by Bree Wolf
Indeed, it had been a constant battle ever since.
Closing his eyes, Cormag willed himself to turn away from the scene before him, and with determination, he strode down the wall-walk and headed back into the castle. His footsteps were heavy as he turned down the staircase and found his way back to his study. And all the while, his heart pounded with a fierceness that made him grit his teeth and curse the day Moira Brunwood had come to Seann Dachaigh Tower.
Closing the door behind him, Cormag strode purposefully toward his desk. After all, there were matters that needed his attention. Clan matters. People depended on him, and he would not let them down.
Focusing his thoughts in such a manner had often helped Cormag retrieve the balance he needed to be the laird his clan deserved. He knew what needed to be done. He knew his place, his purpose, and he would not allow anyone to interfere.
For the good of the clan.
An hour passed, and slowly Cormag felt his balance return. His heart beat steadily in his chest, and his mind was focused as it ought to be. However, just as he allowed a sense of relief to spread across his limbs, he sensed an emotional turmoil drawing near.
Someone was coming.
Someone agitated and distraught.
Cormag braced himself for the onslaught.
Ever since he had been a lad, Cormag had had the misfortune of reading others’ emotions. He felt them as though they were his own, and as a young boy, he had often been overwhelmed by the sorrow and fear of those around him. His father, with his calm demeanour and strong voice, had guided his hand through those years of upheaval, urging him to train his body as well as his mind, to find a balance within himself, to feel but not to succumb.
Cormag had always been grateful for his father’s understanding nature for he knew well that those who possessed gifts were often looked upon with suspicion.
As was Moira.
Perhaps that had been why Cormag had allowed her to stay. Why he had felt protective. Something deep inside him had urged him to keep her near. Still, ever since that day, he feared that this weakness would one day return to haunt him.
A knock sounded on the door, and Cormag sat up to focus his heart and mind as his father had taught him. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and in walked Mrs. Brown, Seann Dachaigh Tower’s cook. Her face was flushed as always, but she seemed outwardly calm. Still, Cormag noticed the way her fingers curled all but painfully into her apron, her eyes slightly widened as she fought to remain in control of the fear that now pulsed off her as though in waves. “I apologise for the intrusion,” Mrs. Brown panted, a faint shimmer of sweat lingering on her forehead.
Cormag felt his own heart tighten as he too struggled for composure. “What can I do for you?” he asked calmly. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Brown nodded. “Aye, my sister sent word. There’s been an accident, and she begs me to come.” She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. “I assure ye that all is taken care of in the kitchen. Ye needna worry that−”
“There’s no need,” Cormag assured her. “Go and see to yer family and promise to send for me if there’s anything ye need.”
A grateful smile flitted across the woman’s face, and Cormag felt his muscles relax when relief and gratitude lessened the strain her fear had on him. Rising from his chair, he escorted the older woman to the door, gently squeezing her hand as she looked up at him with relief. “I pray that all will be well.”
Mrs. Brown nodded in agreement before she hurried through the door, her footsteps receding quickly.
With each step she took down the long corridor, Cormag began to feel more like himself, and he stepped up to the window, knowing the calming view over the rolling hills would bring him peace.
While everyday emotions now barely affected Cormag, those that went deeper, those that quickened one’s heart and stole one’s breath were still taxing for him, and he often wished he could simply rid himself of the gift the Old Ones had seen fit to bestow upon him. Granted, it gave him an advantage in all kinds of confrontations and negotiations. He simply knew whether others were lying or being truthful, and he could act accordingly, make the best possible decision. However, the price was still a steep one, and some days, Cormag was not certain it was worth it.
Did Moira feel the same? He could not help but wonder. While his own gift remained a secret−only his father had ever truly known−hers was whispered about near and far. No one knew. No one was certain, but stories flew through the land of her otherworldly gifts. Cormag did not know what was true and what not, but he suspected. He knew how to strip away embellishments and exaggerations and see to the core of things.
After all, that was his gift.
Unfortunately, most people did what they always did when faced with something unknown, something they could not understand.
They allowed fear to take over.
Cormag sensed that apprehension in almost all his clan members when faced with the blond-haired outcast from Clan Brunwood. Not all were hostile like Ian; however, most were fearful and tended to be cautious rather than too bold and risk harm.
Again, Cormag remembered the day she had first stepped across the threshold of Seann Dachaigh Tower. Even before she had set foot into his study, he had sensed her approach from up the corridor. Indeed, he had chosen this rather isolated room for his study as it was far away from the hustle bustle of the castle. Here, he could focus his thoughts and be alone with what he felt, unburdened by those around him, for only those who wanted to seek him out had reason to venture into this remote part of the ancient fortress.
Therefore, whenever someone drew near, whenever he sensed another’s approach, Cormag knew that that someone was coming to see him.
That day, he had sensed Moira’s remorse, her shame as well as her regret. He had known within moments that what she had done had not been done out of malice. She had been misled. She had been foolish and made the wrong decision, and he was certain she would not do so again. Was that why he had agreed to let her stay?
Because of a certainty that only he possessed.
Nevertheless, without revealing his gift to those around him, Cormag had not been able to provide a reason for his decision, and some of his clan members had been openly disapproving. They feared that she was a woman without scruples, that after betraying her own clan, nothing would keep her from doing the same to theirs.
Cormag could understand their concerns; still, he had been unable to send her away. A fact that still bothered him.
Returning his attention to the parchment on his desk, Cormag paused when he suddenly felt another’s emotions approach.
A sense of unease, of nervousness drifted toward him, and he felt his chest tighten once more. Then, suddenly, warmth flooded his being, and he was surprised to also feel…a touch of longing. Or was he mistaken?
Rounding his desk, Cormag stepped closer to the door, curious who was coming to see him and why. His pulse sped up on its own accord as the one outside in the corridor stepped closer, then knocked. “Come in,” he called, willing a mask of control back onto his face for despite his own intrusion into another’s heart, Cormag feared nothing more than to have another look at him and know how he felt.
The door slid open, revealing−to his great surprise−the slender, young woman from Clan Brunwood.
Moira.
A frown drew down her brows, and her bright blue eyes were downcast as though she did not dare look at him. Then, rather absentmindedly, her right hand rose, and he watched almost entranced as the tips of her fingers brushed down the side of her temple and then tucked a golden curl behind her ear. Her lips parted, and she inhaled a deep breath before finally lifting her gaze.
The moment her eyes met his, the air lodged in Cormag’s throat, and he found himself altogether incapable of uttering a greeting.
Never had Moira come to see him. Whenever they had met, it had been coincidental. Out in the courtyard passing each other. In the great hall during a cel
ebration. From afar when she had been down in the meadow and he had been up on the wall-walk.
Never had she sought him out. On the contrary, he always had the impression that she sought to avoid him for whenever they did happen upon one another, she always hurried onward as though afraid to linger.
Did she fear him?
Cormag swallowed the lump in his throat when he realised that he could not tell.
Instead of feeling overwhelmed by a flood of emotions crossing the barrier from her to him, all he felt in that moment was his own heart beating wildly in his chest. He felt nervous and unhinged, and yet, strangely intoxicated with her presence. He wanted her to leave, and he wanted her to stay. He wanted…
Why could he not feel her? Had he not felt her only a moment ago? Was it her gift? Did she somehow prevent his intrusion into her heart? To protect herself? Or had his own gift deserted him suddenly? Why else could he only feel what lived in his own heart?
“I apologise for the intrusion,” Moira said, a slight tremble in her voice. She seemed hesitant and somewhat reluctant as though she thoroughly disliked being in his presence. Still, her blue eyes shone with determination, and it was clear that there was something specific she wished to address.
Trying his utmost to ignore the way his pulse quickened at the sound of her voice, Cormag stepped farther into the room, gesturing for her to follow. “What can I do for ye?” To his relief, his voice revealed none of his inner turmoil, and he silently thanked his father for his guidance.
Clearing her throat, Moira squared her shoulders and took a step forward. “I’ve come to ask for a favour.”
A frown drew down Cormag’s brows as he watched her, unfamiliar with the notion of not knowing what lived in another’s heart. All he could do was guess based on the way her eyes held his, pride shining in them, refusing to let her back down. “A favour?” he repeated, stalling for time as he tried to make sense of her sudden appearance in his study. “What kind of favour?”
Her lips parted, and she seemed on the verge of replying when her mouth closed once again, and a hint of frustration came to her eyes. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, clearly contemplating what to say, before she huffed out a breath in annoyance. “All I can say,” she whispered as though afraid someone would overhear, “is that…that a situation will soon present itself and that the only one to solve it is Garrett MacDrummond.”
For a long moment, Cormag stared at her, watching the way the muscles in her jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. He saw her clasp her hands together tightly and steel come to her eyes as though she feared he would mock her. “A situation? What kind of a situation?”
Exhaling a long breath, Moira rolled her eyes. “I canna say more. I need to go.” In a flash, she spun around and hastened toward the door.
Cormag’s heart jumped into his throat, and without thought, he found himself rushing after her. “Wait!” Pushing the door closed before she could open it beyond a small gap, he placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around.
Her eyes were wide as Moira turned to face him. She instantly retreated until her back was against the door. Still, she did not drop her gaze nor lower her head.
“I’m sorry.” Seeing the way her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, Cormag took a few steps back. Although Moira was not a small woman, he still towered over her, and even without his gift, he could tell that he had…frightened her? “Why can ye not tell me more?”
Her sky-blue eyes roamed his face, weighing his words and searching for something that would tell her how to proceed. She was more than reluctant to share what she knew. She was clearly…afraid? Considering what little she had said, Cormag surmised that it had something to do with her gift. Had she seen something?
After a small eternity, Moira swallowed, then licked her lips. “Send him to the border,” she said, an almost pleading note in her voice.
“Now?”
“Ye’ll know when.”
Cormag frowned, searching her face. “Why?” He could not deny that he was intrigued and desperately wanted to know more. Never had he spoken to another who shared such a gift. “Why is this so important to ye?”
Although Moira did not drop her gaze, she remained silent. Still, her lips seemed to move as though she too desperately wished to say more but did not dare.
“I canna do as ye ask without knowing why,” Cormag said as he looked down at her. Her eyes still held his, and although he could not read her heart, he felt the warmth of her skin and smell the sunshine in her hair. The soft scent of wildflowers lingered near her, and he remembered how she had sat under the grove of trees earlier that day.
Her eyes were hard, but at the same time, they held something vulnerable. “I promise ye that this will lead to no harm. I swear it.”
Cormag swallowed, reminding himself that he could not in good conscience grant her request without knowing more. Still, his heart told him that there was no deceit in her words.
Closing her eyes, Moira sighed, “My vow is not enough, is it? Not after what I’ve done.” Shaking her head, she turned around, her feet carrying her back and forth between him and the door.
Watching her, Cormag saw her turmoil, saw how torn she was. Obviously, her request was important to her; still, she feared its consequences. Had a similar situation led to her banishment? Although Cormag knew the essence of what had happened back then, that she had betrayed her laird out of jealousy over his marrying an English lass, Cormag had always known that there were some things that eluded him.
Her feet stilled, and once more her blue eyes settled on his. “Garrett will find the woman he’s meant to be with in Gretna Green in five days.”
Cormag stared at her, seeing her jaw quiver as she waited for him to absorb her words.
“If he doesna go,” she continued, “Fate will never lead them together again, and his son will never be born.” Moira swallowed, and he could see a tear forming in the corner of her eyes. “It has to be now.”
Cormag exhaled a slow breath. Then he stepped toward her, his eyes searching her face. “How do ye know this?”
Moira licked her lips. “I’ve seen it.” Again, her jaw quivered, and she gritted her teeth. “I know ye’re not one to believe in such things, but ‘tis the truth.”
Cormag almost laughed, wondering about the irony that he who possessed a similar gift was considered one to deem such things no more than fairy tales. “Do the things ye see always come to pass?”
The expression on Moira’s face froze as she stared up at him, clearly shocked by this indication that he might believe her. “Nay, not always,” she whispered, and a sadness darkened her blue eyes that spoke of pain and regret.
After a moment, her shoulders pulled back and she lifted her chin. “Please, do this. I swear ye will not regret it.” Then she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.
As she hastened down the corridor, her footsteps echoing to his ears, Cormag still felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. A part of him wanted to go after her, but he knew even catching up to her would not bring him more answers. She had shared with him all she was willing to and would say no more. The question was, did he dare trust her?
Did he dare trust that she spoke the truth and send his oldest friend to the border? If something were to happen to Garrett, Cormag would never forgive himself.
The woman he’s meant to be with.
Hearing Moira’s words echo in his mind, Cormag turned to the window, his eyes once more gazing out at the green hills. What if he did not send his friend, and Garrett lost his one chance at happiness? Would he forgive himself for that?
Bracing his hands against the windowsill, Cormag wondered what he would do when the time came. Five days, Moira had said. So, the situation she had spoken of−whatever it was−would present itself soon.
And soon he would have to decide.
Cormag could only hope that he would not choose wrong.
Read on!
Dared & Kissed
−The Scotsman's Yuletide Bride
by Bree Wolf
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Bree Wolf
www.breewolf.com
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.