Gillian smiled weakly, recalling her mother. Shethought there were better ways to go. Her temples throbbed sullenly, and she closed her eyes, blanking her mind until the pain receded.
When she opened her eyes, Hazel peered at her with a narrowed green gaze. “It still hurts, aye?”
“No, it’s gone now.”
Hazel said nothing, though the folds in her skin deepened as she stared at Gillian.
“What?”
“That’s no what I meant, lassie, but ye’ve confirmed my suspicions.”
“What did you mean, then? What suspicions?”
“Ye’ve been cursed since ye’ve been a child.”
Gillian blinked. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it in consternation. Cursed? She didn’t feel particularly cursed. She’d suffered hardships, but she’d had her share of goodness, too. Unlike her sisters’ foster families, hers had been warm and loving. True, she’d lost her mother in a most horrible manner, and her father was dying, but with the witch hunts, many others had lost mothers, wives, daughters—even some husbands, fathers, and sons—to the fires. No, she was no more cursed than many others.
“I don’t understand,” Gillian finally said.
Hazel smiled at her rather sadly. “Ye would if ye could, my lass—oh, ye would.”
“What doesthatmean?”
Hazel reached out a long, thin finger and tapped Gillian’s forehead. “It’s yer head. The pain is meant to hide something from ye, but I fear trying to determine what may kill ye.”
Gillian shook her head to deny such a thing was possible, but she trailed off, staring blankly into the cottage. The headacheswerefleeting, and she oftenwasforced to think of other things—or of nothing at all—to make them recede. She turned the silver ring on her finger, trying hard to remember what she’d been thinking when the pain had assaulted her. Her mother, or more specifically, her mother’s lynching, and—
Gillian clutched her head as pain ripped through her temples, blinding her with a searing flash of white light. She had the sensation of falling, and when sense returned to her, she lay on the dirt floor of the cottage, blinking up at the ceiling, motes drifting about in front of her. She sneezed.
Hazel’s face appeared over her. “Dinna think of it, lass! Not here!” She looked fearfully at the door.
Gillian sat up gingerly. The pain had receded but her temples felt bruised. How could such a thing be? Why would someone curse her? The pain encroached again, like a sharp silver mist, and she quickly cleared her mind.
The thought that she was cursed terrified her, but Hazel was right—this was not the place to investigate it further. She would need Isobel’s and Rose’s help. She settled back on the bench, achy and weak.
“Is there some way to remove the curse?”
Hazel shook her head. “It would take powerful magic and knowledge of the curse in order to counter it. I’m but a wise woman, child. Yer mother, God rest her soul, could have saved ye, but I fear, unless yer sisters are as skilled as she, there’s no hope.”
Gillian sat very still, fighting against the pain again.Think of something else. Think of something else.She hadn’t realized how difficult it was to clear her mind of these painful thoughts. In fact, it hadn’t been before. But now her fear made it difficult.
Hazel seemed to sense the difficulty she was having and said, “But this is no why ye’re here, is it? Tell me why ye came to see Old Hazel.”
Grateful for the distraction, Gillian pounced on the subject. “A philter—a love philter.”
Hazel’s beetled brows raised. “Well now . . . I can do that. But it’s no a simple thing, ye ken?”
Gillian leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me what I must do.”
Hazel considered Gillian silently for a long moment, her brows knit together in a frown. “What would such a bonny lassie need wi’ a love philter?”
“Surely you’ve heard I’m to wed the earl of Kincreag?”
“Och, I have. And it’s him it’s for?” Hazel looked wary, her frown deepening.
“Aye, but I vow to you, I will never reveal from whence it came.”
Hazel waved at the door. “Ye wilna have to. Yon knight will do it for ye.”
