Page 129 of A Scot in the Storm
The Cailleach snorted softly beneath her breath.
“Neither does any woman when the world first splits beneath her feet.”
“That’s not especially helpful.” A laugh escaped, though the sound shook badly at the edges.
“My brother is dying.”
The words cracked open between them.
For the first time something ancient and sorrowful moved briefly through the Cailleach’s eyes.
“Aye,” she said quietly. “And another man waits for ye above the cliffs praying ye’ll no vanish before dawn.”
Pain moved sharply through her chest.
“I can’t survive losing either of them.”
The old woman tilted her head slightly while snow drifted through the broken archway behind her.
“Ye think women before ye survived easier choices?”
Wind moved softly around the tower stones carrying the scent of winter sea and distant peat smoke from the castle beyond the cliffs.
Abigail pressed trembling fingers briefly against her mouth.
“I thought there’d be a right answer.”
“Oh lass.” Genuine tenderness roughened the old woman’s voice then. “There’s rarely a right answer where love is concerned. Only the life ye can still bear to live afterward.”
The words hollowed Abigail clean through. Outside the lighthouse beam swept once more across the snow. Then another sound reached the tower. Boots. Running hard through the snow and up the stairs.
Abigail turned just as Rory appeared through the doorway, breathing hard from the climb, dark hair wind-tossed, his coat half-buttoned.
Relief crossed his face when he saw her.
“Christ preserve me,” he breathed. “I woke and ye were gone.”
Rory crossed the distance between them, his hands settling hard against Abigail’s shoulders as though reassuring himself she remained solid beneath them.
“I thought…” He stopped abruptly.
Abigail’s chest tightened.
“You thought I’d left.”
His silence answered clearly enough. Only after several long breaths did he finally look past her toward the old woman standing inside the tower.
For one suspended moment nobody moved.
Then, very slowly, Rory crossed himself.
“Well,” he said faintly. “That’s deeply concerning.”
To Abigail’s utter astonishment, the Cailleach barked out a laugh.
“A sensible lad at last.”
“I’m no certain sensible men gaze upon ancient goddesses before noon.”
