“Mary MacBean, maker of potions and cures for ailments of every sort. I ken who ye are, lass. ’Tis you that needs the introduction. What took ye so long?” “Long?” “Two years, I’ve been callin’ ye.” “Calling?” She grasped Kate’s hand and slapped the vial and tin into her palm. “Think ye every English lass has a yearnin’ for tartan and bagpipes?” She snorted. “Aye, who doesnae love music that sounds like two cats tuppin’ inside a rain barrel?”
She's a crazy Scottish fairy godmother
