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Sorcha nodded, grateful for her friend’s warning but also aware of her own sudden unease to hear her future. As she made her way carefully down the steep slope behind Broch, she questioned the wisdom in seeking out the seer. What if she said a future between Sorcha and Cameron was unwise? What if Eolande foretold horrors for Sorcha and told her that her family was wicked? Or worse—thatshewas. Sweat trickled down her brow, and she was certain it was not merely from heat but also from her fear.
Once they all reached the bottom, Broch led them along the edge of the water toward a cave that had not been visible from the cliff. As she walked, the bow that was strapped to her back clapped against her skin, and she found herself running her finger along the arrows in the holder at her hip. She was glad she had brought the weapon. It made her feel safer. Broch had his hand on the hilt of his sword and Bridgette had drawn her bow, and Sorcha wondered if both of them felt the same unease that she did. Even Marion had a dagger clutched in her hands, which rather surprised Sorcha, as she had not heard Marion say she had any skill.
They reached the cave and paused as one. Bridgette was the first to speak. “As ye’re the one wishing for her future to be foretold, I believe ye must be the one to ask for entry into the cave.”
“How do I do that?” Sorcha asked.
“Call her name,” Bridgette said. “At least that’s what I did. I called her name and then asked to speak to her.”
Sorcha nodded, called Eolande’s name, and waited. When no response came, she called several more times before saying, “Perchance she is nae there.”
“More likely she is ignoring ye,” Bridgette said. “I’d say ye have two choices: turn and leave, or go into the cave and demand she speak to ye.”
“I’m not sure demanding things from Eolande is a good idea,” Marion said, her tone holding a note of warning.
Usually, Sorcha would agree, but without the memories of who she was to guide her, she was feeling desperate. “I’ll go in.”
“That’s what I’d do,” Bridgette said.
“You three stay here,” Sorcha added, not wishing to bring the seer’s ire upon them should she be angered.
“Nay,” was the chorused response.
The four of them slowly entered Eolande’s domain, and Sorcha’s stomach dipped at the astonishing sight before them. A pool of dark-blue water shimmered in the middle of the round cave. On the opposite side, the rocky walls gave way to the outside, allowing sunlight to stream into the space. A waterfall gushed past the opening, and beyond the veil of white mist, sumptuous green trees swayed. Stone steps led up the side of the cave into a dark, shadowed area to the right.
They followed the stairs into a smaller cave. There was nothing in the room but a bed. No clothes, no personal belongings, not even a cup or a scrap of food. Sorcha frowned. “The seer lives here?”
Bridgette shrugged. “As far as I ken, but who can say for certain? She may verra well live in the fairy world and only come here to torment us mere mortals.”
A musical laugh suddenly echoed off the cave walls, causing them all to gasp except Broch, who cursed and drew his sword. They turned as one toward the laughter, and Sorcha felt her mouth fall open. Standing there was a beautiful woman dressed in a white gown. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and on her head, she wore a crown of white flowers. Her pale skin contrasted strikingly with her luminous violet eyes. Those eyes seemed to settle upon Sorcha and peel back the layers of her mind.
“Ye remember me,” the seer said. It was not a question but a statement of fact.
“Nay,” Sorcha said, pressing a finger to her temple, which suddenly throbbed.
“Ye do,” Eolande said forcefully.
A fierce pain bolted through Sorcha’s head. Crying out, she clutched at her head as her knees buckled, and she started to fall, only to be caught by Broch.
“What the devil are ye doing, woman?” Broch demanded.
“I’m helping her remember, warrior,” the seer bit out. “And unless she wishes me to cease and leave her floundering in the dark, I advise ye set her gently down and wait outside my home.”
Biting back pain, Sorcha pushed out of Broch’s arms and managed to right herself, though her legs still wobbled underneath her. “I wish her help,” Sorcha said, focusing first on Broch, then on Marion and Bridgette, who looked alternately worried and angry.
“Ye’re certain?” Bridgette asked, glancing warily between Sorcha and Eolande.
Sorcha nodded, though the slight gesture sent pain spiraling through her head. When all three of her companions remained there with hesitant looks upon their faces, Sorcha said, “Please. I will be fine.”
Once they had all departed, albeit hesitantly, Eolande moved closer to Sorcha. “Give me yer hand,” she commanded, holding out her own.
Sorcha did, and the moment the seer’s icy skin caressed hers, memories flooded her mind.
She was young again and filled with excitement. There was a tent. No, there were hundreds of tents filling a shore, and a shimmering loch, and notes of music, along with the savory smell of meat being cooked.
“Sorcha, stay where ye have been told,” her mother had said in a chiding yet loving voice. “Young ladies kinnae wander about at a festival such as this one once night has fallen.”
Suddenly, a face appeared in Sorcha’s mind. She had Sorcha’s gray eyes and light hair—or rather Sorcha had hers.
