Shoulder the Skye (Skye Druids #2)(7)
Author: Donna Grant

 

From anyone trying to get to her from outside.

 

And from anything that might be in the house.

 

Bronwyn checked the laptop battery and grinned when she saw it was full. She unplugged her computer and gathered everything in her arms before heading out of the kitchen. She paused beside the grand staircase that led to the upper floors. Her thoughts lingered for a moment, and then she hurried to the parlor.

 

The room was spacious, and she had moved furniture around to accommodate her needs since she was living and working out of this one room. The warmth that met her as she entered made her sigh in relief. Bronwyn made sure the door shut behind her and then settled herself in her favorite chair near the roaring fire.

 

She tugged the blanket over her legs and placed the computer on her lap, setting the mug of coffee next to her on the small table. After adjusting her headphones, she hit play. Tonight’s playlist was the soundtrack to King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, one of her favorites.

 

When the music began, she kicked off the boots, crossed her legs in the chair, and adjusted the blanket around her once more. It was after two in the morning when she finished the project and sent it off. She added more wood to the fire and then crawled beneath the warm covers, still in her sweats and socks, falling asleep quickly while thinking about the extra money she’d just made and how long it would last.

 

It felt like barely a second had lapsed when her alarm went off, pulling her from an intriguing dream of a man with penetrating, bright blue eyes. Bronwyn groaned at being dragged from the nice fantasy and reached for her phone to stop the alarm. When she looked over, she saw the fire had gone out. She threw off the blankets, and the chill that seemed to seep through every stone immediately assaulted her. She went to the hearth and shifted through the coals to find a few that still glowed, working tirelessly until she had the fire going again.

 

“Same morning, different day,” she mumbled as she made her bed.

 

After a quick shower to help her warm up, she changed and went into the conservatory to tend to her vegetable garden. Then she bundled herself and braved the windy morning to feed the chickens and gather their eggs. At least it wasn’t raining. In no time, she was back inside to fix her usual breakfast of eggs, toast, and tea.

 

She eyed the end of the loaf of bread and grimaced at the thought of carving out time to make more. It would be so much simpler to buy it, but when every cent counted, she did what she had to do, and it was cheaper to make her own.

 

Once she’d cleaned up the kitchen, she made another cup of tea before stopping at the stairs and putting a hand on the newel. She called to her magic and let it flow from her palm into the stained wood, no longer shining with a high polish. The gleam had long since faded, but it still looked beautiful to her. Though only her memories had the house as it had once been, in its glory.

 

“You’ll be returned to your rightful splendor one day soon,” she whispered.

 

Bronwyn lowered her hand and looked up the stairs. A part of her wanted to venture up, but she knew nothing would come of it. With a sigh, she returned to the parlor. She settled herself in the chair and checked her bank account to see if she had been paid. Relief surged through her when she saw that it would post that day.

 

She drank her second cup of tea as she checked her email. There was one from a prospective client that she answered immediately. Word was finally spreading about her work. She was working on two other jobs at the moment and had a possible third if she and the new customer could work out the terms. Since she didn’t know if work would continue coming in, she couldn’t be choosy about what she accepted. Maybe one day, but she was just happy to be paid for her designs.

 

Bronwyn had joined a few social media groups dedicated to cover designs for authors and had created dozens of premades in various genres to show off what she could do. But her first love was romance, and she devoured books in every sub-genre. When authors asked for cover designers, she made sure to put herself out there. No one had chosen her. Yet.

 

The morning passed quickly. She was nearly finished with her next design when her stomach growled. Bronwyn would rather keep working because she was in the groove, but a glance at the clock showed it was nearly two in the afternoon.

 

She set aside her computer to charge as she made her way to the kitchen. She had a dull headache but ignored it as she made a sandwich with the last of the bread. Bronwyn didn’t bother to sit as she ate. She stood at the window and looked out back toward the loch. The sky was clear, and the sun sparkled on the water. The loch had once been a beacon she couldn’t resist, but that was a long time ago.

 

Once, she might have gone down to the water to enjoy the day, no matter what time of year it was, but those days were long gone. She turned her back on the loch and finished her meal. Memories had a hold of her, though. Thoughts of her father, her mother, of a time when happiness had filled every corner and crevice of the house.

 

She was chained to the home, but she was thankful for that. Honestly, she wasn’t sure where she would be if she didn’t have it. The structure had been in the Stewart family for six generations, and it would stay that way—one way or another. Thinking about the house had her thoughts turning to her dad.

 

The same ache of loneliness and guilt assaulted her. Her face creased as she fought the onslaught of regret for how she had left her father alone, harsh words passing between them. She had pushed him away for so long, but he had been there for her when she needed him.

 

Her throat closed, clogged with emotion as she thought of his absence. He wasn’t with her or in his beloved house, because of her. She owed it to him to fix her mistakes, which was exactly what she had put into motion. She had expected things to come to a head already, but it would happen eventually.

 

Bronwyn looked at the ceiling, her thoughts shifting upstairs for a moment, but she quickly diverted them. She dusted off her hands and returned to the parlor. She saw an email alert when she opened her computer. The books she had bought for small business information as well as one for cover design, had finally arrived at the post office. Which meant she had to go back into town—the very thing she loathed.

 

She looked at the fire. She hated to waste it, but she couldn’t leave it unattended. And she couldn’t use even a little of her magic to keep it shielded while she was gone. With no choice, she extinguished the fire completely, then put on her coat and boots and left the house, locking it.

 

The ride to the post office was uneventful. She kept her head up when she walked into the co-op, trying not to think about the day before. Kirsi was once more behind the counter, and her pale green eyes met Bronwyn’s briefly as she approached.

 

“I’m here to pick up a package,” she said, aware of the other customer in the store.

 

Kirsi nodded without looking at her. “Sure. Let me get it.”