He narrowed his eyes still further. “I think she is just rattling her shields—for now. Who d’ye trust to tak’ a message?”
“Any number o’ men.”
“Select a pair. I will ha’ a letter ready anon.”
Murgor nodded. Rory hurried down from the battlements, trying to convince himself that what he’d just seen was not a bad sign.
In his study, he read the letter once more, contemplated its fierce tone, and wondered what Moira would make of it. When she read it, she would have two choices—meet his demands or march out and attack him.
And he would have a choice of his own then. Sit here and guard his walls against the attacking MacBeiths, or march out and meet her.
He closed his eyes for a moment, striving for a clear mind. He could afford no mistakes. He wanted this strife over and done.
So he could settle down and breed sons upon a woman he did not love.
Chapter Fifteen
Rhian had givenSaerla a draught before she left. For the pain of Saerla’s aching head, so she said. It made Saerla sleep, and took her deep into dreams.
She was a girl again, a lass of no more than eight or so, which must mean Arran was still alive. And Ma. And Da. She was running wild with the three of her siblings, always the smallest of the group but fleet of foot and able to keep up without too much difficulty.
They played at some game of hide-and-go-seek out on the green sward of the rise above the glen. When it was Saerla’s turn to seek, she found them all easily, just as if she could see them where they hid.
Sometimes she could See things that were not there, though she did not know that then—that the beings and animals were not there, that was. This glen she loved was inhabited by any number of creatures and spirits with whom she might communicate.
No matter, for she found both her sisters, her brother, and their friends also. When it came time for her to hide…
She looked for a very good place, one where no one would be able to see her. The circle of stones up on the rise drew her. The stones always had, because Ma said they were a place of enchantment, of old, old magic.
All Saerla knew was that the light dwelt there. It took many forms, did the light. Sometimes it looked like mist and floated onthe air, moving of its own volition. Sometimes it slanted down the glen like a blessing, starting a warm hum of happiness inside Saerla’s chest. Sometimes she saw it in the eyes of those she loved.
It would be a fine thing, she decided, to hide among the stones where no one could see her. For even though Ma said to be careful in the stone circle and that she should not go there alone, she sensed naught there that might hurt her.
She scampered barefoot in through the entrance stones that still had a lintel balanced atop them. At once the skin all over her body prickled. Her breath quickened and the mist rushed toward her as if in greeting. It engulfed her, took her strength from her. She fell down.
There were people in the mist, a crowd of them who wanted to tell her things. But they did not speak quite the same language as she, and had to find a way to convey what they wished in another manner.
They formed pictures that appeared directly in Saerla’s mind.
She Saw three boys out running on the green turf just like her friends below. The scene looked like the glen—her glen—and yet it did not. A place she had and had not seen before.
The sky overhead was the same. And the loch toward which the three lads raced. Yet the perspective seemed all wrong. And the hills beyond them—
It snapped into place in Saerla’s mind. They were the hills on the far side of the glen. Only closer.
The three boys looked all very different. One, taller and broader than the other two, had a head of light hair that shone in the sun and wore a happy, peaceable expression. He and the second lad, whose hair flew behind him in rich brown waves when they ran together, pushed and shoved one another with tangible liking. Good friends, they were.
The third lad—aye, he was as different as ever a young lass of light could determine. Not the tallest nor the broadest, he nevertheless led the other two, and when he called out, they ceased with their tomfoolery to listen.
Let us swim across the loch. I dare the both o’ ye.
His companions stared at him. He made a braw sight somehow, standing in the bright sun with his wild crop of black hair gleaming like the wing of a raven.
But,said the lad with the fair hair,there be monsters in the loch.
Who told ye such nonsense?
My ma says, and my da as well.
