Scotland was constant as old castle ruins…and thanks to a stone or two succumbing to gravity, never the same twice.

Jordan took comfort in that certainty as her airplane touched down for what might be her final visit to the wild and yet homey country she’d come to love. Unfortunately, if the trip didn’t yield something fabulous for her current contract, Foster and Foster Advertising wouldn’t offer another one. And her days of traveling the world on someone else’s dime would be over.

She could just see herself stuck in a small gray cubical for the rest of her life, altering photos for a graphic design company, plunking the change from her lunch money into a jar marked “Someday. Scotland.”

The image of that cubical life was crystal-clear in her mind only because that had been her career for the first five years out of high school, until she’d summoned the courage to apply at Foster and Foster. Three years later, she was still shocked she’d actually done it. And not just done it, she’d won it. One of her favorite photos got her over the top. It was a picture she’d taken of a valley in Washington state, that, in a pinch, passed for Scotland.

Luckily for her, F&F was in the market for a new gimmick for the largest luggage company in the States, and Scotland had been the new bait they’d wanted for their hook.

Jordan had never meant to share that Washington picture with anyone—or at least the copyright. But sometimes you have to sacrifice one dream to reach for another. It was something an arts professor had said at the time, that life was like a high wire act—you had to let go before you could grab on.

She’d tried to explain the concept to her mother a hundred times, but the woman just didn’t understand why her daughter had such itchy feet. And no matter how often Jordan tempted her, Linda Lennox was content to spend the rest of her life in Iowa with her second husband—and never see anything exciting in person.

Sometimes, Jordan wondered if she’d been adopted by her mother, too, and not just the man who’d rashly replaced her late father and forced his name on her. He was the only father she remembered, now, and he was a nice enough guy. But Jordan resented his effect on her mom.

The plane was finally on the ground. She was back in Scotland. The only thing that mattered now was getting that one in a million shot so that she, too, didn’t end up stuck in the states without much hope of affording an airline ticket again.

Jordan waited patiently for her turn to exit the small plane, and as she reached the door, she exhaled completely, getting rid of any trace of Paris-layover-air to make room for the primordial and pristine air of Scotland. She stepped out onto the stairs, sucked in a breath, and choked on gas fumes. She coughed her way down the steps and threw a dirty look at the oblivious crew who rushed to refill the plane for its next destination.

Obviously, the primeval air she was looking for would be further away from the city…

~ ~ ~

Jordan tried to stay mindful that she was back on Scottish soil while she waited for her luggage to appear. But the pressure for her trip to payoff was like a child tugging on the hem of her coat.

The new ad director at Foster and Foster—a woman named Rebecca—was already a pain in everyone’s butt. Each time Jordan had been to the offices in the past two weeks, the water cooler talk had been all about where people had applied for new jobs. Many of them expected to get the boot just because they couldn’t get along with the new princess. But what they all failed to realize was that even a director couldn’t replace everyone.

At least not all at once.

The question was, who would go first?

Photographers were a dime a dozen—unless they had real, prize-winning talent. And sadly, Jordan’s awards had a lot of dust on them.

To do her part for morale, she’d pretended to be her usual, confident self when she’d walked out of Rebecca’s office two days ago. She’d made sure the full-timers knew she was being sent to Scotland again. Nothing to see here. They’re still paying my way to Europe. My job is solid. Yours might be too.

Of course she didn’t tell them how the princess had given her the news…

“I know you’re booked for Scotland next month, but we’re bumping it up—and cutting it to four days. This account takes priority. But I’m not going to sugarcoat the facts, here. We’re going to pay for one last Scotland trip. Bring back something brilliant, or we won’t be calling again.”

She’d been given half the time and expected to be twice as good?

No problem. Scotland had never let her down before.

Since the luggage carousel was still empty, she went over to the money exchanger and bought a map, turned aside, and unfolded the whole thing against the wall. Then she closed her eyes, said a quick prayer, and pointed. She had to squint to find the town nearest her fingernail.

Brechin.

Her quest for the perfect shot would start in Brechin.

~ ~ ~

Soncerae rubbed her hands together before her white bonfire, but Kerry suspected there was little heat coming from the conflagration. The lass of sixteen appeared unusually weary, and he wished he could be of some comfort to the one mortal who was able to move among them, seeing them instead of gliding past, oblivious.

“Forgive me, Number Five,” she called out. “But yer time has come.”

Is she speaking to me?

Her shadowed gaze roved over the heads of his fellow Jacobites until they stopped on his face. “Aye, Kerry Mather. I need ye now, if ye will.”

But if I doona will it?

After a short-lived deliberation, he trudged forward, unwilling to embarrass the lass by arguing in front of the others. In truth, he should have pulled her aside long ago and explained that he had no desire to confront Prince Charlie.

 “Dinna fash,” the witch said as he drew near. “I ken just what ye long for, my brave blacksmith. And if ye’re a good laddie and do what is needed, ye’ll have it.”

It was news to him that he wanted anything at all, but there seemed to be no time for discussing it. She waved him closer and leaned over her ring of green mist to kiss him on the cheek. And bedamned if he didn’t feel it!

“On with ye now. No time to waste. Already I must send ye back half a day and without my uncle’s help. But there it is. I hadn’t expected yer…destiny…to arrive for another month or more.” She laughed at the expression on his face, then looked him up and down. “Dinna fash, man. Ye’re more than capable. And I daresay it will all be over well before ye wish it to be, aye?” She stepped back and lifted her arms as if to stretch, but her hands performed some hypnotic movements, and darkness came up between them to steal her from view.

When the darkness receded, he looked down at the hard ground pushing up against his boots. A stone path. A wee park of grass. And ten feet from him, a statue of a man armed with a wide frypan and a ball ping hammer. The shape, the stance—there was no doubt the figure belonged to his own father.

Kerry turned away in shame and decided Soni Muir was not the compassionate lass he believed her to be if she’d delivered him home to Brechin, to face a statue of the very man he’d disgraced on the battlefield.

No. No matter what she was asking of him, he couldn’t give it.

At least not in Brechin.