Torin followed the trail, kneeling in the place where Sidra had sprawled. He was pensive, studying the ground. His fingers found a few drops of blood in the heather, and it gave Sidra hope. Torin would be able to find the culprit. When he rose, she could see the color had returned to his face. His eyes were blazing, his steps full of purpose as he came to her.

“I want you to stay with my da for the rest of the day,” he said. “Please don’t leave his croft. Do you hear me, Sid?”

Sidra frowned. “No. I planned to help you search, Torin.”

“I would prefer if you stay with Graeme.”

“But I want to search. I don’t want to be locked away in a house, waiting on news.”

“Listen to me, Sidra,” Torin said, taking hold of her shoulders. “You were brutally attacked last night and injured. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine—”

“I won’t be able to focus on the search if I’m worried about you!” His words were sharp, cutting through her resolve. “Please, just do as I ask, this one time.”

Sidra took a step away. His hands slipped from her shoulders, and he sighed. But he didn’t stop her when she turned and ascended the hill, and she didn’t look back.

She passed through the gate into the yard. Graeme was standing in the doorway, still holding the two glasses of whiskey.

He took one look at Sidra’s face and said, “I’ll make us some oatcakes.”

She watched him step inside, grateful that he was granting her a moment alone. She took a step deeper into the yard and realized the glamour wasn’t fading, as it always did when she approached Graeme’s place.

The garden remained in utter disarray. Weeds grew in thick clots. Vines snaked across the pathway and up the cottage. Gossamer hung in golden webs. It shocked her. She had always seen through the glamour in the past. All the love and care she had given to this ground . . . it was like it had never happened.

The devastation she had been burying rose. Sidra’s tears began to fall as she knelt amid the wildness.

My faith is gone, she thought, sensing that was the reason why the yard was so changed, why she saw the glamour.

She watched the sunrise gild the weeds.

She began to viciously uproot it all.

Chapter 11

Jack was sleeping when the pounding on the front door shook the cottage. He startled and sat up in bed, blinking against the sunlight. His head still ached from spinning music into magic for the water, and he winced as heavy footsteps shook his mother’s house.