Focusing his thoughts in such a manner had often helped Cormag retrieve the balance he needed to be the laird his clan deserved. He knew what needed to be done. He knew his place, his purpose, and he would not allow anyone to interfere.
For the good of the clan.
An hour passed, and slowly Cormag felt his balance return. His heart beat steadily in his chest, and his mind was focused as it ought to be. However, just as he allowed a sense of relief to spread across his limbs, he sensed an emotional turmoil drawing near.
Someone was coming.
Someone agitated and distraught.
Cormag braced himself for the onslaught.
Ever since he had been a lad, Cormag had had the misfortune of reading others’ emotions. He felt them as though they were his own, and as a young boy, he had often been overwhelmed by the sorrow and fear of those around him. His father, with his calm demeanour and strong voice, had guided his hand through those years of upheaval, urging him to train his body as well as his mind, to find a balance within himself, to feel but not to succumb.
Cormag had always been grateful for his father’s understanding nature for he knew well that those who possessed gifts were often looked upon with suspicion.
As was Moira.
Perhaps that had been why Cormag had allowed her to stay. Why he had felt protective. Something deep inside him had urged him to keep her near. Still, ever since that day, he feared that this weakness would one day return to haunt him.
A knock sounded on the door, and Cormag sat up to focus his heart and mind as his father had taught him. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and in walked Mrs. Brown, Seann Dachaigh Tower’s cook. Her face was flushed as always, but she seemed outwardly calm. Still, Cormag noticed the way her fingers curled all but painfully into her apron, her eyes slightly widened as she fought to remain in control of the fear that now pulsed off her as though in waves. “I apologise for the intrusion,” Mrs. Brown panted, a faint shimmer of sweat lingering on her forehead.
Cormag felt his own heart tighten as he too struggled for composure. “What can I do for you?” he asked calmly. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Brown nodded. “Aye, my sister sent word. There’s been an accident, and she begs me to come.” She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. “I assure ye that all is taken care of in the kitchen. Ye needna worry that−”
“There’s no need,” Cormag assured her. “Go and see to yer family and promise to send for me if there’s anything ye need.”
A grateful smile flitted across the woman’s face, and Cormag felt his muscles relax when relief and gratitude lessened the strain her fear had on him. Rising from his chair, he escorted the older woman to the door, gently squeezing her hand as she looked up at him with relief. “I pray that all will be well.”
Mrs. Brown nodded in agreement before she hurried through the door, her footsteps receding quickly.
With each step she took down the long corridor, Cormag began to feel more like himself, and he stepped up to the window, knowing the calming view over the rolling hills would bring him peace.
While everyday emotions now barely affected Cormag, those that went deeper, those that quickened one’s heart and stole one’s breath were still taxing for him, and he often wished he could simply rid himself of the gift the Old Ones had seen fit to bestow upon him. Granted, it gave him an advantage in all kinds of confrontations and negotiations. He simply knew whether others were lying or being truthful, and he could act accordingly, make the best possible decision. However, the price was still a steep one, and some days, Cormag was not certain it was worth it.
Did Moira feel the same? He could not help but wonder. While his own gift remained a secret−only his father had ever truly known−hers was whispered about near and far. No one knew. No one was certain, but stories flew through the land of her otherworldly gifts. Cormag did not know what was true and what not, but he suspected. He knew how to strip away embellishments and exaggerations and see to the core of things.
After all, that was his gift.
Unfortunately, most people did what they always did when faced with something unknown, something they could not understand.
They allowed fear to take over.
Cormag sensed that apprehension in almost all his clan members when faced with the blond-haired outcast from Clan Brunwood. Not all were hostile like Ian; however, most were fearful and tended to be cautious rather than too bold and risk harm.
Again, Cormag remembered the day she had first stepped across the threshold of Seann Dachaigh Tower. Even before she had set foot into his study, he had sensed her approach from up the corridor. Indeed, he had chosen this rather isolated room for his study as it was far away from the hustle bustle of the castle. Here, he could focus his thoughts and be alone with what he felt, unburdened by those around him, for only those who wanted to seek him out had reason to venture into this remote part of the ancient fortress.
Therefore, whenever someone drew near, whenever he sensed another’s approach, Cormag knew that that someone was coming to see him.
That day, he had sensed Moira’s remorse, her shame as well as her regret. He had known within moments that what she had done had not been done out of malice. She had been misled. She had been foolish and made the wrong decision, and he was certain she would not do so again. Was that why he had agreed to let her stay?
Because of a certainty that only he possessed.
Nevertheless, without revealing his gift to those around him, Cormag had not been able to provide a reason for his decision, and some of his
