“Would Wicca have anything to do with the Night of the Moon Maiden?” Sabrina inquired.
Shawna frowned. “Well, aye and nay. The Night of the Moon Maiden is older than any other Highlands celebration. The truly ancient peoples here celebrated it—that’s when there was actually a sacrifice on the main Druid Stone. But, of course, through time, the Night of the Moon Maiden has evolved, and now it’s simply a special night that celebrates the harvest.”
“And fertility,” Hawk reminded them all wryly.
“Well, aye, of course, that. We must be fertile,” Lowell agreed.
“I do suppose,” Sabrina murmured.
Myer entered the great hall, informing them all that supper was served. They continued to discuss local customs, Highlanders versus Lowlanders, and Americans versus theBritish while they ate. When the meal was finished, Sabrina reminded Shawna that she had promised to show her some of the property.
“You can ride with Skylar and me,” Hawk told his sister-in-law.
“You two should ride your empire alone together.”
Hawk frowned. “That’s not at all necessary?—”
“I think it would be more romantic for the two of you to go alone—and more fun for me to go with Shawna. If you don’t mind, Shawna?”
“It would be my pleasure,” she assured Sabrina.
“Well, then, why don’t we all be about our business?” Gawain suggested. “Perhaps we could meet up again at the tavern, give your lady and her sister a taste of fine Scottish ale and mutton stew, Laird Hawk?”
“Indeed, that sounds like a fine idea,” Hawk agreed.
“I’m to the mines,” Aidan said.
“Aye, me as well,” Alaric agreed.
“Perhaps the ladies desire an escort—” Alistair began.
“Brother, we men are to the mines,” Alaric advised.
Alistair grimaced. “Aye, then, brother.” He bowed charmingly. “We men are to the mines.” He followed his brother and cousin from the hall.
Shawna and Sabrina agreed to meet at the stables in an hour. Shawna changed into an olive-green riding habit with a velvet banded hat, dressing uneasily, as she feared that at any minute, David would make one of his startling appearances. He did not, and she met Sabrina without incident.
The American girl was pleasant, courteous, and polite, and seemed truly happy when they raced haphazardly across open fields and over the hills and along the shore of the loch. Shawna showed her Castle MacGinnis, explaining that it might even be a bit older than Grayfriar Castle—or Castle Rock, as the Douglasstronghold had come to be called—but that it was smaller, and with fewer windows lacked a great deal of the daylight that made its way into Castle Rock. “An office is far easier to keep within Castle Rock, so we MacGinnises have tended to reside there since…”
“Since David ‘died,’” Sabrina suggested dryly.
Shawna nodded, gazing at Sabrina. “So you know.”
Sabrina shrugged. “Naturally. My sister and brother-in-law would not bring me here and not have me be aware of any potential danger.”
Shawna looked at the castle walls. “I can’t believe that you could be in any danger here.” She smiled somewhat wryly. “You’d make an exquisite virginal sacrifice on the Druid Stone, perhaps, but as we said before, we did cease that practice long ago.”
“Well, I’m not so sure I’d make such a fine sacrifice anyway,” Sabrina murmured. “Let’s move on, shall we? Perhaps to that tavern of yours? I’ve acquired quite a thirst.”
They rode again, turning toward the village. The sun was quite bright for an autumn afternoon in the Highlands, casting brilliant light upon the sloping hills, which were richly green with long grasses in some areas, and blanketed in purple wildflowers in others.
“It’s quite beautiful,” Sabrina said. “I could imagine living here forever.”
Despite herself, Shawna shivered. Her mind played havoc with her heart. Sabrina Connor was young, charming, beautiful.
Innocent of complicity in attempted murder.
She and David didn’t even know one another.