And Moira could not blame them. She had no defence, no justification, no excuse or explanation. Aye, she had been misled; still, the decision had been hers.
She had failed them as well as herself.
Glancing over her shoulder, Moira watched Greystone Castle vanish a little more with each step their horses surged forward, a heavy fog settling around its walls and upon its towers. It was as though the Old Ones, too, were punishing her, hiding those she loved from her view.
Always had Moira had the Sight, and now, she could not see.
Days passed in silence as they travelled onward across the land, and Moira’s heart grew heavier. Her limbs felt weak, and it was a struggle to pull herself into the saddle each morning. Her mind was numb, clouded with guilt and fear as well as another moment of loss she knew would come.
When they spotted Seann Dachaigh Tower, home of Clan MacDrummond, around midday on their fifth day since leaving Greystone Castle, Moira felt an icy fist grab her heart and squeeze it mercilessly. She shivered against the cold that swept through her body, gritting her teeth as she fought for control.
Without so much as glancing in her direction, Alastair spurred on his horse as though he could not wait to rid himself of her. Her betrayal had indeed cut deep, and Moira tried to gain comfort from the fact that his hatred of her would not be so profound if he had not loved her as much as she loved him.
Seann Dachaigh Tower, home of their mother’s clan, was situated on a small rise, surrounded by Scotland’s rolling hills as well as a small village. Its grey stone walls stood strong, surrounding a fortified inner castle, with only a large front gate to grant entrance. To Moira, it looked like a prison from whence there would be no escape, and her breath caught in her throat when despair washed over her in a powerful, suffocating wave.
Birds called overhead, and the scent of pine and hazel trees drifted through the air. The breeze tugged on Moira’s blond tresses and brushed over her chilled skin raising goose bumps. Still, the mild hint of salt she detected brought her a small comfort, a reminder of home. The sky shone in a light blue, but Moira spotted dark clouds on the horizon.
A bad omen?
Wishing she could simply turn her mare around and ride away in the opposite direction, Moira paused atop a small slope, her blue eyes gazing down across the valley at the imposing structure that would be her home henceforth. Her fingers tightened on the reins, and she could feel her mare’s agitation as she no doubt picked up on the unease that coursed through Moira’s veins.
Noting her delay, Alastair pulled up his reins and turned his gelding around, thundering toward her. His eyes narrowed into slits, and a snarl curled up the corners of his mouth. “Ye willna dishonour this family further,” he growled. “I willna allow it, do ye hear?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Moira nodded, then urged her mare onward, her gaze distant as she did not dare look at her brother. Was this how they were to part? Was this how she was to remember him?
When they finally reached the old structure, entering through the wide-open gate into the bustling courtyard, Alastair pulled up short and addressed a man carrying a bag of grain on his shoulder. A few words were exchanged before the man pointed him toward a small group of women standing near a well, chatting animatedly.
Moira dismounted; her fingers tightly curled around her mare’s reins as she glanced around the inner courtyard. Eyes watched her, narrowed and full of suspicion. She heard whispers and felt stares digging into the back of her skull.
They knew.
They knew of her. They knew her story.
They had known she would come.
And they did not like her.
In fact, they loathed her and wished her gone.
With all her heart, Moira wished she could do as they desired, but her hands were tied. In this, she had no choice.
Turning her head, Moira saw her brother striding back toward her, an older woman by his side. Her light brown hair had streaks of grey, and her face looked stern as her blue eyes swept over Moira in displeasure.
Stopping in front of her, Alastair turned to the woman by his side. “This is Aunt Fiona. She’s agreed to give ye shelter.” The tone in Alastair’s voice rang with disapproval, and he looked at their late mother’s older sister with a hint of apology as though he loathed burdening her with his dishonourable sister.
Fiona gave her a sharp nod. “I warn ye, Lass. Folks do not look kindly on those who betray their own kin. I suggest ye do as ye’re told and keep yer head down.” She sighed, her blue eyes gliding over Moira’s appearance, the niece she had not seen since she had been a wee bairn. “But first, ye’ll meet the laird.” She turned to go. “Come.”
Moira’s heart thudded to a halt when she turned back to look at her brother, only to see him walking away. In a few strides, he had crossed to where he had left his gelding, taken up the reins and swung himself into the saddle.
Panic swept through Moira as she stared at him. Her lower lip trembled, and tears ran freely down her face. Would he not even say goodbye to her?
Alastair’s face looked stoic as he stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the large opening in the wall. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he kicked his horse’s flanks with more vigour than necessary. The gelding surged forward, shaking its large head, no doubt confused about his master’s unkind treatment.
Look at me! Moira pleaded silently as she watched her brother ride away. Please, look at me!
But he
