Never had she felt like this before.
Not even Connor had ever inspired such…such…
In that moment, Moira finally realised that she had never been in love with Connor Brunwood.
Chapter One - A Witch in their Midst
Seann Dachaigh Tower, Scottish Highlands, Summer 1808
Two Years Later
“I hope ye slept well,” Moira said as she poured a cup of tea for her aunt as well as for herself. Then she glanced out the window. “’Tis promising to be a beautiful day.”
Fiona grumbled something unintelligible under her breath as she took the cup from Moira’s hands.
Sighing, Moira sat down to sip her own tea. “I’ll probably head out to gather some more herbs later today.”
Again, Fiona grumbled something under her breath.
Although Moira had been allowed to live with her aunt−instead of being locked up in the castle’s dungeon−the two women spent very little time together. As she had initially suspected, her aunt was far from happy to be duty-bound to shelter her traitorous niece; a sentiment, Moira had come to understand more and more when she had realised how adversely her presence affected her aunt.
Widowed with two grown daughters married outside of the clan, Fiona MacDrummond was alone; still, the companionship of her close-knit clan had never allowed her to feel lonely. She loved to stop in the marketplace and chat with women she had known all her life, and her days were filled with people stopping by for advice or to issue an invitation to supper. Life had been good and comfortable for Fiona until the day her niece had come to live with her.
Moira knew that she was the reason her aunt’s friends no longer included her in the same carefree way they had before. Always did they cast worrisome glances at Moira if she was nearby, whispering on the quiet about her odd behaviour and shameful past.
Even after two years with Clan MacDrummond, two years without incident, nothing had changed.
Moira was still an outcast, a black mark on an otherwise spotless gown. While Fiona tried to be kind to her, some days were harder than others. People always regarded Moira with suspicion, and few dared speak to her directly. Either they ignored her or told her off harshly so that Moira spent most of her time alone. She too missed the company of others; however, she knew that she was fortunate to be allowed to live so freely, to come and go as she pleased. Unfortunately, though, that proved worrisome to some members of the clan, who were constantly eyeing her with suspicion, wondering if she might eventually turn against them as well.
So, Moira kept her distance, and every now and then, she thought to see a spark of gratitude in her aunt’s blue eyes.
It was all she could hope for these days.
With a basket slung around her arm, Moira walked across the meadows to the west of Seann Dachaigh Tower. Wildflowers were in bloom, and all around her bees buzzed with such vigour that it sounded like a waterfall was rushing nearby. Still, the small loch in the valley glistened peacefully in the sun; its calm surface only here and there disturbed as a fish rose to catch a bug.
Out of sheer boredom, Moira had begun to gather herbs trying to learn as much as she could about their healing abilities. Occasionally, she would steal into the large library located deep in the belly of the keep, trying to identify the many flowers she found. At first, it had been rather slow going; however, it had given her something meaningful to do, something to keep her mind occupied outside of her daily chores.
Her aunt sometimes suffered from severe headaches, and Moira was glad she was able to help her, to soothe the pain and see Fiona’s face relax when relief found her. It was only something small, but it gave Moira a purpose. More than that, it made her feel proud.
Of herself.
Of something she alone had accomplished.
It was a rare feeling, but one to be treasured.
Most days, Moira was at peace with her situation at Seann Dachaigh Tower. Of course, a part of her still hoped for acceptance while another felt her loneliness acutely. However, most days passed in a pleasant manner…especially if one did not dwell on them too much.
Sitting down in the shade of a grove of trees, Moira watched a group of children racing through the meadows, their cheerful voices painting a smile on her face. Their laughter was beautiful and melodious, and it spoke to something deep inside her, reminding her of the childhood she herself had once had.
With Connor.
With Alastair’s wife Deidre.
With her brother.
Moira swallowed, and as always, her throat closed as tears stung the backs of her eyes.
Two years had passed since she had last seen her brother, and in all that time, he had not once sent word. Every now and then, Moira wrote to him, apologising, vowing that she would never again do anything to cause him pain. She did it as much for herself as she did it for him, hoping that over time he would slowly come to believe her and no longer be burdened by her betrayal.
He deserved better.
He deserved to be happy.
To Moira’s relief, Deidre, her brother’s wife, was a woman with a wide-open heart and the ability to forgive. Long ago, she had set Moira’s mind at ease, promising she would find a way to reunite her with her brother, and no matter how soft-spoken and yielding little Deidre often seemed, the woman had an iron will and loved Alastair beyond hope.
No, she would not allow him to suffer for the remainder of his days.
A hesitant smile sneaked onto Moira’s face as she thought of her sister-in-law. One day, Deidre would find a way to break through Alastair’s pride and stubbornness. Moira was certain of it, and it gave her hope like nothing else.
Something to look forward to.
Something to hold onto.
Something.
A little blond-haired girl of no more than five years
