidden the Shadow Wand at Grath, they wouldn’t have put such an ill-wished relic into holy ground.

“For that matter, all of Grath was sacred to us.” His voice held passion, his gaze drifting over the long rows of tombstones near the pillared arches. “It still is, though I’m the only one left.”

“You don’t have any family?” Kendra closed her fingers around the edges of her jacket, suddenly cold.

Graeme didn’t answer, his gaze still on the ruined burial site.

Kendra looked there, not wanting to press him.

Besides, she was drinking in every detail, tucking it all away to remember later. The graves were fodder for lots of future reminiscing.

The headstones were tall, though some were broken and tilting. Kendra’s pulse quickened to see that many were covered with beautiful carvings. Her eyes widened as she studied the fanciful reliefs. One-masted medieval galleys in full sail appeared to dominate, but there was at least one battle scene of horsed men, archers, and swords. Intricate foliage and mysterious runic symbols were also well represented, competing for attention among centuries of moss and lichen. The darkness of age made it hard to discern much, but enough detail remained to set her lover-of-old-things heart to pounding.

“I can understand your pride in this place.” She stepped closer to Graeme, the world around them quiet but for the roar of sea and wind, the cries of seabirds.

Enchanted, she pressed both hands to her breast. “It’s just?—”

“Grath is the lifeblood of my heart.” He looked away from her, toward the shells of outbuildings. “I’m as much a part of this place as it is of me. My father, his before him, and every MacGrath back to the days when Scotland was young, have walked this ground, calling it our own. Every bit of earth, each stone, be it whole or crumbling, even the cold wet of the air, lives inside me, just as?—”

He stopped, his brows lowering. Following his gaze, Kendra saw what caught his eye. A slight, black-jacketed youth with spiky hair was creeping along one of the higher walls. Shoulders hunched and head low, he kept to the shadows, trying to escape undetected.

“Oh, no…” Kendra stared at him, the dark vibes rolling off him making her breath catch.

“Shhh…” Graeme shot her a warning glance.

Spike Hair slunk on, nearing the end of the wall. With his gaze on the ground before him, he didn’t appear aware that he’d been seen.

Kendra’s chest tightened just watching him. The day turned colder, a familiar current rippling the air. Behind the fleeing youth, the sea and sky began to shimmer, subtly shifting, blending into one.

Graeme’s frown deepened, unaware.

Kendra tried not to sway as the day’s light altered, turning unnaturally bright, almost crystalline in its clarity. She knew the phenomena well, so she braced herself, waiting for what would follow.

“That’s Ritchie Watt, one of Ramsay’s followers.” Graeme leaned close, speaking low. “He fancies himself a street tough, but he’s only an impressionable fool. He’ll no’ have pushed the rock. He isn’t that strong or brave. But he’ll know who did.” He started forward, then whirled back around to grip Kendra’s arm. “You stay here while I go after him.”

“Don’t worry.” She didn’t argue. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She couldn’t if she wanted to.

The ghostly herring fleet was back. And this time the boats were closer, vying for position along the base of the cliffs and pouring through the narrow opening in the rocks to crowd the sheltered cove.

But the fleet wasn’t what held her in place.

It was the big, weathered fisherman in rain gear and rubber boots standing in front of her.

Kendra nodded a calm greeting, the professional in her rising to take charge, giving her the composure she had to struggle so hard to keep in Graeme’s presence. But Graeme was a flesh-and-blood man. Not just that, he was someone she wanted desperately.

This man was a ghost.

He looked as solid and real as she did, his large, work-toughened hands scrunching what appeared to be a thick, blue knitted cap. A heavy cable-knit sweater peeked from beneath his oilskin, and his ruddy, wind-carved face wore an expression of deep responsibility.

You can see us. His words rang clear in her mind.

“I can, yes.” She didn’t hesitate.

She did inhale a long breath, using the exhale to strengthen her shields. It was important to allow only good energy near her, barring any lingering negativity that might still be on the bluff. Such energies could be drawn by the brightness of her aura. They were also lured to the vulnerability of a manifested spirit, hoping to drain energy reserves.

“I can see and hear you.” Kendra opened herself, letting her aura shine even brighter. So brilliant that a protective wall of white-light energy rose and curved around her and the discarnate, sealing them in a sacred circle. It was a protective field, full of glittering mist and swirling shadow that no one else saw and that ensured any glances tossed her way viewed her alone.

She appreciated giving spirits such privacy.

And—she couldn’t deny—the shielding also saved her from answering questions she’d rather not.

Except, of course, for the once-in-a-blue-moon occasions when something went wrong and the circle of light blazed like a beacon, drawing the attention of everyone around for miles. Even those who’d normally never see anything even remotely tinged with the paranormal.

Once, someone had called the fire department, certain they’d seen a fiery conflagration erupt just outside the visitor center of Valley Forge.

Thankfully, such gaffes were seldom.

“You can talk freely to me, if you wish.” Kendra mentally reached out to the ghost, showing her willingness to do what she could for him.

She also looked quickly about, scanning the space around her for Ordo or Raziel and Saami. Her guides didn’t usually sit in on her encounters with ghosts, but sometimes they did. And Ordo had been around earlier, on the beach and behind her as she’d climbed the cliff stair. As a man of the sea himself, he might’ve been drawn to this spirit.

But the Viking was gone.

His energy imprint wasn’t anywhere near. Nor did she detect any hint that Raziel or Saami hovered close by. She was alone with the fisherman.

So she cleared her throat and stood straighter, meeting his gaze full on.

As it harms none—she let the words of power whisper in her mind, ensuring that communication with the spirit would endanger no one—by your free will, let us speak.

I am Jock MacAllister, herring fisher and cooper. The ghost’s introduction filled her mind, his rich Highland voice soft and musical.

“Jock.” Kendra smiled at the name. “I am Kendra Chase of Bucks County, Pennsylvania.”

Pen-seal…He tried to pronounce the name and then shook his head as if it were too difficult. He did look at her with his piercing blue eyes, his curly reddish-gray hair lifting in the wind. You’ll help us?

“That’s why I’m here.” Kendra flicked a glance to where Graeme stood near a large pile of weedy rocks. If she was lucky, the shielding would function properly and he wouldn’t notice her seeming to talk to herself.

If he did, so be it.

Speaking with Pennard’s ghosts was her business, after all.

And she could tell something of magnitude bothered Jock MacAllister.

But her breath snagged in her throat when the ghost bent a long look on Graeme. A slow smile spread across his face as he did, and when he turned back to Kendra, his clear blue eyes were misted.

Thon man is a good one—always has been. Something in his tone made Kendra feel as if a cube of ice had just slipped down her spine. I like to think he named his dog after me, but I ken that wasn’t the way of it. His Jock had the name first, after all.

“I don’t understand.” She didn’t, but she was trying. “Did you seek me out to speak about Graeme’s dog?”

Stranger encounters had happened.

Animal-loving spirits sensed her sympathy and often came to her, worried about pets still on the earthly plane. Most recently, the spirit of a widow in her apartment building back home had appeared to her, upset because her dachshund’s new owners, the woman’s niece and nephew, weren’t giving the dog his favorite treats.

So she waited, keeping herself open, prepared for anything.

Och, nae, though I am fond of his Jock. The ghost tipped back his head and closed his eyes, as if reminiscing. Tell him that, aye. And that I’m pleased he keeps my salt barrels and cares for them as he does.

“I will.” But the icy dread in Kendra’s chest—a feeling not coming from Jock MacAllister—warned that the ghost had more on his mind than Graeme’s dog and ancient salt barrels. “Is that all?”

I wish it was. We all do. The ghost was hovering now, his feet and lower legs fading fast, the rubber boots no longer squared firmly on the ground, but totally gone. His gaze went past her to light on the countless fishing vessels down in the cove and crowding the shoreline.

When he looked back at her, his blue eyes shone with earnestness. We have one more message for the MacGrath. He drifted nearer, beginning to lose substance so that Kendra could now see through him.

“What is it?” She kept her tone steady.

She’d worry later how to relay the message to Graeme.

You must tell him, lass. Jock MacAllister proved how perceptive spirits can be. He will want to know the crack is wider than it looks. The opening comes from within; that is why he can’t see it.

“The crack?” Kendra blinked.

In that instant Jock MacAllister was gone.

A quick glance at the sea showed that his fellow herring fishers and their boats had vanished with him, likely returning to whatever fishing grounds they’d enjoyed frequenting in their earthly lives.

And she was now bound to pass on a message from the Otherworld to a man she wasn’t just in love with, but who also thought she was simply a burned out landscape historian enjoying a bit of R&R.

Her cover was about to be blown.

There was no way around it, even though she couldn’t imagine where to begin. Wherever she started, the end result would be the same.

Graeme would distance himself from her.

It was one thing to talk about tradition, myth, and legend. Tall tales, selkies, and whatever else crossed Scots’ minds in the cold of their long, dark winter nights. But to have someone say that they lived such things sent most people running.

And if Graeme looked at her as if she had the proverbial cup missing from her cupboard, she didn’t think she could bear it. No, she knew she couldn’t.

She also couldn’t ignore Jock MacAllister’s plea.

And by making it, he’d unwittingly freed her from her job’s strictures of silence. Graeme was now part and parcel of her duties here.

Damn.