“We have endured a string of illnesses of late, Granny Winter,” he said. “I have done all I can, but my knowledge is limited, and my cures are insufficient. I have in my care a young girl, Donella. Her parents succumbed to the same illness their brave daughter fights fiercely all day and all night, clinging to life with ferocity. My heart aches to think her fire might extinguish despite my great efforts to save her.”

Granny Winter nodded slowly. She spun in her hand an old and battered hammer. Beside her was a small stack of firewood. The cottage smelled of herbs and earth. There was something in the scene that was at once inviting and disquieting.

“What is it you wish for me to do for the lass?” Granny Winter asked.

“I have come to ask if you, in your wisdom, know of something that might help her, something I might do for her. I know I am presumptuous in asking you to give of your knowledge and time. Were I asking merely for myself, I would not do so. But I wish for the girl to live. I wish to see her restored to health.”

“You have asked well,” Granny Winter said. “That you inquire not to elevate yourself but for the sake of another speaks well of you.”

“Will you help me save the girl?” Hope bubbled as it had not in weeks.

“Alas, I have not the answer you seek.”

His heart fell to his feet. He knew not where to seek knowledge if she did not have it.

“Pick your face up, lad. I do not mean there are no answers, only that they will not come from my lips. The answers to your questions must be sought at Loch Dreva.”

On the other side of the cottage, Sorcha took in a quick, audible breath, something very near to a gasp. Loch Dreva was unknown to Duncan, but he hadn’t a doubt Sorcha knew it well and not through pleasant recollections.

But if that was where he would find the answers he needed, then that was where he would go.

“I’m willing to make any journey, however long, however treacherous,” he said. “But I do not know where Loch Dreva lies, nor do I know how to reach it.”

Granny raised one bent and bony hand and waved Sorcha to her side. “Sorcha knows this land well. She lived her earlier years as a vagabond, traveling often and traveling far. She knows the mountains and valleys, the streams and meadows.”

“Will you give me instructions on how to find this loch?” he asked the lovely young woman.

“It cannot be found by being told,” Sorcha said. “One must be shown. But, be warned, Loch Dreva is a place frequented by fairies and monsters alike. Certain death awaits the ill-prepared traveler.”

“I confess,” he said, “I am quite ill-prepared for fairies or monsters or anything of their ilk.”