Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(30)

Collum shrugged, taunting in a voice I didn’t like at all. “Aw, poor wee lass has lost her knife. Course, you say you can’t stab anyone anyway. So it wouldn’t have done you much good. Guess that means you’re helpless, then.”

“All right, all right. I get it,” I said. “I’ll practice with the freaking knife.”

He let go so abruptly, I nearly toppled sideways. “Good. Now—”

As if my hand belonged to someone else, I whipped his own dagger from his belt and cracked him on the side of the head with the wooden hilt.

Collum staggered back, stunned. My nerveless hand dropped the knife to the ground.

Oh crap.

He gaped at me as he reached up to rub at his temple. One side of his mouth twitched. Then, as I stared in complete and utter shock, Collum threw his tawny head back and roared with laughter.

When Collum MacPherson laughed, he did it with his entire body. Heaving and bellowing, he held his sides and just let go. Like his sister’s, Collum’s laugh drew you in, and soon the two of us were leaning on each other, wheezing and gasping for air.

“That’s my girl,” he managed when he could finally speak. “Now, that’s what I wanted to see. Looks like there’s some spirit behind that wally, whinging facade o’ yours after all.”

Before I could decipher his words and decide whether I was insulted or oddly pleased, he clapped me on the back with such enthusiasm, I stumbled forward.

“Good show, Hope.” He nodded, still chuckling. “Good show. Now pick that up and let’s go again.”





Chapter 14


“THEY SAY THE HIGHLAND EAGLE MATES FOR LIFE.”

After days of being trapped by weather, and enduring every kind of time travel lesson imaginable, I’d finally gotten a chance to sneak away. When I arrived at the river to find Bran Cameron waiting for me, I’d tried to play it cool, hide my excitement. But with my cheeks still hot from two hours of stabbing practice and the breathless flight on Ethel’s back, I doubted he bought it.

After a long, twisting ride up a mountain path, we’d tied the horses and made our way to the edge of a great drop-off. Legs dangling, we stared out at the green and purple valley that sprawled out before us. In the distance, a lone mountain rose up above Christopher Manor, dwarfing the huge house. I stared, suppressing a shiver as I thought of what lay at its stone heart.

The wind gusted through the valley, driving the pair of enormous eagles higher as they rode the currents, performing an intricate dance.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, turning to Bran. “I’ve never seen eagles before.”

A pulse of quicksilver hit when his gaze dropped to my mouth.

“Yes,” he said. “They bond right out of the nest, you know. And stay by each other’s side until one of them dies. The other usually succumbs soon after. Grief, they say.”

I thought of my dad and how much . . . smaller he’d seemed without my mom. He’d withdrawn from everything. Especially me. At least until Stella came along.

Staring at the birds, anger began to bubble inside me.

“But how could they just give up like that?” I shifted, rocks digging into my thighs. “What if the eagles have babies? They just let them die? I mean, sure it’s tragic, but kind of selfish, too.”

“I agree. Just because they can’t be with the one they love, they wither away and die? Seems like cowardice to me. Sometimes one has to muddle through, even if one isn’t happy. Isn’t that what life really is? Simple perseverance?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. No matter how bad it gets, you just keep plodding along. Maybe you’re numb, but I mean . . . what else can you do?”

“Well”—Bran cleared his throat—“this is titillating conversation. Dead birds. A numb existence. What else can I bring up to liven the moment? Starving children? Crippled puppies?” He tilted his head, examining me through long lashes. “You know, I’d almost given up on you.”

“Chores,” I squeaked. “My aunt . . . She has lots of chores for me.”

He nodded. “Oh. Well, that I quite understand. My mother is the queen of chores.”

Sitting on a mountaintop alone with a strange boy should have felt odd. I’d never spent any time alone with a boy, if you didn’t count my snot-nosed cousins. My mother thought dating a bigger waste of time than having friends.

Not that the opportunity had ever come up.

Still, I felt strangely comfortable sitting there next to Bran, like we’d known each other for a very long time.

“You know,” I told him, “before I got here, the only thing I knew about Scotland was from crusty old history books. Oh, and from Braveheart, of course. My dad loves that movie, though Mom hated it.”

“Oh yes. Most Scots detest it. Makes their national hero look like a bloody outlaw. William Wallace was actually a very educated man. More of a politician than a grimy rebel. No murdered wife, either.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Had a pretty mistress, though. Does that count?”

I scrunched my nose. “Disappointing. The dead-wife story is way more romantic.”

The breeze whipped around us, playing backdrop to the symphony of crying birds and the soprano tinkle of sheep bells in the meadow below. I closed my eyes, letting the peace of it flow around me.