Teddy was only twenty-two, but he was no stranger to Deirdre’s rant about how much she disliked yon London, and although he never minded to go there himself—evil oppressor central—he knew he’d better get out to the lower field before Lennox gave him a kick up the arse. He was a great boss, Lennox, didn’t interfere as long as the work was done, but you’d do no good getting on his wrong side during lambing season, anyone knew that, so he bade Deirdre good morning and headed on his way, observing the strange English girl sitting in her car, looking as miserable as someone attempting to eat a warm cheese scone fresh out of the oven could possibly look, as word was already spreading about the village about her snotty ways, and if she hadn’t been an evil oppressor, Teddy would have felt sorry for her.

LISSA FINALLY FIGURED out which was the Collins farm by asking another passerby who, madly, also immediately knew who she was and was eager to engage her in conversation, and asked if she wanted to join the village choir. She was pretty sure that wasn’t in Cormac MacPherson’s notes; he hadn’t mentioned that she’d be expected to have a full personal conversation with literally everybody she met and not much guidance about how to get around. The fact that she wouldn’t have gotten all the necessary relevant information about how to get around by cheerfully talking to everyone she met had simply never occurred to Cormac; how else did people live?

The farm was small, a few cows and chickens mostly, the farmyard a churn of mud and the track leading up to it single lane and full of potholes. It did, however, crest a vast hill, and she suddenly caught a glimpse of the valley and the village down below, beneath the shadows of the crags, a straight train line on one side and the great expanse of Loch Ness on the other. She stared at it for a long while. It must be so strange to grow up here. All this space, all this fresh air. Did they like it? She supposed they must. How strange.

Blinking, she stepped out of the car, up to her ankles in mud.

“Hello?” she shouted out. The farmhouse itself was quiet, old gray stone and empty-looking windows. It was perched high up in the hills and the cold wind whistled through her, completely unprotected above the low stone walls, but the view was utterly breathtaking. She felt as if she were in the middle of a living, breathing painting in a million shades of green.