Again, and again, she had seen this in her dreams. Dreams she knew to be a whisper of the future. It was a gift she had had since she had been a wee lass. A gift of the Old Ones. A gift she was to use to secure her clan’s future.
And so, Moira had acted.
She had taken steps to rid her cousin Connor of his new English wife, believing − no, knowing! −that she −Moira− was meant to lead their clan by his side, not Henrietta. After all, her dreams had told her so, and never once had her dreams been wrong.
Until now.
Stepping into the stables, Moira breathed in the warmth of the animals mingling with the strong scent of hay and manure. She watched her brother lead two horses from their boxes, their saddles in place and a few belongings tied behind them.
Alastair kept his gaze firmly fixed on the task at hand, never once even glancing in her direction. He was a seasoned hunter, trained in combat, and had the instincts of a warrior. He knew without looking where she was and what she was doing. He always had, and Moira had always felt special because of it.
She was his little sister, and he was her big brother.
At least, they had been.
Once.
“Goodbye, Moira.”
Spinning around, Moira stared at Connor standing only a few feet behind her, his bear-like stature blocking the door. He was tall and broad, but he moved with the same ease and precision as Alastair. His black hair and full beard gave him a somewhat darker countenance; however, Moira knew that Connor was a man full of laughter and mirth.
Only now, his eyes were hard, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded her with the same sense of disbelief and disappointment she had seen in his gaze since he had learnt of her betrayal. Since he had realised that she had been the one to almost cost him his life. That she had been the one to threaten his wife.
A wife he loved with all his heart and soul.
Moira knew that now, but she had not known it then.
To her great dismay, fresh tears shot to her eyes, and she clenched her teeth, willing them to not show themselves. After all that had happened, all Moira had left was a small bit of pride, and she would fight to keep it. “I’m sorry,” she said nonetheless; her voice, however, was even and free of the deep regret she felt. “I swear I never meant for ye to be hurt…or her.” She swallowed. “I didna know what he had planned. I swear it.”
Swallowing, Connor nodded. His gaze momentarily slid to Alastair standing somewhere behind her, tending to the horses, before he drew closer, his dark eyes fixed on her face as though he hoped to read her thoughts. “I believe ye, Lass, as Old Angus made no secret of how he used ye for his cause.”
Moira drew in a shuddering breath at the memory of the hateful, old man who had seen Connor’s English wife as a threat to the clan, a threat that needed to be eliminated. He had gathered men and led them in an attack against Connor, thinking him weak for allowing the British to infiltrate their home.
And to her shame, Moira had believed his lies and aided him in his quest.
In the end, it had been Henrietta’s courage and Alastair’s loyalty that had saved Connor’s life. Moira still felt sick at the thought of how close he had come to dying that day.
And she would have been responsible.
“But ye betrayed me,” Connor told her. “Ye betrayed all of us. I understand how Angus could have done what he did.” He shook his head. “After the horrors of Culloden, he hasna been right in the head. But ye?”
Moira nodded. “I know. I canna believe it myself. All I can do now is apologise.”
“And make amends,” Connor told her, his eyes hard as they held hers. “Yer past is sealed. It canna be changed, but ye’re still the master of yer future.” Taking a step closer, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know ye’ve been misled and that ye’re sorry, but that isna enough. Ye need to find a way to lead a good life.” He sighed, “Ye know ye canna stay here.”
Swallowing, Moira nodded.
Connor glanced over her shoulder, his eyes no doubt meeting Alastair’s before he looked down at her once more. “For yer brother’s sake, I give ye this chance. Use it wisely for it shall be yer last.” Then he took a step back, and his hand slid from her shoulder. “Goodbye, Moira. May yer dreams not lead ye astray again.” Then he turned and walked away, severing the bond that had connected them since childhood. Their lives would now lead them down different paths, and Moira wondered if she would ever see him again.
As she followed Alastair out of the courtyard, feeling her mare’s strong flanks beneath her legs, Moira drew in a deep breath. Her body shuddered with the weight of the moment that was finally upon her, a moment she had dreaded for the past weeks, and her eyes filled with tears.
And this time, she let them fall for her heart broke anew as they rode out of Greystone Castle, leaving behind a life, a family, a home.
Outcast.
Banished.
Exiled.
All these terms that had been coursing around in her mind these past few weeks spoke to one deep-seated fear: loneliness. Now, Moira was alone in the world with no one to care whether she lived or died. She would live among strangers, strangers who
