“Feels things?”
“Aye, m’laird—feels things. Anyone can guess how those poor pups must have felt to be stuffed into a sack and tossed off a cliff, but Sibeal can actually feel it.”
“And ye expect me to actually believe all of this?”
“Do as ye please, m’laird, but I would advise ye to learn to pay heed when Sibeal tells ye something about a person. It could make the difference between life and death.” She sighed when Alexander just cursed, then hurried back up the path. It did not surprise her when a moment later she heard a horse ride away, and she turned her attention back to a badly shaken Barra.
“I ask ye again to tell me that this was some game, Ailis,” Barra demanded as he sat down on a rock and stared at the children, who were busily examining the puppies.
Ailis sat down next to him and patted his arm. “I truly wish I could. ‘Tis a hard thing to accept. I keep hoping it will yet go away.” She gave him a weak smile when he briefly laughed. “People dinna like it. It makes them afraid. I find that fear dangerous.”
Barra grimaced and nodded. “We shall have to teach her to be secretive.”
“Aye, and I think she can learn that. ‘Tis that she has only just begun to talk about what she sees and feels. Talk about it in a way that made me truly understand that she has a gift. I have been so busy trying to teach her to speak more clearly about it and accept that she has such a skill that I havena stressed caution as much as I should. I have told her that people might think bad things about her, but that is such a difficult thing for a child to understand.” She glanced up at the top of the rise where the horses were and thought on Alexander’s abrupt departure. “The sight is something many people dinna like and dinna want.”
After one long look up the path, Barra nodded. “Alexander has always hated such things. He willna hate Sibeal for it, though. He may have changed a lot in the past few years, grown harder and more bitter, but he loves the bairns. ‘Tis a shame he lost his own bairn, for he would have been a good father. He was for the short time she was alive.”
“Alexander had a child?” Ailis was shocked and, she realized, a little hurt.
“Aye. She was a sweet little girl, much like Sibeal. Her name was Elizbet. She was his child by his first wife, whose morals were very weak. That wife died, and it was a while before Alex married again. His first wife may have been a whore but his second wife was evil, vicious, demented. There was a sickness in her mind. When she finally died, she didna go alone. She took poor Elizbet with her. The child is buried in the kirkyard just beyond Rathmor. I dinna believe Alexander has ever recovered.”
“Nay. ‘Tis not something ye can recover from, not fully,” she murmured, suddenly aware of a better understanding of Alexander, even a sympathy. “He holds a lot of anger in his heart.”
“He does, but ‘tis past time he ceased to spit it out at everyone. Even his friends lose patience.”
“Alexander has friends?” She smiled when he laughed, pleased that the shock of discovering the truth about Sibeal had begun to fade. “We had better return. There is the hint of rain in the air.”
Barra nodded, stood up, and helped Ailis to her feet. “I have six new pups, dinna I?”
“I fear so,” she agreed, smiling at the children, who were gathering up the wriggling puppies. “Sibeal has a big heart for such a little girl. Ye could find yourself knee-deep in abandoned or hurt animals or people.”
“Then we shall have to teach her to be selective as well as secretive,” he said as he and Ailis moved to shepherd the children back to Rathmor.
Alexander remained sprawled in his chair as Ailis entered his bedchamber. He had managed to avoid her, Barra, and the children since they had returned from Pagan’s Point. He had even managed to avoid dining with them in the great hall. Now, however, it was time to go to bed. Alexander had been tempted to stay away longer, to lurk in his small solar and drink until he was certain Ailis was asleep, but the urge to be with her was ever stronger.
A niece with the sight, he thought and almost laughed. If there was one thing he could have considered worse than a niece with MacFarlane blood, a niece with the sight would have been it. One reason he had avoided everyone’s company since discovering Sibeal’s skill was so that he could better convince himself that it had all been some trick, even just some piece of inexplicable luck. He had almost done so; only a small uneasiness remained. He hoped Ailis would not talk about Sibeal’s unusual skills, but the way Ailis was eyeing him as she moved to wash up told him that he would probably not get that wished-for reprieve. In one last attempt to avoid any conversation, he stood up, shed his clothes, and climbed into bed. It was cowardly, he mused, but it just might work.
Ailis gave a start of surprise when Alexander suddenly got undressed and got into bed. She then spared a moment of annoyance over the way he had thrown his clothes all over the floor. The great laird, she grumbled to herself, is having himself a fine sulk. She shook her head and began to wash up. While she still felt a great deal of sympathy for him, she did not intend to pander to this foolishness.
Stripped down to a short, plain chemise, she walked over to his side of the bed. He lay sprawled on his stomach looking almost endearing except that his manly beauty tended to distract her. Ailis knew her position at Rathmor was precarious, but she was also Sibeal’s aunt. She had to know how Alexander would treat the child now.
“What will ye do about Sibeal?” she demanded.
“I havena given it much thought.” He opened one eye and heartily wished that Ailis did not look so adorable.
“Hay! Ye have done naughtelsebut think about it since ye fled Pagan’s Point.”
He abruptly sat up to glare at her. “I didnafleePagan’s Point.”
“Oh, aye, ye did. Ye hied away as if all of the hounds of hell bayed at your heels.”
“I think ye forget who ye are, what your place is here, and whom ye are speaking to!”
She had not expected him to grow quite so furious, but she held firm for Sibeal’s sake. “I havena forgotten any of that. I am a MacFarlane, I am your prisoner, and ye are the constantly irritated Laird of Rathmor. I am also Sibeal’s aunt, the woman who has had the raising of her. ‘Tis about Sibeal I mean to speak, and I expect to be heeded.”
“Ye do, do ye?” He could not fully suppress some admiration for her as she stood there prepared to defend or protect her niece.
“Aye, I do. Did ye think she wouldna see how ye ran away and have stayed away?”
