“So you haven’t been here often?”
He shook his head, still looking at the house.
“Nae. Nae often. Mayhap once per year to see my father.”
“Do you think of it as your home, then?” she asked.
He looked at her as though she’d said a foul word.
“Sorry, I just mean…I’m trying to understand, and maybe to learn what a home is for someone. Since I have no idea what mine is.”
His gaze warmed. He looked like a handsome, tired, lost warrior. “I dinna ken if ’tis my home. I suppose I’ll try to make it mine.”
She smiled. “This looks like a wonderful place, Ian.”
Once they arrived about half an hour later, Ian stopped Thor in front of the main building. Near it was a collection of smaller buildings: stables, a chicken coop, a cowshed, and probably a workshop and a storage house.
Ian jumped off the cart and helped Kate get down. He’d done it several times during their journey, and every time he touched her, every time his hands grasped her waist, she became a hot, melting ball of sweet tingling. He lifted her as though she weighed nothing, then put her gently on the ground. He smelled of sun and forest and something earthy and magical.
Then he’d walk away, and she’d whisper, “Thank you,” standing there like a statue and watching him retreat. Somehow, the simple gestures of care and help along their journey had touched her so deeply she’d wanted to cry. But she had no idea why.
She wanted to crack her skull open and dig for those memories she couldn’t find.
While Ian went inside, Kate looked around. On closer inspection, the house and the buildings looked distressed. Parts of the walls were crumbled, and the roof had holes—as did all the buildings on the property. The chickens wandered around looking almost wild. The shutters on the windows hung crooked. One of the planks of the small porch was missing.
Inside there was a great hall, similar to the one in Inverlochy but with fewer tables and benches. Everything looked as if it was decaying, and there was a faint smell of mold and mice.
How did she know what mice smelled like? A sudden flash of a kitchen with dirty yellow walls, a metal stove with gas burners, and chipped green cabinets invaded her mind. In that image, everything looked big to her. She put a chair by the stove, climbed it, switched on the gas burner and put a pan on it. She poured some oil.
She was about to make two grilled cheese sandwiches. Her mom wouldn’t be home until very late, and Kate and her sister would already be asleep. She’d make another grilled cheese later for Mom and leave it for her on the table.
Kate climbed down and opened a kitchen cabinet to take out some bread. The scent of food gone bad hit her in the face. Mice feasted on the bread. She shooed them, and they scattered but left feces, urine, and dirt together with the bread crumbs.
The great hall smelled like that.
Kate held her head in her hands, although it didn’t ache. The vision was so real and so normal, and yet so completely and totally foreign, she couldn’t think for a moment. Her mind went blank trying to cope with it, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. Sadness and loneliness opened a hole in her chest.
And what of all the strange objects and materials in that vision? That big metal thing was a gas stove, she knew. A fridge kept food cool and worked with electricity, which also lit the light on the ceiling.
In the cabinet, there was also stuff to make the Crazy Mary, she remembered. The dish her mom had made once or twice, claiming it was a family heirloom recipe. The spices for it stood to the right, the oatmeal for the filling right next to the bread.
Kate sat down on a nearby bench, the wood cold even through her dress. Her chest tensed, her heart convulsing. She couldn’t breathe.
What was that? A vision? It felt like a memory, like it had really happened to her, but it made absolutely no sense. What she’d seen in it looked nothing like what was around her. Where had the electricity come from? The gas in the stove? The plastic and paper wrappings of the supplies? They looked similar to the things she’d found in her purse.
That was the only calming thing, the fact that she might not actually be insane. That there was some explanation for the madness in her head. But it would be best not to tell anyone about her visions, she realized, because the people around her would only think her more insane. She still needed to talk to Crazy Mary, and she had big hopes for that talk.
She should find the kitchen. The word sent a shiver through her. With her feet still weak, she stood. She had no idea where the kitchen was, but it must be somewhere on the first floor.
She found it relatively easily—it was right at the back of the tower. The room was the direct opposite of the kitchen in her vision: dark, with a big fireplace, and only a few small windows near the ceiling to let in the daylight. Torches on the rock walls illuminated the space as well. Around the lit fireplace, a starburst of black soot spread on the wall.
A massive wooden table took up the middle of the room. It was messy with peels and greens, the cutting boards dirty. Next to it, a large cauldron hung over the fire, radiating the smell of cooking vegetables and meat. A huge oven was built into the wall to the left. Pots, ladles, large spoons, and other utensils hung on the wall to the right. A large barrel of water stood next to the table.
Ian was talking to a bald man in his fifties with a bushy mustache and a dirty apron. His eyebrows snapped together, his eyes bulging, his
