He knocked at the rough-hewn door of the thatched-roof cottage, a sprig of wildflowers in his hand, hoping the offering would convey to Granny Winter that he had not come with ill intentions.

His knock was answered by a young woman who had lived with Granny Winter for a handful of years. No one knew her origins nor how she had come to make her home there. Duncan had not been born in the area and had even less idea of her origins than anyone else did. It was widely acknowledged that Miss Sorcha Báirbre and Granny Winter were not actually kin, and yet, they looked upon each other quite as if they were.

Sorcha was near about Duncan’s age. He had taken notice of her the first time he’d seen her after moving to this corner of the kingdom only two years earlier. He’d been struck by the sparkle in her deep-brown eyes and by the eagerness with which she undertook anything and everything. And he had hardly been immune to her soft and quiet beauty. Mystery surrounded her, yet she was clearly liked and embraced by the townspeople.

Seeing her at Granny Winter’s door lifted his spirits and fortified his courage.

“Geamhradh Seanmhair,” Sorcha called back into the cottage, “the doctor is here.”

From within came the craggy voice of the old woman. “Call him in, lass. He has come on an important matter.”

It was moments like this, when the wise woman seemed to know things she ought not know, that solidified the belief that she was more fairy than human.

“She has been expecting you,” Sorcha told him in her soft and reassuring way. She even smiled, which Duncan found particularly pleasing.

He removed his hat and stepped inside, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior. He approached the chair near the fire where Granny Winter sat watching him through her stringy silver hair. He presented his handful of flowers to her. For a moment, she didn’t move. Was she displeased? Was his offering not acceptable enough to find favor with her?

At last, she spoke, but not to him. “Lass, take the offering and hang it to dry.”

Acute relief passed through the young doctor. He had come to ask a favor; being deemed welcome was of utmost importance.

Sorcha accepted the flowers on the old woman’s behalf. Voice lowered, she said to him, “Do not lose heart. She’d not have let you in if she didn’t intend to hear you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d not wish to make a nuisance of myself.”

Again, she smiled.

Again, the sight buoyed him.

“Sit yourself down,” the old woman said, motioning toward a three-legged stool. “Tell us what it is you have arrived to ask.”

He moved to sit, his long legs bent at awkward angles as he lowered himself down. He faced her, his posture penitent and his expression humble.