Page 6 of Desire of a Highlander

At her words, a shiver went down Ronan’s spine. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but more like recognition. Her words sparked something inside him, an unsettling sensation he’d rather ignore. In the last few years, he’d taken on roles and responsibilities that he never would have chosen had he the choice. Was that what she meant? And if so, how did she know so much about him?

Despite himself, he took a step back. “What do ye want with me?”

“Only to bring ye back to yer path. A choice will soon be coming to ye. Someone will come who will help ye carry the burdens life has given ye, if ye have the courage to let them. And in so doing, lead ye back to the path ye were meant to tread.” She reached up and patted his arm. “Have courage, my lad,” she said. “Ye need not always be alone.”

Ronan said nothing, only stared, unable to think of a reply.

Irene glanced up at the tree. “Come on, Baxter, time we were going.”

The cat meowed, then suddenly dropped from the tree and landed lightly on Irene’s shoulder. For a wonder, the dogs didn’t react and merely sat staring at the cat like docile little puppies. Baxter rubbed his face against Irene’s cheek.

“Oh no!” Irene cried. “Dinna think ye can get round me so easily! No dinner for ye until ye learn to do as ye are told.” She winked at Ronan. “I think I might be fighting a losing battle there, but I’ll keep trying.” She smiled. “Think on what I said, lad. And choose wisely.”

Then, with Baxter riding on her shoulder like some pirate captain’s parrot, she turned and walked away, disappearing around the bend in the ravine. Ronan watched her go until the dogs whined, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He shivered, suddenly cold, and it had nothing to do with the brisk wind. Above, the clouds had turned black.

He whistled to the dogs, then turned and left the waymeet at a brisk walk. He had to resist the urge to look back.

Chapter 3

Elodie pushed open the door to the community center and into a feverish whirl of activity. People filled the dilapidated main room. Members of the local WI were painting a banner over by the wall. Some of the local dance troupe was in the kitchen making cups of tea. Several old-timers who she recognized as stalwarts of the repair club were setting out chairs, ready for the meeting.

Overseeing all this like a conductor with her orchestra was a middle-aged woman with wild, frizzy hair wearing a pair of purple dungarees and pumps. She looked up as Elodie entered and waved frantically.

“Ellie! You made it!”

“Wow, Carla,” Elodie replied, walking over. “Looks like you’ve got the troops organized already.”

Carla Simpson, Elodie’s mother’s oldest friend and a kind of surrogate aunt, looked around the room and planted her hands on her hips. “No choice. We’ve just heard that the planning meeting has been brought forward to ten in the morning instead of midday tomorrow. That means we’ll need to be down at city hall for the protest by half-past nine. Will those flyers be ready?”

“Er...sure,” Elodie said. “They’re delivering them later today.”

Carla clapped her hands. “Excellent! We’ll show those pen-pushers that they can’t take our community center away from us! They won’t know what’s hit them!”

Elodie smiled at Carla’s enthusiasm. Unfortunately, she didn’t share it. Despite everything they’d done so far—countless letters, countless phone calls, meetings with councilors and a petition signed by hundreds of locals, the council were still threatening to pull funding for the community center and throw all the groups that used it out on their ear: the WI, the dance troupe, the repair club, coffee mornings for the elderly. Where would they go if that happened?

After her experience at Cross Construction today, Elodie didn’t hold out much hope that tomorrow’s rally would make a difference. She was beginning to realize that nothing ever really did.

Carla cocked her head. “Are you all right, love?”

For a moment Elodie considered telling Carla everything. No, actually. I’ve just quit my job and now I don’t know how I’m going to pay the rent or any of my bills for the next month. But she didn’t. She worried that if she started talking, she wouldn’t stop and that all the frustration, disillusionment, and downright annoyance she was feeling would come spilling out in a flood.

So she just smiled. “I’m fine. It’s been one of those days.”

Carla nodded sympathetically and patted Elodie on the shoulder. “We all know what they’re like, don’t we?” She tightened her grip, squeezing Elodie’s shoulder. “Your mother would be proud of you, you know that? Never forget it.”

Would she? Elodie wondered. Or would she be disappointed with the choices I’ve made?

Angie MacNeil had been one of the strongest women Elodie had ever met. She always knew what to do and how to do it. She would have found a way to make Cross Construction see sense. She would have found a way to save the community center. Elodie had done her best to live up to her mother’s legacy but she suspected she was failing badly.

Ye have fought for others so long ye have lost sight of yer own life, lost sight of what it is that brings ye true contentment.

Irene MacAskill’s words flashed through her head and she pushed them away with an effort and forced herself to smile for Carla’s sake.

“Thanks.”

Carla turned to the room and clapped her hands. “Everyone to their seats! I’m calling this meeting to order.”