And past, present, and future.
Just then, the wind seemed to moan aloud as it blew through the grove, rustling dried leaves in its wake.
Without thinking, she reached up with her free hand and grasped thegloine nan Druidh, the circular blue stone that she always wore around her neck. No sooner had she taken hold of the amulet than she sensed a shift, the menhir suddenly surrounded with a white, pulsating light that caused the ancient stone to glow in an otherworldly manner.
That same light began to swirl, mimicking the patterns carved on the standing stone.
“Part wide the veil,” she murmured. “That I might see the unknowable.”
Within moments, like dissipating tendrils of mist, the strange white light pulled away from the menhir, enabling Laoghaire to peer into the very depths of the ancient monument. Clutching thegloine nan Druidhin a white-knuckled grip, she was astounded to see the image of a young, dark-haired lad, the boy no more than ten years of age. The child was huddled in a corner, his knees bent, his head bowed, his entire body racked with great, noisy sobs. When the child raised his head, Laoghaire could see that he possessed a pair of hauntingly familiar pewter-gray eyes.
’Tis Galen!she realized, with no small measure of shock.
Before she could decipher the meaning of the vision, the scene gave way to another image, this one of a young, strapping adolescent astride a horse, who was engaged in charging a quintain with a lance. After that, the images on the stone began to appear and fade so rapidly Laoghaire could barely register what she was seeing.
Galen standing on the field of battle surrounded by hundreds of slain soldiers. Charging the lists at a tournament. Sitting at a trestle table in a crowded great hall. Leading the raid on her brother’s castle. Departing from Castle Airlie with his entourage.
This last image caused Laoghaire to gasp aloud, the vision unfolding exactly as it had three mornings ago.
Again, she had no time to ponder the vision’s significance as another scene began to appear. Now she was able to see Galen engaged in single combat with an unknown foe. Seizing the advantage, the opponent hurled Galen to his feet. He hit the ground with such force that his sword was knocked from his hand. Sprawled on his back, weaponless, Galen suddenly turned his head and peered directly at Laoghaire, as though he could see her standing in front of the menhir. Holding her gaze, he mouthed the words, “Forgive me.”
In the next instant, the opponent’s sword swung through the air, the blade aimed directly at Galen’s exposed neck.
“No!” Laoghaire screamed, horrified.
The spell broken, the vision instantly disappeared.
Her heart pounding against her breastbone, Laoghaire swayed on her feet, forced to put a stabilizing hand on the menhir to keep from toppling to the ground. Suddenly hit with a burst of nausea, she leaned over and retched, made physically ill by the stark, brutal vision.
As she stumbled away from the standing stone, she heard a loud caw. Raising her head, she caught sight of a raven perched on a denuded tree limb.
’Tis a harbinger of death.
But unlike the previous times when she’d seen the raven, this time she knew whose death it foretold.
“Do ye mean to say ye actually had thetaibhse? And it foretold of the earl’s death?”
In response to Coira’s wide-eyed inquiry, Laoghaire verified with a nod as she continued to pace the length of the bedchamber. “Aye, I had the Second Sight, and in the vision I saw Galen’staishbeing slain by a swordsman whose face I could not see.”
After relaying what happened at the standing stones, Laoghaire was seized with a sense of dread unlike any she’d ever before experienced. Twined to that fear there was a sense of utter frustration.
What good is it to have the taibhse if I am helpless to stop the murderous deed from taking place?
Even though it was the first vision Laoghaire had ever experienced, like most people cursed with the Sight, she now dreaded the mysterious power, realizing, too late, that to be able to see the specters of the living in the moments prior to their death was a fearful burden to bear. Moreover, the vision that she had at the menhir—horrific and brutal in its vividness—had given her a glimpse into the whole of Galen’s life: his past, his present, and his future.
Terror-stricken at seeing an enemy deliver the death blow, she’d also been deeply affected at seeing Galen as a young boy, huddled in the darkness as he sobbed uncontrollably. She suspected she’d glimpsed an image of him after he’d been beaten by the prior at St. Sulpice, making her realize how much pain he’d been made to suffer.
Coming to a stop in front of the sandalwood table where Coira sat, she hoped the other woman could offer some much needed advice. Because she hailed from the Highlands, Coira was well acquainted with the Sight. “I trust yer counsel, Coira. What do ye suggest I do?”
“Compose a message to young Angus, explaining to him that ye had a vision foretelling his death at the hands of an enemy,” Coira said, her tone conveying urgency, as well as a sense of gravitas. “We will then send an armed herald on a swift horse to deliver the message to him.”
“Aye, ’tis a good plan, but . . .” Laoghaire’s voice faded into silence, all of her thoughts in a jumble.
Her cheeks flushed on account of her distressed state, she leaned over the pewter basin that was set on the table. Cupping her hands, she splashed her face with the tepid water. She then patted herself dry with the towel that Coira handed to her, the distinctive scent of elderflower filling her nostrils.
More clearheaded now, she turned to Coira and said, “I cannot send a message to Galen since I will have no way of knowing if the herald will arrive safely. What if the messenger should encounter bandits on the roadway? Or, worse yet, a contingent of English soldiers?”
“’Tis a chance ye must take, milady, if ye are to warn young Angus of the danger that awaits him.”
