Page 67 of Dark Victory

He started, as Coinneach came rushing up the hill, filled with fury, desperate to save his father. But he could not stop what must be. Macleod sent his power blazing at him and Coinneach fell.

He lifted his sword, glancing at Alasdair, who was trembling at his feet.

“No!” Coinneach screamed, struggling to get to his feet. Macleod blasted him lightly again. This time he was annoyed.

The MacDougall boy went down, writhing wildly. Macleod almost felt sorry for him. Then he froze, incredulous, because the tall, blond boy writhing on the ground changed. Suddenly he was dark-haired and twisting in absolute futility against a deamhan’s embrace. He fought furiously, desperately, asBlayde’s halls rang with screams and sabers, as wood dropped away from the ceilings, falling to the ground, ablaze.

“Nay! Father!”

Macleod wanted to step back, away…Where was Alasdair?

But he couldn’t move, he could only watch himself—an impotent struggling boy. And William looked up as the two Frenchmen began stabbing him repeatedly in the back….

The boy screamed and screamed and screamed.

Macleod awoke abruptly. He was breathing hard, and for one moment, he smelled the fires consuming Blayde’s great room. He was in shock. He had been dreaming of the boy prisoner, Coinneach—and the boy had turned into him.

Coinneach had been helpless to prevent his father’s murder.

He had been helpless to prevent William’s murder, too.

The rage took him by surprise. It suffused him and the entire bedchamber shuddered. And with it came so much hatred, not for his enemies but for that damned fourteen-year-old boy!

That boy had failed everyone!

Her hand covered his clenched fist.

He jerked, aware of Tabitha for the first time, as she lay in bed beside him, their bodies touching. Her golden eyes were wide, warm and concerned.

Let me help you.

He knew he was recalling that long-ago voice. He jerked free of her, sliding from the bed.

“Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” he lied, too late realizing that he was covered with sweat and trembling. Damn that stupid boy. He had failed….

Tabitha sat up, holding the covers over her chest. “That must have been a nightmare.”

The room was still shuddering. He took a deep breath. “I dinna ken. I dinna recall.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

He paced to the fire. Let me help you. He whirled. “Are ye usin’ yer magic on me now, Tabitha?”

She tensed with alarm. “No, I’m not.”

Perhaps her soul was familiar with his. Too much was strange in this world, and he did not dismiss the idea. “I dinna need help.”

Her eyes widened. “Okay,” she said carefully, pulling her knees up to her chest. “But you do seem upset. Are you sure you don’t remember that dream?”

“Women dream,” he snapped. “Men dinna bother to do so!”

“That is such bull,” she said as softly.

He whipped his brat from the chair and wrapped it around his waist. Coinneach was bothering him, he decided. Maybe he should be hanged tonight to end this insanity instantly.

“Why are you angry?”