He pulled his scattered clothes over. They were still damp and felt wholly unpleasant as he pulled them on.
Elise made a face as she donned her damp dress. “Ugh. Don’t suppose the previous owner of this place left any spare clothes behind?”
“I’m afraid not. And even if he did, I’m not sure ratty old sailor’s trews would suit ye.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “I reckon I could pull it off. Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”
She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Jamie felt her power flare and warmth suddenly floweredaround him, like a summer breeze caressing his skin. When it passed, both his clothes and Elise’s were dry.
“Well, would you look at that?” Elise said with a crooked smile. “It worked.AndI didn’t burn us both to cinders.”
Jamie grinned. “I always knew ye were good for something.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m multitalented. Spellweaver extraordinaireandclothes-dryer.” Then she sighed, all humor evaporating from her expression. “So what now?”
Jamie didn’t need to ask what she was referring to. “I’m not sure. We are blind. Phillip will have taken Dun Arach by now, but I need to know exactly what he’s up to and what he’s planning. Without knowing his movements, I canna strike back.”
Elise’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a way to fix that. Come outside.” She climbed to her feet and headed for the door.
Jamie followed her out into a crisp, bright morning. The rain had blown through, leaving the world glistening.
Elise strode a few paces from the cottage, scanning the ground until she found what she wanted—a shallow puddle collected in a dip between rocks.
She knelt and beckoned him. “Here. I can use this to scry him out.”
Jamie crouched beside her. “When Phillip spied on me, ye said he needed something of mine. A lock of hair, a scrap of cloth—something to anchor the magic. We’ve naught of his.”
She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “That’s because Phillip MacClelland is an amateur. Whatever magic he has, he learned from books. He mimics power, he doesn’t channel it.Mypower doesn’t work like that.” She glanced at him and bit her lip, looking suddenly uncertain. “Erm…although, if I’m being honest, I’m not very good at this. It’s delicate work and you might have noticed that my power isn’t very delicate. You might want to stand back.”
Jamie shook his head. “I trust ye. And I’m not leaving yer side.”
Elise gave him a smile of gratitude. She held her right hand above the puddle, palm down. Her eyes slid closed. Jamie waited. Slowly, the sky which was reflected in the puddle vanished. It was replaced by a mist that swirled within the water, darkening, gathering substance. Shapes formed. Jamie made out walls, stone. Smoke.
His breath caught. He was looking at Dun Arach. The place was crowded with armed men in the king’s colors. The courtyard teemed with movement—soldiers patrolling, shouting orders, dragging debris aside where fighting had clearly taken place.
“Bastard,” he breathed. “Look what he’s done to my home.”
Phillip was standing near the gate with Sir Ewan Bruce and an officer who he guessed was the captain of the king’s guard. The same guards that had been posing as pirates all these months.
Looking at him now, Phillip seemed different to Jamie’s eyes. He stood straighter, seemed taller, and his usual harried expression had been replaced by one of calm confidence. Was this the real Phillip MacClelland? This arrogant stranger who carried himself like a nobleman?
Elise hummed, and the image shifted, moving from the courtyard and down a staircase to the lower storage levels of the keep. Torchlight flickered on the stones, casting shadows across the ground. There was no dungeon in Dun Arach, but on the odd occasion when somebody had been causing trouble, these storerooms had served as a temporary lock-up.
One of the larger rooms had been cleared out, and Jamie made out a group of men sitting disconsolately within. He recognized his most loyal clansmen. Close to the door, slumped against the wall with bruises covering his face and crusted blood around his nose, was Albie. He’d taken one hell of a beating.
“They fought back,” Elise said.
“Aye,” Jamie replied. “And were overwhelmed.” A strange mixture of pride and dismay rose in him at the sight. Pride that his men had fought valiantly against Phillip and his invaders, dismay that they had been hurt on his account. It was another debt he had to repay.
Phillip suddenly appeared again, descending the steps towards the makeshift jail with a guard at his back. He stopped before Albie’s cell and spoke a few words Jamie couldn’t hear. In response, Albie spat at his feet. Phillip’s only reaction was to smile, but it was nothing like the distracted, self-mocking smile Jamie was used to seeing on the old scholar’s face. This smile was cold and cruel, full of malice.
Something inside Jamie twisted—black, cold, lethal. He would kill Phillip for what he’d done.
The image suddenly wavered, shimmered. Glancing at her, Jamie saw that Elise’s expression was tight with strain.
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough, love. Let it go.”
The image evaporated and the puddle returned to simple water. Elise sagged and Jamie caught her, steadying her shoulders.
