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torture.
    He was heading out to the stable to beg a horse so he could ride hard across the land to try to forget, when he came upon two girls crying outside a locked up room. His heart melted, and he thought maybe he could help them, do a kindness in Piper’s honor.
    “What troubles ye, lasses?” he asked, scaring them half out of their wits with his great size.
    He held out his hands and tried to seem harmless. One of the girls had a broom and pail, and the other several brushes and large cloth sacks.
    “Is yer task so awful as all that?” he asked teasingly, trying to get them to smile. It only made them cry harder.
    “We beg pardon, sir, but this was the room of our beloved cousin who died in the fire, and we’ve been set to clean the room and pack her belongings. She had no mother so we’re sending them to … to … the poor crofters.” They broke down into desolate sobs, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders.
    Realizing that they were talking about Daria, at first he wanted to swear and rail about what she really was. Tell them about the blood sacrifices, the murders, her wicked love affair with the sinister Brian Duncan.
    The Glens had been fooled by Daria’s falsely sweet exterior. She kept her true self well hidden from them her whole life. If he tried to get them to believe she was anything other than their kind, nature loving, spinster cousin, he would frighten them and probably make them believe he was addled. He was about to leave them to their chore in disgust, but something started to bubble up in him. An idea, mere curiosity.
    He shooed them on their way, telling them they were in no mind to do such a job, and it would be better if more time passed. It was wrong to do it so soon after her passing, downright unfeeling. If anyone had anything to say about it, the girls should direct that person to him. Half terrified and half relieved, the girls had scrambled away from him and he was left alone in front of Daria’s door.
    “What did you do?” Mellie breathed.
    Piper leaned over and smacked her on the knee for interrupting.
    “I prayed for the protection of my immortal soul and broke open the door,” Lachlan said.
    Inside Daria’s chamber, the air seemed colder. It was still and quiet, and not even the dust motes dared to stir in the air as he entered.
    He was prepared to find the darkest of objects. Skulls of small animals, unidentified bones, locks of hair, fingernails. His skin began to crawl as he imagined books bound with human skin, the words inside written in blood, cursed ancient artifacts stolen from the graves of the damned. Necklaces made of teeth and—
    “Lachlan!” Piper grabbed Mellie’s hand. The poor girl was nearly hyperventilating.
    “Sorry,” he said, abashed.
    He quickly searched the wardrobe, the chest, under her bed and mattress, only to find benign items like clothes and bits of jewelry and toiletries. He was about to give up altogether, deciding the wicked deceptress must have had a safer hiding place for her devilish items, when his foot caught on a loose board.
    It only took him a second to pry up the board to find Daria’s stash. A simple sewing bag was stuffed into the crack under the floorboard, containing several books and another smaller bag that was tied up tight with red string. Stuffing the bag under his kilt, he made his escape back to his own room, where he began to study.
    One of the books was an old and tattered spellbook that wasn’t written by Daria, but was written by someone who was clearly as insane. He could barely make out the faded script, and much of it shocked him so, he couldn’t see himself ever trying to recreate any of it, no matter how desperately he wished to get back to Piper.
    Every day since he’d been back in his own time, he regretted his decision to return. He knew it was the only way. Sam and Evelyn may not have been able to get back safely if Piper hadn’t performed the wicked ritual, and his own deep sense of