Katherine peeked outside, coming face-to-face with a striking ginger-haired woman standing before her.

“Madainn mhath,” the woman greeted her in Gaelic.

“Good … good morning.” Katherine opened the door a little wider. “Is there something I can do to for you?” She nervously raked her fingers through her disheveled hair with her free hand and clung tightly to the door with the other.

“Och, do you na speak the Gaelic?”

“Tha, beagan. I do speak a little, but haven’t used it since my grandmother died a few years ago. At one time, I was quite fluent.” Katherine wasn’t sure if she should be talking to this woman. MacBain and Murray told her she wasn’t to leave the estate or to discuss the stipulations of the will with anyone, and she didn’t intend to do either. But they didn’t tell her what to do should someone come to call. The woman seemed harmless enough and a week was a long time to go without contact or communication with another person. Even if she was hiding from Ethan.

“I’m Noreen MacRoy, your neighbor.” She held out her hand.

Katherine nodded, but kept a secure grip on the door.

“My friends call me Norrie. I hope I dinna frighten you,” she continued, her pleasant smile turning to a frown. “But it does appear I’ve awakened you.” She cupped Katherine’s elbow and tried to usher her into the croft. “You’re na even dressed and it’s chilly out here. Best we get you inside.”

Katherine retained her hold on the door and refused to budge. “I’m fine. I’ve been awake for a while and was just about to get dressed when you knocked, Ms. MacRoy.”

“Please call me Norrie.” She released Katherine’s arm and took a step back. “I know it’s a wee bit early in the day for visitors, but I was concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“Aye. I live with my uncle on the estate adjacent to Glen Heather, and our groundskeeper, Rory, informed us he’d discovered an abandoned car on the laneway this morn. He said the vehicle was exactly like the one owned by Agnes Grant, the former resident of this croft. He also noticed smoke coming from the chimney and mentioned it to us.” She lowered her gaze and made the sign of the cross. “Agnes died a while back, God rest her soul, and her home has been abandoned since. I thought I’d best come over and check things out.”

The incident with the knight on horseback immediately crossed Katherine’s mind. Again. While she was justifiably annoyed that he’d been blocking the road and could have caused an accident, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d met him before. Nor could she get the vision of his handsome face and fabulous physique off her mind. Her heart did a quick flip every time she thought about him. She considered asking Noreen if she knew the man, and if perhaps he was an eccentric neighbor, or if there was a Medieval or Renaissance fair in the area. But she decided against it. Even though her visitor introduced herself and expressed her concern, she was still a complete stranger. If Katherine told her she’d seen a phantom knight on horseback blocking the road, heard voices in the croft not long after she arrived, and would swear someone was in her bed — touching her intimately when she woke up this morning, Noreen would think she was mad.

“As you can see, I’m fine,” Katherine said. “The tires hit a slick spot on the road, skidded, but I missed hitting the tree. The car stalled and wouldn’t start again so I had to leave it and walked the rest of the way.”

Noreen clutched at her throat. “How frightening. That lane can be treacherous when it rains or snows. Thank the Lord you werena injured and dinna get lost in the forest.”

As her reservations about talking to Noreen slowly subsided, Kathrine opened the door a bit wider. “Agnes was my great-aunt. It’s nice to know she had such caring neighbors.”

“You must be her niece, from America.” Noreen cocked her head to one side and studied Katherine from head to toe. “I can see the strong family resemblance, and you are every bit as lovely as she said.”

“She mentioned me?” Katherine shivered and her teeth began to chatter. But she wasn’t sure if the brisk wind or the renewed uneasiness she suddenly felt was the cause. “I’m surprised. We met once when I was a child, but we really didn’t know each other.”

“Aye, Agnes spoke of you often.” Seizing the opportunity, Noreen brushed by Katherine, entering the croft. “Best you come along before you catch your death of cold.”

This woman certainly is bold, Katherine thought as she shut the door and followed on her heels. But she was even more taken aback when she saw Noreen sitting at the table with her aunt’s wooden box in her hands.

“This is lovely. Was it Agnes’s?”

“Yes.” Katherine crossed the room, snatched the heirloom from Noreen’s hands, and hugged it to her chest. “From what I was told, it was something my aunt cherished very much.” She stared at Noreen, not certain what to do, now that she had made herself at home. “Can I make you some tea?” She didn’t even know if she had any tea and really shouldn’t have been doing anything to prolong the woman’s visit.

“That would be lovely,” Noreen replied, smiling. “I’m so glad you werena injured and your car stopped before it struck the tree. It was snowing heavily last night, na typical for this late in the year. It’s a miracle you found your way to the croft and dinna get disoriented in the storm.”

“Yes, I was most fortunate.” Katherine placed the wooden box on a shelf that was located beside the hearth, then put a pot filled with water over the fire while she searched for tea. The longer Noreen remained in the hut, the more she regretted opening the door. The sooner she honored her offer of refreshments, the sooner her visitor could be on her way.

After looking in several small crocks, she found one containing dried leaves and flowers. “Close enough,” she mumbled as she dumped some into a china teapot and added boiling water. “My aunt certainly didn’t have many modern conveniences. I don’t know how she managed here on her own.”

“Agnes believed in the old ways,” Noreen said and released a soft sigh. “It feels so odd to come here and na see her baking her famous shortbread or black bun. She made the best clootie dumplings in the county.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t take after her in that capacity. I can hardly boil water,” Katherine said.

“Your aunt was an amazing cook and a wonderful lady. She adored this house. Despite the sadness it’s seen.”

“Sadness?” Katherine carried the teapot and a clay mug to the table, placing both in front of Noreen.

“Aye. Have you na heard the tales of woe surrounding Glen Heather?” Noreen filled her mug, then brought it to her lips and took a sip. “Nothing like a good cup of chamomile on a brisk day, if you ask me.” She looked at Katherine. “Are you na going to join me?”

Katherine sat, and for a brief moment, she’d swear she saw an old woman at the table across from her. But after she gave her head a quick shake, her vision cleared and it was Noreen’s face she gazed upon. “I had my fill of coffee before you arrived.” It wasn’t like her to carry on an in-depth conversation with someone she didn’t know or to invite strangers into her home. She really had no say when Noreen took the initiative and barged in uninvited, yet she wondered if she might be able to tell her things about her family, things she was dying to know.

“I’m ashamed to say, I don’t know much about my aunt or the Grant family history. Discussions about Glen Heather never came up.” Katherine twisted her hands and lowered her gaze. “Whenever I asked my mother or grandmother, the subject was changed. You mentioned the house had seen much sadness, perhaps you could enlighten me.”

When Noreen’s expression darkened and she remained silent, Katherine’s gut clenched and she bit her lower lip, sorry she’d asked the question. Perhaps her grandmother was right when she said that some secrets were best kept private and were not meant for her to know. But it was too late to rescind the inquiry. She glanced up to find her visitor studying her again.

“What do you know?” Noreen sipped her tea and peered over the rim of her cup.

“I was told this place has been in my family for centuries, and if the research I did before coming to Scotland is true, it was built in the late thirteenth century by Rowland Grant.”

“Aye, he was a land owner with a large estate. His wife was a cousin of Robert the Bruce. As I’m sure you’re aware, the Bruce was a strong contender for the Scottish throne at that time and by 1306 was king. Rowland Grant was a shrewd man and by marrying the future king’s cousin, he could command a large dowry. He used it to buy more land and when he died, owned far more property than the average crofter.” “When I saw the size of this cottage, I assumed he must have been a man of means, perhaps even one who held a title,” Katherine said. “But if he married into royalty, that would explain it.”

Noreen lowered her gaze. “Sadly, his wife passed giving birth to their second born, a daughter. The first of many tragedies to befall this house.” Noreen lowered her gaze and clucked her tongue. “It was said that Rowland Grant was never the same after the death of his beloved. Hatred filled his heart. Some even claimed he went mad.”

“How sad. But you said he had two children. Were they not a comfort to him?” Katherine asked.

“He had a son named Warren. The lad was ten summers old when his mam passed. Then there was Catriona, the babe.”

Katherine? When she heard the baby’s name in Gaelic a shiver ran up her spine, more questions springing to mind. But rather then comment, she bit her tongue and allowed Noreen to continue.

“The story is that he hired a woman from the village to nurse and care for the wee lass and really didn’t want anything much to do with her. Not until she reached the age at which he could marry her off.” Noreen raised a brow. “It appears your name has been passed down through many generations of Grant women.”

Katherine stiffened and stared back at her for a moment. She didn’t tell Noreen her first name, so how did she know what it was? But then she remembered she’d been told her aunt had mentioned her to her neighbor and was likely how she knew.

“You may be right. I found out recently it was Agnes’s middle name,” Katherine said. “But as I mentioned, my grandmother and mother never spoke about the family’s past. And I wouldn’t be here now had I not—” She caught herself before mentioning her inheritance or Ethan, and quickly changed what she was about to say. “If I did not wish to learn more about my clan’s past.”

Noreen’s expression turned grim. “Her da, Lord Grant, apparently blamed the wee lass for his wife’s death and dinna treat her well. She was betrothed to a man named Ewan MacConnery, but she died before the wedding could take place.”

“She died? How?”

“The lass hurled herself over a cliff, she did.” Noreen clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Rumor is she was in love with the son of a local laird, but he was from a small impoverished clan. Her father believed Ewan, who was an Earl and soon to be Duke, was a better match. I suspect he was more interested in padding his coffers and expanding his holding than he was his daughter’s happiness.”

“How sad she could never marry the man she loved.”

“Rumor was they were wed in secret before he left to fight at the battle of Stirling Castle. He promised to return before she married Ewan, but he was killed in battle, or so they thought.”

“Thought he was dead?”

“Aye. It appears he was wounded but managed to escape and did return as promised, but it was too late.” Noreen hung her head. “Wrought with grief, Catriona hurled herself off a cliff near the falls and never knew Ayden MacAndrews was still alive. Mind it is just a legend.”

“That has to be one of the saddest stories I have ever heard.” Finding herself on the verge of tears, Katherine swallowed against the lump of emotion blocking her throat. Why the tale had such a strong effect on her was a mystery. The events happened hundreds of years ago and she didn’t know the people involved. But the more Noreen said, the more personal it felt, and the more melancholy she’d become. By the time she’d finished, Katherine felt as if there was a gaping hole in her chest where here heart should be.

“But the tragedy dinna end there,” Noreen continued. “It was considered a mortal sin to take your own life, so Catriona na only disgraced her clan, but she couldna be buried in hallowed ground. Her da had her laid to rest in the garden behind the croft,” Noreen informed her. “The spot is covered with snow right now, but there is a small stone cross marking the grave.”

As Noreen recounted the legend, dread continued to twist Katherine’s stomach. Engulfed by an overpowering sense of being buried alive, she found herself gasping for air. She wanted Noreen to leave.

“Is something amiss?” Concern laced Noreen’s words.

“It’s nothing,” Katherine lied. Things were far from okay, but something told her Noreen had more to say. And she was right.

“When Ayden MacAndrews returned and found out about Catriona’s death, he refused to believe the lass would kill herself,” Noreen said. “He went to her father and asked to see her grave. When her da refused, then blamed him for defiling his daughter and being the reason she died, a fight ensued. Lord Grant drew his sword, intent on killing Ayden. But when they struggled for possession of the blade, her father fell on the weapon and died.”

Rising abruptly, she faced her guest. “Thank you for telling me the tale, but I am suddenly not feeling well. Jet lag, I’m sure.”

“But there is more to the story, Katherine. “When Warren arrived, he assumed Ayden had killed his father and ran him through in retaliation. Sadly, the two men had been friends since they were bairns and the vengeful act haunted Warren the rest of his life.”

Katherine brought the back of a shaky hand to her brow. “Perhaps we can continue this at another time. I really not feeling well. Yesterday was exhausting, the trip from America and all. I didn’t sleep well, so I think it might be best if I laid down for a while. I hope you understand.” She moved to the door and opened it.

“Of course.” Noreen stood. “I’m sure you’re right and you are just weary from your trip. Dinna fash, we will talk again.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better in a day or so. Thank you for stopping by.” She opened the door wider and waited for Noreen to leave the croft.

“Get some rest, lass. I would hate for you to take ill, or worse.”

Katherine’s gut clenched, a shiver of foreboding skittering up her spine at Noreen’s ominous comment.

“Perhaps when you are feeling stronger, you might like to come for tea.” Noreen continued in what Katherine took as an attempt to lighten up the conversation.

“Perhaps.” Katherine offered a hesitant nod.

“It would be nice for my uncle to meet you before you return to America. He was very fond of Agnes.”

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time once I’m settled,” Katherine replied.

“You intend to stay at Glen Heather?” The pleasant tone returned to Noreen’s voice.

“I’ve no definite plans, but will be here for a while.” She didn’t feel the need to explain her reasons for remaining at the cottage. And she certainly had no intention of telling her visitor about the terms of Agnes’s will or her situation with Ethan. It was none of her affair, although the woman appeared to think otherwise.

“Mind you take care, Katherine. We will talk again. Soon,” Noreen said as she disappeared into the woods.

Katherine quickly closed and barred the door, then turned and rested her back against the oak slab. She released a shuddered breath and scratched her head, still trying to figure out the real purpose for Noreen’s impromptu visit.

Fortunately, she was gone for now and while Katherine was more curious than ever to learn more about her family history, she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the woman who lived next door. She had more pressing matters to attend to. Like discovering who’d prepared her breakfast, who’d tended the fires, and who’d shared her bed. She was determined to get to the bottom of each of these things, but first she had to find something to wear. After grabbing the wooden box and her carryon bag, she left the kitchen.

Katherine glanced at her watch as she padded into the parlor, surprised to see the timepiece had stopped working at midnight. “Odd. I just put a new battery in this less than a week ago.” She brought her wrist to her ear, listening to silence. One more peculiar thing to add to my list, she thought. But when she shot a glance at the antique clock on the mantle of the fireplace and it too had stopped at twelve o’clock, her mouth gaped open.

Upon entering the chamber in which she’d spent the night, Katherine immediately went to a wooden chest she’d noticed in the corner of the room. When she’d informed the solicitors that the airline had lost her luggage, they told her she’d find plenty to wear amongst her aunt’s clothing. Since there were no closets, this seemed to be the logical place to look first.

The chest was ancient, and carved on the top of it was the Grant clan crest — flanked by the letter C on either side. She lightly traced the letters with her fingertips, wondering if this had once belonged to the same woman who’d leapt off the cliff, the woman of whom she believed to be a namesake.

Rusty brass hinges creaked as Katherine raised the lid. She rummaged through an array of dresses, leines, tunics, and skirts, but she found no slacks or sweaters. Everything appeared to be vintage, clothing from centuries past. And while there was no modern-day attire to be found, Katherine paused when she spotted an ivory leine, a tunic with a brown print bodice that laced up the front, and a blue skirt.

Identical to the one worn by the lass in her dreams, she reverently removed them from the chest and closed the lid. She laid the garments across the top of it — marveling at how well the fabric had held up over the years. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they were new. Even more shocking was how perfectly they fit when she slipped them on. She smoothed her hands down the front of the tunic. It was as if the medieval outfit had been made for her.

Mirrors were another thing lacking in the croft. If everything in her aunt’s home did date back to medieval times, and Agnes believed firmly in the old ways, finding one made of glass was highly unlikely. But she wasn’t surprised. When she first got news of her aunt’s death, she’d done a fair bit of research on the history of Scotland around the time when the cottage would have been constructed. So far what she’d seen was exactly as described. But there was also a strange feeling of familiarity she couldn’t seem to shake. It was as if she’d been her before, like she actually belonged in this house. Something she could not explain.

She’d learned that people during this time period feared the devil could watch them from the netherworld and steal their soul were they to appraise their reflections in a glass mirror. Until later in the fourteenth century, women gazed at themselves in a loch or stream. Some used reflection bowls filled with water and made for that purpose. They also used pieces of polished metal, a sample of which Katherine found on a table by the bed. She gazed at her distorted reflection and gasped, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair.

“Next order of business is to do something about this unruly mess,” Katherine muttered aloud. She’d been blessed with thick, wavy, brunette locks, that when unbound cascaded down her back, settling just above her waist. However, it was times like this she wished she had opted for a shorter style. But Ethan liked it long and forbade her to cut it.

“Ethan.” She slammed her balled fist against her thigh. She was here to forget the bastard, to heal, and move on with her life. Yet like an ominous fog on a stormy night, he kept creeping into her thoughts. Determined to shove anything to do with her ex-fiancé to the back of her mind, Katherine rooted through her carry-on bag until she found a brush and went to work on her hair, brushing until the tangles were gone and so were her thoughts of Ethan. For now.