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A scream ripped from her throat as she fell backward off the ledge and plunged deep into the icy-cold water, hitting her head as she fell.
The next thing she knew she was coughing and sputtering as strong hands yanked her from the water. She looked up into the face of the childlike man, and he hugged her to him. “Sorcha hurt?”
She coughed some more and then smiled up at the man. “Nay, Uncle Brom.”
“Sorcha!” Bridgette bellowed. Sorcha blinked and the memories disappeared. “Ye almost fell off yer horse,” Bridgette added.
When Sorcha glanced down, she realized Broch had a firm grip on her arm. “I had a memory,” she said by way of apology.
“Of what?” Marion asked, her eyes wide.
Sorcha told her, and Marion grinned. “This is wonderful! We can send messengers out to some of the larger castles to see if there is a Brom. It will help us locate your family.”
“I need to tell Cameron immediately,” Broch said. “This might lead us to Katherine’s killers.”
“My family would nae be part of such a thing,” Sorcha protested, though she had to admit she did not know that for certain.
An uneasy silence settled on the party, and then Marion said, “My father was not a good man, Sorcha. He did horrid things, but that did not make me a bad person.”
Before Sorcha could comment, Marion told her about her father’s plot to take the throne from the King of England. She told of his intention to marry her to an evil knight simply to gain the man’s sword arm and fealty and his cruelty to Marion, the people who served him, and Marion’s mother. By the time Marion was done relaying her past, the sun was high in the sky and they had been riding for several hours.
They stopped to have a quick meal, and then they gathered their things and mounted their horses once again. For the next couple of hours, the time was filled with Bridgette regaling them with stories of her first hunt, during which Lachlan had first kissed her. She also told of her mother, who was a great fighter and her cousin Archibald, who had betrayed Alex, Bridgette, and the MacLeods by plotting with Marion’s father. She went from that serious story to a very amusing, albeit shocking, story of the time Bridgette had almost died when she fell off a cliff on their way back from secretly visiting a seer near Bridgette’s home and how Marion had saved her.
Sorcha was so entranced by what Bridgette was saying that she did not even notice what was around her, until Marion said, “We must dismount to hike the trail to the Fairy Pools on foot.”
Sorcha blinked, took a look around, and gasped in wonder. A long, winding path of white pebbles slithered up the rolling green hills. On one side of the path was a carpet of green grass, blanketed with vibrant purple and yellow flowers. On the other side of the path was a stream, crystal clear and trickling. They all dismounted, and Broch tethered their horses to some trees before they began to walk along the path.
Her footsteps crunched on the stones, but beside her, Marion’s footsteps were muffled by the plush grass. As they moved farther up the path, trees with gnarled trunks lined either side of them, reminding Sorcha of something. She squinted, trying to remember, and then she gasped.
“These trees are like soldiers carved of wood,” Sorcha said. “They make me think of the trees that line a trail known as the Marching Oaks.”
Broch paused, and when he turned to look at her, his expression was one of hope. “The Marching Oaks is in the Caledonian Forest, where Katherine was murdered. It’s where Cameron found ye.”
Sorcha shivered.
“Either ye were told the name of that path or ye lived near there,” Broch added.
She shrugged, helpless with the loss of most of her memories still.
“If you lived near there, it would make sense that you were taken by the men that attacked the MacLeods,” Marion offered in a hopeful voice.
Sorcha gave her a weak smile. It would also make sense that she knew of the trail because she had helped to plan the attack, but all three of them were being kind by not saying so. She felt ill, and she purposely turned her attention to studying her surroundings. Somewhere ahead, water rushed, the sound carried by the wind, which had picked up quite ruthlessly. Her hair flapped against her face in stinging whips. She glanced up at the sky, expecting to see gathering storm clouds, but a bright-blue sky stared back at her.
She frowned. “The wind dunnae make sense.”
“Nay. ’Tis always like this in these woods, though,” Bridgette assured her.
“Listen,” Marion said in a hushed whisper. Sorcha paused as she climbed the steep path. Birds, sounding as if there were hundreds of them from the loudness of their chirping, flew around them for a moment before streaking off.
Fear sent gooseflesh racing across Sorcha’s skin. As they climbed ever higher, shadows grew, cast from the rocks that now formed a barrier to block their view of the sky. The sun disappeared, and the temperature grew so warm, she had to fan herself. To the side of the path, brightly colored flowers covered everything and took her breath. She was sure she had never seen such beauty in her life.
The path abruptly halted, and they had to hop from stone to stone across the water to the next hill. They climbed steadily up the jagged terrain, but at the top of the first crest, the rocks seemed to part and the sky shone bright and clear above them once more. She shielded her eyes against the sun. As far as she could see, one peak after another reached toward the sky. To the right was a steep incline that led to a bluish-green body of water, except for the frothy white that came rushing from the waterfall above.
“Eolande lives in a cave down there,” Bridgette said, pointing. Sorcha did not miss the tremor of Bridgette’s tone.
“If ye fear coming—” Sorcha started.
“Nay,” Bridgette rushed out. “I dunnae fear what the seer will say to me. I fear for ye, though. I’ll nae lie—her words could make it much worse for ye or much better. Ye won’t ken until ye hear them.”
