As if to mock her feeble ability to refuse the will of the Great Spirit, a violent burst of light and color exploded across her mind. She cried out, muffled the sound with a fistful of bedding. Her stomach twisted and roiled, and she broke out in a sweat as she beat the vision back.
When it faded, she opened her eyes. Over and over she fought the demands of her gift. Finally, she slumped over her knees in exhaustion, resigned that she’d not be able to hold her Sight at bay any longer.
“Where is your control? Your courage?” she whispered to herself in the darkness.
Always she’d taken in stride what was to be. She’d prided herself on her ability to handle the difficulties her gift often brought, such as pain and death and fear, because good was also part of her gift: the ability to foresee the birth of a niece or nephew, a blossoming new love, the arrival of friends and loved ones.
“You want your independence, then take it!” she hissed to herself.
Mattie controlled her breathing—deep and slow. She listened to her heart, slowed its rhythm, and waited.
Her mind cleared, became a grayish slate waiting for the future to be written upon it. A tiny bit of dark color swirled inside—as if hesitant to show itself. Gasping, Mattie panicked, once again opening her eyes.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t invite the vision into her. Fear of what she’d see, what she’d learn, and the knowledge that she might not be able to change the outcome, frightened her.
“No,” she moaned. “I can’t do it. Not again. Not ever again.”
Her greatest fear was that she’d lose another loved one. Yet, in realizing that fear, Mattie found courage. She stretched out on the bed. The fear had given her strength, for there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her family.
No matter the cost to her sanity.
* * *
Reed paced restlessly in the barn where he’d elected to bed down. He’d told Matthew that he hadn’t wanted to intrude on the family. All the way home, one or another of the youngsters had been crying over their early-morning departure. Reed’s excuse had sounded good. Reasonable. But he’d lied.
During that long ride from town, he had had to resist the urge to take young Caitie in his arms or pull Kealan, the shin kicker, onto his horse and hold them tightly while trying to comfort them.
And then there was Daire. The boy rode in the back of the wagon with his shoulders set stiffly, his head held high. No tears from him. But Reed saw his tightly clenched jaw, and he knew the boy was trying his best to set an example for the younger O’Briens.
Reed rested one hand on the frame of the barn door and stared out into the night. In a matter of a few minutes, all his carefully built barriers had crumbled, leaving him vulnerable.
He’d vowed the day Anne died that he’d do whatever it took to set things to right. That meant finding the bastard who’d shot her, taking down the last of the Grangers and clearing his name. Now Caitie’s tear-streaked face slid across his mind’s eye, followed by another small girl’s teary features.
“Lizzie,” he whispered. He hadn’t seen her in more than a year. His baby girl would be close to two years old. Danny, nearly four.
Twice since having his children taken from him Reed had gone back to see them. The fighting with his father—no, the man who’d adopted him then denounced him—and the tears of his adoptive mother were hard to take, but he would have withstood them and more in order to see his children. But he wasn’t able to handle the wrenching tears, screams and pleas that came from his children when he had to leave.
During his last visit to see them, as he’d ridden away with Danny screaming for him, Reed had vowed that until he had his life in order he would not go back. It wasn’t fair to any of them. By the time he saw her again, Lizzie wouldn’t remember him. The thought made him sad, and angry, but he had only himself to blame.
He consoled himself with the thought that when this was over, whatever it took he’d find a way to be a part of his children’s lives. It only helped a little to know they were loved and cherished by their grandparents despite their mixed blood.
But not by their father, a voice whispered in his mind. Not by him. Not now. He’s not allowed to cherish them.
“We will be together,” he vowed. “A family.”
Until today, he’d never believed it possible. He’d been ready to settle for living close enough to visit sometimes. But that was no longer good enough.
Something had happened to him today. After a few short hours with the O’Brien youngsters, he knew he could never settle for less. For them. For him. For Anne. He would find a way to make them all a whole family once more.
Spinning around, Reed dropped down onto his bedroll and used his linked fingers for a pillow. The first step was taken: he’d learned the name of the man who’d murdered Anne.
A daughter for a daughter.
His adoptive father had told him of the man who’d come, begging for a loan to take his daughter east to seek medical care; had felt regret to this day that he had not loaned the man the money he’d needed. He’d certainly paid dearly for making a business decision.
Reed’s lips twisted. Malcolm Clemmings. Hell of a lot of good it did him to know the name of the bastard, or even to know the reason behind the robbery and murder. What good was it without knowing what the man looked like? So he planned to draw him out. He’d get the man to reveal himself.
He smiled grimly. That was where Granger entered the picture. As soon as the outlaw arrived in Pheasant Gully, he’d lead Reed to Malcolm. And to the gold. The only flaw in the plan was the O’Briens. They were innocently in the middle of this dangerous game. Neither Granger nor Malcolm would hesitate to kill any or all of them. And that was the last thing Reed wanted: more innocent blood.
Reed reached for his rifle to be sure it was close at hand, as were his revolvers. In just a few hours it would be light, and Renny, Matthew and the children would be on their way to safety. Then it would just be him and Mattie. That would be better.
But would it? Her haunting beauty made him groan. “Don’t think about it,” he warned himself. “You’re here to protect her and nothing else.” But her sad eyes and soft mouth made him want to scoop her into his arms and ride away with her into the sunset. Just to keep her safe.
He snorted at his nobility, then admitted to himself what a liar he was. Truthfully, he longed to carry her away from her fiancé and claim her as his own. Maybe he was no better than a savage.
His lips twisted. For the first time in his life he was tempted to give in to that side of his heritage. Except, he knew nothing about the Indian part of him. Not even his father’s name or tribe. Where would he take a woman he wanted for his own?
Closing his eyes, he tried to put thoughts of Mattie from his mind. But as he drifted off to sleep, it was to sweet images of him doing exactly what he wanted—taking her away from her fiancé to claim her as his own.
The sound of shattering glass drained the pleasant drowsiness seeping through him. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his weapons and ran toward the house.
* * *
Pulled from the frightening grip of her vision, Mattie sat frozen in bed, afraid to move. Something heavy had crashed through the window to land with a thud on the floor at the foot of her bed. Her cheek stung, hit by…a shard of glass? Lifting a shaking hand, she felt the wetness of blood.
To her horror, she gave an uncontrolled laugh. Between the gash on her head, the rawness left by the removal of several slivers and now this, she was going to look a sight.
Voices rose in the quiet house. “What happened?” Renny burst into her sleeping quarters.
“Careful,” she called out, her voice shaking. “Glass.”
“Matt! Candles. Quickly.”
“Move. I’ve got shoes on,” a strong voice ordered.
&nb
sp; Mattie felt strong arms go around her, and she knew it was Reed who scooped her out of bed and carried her through the curtain wall. Glass crunched beneath his boots. Feeling safe and protected, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You seem to be carrying me around a lot,” she whispered.
Normally she hated being coddled. She prided herself on her independence, especially in her own home. But something told her she could get used to having this man’s arms around her, could truly enjoy it. To her disappointment, she felt him bend over to set her down.
“Wait here. I’ll go have a look,” he answered.
“Found it,” Renny called, following them out of the bedroom. “Someone threw a rock through the window.”
Reed whipped around with Mattie still in his arms. “What’s that tied to the rock!”
“Nothing,” Renny snapped, her voice low and fierce.
Mattie pushed at Reed until he lowered her gently to her feet. She turned to face her sister.
“Renny, what is it?” She knew that tone; Renny was trying to hide something from her.
“Mattie, it doesn’t matter.”
She said nothing, just waited.
“Fine,” Renny burst out in disgust. “It’s a dead bird.”
Mattie shivered and hugged herself. “What kind?” she found herself asking.
From behind her, Reed spoke. “Looks like a blackbird.”
Mattie gasped. Stepping back, she tried to escape the omen she couldn’t see.
“More death,” she whispered in horror.
Renny swore again. “Mattie, that’s what someone wants you to believe. It’s just a dirty trick to scare us.”
“It’s working,” Mattie said. She reached out her hand, searching for a chair. Having been carried into the kitchen, she wasn’t quite sure of her position. She heard the scrape of wooden legs, then felt a strong hand close over her hand. Reed guided her to the chair.
“Sit,” he ordered. He drew forth another chair, and the wood groaned as he sat. “Get rid of that,” he ordered Renny softly.
Mattie heard the soft pad of her sister’s bare feet across the floor, then the squeak of a door opening. “Matthew?”
“Here, Mattie. Renny is right.”
“Matt, you know as well as I do that this warns of danger. It’s an omen.” Shaking, Mattie buried her head in her hands. On top of the visions, the dead bird could only mean the death of her loved ones. There was no escape.
“You don’t truly believe that?” Reed’s voice was filled with disbelief.
Matthew spoke up, his voice quiet. “You should know that our people take omens and spirits seriously. Whether it was done only with the intention to scare us, it’s still an omen. A bad one.”
He brushed past Mattie, his fingers trailing gently across her shoulders. He stopped behind her, his words aimed at Reed. “I find it curious that you were on hand when Mattie was shot at earlier, and now this.”
Hearing the accusation in her brother’s voice, Mattie turned her head. “Reed isn’t behind any of this, brother. I’d have felt the darkness in him. My visions have returned, and I see only the beauty of the sky surrounding him.” She kept to herself the warmth and feelings of security that Reed gave her.
She turned toward him. “You cannot understand the significance of this warning, but I cannot ignore it. Not with the return of my Sight.”
“You can see?” Reed sounded confused.
Mattie smiled sadly. “Not with my eyes. With my mind. The spirits bestowed the gift of Sight to me as a child. When I lost my eyesight, they took that gift away.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But now it has returned. The visions come once more.”
“Visions?” Reed’s voice was full of doubt and skepticism. “I’m afraid I don’t hold much belief in such things, Mrs. O’Leary. I believe what I see, and only what I see.”
“What is your tribe?” Matthew asked, disapproval heavy in his voice.
“Tribe?” Mattie turned. “You’re one of…us?”
Reed’s chair scraped back from the table. “If by ‘one of you,’ you mean a ’breed, then yeah, I’m one of you.”
“Then you know the importance of spirits.”
“Sorry, ma’am. The man who sired me gave me his Indian looks but that’s all. I know nothing about him or where he came from, and I don’t believe in all this talk of spirits and omens. Only facts. And the fact is, someone is succeeding in scaring you. That’s it.”
Mattie reached out with her mind. She’d never been able to call a vision to her but to her surprise, she found she could reach out and touch this man. It happened with an ease that frightened her. His features remained hidden, all but the blue of his eyes. Yet even those seemed to blur—just a shimmer of color that wiped out all else.
It seemed odd. They were opposites. Her world was dark. His was light. She couldn’t see with her eyes, only her mind. Perhaps his mind was blind, though he saw with his eyes.
She opened her eyes and faced him. She didn’t need his sharply in-drawn breath to confirm she was before him. She felt him, found his presence by following the trail of color in her head.
“You will see,” she said, as a darkness she hadn’t sensed deep inside him seeped out. In her mind’s eye she saw him struggle to free himself, but the more he fought, the farther from the light he strayed.
“You walk a lone path of darkness. You fight what is inside you. Open your eyes and see. Accept what you are, who you are, and you will be whole.”
Chapter Seven
Owl shook out his wings, then folded them back. Already the sun was burning through the gloom. Soon, it would be clear and bright. It would be dawn. He twisted his head, searching the heavens. Mahpiya!
A small sliver of light speared through the gray. Why do you call upon me, Owl?
Owl tipped his head, showing the spirit of the heavens his respect. The humans leave soon.
A whisper of wind ruffled Owl’s feathers, and Tate, spirit of the wind, joined them. He knows, Tate said.
What help does he give? Owl asked boldly of both spirits. He blinked sleepily. It was time for him to find his tree and rest.
In answer, Tate whipped the leaves of the tree, while the spirit of the heavens called forth clouds and blocked the light of Sun.
Owl had to be content. He wished he could do more for the humans but his place was here, with the woman. For the truth lay in her dreams.
* * *
Kneeling in the center of a prayer circle, Mattie lifted her head. The scent of sage and sweet grass surrounded her—her offerings to the spirits. She felt helpless; a prayer at that moment seemed so little, but it was all she could do.
A breeze caressed her cheek. Something soft tickled her nose. Reaching up, her fingers closed over a soft, downy feather. She glanced up. “You are there,” she whispered. A soft hoot confirmed that the owl had returned.
She wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or not, for his presence meant more dreams. And dreams had recently meant pain, uncertainty and fear. Still…
Bowing her head, Mattie clutched the bit of fluff to her heart. “I will listen, and learn what it is you are trying to teach me, Hinhan.”
Tucking the feather into a tiny leather pouch hanging from her neck, she got to her feet and left her prayer circle. Without stumbling, she made her way to the back of the house. Stopping near the steps, she drew a deep breath of cold air into her lungs. Normally she loved mornings: the freshness and newness, the gift of life each day represented.
But not today. Uncertainty dulled her joy. Were the O’Briens doing the right thing in separating? Mattie closed her eyes.
Pretend the children are just going for a short visit, she told herself. They’ll be back. The sheriff would soon find the enemy, deal with him, then once again
it would all be safe. And they’d be together. Still, uncertainty ate at her.
A brisk wind tugged at her hair and sent it flying about her head—a reprimand from the spirit of the wind? Mattie sighed. She could not help the fear she felt. Or the resentment. If only she had the use of her eyes.
Combined with her visions, she’d surely learn the truth much faster if she weren’t blind. And she’d be more able to protect her loved ones by recognizing where danger lay. Using one hand, she gathered the long, silky strands of her hair and took a half dozen steps forward.
The jangle of harnesses and restless pawing of hooves guided her to where her brother and sister were preparing for their journey. With one hand slightly lifted, she took several more steps, guided now by the soft snuffling of one of the horses.
Her heightened senses picked up the softer sounds of the animals, the strong smell of horse and even the heat of the beasts. Seconds before a nose was thrust into her outstretched hand, she felt the current of a warm exhalation.
Mattie ran a fingertip over a small crescent-shaped scar on the nose. “Sunghinhota winyela kin,” she said. Old Gray Mare. “Renny,” she called out. “Why are you taking Sun? She is old. Slow. Take Raven. She is fast.” They had four horses total. If Renny and Matt took Raven and the two strong grays, they’d make better time.
Renny brushed against Mattie as she walked around the horses. “Raven stays with you. Our uncle trained her for you, and she responds to you better than the others.”
“But Sun will slow you,” Mattie protested. “Sorry, Sun,” she said. But it was true. Sun had once been a fast animal, but age had slowed her greatly. Hearing a grunt, she turned, following her sister.
“You may need Raven,” Renny argued. “We’ll leave Sun and the other two horses with Wolf and Jessie when we get there. Wolf will have horses that we can use to return.”
After a moment, she huffed out a breath and added, “Mattie, come with us. I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
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