by Bree Wolf
“I present to ye my niece,” her aunt spoke into the silence of the room, “Moira Brunwood. Her brother delivered her to me only moments ago.”
Moira glanced at her aunt, wondering about the need to explain what she heard in the older woman’s voice. Was Fiona afraid the laird would fault her somehow? Was she doing what she could to distance herself from her traitorous niece?
Moira sighed knowing she could not blame her aunt for what she did. Aye, it would have been nice to have someone on her side; however, she had to admit that she had not once thought about what her presence here at Seann Dachaigh Tower would mean for her aunt. How would it affect Fiona’s life? How would people treat her? Look upon her?
The laird’s broad shoulders rose and fell as he inhaled a long breath. Then he slowly turned around as though apprehensive to look upon her.
Moira gritted her teeth, feeling a surge of anger rise in her heart. Why on earth had he agreed to Connor’s request if he did not want her here? Why would he−?
The breath caught in Moira’s throat the moment Cormag MacDrummond’s charcoal grey eyes met hers. Of all the things she had expected to feel in that moment−shame, regret, guilt, even fear−she was completely unprepared for the sudden jolt that seemed to stop her heart and make it come alive at the same time. Warmth streamed into her chest as though the sun had risen after a long absence, and she felt the corners of her lips curl upward, unable to contain the exhilaration that had claimed her so unexpectedly.
Overwhelmed, Moira clasped her hands together, needing something to hold onto.
Never had she felt like this before.
Not even Connor had ever inspired such…such…
In that moment, Moira finally realised that she had never been in love with Connor Brunwood.
Chapter One - A Witch in their Midst
Seann Dachaigh Tower, Scottish Highlands, Summer 1808
Two Years Later
“I hope ye slept well,” Moira said as she poured a cup of tea for her aunt as well as for herself. Then she glanced out the window. “’Tis promising to be a beautiful day.”
Fiona grumbled something unintelligible under her breath as she took the cup from Moira’s hands.
Sighing, Moira sat down to sip her own tea. “I’ll probably head out to gather some more herbs later today.”
Again, Fiona grumbled something under her breath.
Although Moira had been allowed to live with her aunt−instead of being locked up in the castle’s dungeon−the two women spent very little time together. As she had initially suspected, her aunt was far from happy to be duty-bound to shelter her traitorous niece; a sentiment, Moira had come to understand more and more when she had realised how adversely her presence affected her aunt.
Widowed with two grown daughters married outside of the clan, Fiona MacDrummond was alone; still, the companionship of her close-knit clan had never allowed her to feel lonely. She loved to stop in the marketplace and chat with women she had known all her life, and her days were filled with people stopping by for advice or to issue an invitation to supper. Life had been good and comfortable for Fiona until the day her niece had come to live with her.
Moira knew that she was the reason her aunt’s friends no longer included her in the same carefree way they had before. Always did they cast worrisome glances at Moira if she was nearby, whispering on the quiet about her odd behaviour and shameful past.
Even after two years with Clan MacDrummond, two years without incident, nothing had changed.
Moira was still an outcast, a black mark on an otherwise spotless gown. While Fiona tried to be kind to her, some days were harder than others. People always regarded Moira with suspicion, and few dared speak to her directly. Either they ignored her or told her off harshly so that Moira spent most of her time alone. She too missed the company of others; however, she knew that she was fortunate to be allowed to live so freely, to come and go as she pleased. Unfortunately, though, that proved worrisome to some members of the clan, who were constantly eyeing her with suspicion, wondering if she might eventually turn against them as well.
So, Moira kept her distance, and every now and then, she thought to see a spark of gratitude in her aunt’s blue eyes.
It was all she could hope for these days.
With a basket slung around her arm, Moira walked across the meadows to the west of Seann Dachaigh Tower. Wildflowers were in bloom, and all around her bees buzzed with such vigour that it sounded like a waterfall was rushing nearby. Still, the small loch in the valley glistened peacefully in the sun; its calm surface only here and there disturbed as a fish rose to catch a bug.
Out of sheer boredom, Moira had begun to gather herbs trying to learn as much as she could about their healing abilities. Occasionally, she would steal into the large library located deep in the belly of the keep, trying to identify the many flowers she found. At first, it had been rather slow going; however, it had given her something meaningful to do, something to keep her mind occupied outside of her daily chores.
Her aunt sometimes suffered from severe headaches, and Moira was glad she was able to help her, to soothe the pain and see Fiona’s face relax when relief found her. It was only something small, but it gave Moira a purpose. More than that, it made her feel proud.
Of herself.
Of something she alone had accomplished.
It was a rare feeling, but one to be treasured.
Most days, Moira was at peace with her situation at Seann Dachaigh Tower. Of course, a part of her still hoped for acceptance while another felt her loneliness acutely. However, most days passed in a pleasant manner…especially if one did not dwell on them too much.
Sitting down in the shade of a grove of trees, Moira watched a group of children racing through the meadows, their cheerful voices painting a smile on her face. Their laughter was beautiful and melodious, and it spoke to something deep inside her, reminding her of the childhood she herself had once had.
With Connor.
With Alastair’s wife Deidre.
With her brother.
Moira swallowed, and as always, her throat closed as tears stung the backs of her eyes.
Two years had passed since she had last seen her brother, and in all that time, he had not once sent word. Every now and then, Moira wrote to him, apologising, vowing that she would never again do anything to cause him pain. She did it as much for herself as she did it for him, hoping that over time he would slowly come to believe her and no longer be burdened by her betrayal.
He deserved better.
He deserved to be happy.
To Moira’s relief, Deidre, her brother’s wife, was a woman with a wide-open heart and the ability to forgive. Long ago, she had set Moira’s mind at ease, promising she would find a way to reunite her with her brother, and no matter how soft-spoken and yielding little Deidre often seemed, the woman had an iron will and loved Alastair beyond hope.
No, she would not allow him to suffer for the remainder of his days.
A hesitant smile sneaked onto Moira’s face as she thought of her sister-in-law. One day, Deidre would find a way to break through Alastair’s pride and stubbornness. Moira was certain of it, and it gave her hope like nothing else.
Something to look forward to.
Something to hold onto.
Something.
A little blond-haired girl of no more than five years broke away from the small group of children racing around the meadow, chasing one another, and headed straight toward Moira, a smile on her beautiful little face. “Are ye out gathering more herbs?” she panted, trying to catch her breath.
Moira smiled, looking down at the full basket sitting beside her in the grass. “Quite observant, little Blair.” She glanced behind the girl, noting the way her brother Niall was eyeing them with suspicion. “Go ahead and play now. The others are waiting for ye.”
Shrugging off Moira’s words, the girl sank down into the grass, her blue eyes looking up into Moira’s face with curiosi
ty. “’Tis only my brother,” she remarked, scrunching up her little nose as she glanced over her shoulder at the scowl on Niall’s face. “I dunno why.”
Moira sighed, knowing full well that it was indeed Niall’s father, Ian MacDrummond, who’d instilled such hatred for Moira in his son. For a reason Moira could not name, the man detested her−beyond the familiar distrust and suspicion of the rest of Clan MacDrummond. He openly opposed her place in the clan and often tried to rally others against her. More than once, Moira had seen the man’s distorted face as he had glared at her, his hands balling into fists as though he wished to attack her. Deep down, Moira knew that it would not take much for Ian’s hatred to push him into acting against the decency and honour she knew he possessed.
“He’s only looking out for ye,” Moira counselled, enjoying the girl’s company despite the glare in Niall’s eyes as he continued to watch them. Blair was one of only a handful of clan’s people who met Moira with unadulterated kindness and without even the smallest hint of suspicion. It was a balm to Moira’s soul, and she would have loved to spend more time with the girl.
If it were not for Ian MacDrummond.
Blair tilted her head sideways, her blue eyes still as curious as before. “Are ye a witch?” she asked openly.
Moira chuckled, “What makes ye say so?”
Blair shrugged. “I’ve heard it whispered.” Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Ye dunna look like a witch.”
“What does a witch look like?” Moira asked, knowing she ought to send the child on her way.
Blair’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I dunno. Are witches always bad?”
“I dunno.” Moira shrugged. “I’ve never met one. Have ye?”
The girl shook her little head. “People say ye did something bad. Is that true?”
Hanging her head, Moira sighed, “Aye,” she whispered before lifting her head and meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “I did.”
“Why?”
“At the time, I believed it to be the right thing.”
Inhaling a deep breath as though to better absorb what she had been told, Blair nodded. “Ye made a mistake.”
“A grave mistake,” Moira pointed out, knowing that Ian as well as the rest of Clan MacDrummond had a very good reason to distrust her. After all, she was not an innocent in all of this.
“Are ye sorry?”
Sighing, Moira nodded. “Aye, verra sorry.” To this day, she could not understand how she could have been so blind as to not see the wrong of her ways. The thought to be mistaken like that again, to act against others, believing she was doing the right thing, was constantly with her. After all, she had not seen it coming the last time either.
What if it were to happen again? What if this time someone did get hurt? The mere thought sent a shiver down her back.
A smile came to Blair’s face. “Good.” And with that, the issue seemed to be resolved for her. “Do ye like flowers?”
Moira nodded.
“I’ll pick ye some,” the girl exclaimed as she jumped to her feet.
“Ye dunna need to,” Moira said, trying to stop her. She ought not encourage the girl’s kindness. What would her father do if he found out? And judging from the look on Niall’s face, he would.
“But I want to,” Blair replied with a smile.
“Yer parents will worry about ye if ye spend yer time with me.” Moira did not quite know what to say, how to dissuade the enthusiastic little girl, but she knew she at least needed to try.
Blair shook her head. “My mother always tells me to be wary of strangers, and ye’re not a stranger,” she reasoned, not a hint of doubt in her young eyes.
Moira smiled at the girl as her thoughts strayed to Maggie MacDrummond, who was the complete and utter opposite of her husband. Friendly to a fault, Maggie treated everyone with kindness and respect. She was a warm and loving woman, and Moira was always happy to exchange a word or two with her as Maggie had a way of making those around her feel at ease.
Still, Maggie’s kindness toward her had initially surprised Moira for she had learnt that the dainty, young woman had not been born a Scot. In fact, she had grown up in England and had then married Ian MacDrummond upon visiting her mother’s clan years ago. She had found a new home in the Scottish Highlands and loved its people with a fierceness that had long ago made her a true Scot in the eyes of her clan’s people.
Still, she had been English once, and considering that Moira had been banished because she had conspired against her laird’s English wife, she had expected Maggie to despise her more than anyone else.
But Maggie had not.
Moira wished she knew why.
“Come!” Blair’s red-headed brother called, a stern tone to his voice as he took a careful step closer. “We needa head home.” His green eyes were wary as he watched Moira as though he expected her to jump up and swallow him whole at any moment.
Blair merely shrugged, then all but rolled her eyes and whispered to Moira, “He’s afraid of ye, but I dunno why.”
Forcing a smile onto her face, Moira said, “Perhaps he too thinks I’m a witch.”
Blair laughed as though the mere thought was ludicrous. Then she mumbled a quick goodbye and skipped up the small slope toward her brother.
Taking his sister’s hand, Niall once more glanced over his shoulder before he leant down to Blair. “Ye know Father doesna approve. Why do ye always have to go and talk to her? She’s a dangerous woman; perhaps even a witch.” A shudder seemed to grip his small shoulders.
Blair snorted, “I’m too old to believe in fairy tales, and ye should be too.” And with that she raced ahead, leaving her brother behind looking a little forlorn.
Despite the severity of the situation she found herself in, Moira could not help but smile at the girl’s reply, wishing deep down that Blair’s words could be true. If only her gift was something out of a fairy tale. Something that was not true, was not real, and could not hurt anyone. It certainly would have kept her from making the biggest mistake of her life and it would not constantly force her to make impossible decisions.
Always had her dreams come to pass, and Moira had come to trust in them without hesitation. And then her world had crumbled around her, teaching her a painful lesson. Blind faith would not be rewarded. Nevertheless, she knew she could not ignore her dreams.
After all, they came when they chose. What was she to do? How was she to know which to trust and which to be wary of? Which spoke of a danger to be prevented? Or of a promise that needed her aid to be fulfilled? And which were only a taunt, a tease, a test?
Each time, a new dream found her, Moira wished they would simply leave her alone. Long ago, she had felt honoured to have had such a gift bestowed upon her. But no more. Now, she had rather be like everyone else: unburdened and free.
Still, she had no say in the matter. The only choice she did have was whether to act…or not.
Again, she allowed her thoughts to stray to the dream that had come to her the night before wondering what she ought to do. Ought she pretend it had never happened and keep two people from finding one another? Or ought she to try and help and point them in the right direction?
Moira sighed. What she had always thought of as helping, others might call interfering.
Others like Ian MacDrummond.
And if he found out, he would not look kindly on her.
Chapter Two - A Favour Asked
Cormag’s eyes lingered on the golden-haired, young woman sitting beneath the small grove of trees. He saw little Blair run up to her, a smile on her young face, and he noted the way her elder brother Niall watched the two of them with the same hateful distrust Cormag often saw in the lad’s father.
Sighing, Cormag pressed his open palms to the rough stone of the parapet wall as he stood atop the walkway, which granted its visitors a spectacular as well as strategic view of the land surrounding Seann Dachaigh Tower.
Ian MacDrummond had always been a friend, a good friend, and Cormag c
herished his friendship as much as he cherished Garrett’s and Finn’s. Despite their differences in temperament and character, the four of them had always walked through life side by side: training together, studying together, growing up together.
Now, they all were trying to find their place in this world. While Ian had married young, becoming a husband and father, Cormag had always known that he himself would take over as laird of Clan MacDrummond upon his father’s passing.
That had been three years ago, and life had been different ever since.
No longer could Cormag allow the twists and turns of every day to guide his feet. While Finn and Garrett seemed to drift here and there, not bound to anything but their clan, Cormag knew that he needed to follow his head instead of his heart. He had a duty now. A duty that always came first.
It had to.
For the good of the clan.
As he watched Moira speak to little Blair, Cormag knew that when it came to the young woman from Clan Brunwood, he often failed to remain emotionally detached. Not that anyone would notice, for over the years Cormag had learnt to perfect a mask of interested indifference, one that had served him well in his position as laird.
No doubt, his mask was as perfect as it was because he worked every day to maintain a certain distance between himself and others, keeping it fixed in place to ensure that his head decided wisely without regard for his heart’s momentary desires. Unfortunately, that distance seemed to slip away whenever Moira drew near.
The day she had walked into his study two years ago, Cormag had known that something was different. He had felt her standing on the other side of his desk, and without even laying eyes on her, he had sensed her spirit, her strength, her sorrow, but also her pride, her defiance, her recklessness. He had known that life would never be the same again if he allowed her to stay.
And yet, he had.
Cormag remembered well the moment he had drawn in a deep breath, bracing himself for the heart-stopping sensation of having her eyes looking back into his. He had turned with apprehension, and the moment he had seen the shimmering blue of her dark eyes, he had known that his life would never be the same again.