by Bree Wolf
Even before Garrett opened his mouth to speak, Cormag felt his friend’s reluctance to comply. Garrett knew his duty. Still, his heart urged him down a different path. Cormag wondered what had happened in Gretna Green. He sighed. “What of yer wife?”
Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “I canna say for certain.”
“What happened?” Cormag asked frowning.
Garrett gritted his teeth. “She disappeared.” His jaw clenched, and Cormag felt fear grip his friend’s heart. “I rose early to speak to Finn and Ian−I admit they were the ones who found the two youngsters as I had been otherwise occupied,” a contrite look came to his face, “and when I returned, she was no longer in our room. From the innkeeper, I learnt that apparently her brother had come to take her back home.”
“Ye said she’s English?” Cormag mused as he considered the situation.
“Aye, a lady it would seem,” Garrett replied with a large grin. “A feisty one who says what’s on her mind.” Booming laughter left his lips, and Cormag could hear deep affection ring within it.
Still, he felt the need to suggest caution. “Do ye think her family might disapprove of yer union? What was she doing in Gretna Green in the first place?”
“She ran off to be married to some English cad, who abandoned her there when his brother came and forbid the union,” Garrett told him, no small measure of relief and anger in his voice. “She was furious when I met her.”
“She came to marry another,” Cormag rephrased, fearing that deep disappointment would be found in his friend’s future, “and yet, ye saw it right to marry her yerself.” He drew in a slow breath. “Perhaps she changed her mind?”
Gritting his teeth, Garrett shook his head with vehemence. “Nay,” he growled out, certainty ringing in his voice. Still, his green eyes shone with fear, and Cormag felt the air squeezed from his chest as his friend’s pain washed over him.
“Ye married her after only a few hours,” Cormag said carefully, feeling the anger that was building in his friend’s chest. “How well can ye truly know her after only so short a time? Perhaps ‘twould be wise to give each other some time to analyse the depth of yer feelings for one another.”
Garrett surged to his feet. “I need to go look for her. I dunna even know where she is.”
“That is precisely my point,” Cormag pointed out. “Ye dunna know her. Ye dunna know how she feels about what happened. Perhaps she has come to regret−”
“No!” Garrett snarled as he braced his hands on the tabletop, his green eyes piercing as he looked at Cormag. “She is like no other I’ve ever met. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that we were meant to meet there that night.” He drew in a deep breath and straightened. “And now after what ye’ve told me, I know that ‘tis true. She’s the one. I knew it the moment I saw her.” Shaking his head, he swallowed, and a small smile came to his lips as he remembered the moment he spoke of. “It hit me like an arrow to the heart or a punch in the stomach. It almost knocked me off my feet. I feel…unhinged when I’m near her; yet, the world has never seemed more right.” His gaze cleared and once more found Cormag’s. “Ye might not know what that’s like, old friend, but I know that she is the one, and I need to find her.”
Cormag fought the wave of recognition that swept through him, bringing with it an image of Moira’s face. He saw the kindness and vulnerability in her gentle features, her eyes shining a deep blue, full of secrets and fear, as the sun danced on her golden curls, bright and promising, whispering of a future that might still come to pass.
Immediately, Cormag’s heart sped up and his breath lodged in his throat.
Until this very moment when his oldest friend spoke of the love he had for his wife, Cormag had not dared interpret the effect Moira had on him. He had not dared put into words what he had suspected somewhere deep down.
All reason seemed to vanish whenever she was near, and all he could think of was her. He felt drawn to her, and even now, he wished he could seek her out. It was a rather unsettling emotion as though he was no longer in control of his own heart and mind, no longer free to choose, but urged down a path he had not chosen of his own free will.
Looking up, Cormag found Garrett’s eyes on him, his gaze slightly narrowed as he watched him with interest as though seeing his old friend for the very first time. Cormag swallowed, praying that Garrett could not read his thoughts or see into his heart. His jaw clenched as he forced his mask back into place. “Be that as it may,” he said, willing his tone to remain unaffected, “yer clan needs ye at present.”
Garrett closed his eyes, resignation coming to his face.
“Make enquiries,” Cormag continued. “Write to Maggie’s brother, Lord Tynham. Perhaps he can help ye locate yer wife’s family.” The look on Garrett’s face pained him, but Cormag feared what would happen if Garrett rushed into this without thought. Hopes that soared to the heavens would plummet deep. He did not want that for his friend. Perhaps with time, the hold his wife had on him would loosen, and Garrett would not be devastated if he learnt that she had come to regret their hasty union.
Cormag could only hope so. Perhaps with time, Garrett would regain control of his life.
Perhaps with time, so would Cormag.
“Ye said she saw us happy,” Garrett whispered, a plea in his voice that cut deep into Cormag’s heart. “Do ye believe that she spoke the truth? Will what she sees come to pass?”
Cormag hesitated, afraid to give his friend false hope but equally wanting to ease his mind. “Not always,” he replied, trying his best to remember what Moira had told him. “Her dreams have led her down the wrong path before.”
Garrett stilled. “Her banishment?”
“I believe so.”
Garrett sighed, and Cormag knew that his friend wanted to believe that Moira was right, that her dreams foretold the future. “I’ve heard whispers of her…interfering,” he finally said, and Cormag knew exactly what he meant for he had heard them as well. “Once she sent for the midwife when no one could have known that the babe would be born early. Or that time she found Old Grannie Brown out in the woods.” He sighed. “D’ye think she knew these things would happen? D’ye think she saw them in her dreams?”
Cormag nodded, remembering the times when Moira had veered off her solitary path as though she had known something would happen and stepped in to prevent it. People had noticed as well, and their whispers had begun to veer into two directions; some in awe and some in fear. Some were grateful for Moira’s help while others feared the power her gift granted her.
“Despite what happened,” Garrett began, his green eyes once more trained on Cormag’s face, “d’ye believe her to be an honourable woman? Or d’ye think there’s an ulterior motive behind her assistance?”
Cormag swallowed. “I’ve not seen evidence of a malicious mind.”
Garrett snorted, humour curling up the corners of his mouth. “But what d’ye think of her?”
For a short moment, Cormag needed to close his eyes before once more meeting his friend’s inquisitive gaze. “She’s a rare woman,” he finally said, knowing that he could not lie to his oldest friend.
Gift or no, Garrett would know.
“Indeed,” Garrett mumbled as he gave a short nod in affirmation. “That she is.”
5
Gift of the Old Ones
Sitting in her usual spot under the grove of trees, Moira watched a group of children playing in the meadow, Blair and Niall among them. Their faces were flushed and their eyes glowing as they chased one another. A little boy of no more than two years stumbled after them, his little legs not yet secure enough to keep up with his playmates. Still, his scrunched up little face spoke of his determination not to be left behind, and so no matter how often he stumbled and fell, he always pushed himself back up, pursuing the others.
Just as he reached the small slope leading up to the front gate of Seann Dachaigh Tower, the others turned back around and raced downward once more.
A sm
ile came to Moira’s lips when she saw him double his efforts, his little legs almost tripping over one another as he surged down the slope after them. She felt certain he would stumble and fall at any moment, but to her surprise, he managed to stay on his feet.
The other children were splashing in the small stream that snaked through the meadow farther downhill, and Moira had to rise to her feet to keep them in sight.
Autumn was well on its way, and the air had a definite chill to it. The children shrieked as they splashed each other with the cold water, memories of hot summer days lingering in their minds. Soon, they would not be so foolish as to soak each other through, but with the sun shining overhead and no more than a soft breeze in the air, they lived in the moment, unconcerned by what lay ahead.
Moira envied them.
To not think about the future was an unfathomable concept. Always had her mind shown her images of what was to come. Always had she lived with her eyes firmly fixed on the future. What would it feel like to simply live in the moment? To not worry about consequences? To simply do what she wanted because her heart ached for it?
Never had Moira asked herself what it was she desired, not apart from the promises of the future she saw in her dreams. Always had her wants and desires been shaped by what she had seen. What would it be like to be free of th−?
Walking down the slope toward the stream, Moira saw the group of children racing back uphill, once again leaving the little boy behind. He stumbled out of the cold water and then tripped on the bank, pitching forward and breaking his fall with his hands.
For a moment, she thought he would push himself back up as he had before, but then he sighed as though in resignation and sat down in the grass. His little fingers dug into the ground, and he began pulling out blades of grass, throwing them around in frustration.
Then he paused, and his gaze drifted downward.
Moira quickened her step, her heart tightening in her chest as she relived the dream that had found her the night before.
The boy’s hands held something in their grasp, and she saw him lift it higher as he inspected it in the bright autumn light. Then his hands moved toward his mouth, and Moira lunged forward.
The boy shrieked as she all but tackled him to the ground. Oh, why had she not moved sooner? Moira cursed as the boy’s wails pierced her ears. She had been so intent on keeping her distance that she had been almost too late, or had she?
Scrambling to her knees, Moira gripped the child’s chin but, to her relief, saw nothing in his mouth. Her gaze drifted lower and she spotted the root he had found lying by his feet. “’Tis all right,” she said, trying her best to sound soothing. “I mean ye no harm.” She picked up the root and held it up for him to see. “Dunna ever eat this. ‘Tis poisonous.”
Smiling, she nodded to him, and he slowly calmed down, gazing at her with big eyes.
“Only ever eat what yer family gives ye,” she urged him, “but never something ye find. ‘Tis not safe. D’ye promise?”
Still staring at her, the little boy nodded.
Then footsteps echoed closer, and Moira looked up to see the group of children rushing back down toward them. Their gazes flitted over her and the boy, and she could see the speculation in their eyes. No doubt, their parents would hear grand tales tonight, embellished versions of what had happened just now. Moira could only hope that it would not lead to any harm.
An older boy pulled the little one to his feet, and the kids rushed back the way they had come, all but dragging the little boy behind them. Only Blair remained with Niall standing a little higher up the slope. “Come! We need to go,” he urged his sister.
But Blair stayed where she was, her round blue eyes trained on Moira.
Sighing, Moira held up the root for her to see. “If ye find these, dunna eat them. They’re poisonous. D’ye promise?”
A smile came to Blair’s face, and she nodded. “I promise.”
“Blair, come! Father will be furious.”
Shrugging her little shoulders, Blair winked at Moira, then spun around and rushed past her brother up the slope. Niall cast another wary glance over his shoulder before he hurried after his little sister.
As the children raced back up into the village, heading toward the inner courtyard of Seann Dachaigh Tower, Moira sank back down into the grass. Although her heart felt pleased that she had been able to save the child, she knew without the shadow of a doubt that this interference would lead to more whispers, more distrust, more animosity. Would this go on forever? If she continued to heed the warnings she saw in her dreams, she would spend the remainder of her days as an outsider. Moira was certain of it, and it was a thought that weighed heavily on her heart…as did the image of Niall trying his utmost to protect his little sister.
For he reminded her of her own big brother.
Alastair.
Always had he looked out for her, and now that she needed him the most, he was not here. And she could not even be angry with him for it because it had been her doing. He had been right to abandon her, but the wound still ached as though it had been inflicted only the day before.
For a long while, Moira sat in the tall grass staring out across the land, wishing she could go back and change what had happened, what she had done. Her thoughts grew dark, and her heart sank with each breath she took. She felt despair settle on her shoulders like a heavy blanket, weighing her down, and knew that if she allowed it, it would squeeze the last bit of life from her.
So, Moira gritted her teeth, drew in a deep breath and pushed to her feet. There was no point in mourning what had happened. There was no point in mourning the life she had lost. In pitying the turn her life had taken. She knew that, but occasionally, she needed to remind herself of it in order to keep going.
“I need to move on,” Moira whispered to herself as she turned back toward the keep. “I need to let this go.”
If only she knew how!
As Moira stepped through the large gate, she spotted Blair and Niall speaking to their father on the other side of the courtyard, and her heart tightened in her chest.
While Blair stood almost stock-still, her little arms crossed over her chest in annoyance and her lips pressed into a pout, Niall was gesturing wildly, pointing toward the gate and the meadows that lay behind it. His lips moved, and Moira knew without doubt what tale he was relaying, a tale that darkened his father’s gaze.
Unadulterated hatred came to Ian’s eyes, and Moira saw tension grip his shoulders and curl his hands into fists at his sides. Instantly, panic washed over her, and when he looked up and their eyes met, Moira was ready to bolt.
Ye did nothing wrong, a voice deep inside whispered. Ye did nothing wrong. Not today.
Moira pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin, fighting down the panic that urged her to run. Still, would that not be an admission of guilt? To run when she had done nothing wrong?
Unfortunately, judging from the look in Ian’s eyes, he needed no admission. He needed nothing from her to fuel the anger that burnt inside him. Moira wondered what had first started the fire that raged within him. Of course, many were distrustful of her, suspicious even, but Ian’s hatred had always felt different. Although she had never met him before setting foot in Seann Dachaigh Tower, Moira could not shake the feeling that his dislike of her had been born out of a more personal reason than her betrayal of her own clan.
If only she knew what it was. How had she crossed him?
With her head still held high, Moira turned back the way she had come. She was determined not to cower, but neither did she wish to provoke a confrontation, a confrontation she would surely lose.
Feeling the need to be alone, Moira went for a walk across the green hills, trying her best to clear her thoughts and banish the loneliness from her heart. The soft breeze tugging on her curls almost felt like a caress, and Moira welcomed it. Over the past two years, she had learnt to make do with the comforts of nature, the gentle breeze in her hair, the warm sunshine on her skin,
the soft ground under her hands.
Still, sometimes her heart ached for the simple contact of another’s touch. It had been two years since last someone had drawn her into their arms. Two years since another’s hand had brushed over her cheek. Two years since she had been able to lean onto another.
Tears streamed down her face, and her body shook with longing as her mind recalled the many moments of her past when Alastair had pulled her into his embrace, his strong arms coming around her. She remembered hugging Deidre as well as her aunt Rhona. Even Connor had embraced her now and then…in friendship as her cousin.
It had been a part of life, and back then, Moira had not thought twice about it. She had taken her family’s comfort for granted. Now, she knew better. Now, she knew how priceless their love and devotion had been, how a simple embrace could heal the heart and ease the mind and how its absence brought a coldness not even the hottest summer day could chase away.
Always was Moira surrounded by people, and yet, she was alone.
Utterly alone.
Exiled.
Banished.
The sun was setting before Moira managed to gather enough strength to return home. The air had grown chilled, and she could smell the promise of winter lingering on the breeze still tugging on her hair. Rubbing her arms against the cold, Moira quickened her step, her eyes seeking the familiar little cottage that had been her home for the past two years.
As she walked up to it, the door suddenly swung open and she saw Duncan step outside. Immediately, he swung back around, his eyes finding Fiona standing in the door frame, an enchanted smile on her lips as she gazed back at him.