Page 5 of Desire of a Highlander

“And where did ye come from, eh?” Ronan said to the cat. “There aren’t any farms for miles. Seems to me ye are a long way from home.”

“Aye, he is,” said another voice suddenly. “But he’s not the only one, eh?”

Ronan whirled, drawing a pistol. To his surprise, he found an old woman standing behind him, watching him with something like amusement on her creased face. She was tiny, barely tall enough to reach his chest, and wore a shapeless wrap in a plaid pattern he didn’t recognize. Where had she come from? There had been nobody here a moment ago, he was sure of it.

Ronan blinked and quickly tucked the pistol away. “My...my apologies,” he said. “Ye startled me.”

“So I see,” the old woman replied, raising an eyebrow. “Have things gotten so bad that pistols are pulled on strangers before greetings are even exchanged?”

Shame washed through Ronan. He’d come out here to try and help anyone who made it to the waymeet, and instead he was drawing a weapon on defenseless women. Was this what he’d come to? Aye, the times were troubled, but Ronan would be damned if he would lose what little shred of honor he had left. He inclined his head in a half-bow.

“Aye, mayhap they have. But that isnae an excuse. Ye have my apologies again, madam.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then ye are forgiven, Ronan Campbell. Ye always were the most polite of all yer brothers.”

How did this woman know who he was? He would have remembered if he’d met her before, he was sure. She was striking in appearance, with hair as gray as the sky and dark eyes like chips of onyx.

Yet for all that, there was a sprightly kind of energy about her, and although her eyes were dark and deep, they shone with warmth and humor. Bran and Skye, seeming to have forgotten all about the cat, clustered around her, tails wagging like puppies. The old woman scratched their ears and gave a delighted laugh.

“Who are ye?” Ronan asked.

The woman transferred her gaze to him. She had to crane her head back to meet his eyes, but even so, Ronan felt like somehow he was the smaller of the two.

“I’m Irene MacAskill. It is a delight to meet ye at last, Ronan Campbell.”

Irene MacAskill? Why did that name sound familiar? He felt as though he ought to recognize it, as though he’d heard it somewhere. But when he tried to grab the memory, it skittered out of reach.

“What are ye doing out here?” he asked.

This waymeet was miles from anywhere—quite deliberately, of course—and she must have walked a long way to get here, no small feat for someone of her advanced age.

“Do ye need help?” he continued. “If so, I will gladly give whatever aid I can. My settlement isnae far if ye need—”

“That is very kind of ye,” Irene cut in. “But unnecessary. I’ve come here looking for two things. Firstly, that headstrong little beast up there.”

She pointed at the cat, who let out a yowl, stretched his forepaws out and stretched languidly.

“Dinna ye look so pleased with yerself, Baxter, my lad,” Irene said with a touch of exasperation in her voice. “We will have words about this when we get home. How many times have I told ye not to go off a-wandering?”

The cat yawned, showing an impressive set of teeth, and began licking one paw, oblivious to Irene’s scolding.

“Humph,” the old woman said. “He willnae look so smug when he doesnae get any dinner tonight.”

“Ye said two things,” Ronan pointed out, bringing her back to the point.

“Aye, that’s right.” Irene’s dark eyes fixed on him, and all of a sudden Ronan felt like he’d been skewered to the spot. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to take a few steps back. “The second thing I was looking for was ye, of course.”

Ronan relaxed a little. This was more like what he’d expected. “If ye need aid, then ye shall have it. Like I said, the settlement isnae far if ye wish to accompany me—”

“Ye misunderstand,” Irene cut in, holding up a hand for silence. “I havenae come looking for aid, but to give it. Or try to, at least. Whether ye accept my aid is up to ye, my lad.”

Ronan frowned in puzzlement. This encounter was not going the way he’d expected. Who was this old woman? And why did she make him feel so unsettled? “

“Like I told Baxter,” Irene went on. “He isnae the only one that is far from home. Isnae that right, Ronan Campbell?”

He narrowed his eyes, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. “I dinna know what ye mean.”

She cocked her head, regarding him. “Oh, I think ye do. Ye are a long way from home and traveling further every moment. Yet the balance needs ye, Ronan Campbell, more than ye could know. If ye travel too far from where ye are meant to be it will tip even further out of kilter.”