“Doye think someone could actually be hurt this time?”
“Iwill admit I am a bit afeared of that, yet there must have been some bad timesbefore, and I have ne’er heard it told that any harm came of it.”
“True.How is Effie reacting to all of this?”
“Sherefuses to believe ‘tis happening because she is to be a woman soon.”
“Weel,I didnae want to believe it either when it happened to me. ‘Tis a frightfulthing to leave one’s childhood behind, but when ye must face that change withmischievous spirits hurling things about and being a terrible nuisance, ‘tis asore trial indeed. And there are Effie’s fancies to consider. The child seemstruly convinced that she is a changeling, a bairn left behind by the fairyfolk. She probably thinks fairies dinnae suffer the afflictions of mortalwomen.”
Sorchasilently began to consider all she could say to Euphemia in an attempt to makethe girl accept her coming of age with calm resignation. Calm was the best. Itwas the one truth her family had uncovered about the curse that haunted them.The calmer the girl, the less violent the activity of the spirits. The noiseswere muted, fewer objects were thrown about or stolen and hidden away, and allthe other nuisances grew easier to bear. There was an herbal drink hergrandmother had brewed that would keep the girl calm, even sweetly blissful,for hours at a time, but Sorcha did not like the idea of using it.
Robertpushed open the heavy door to the great hall, and Sorcha stepped inside. Shecame to a halt so abruptly, Robert walked into her. Sorcha ignored his softcurse in favor of uttering a few of her own. The great hall was a mess. Twonervous women were picking up scattered candelabras, plates, and tankards andrighting the tipped-over benches. It looked as if a wild revel had just ended,but Sorcha knew that was not the cause of the disarray. Even as she steppedinto the room, a large shield hanging over the huge stone fireplace crashed tothe floor. The two maids screeched, took a few deep breaths, and continued topick up. Robert sidled around her and walked over to the shield. Sorchafollowed, pulling a high stool over so that he could put the shield back.
“‘Tisbad,” she murmured, holding the tall, three-legged stool steady as he climbedon it.
“‘Tisalso far too constant, too unrelenting, for my peace of mind. The spirits aremightily stirred up this time.”
“MayhapEuphemia’s change from child to woman will be a swift one.” Sorcha grimacedwhen Robert gave her a telling glance as he jumped off the stool. “One canalways hope.”
“Hopeall ye like, lass, but as ye do so, plan what we must do to ease this turmoil.Mayhap ye can speak to your own spirits. One of them may ken how to stop this.”
“Theydinnae seem to. I have asked them before. In truth, my ghosties dinnae seem token much at all. And I would prefer that they stay away for a wee while. I maybe able to explain away things hurling themselves about or noises in the night,but I doubt I can explain a ghost or, since Ruari willnae be able to see myspirit, my talking to someone who isnae there.”
“Ah,I hadnae thought of that.”
“Allthe whispered tales and fears that forced our clan to move to this desolateplace have faded. If Sir Ruari and his cousin become aware of our secrets,those dark stories could begin again. We have no other place to run, Robert.”
“Sowhat can we do?”
“Praythat Sir Ruari leaves here thinking no more than that we are all quite mad.”
Chapter Four
Wincingslightly as he awoke, Ruari instinctively tried to move and as his batteredbody protested, he warily opened his eyes. It did not really surprise him tofind someone by his bed. He had sensed that he was being watched. And he hadnot been left alone once in the three days he had been at Dunweare. What didpuzzle him was why the Hays would make such a young, delicate girl his nurseand guard. The slim elfin-faced girl staring at him so intensely could not havereached womanhood yet. He began to squirm inwardly beneath the steady gaze ofher huge blue eyes and he scowled at her.
“Idinnae think ye should be in here, lassie,” he said, frowning even more whenshe idly brushed a thick lock of blond hair from her angelic face and nodded.
“Yeare uneasy,” she said, her voice soft and melodic. “‘Tis to be expected. Mostof the mortal folk I meet are uneasy around fairies.”
“Fairies?”Feeling thirsty, Ruari carefully inched himself into a sitting position only tofind the tankard and ewer of water no longer on his bedside table.
“Aye,I am Euphemia, a fairy and a changeling. The fairies took the true Euphemia theday she was born and set me in her cradle. Of course, these poor deluded folkhave raised me as one of their own. They simply willnae heed me when I try totell them the truth.”
“Tryingto make folk listen to ye can be a tiresome chore,” he agreed, wondering if therewas insanity in the Hay blood.
Ashe thought over the events of the past three days, he began to think that adeep strain of madness did indeed taint the Hays. He had heard strange noisesin the night—crying, moaning, even a chilling laughter—yet no one could explainthe sounds when he inquired about them. Now this young girl talked of fairies.With her fair hair loose and tangled, her gown light and flowing, and a coronetof wilted ivy in her hair, she did resemble one. It had the taste of madness asfar as he could see. Ruari eyed her with an increasing wariness, wondering ifshe was the one making all the noises in the night and if she was dangerous.The idea of being murdered in his sickbed by a tiny, pale girl-child who wasnot in her right mind was acutely distressing.
“Haveye seen my water?” he asked, hoping he could turn her mind to more mundane andsane matters.
“Isuspect the spirits took it. They have been most troublesome of late. Sorchaclaims ‘tis because I am soon to be a woman, but that is foolish. I am of thefairy folk. Ye would think the spirits would ken that and cease to haunt me.”As she spoke she climbed onto his bed.
Ruariedged back as she leaned closer, one tiny hand on either side of him, her longhair tickling his chest. “What is this talk of spirits?”
“Mayhapthey havenae troubled you, but surely ye have heard the noises in the night?”
“Aye,I have heard them.” When she straddled his body with hers, Ruari felt adistinct thrill of alarm. “I thought perhaps one of your kinsmen was troubledin his mind.”
“Nay,‘tis but the curse of the Hay women. ‘Tis said an old Pictish witch put thiscurse upon us.” She leaned toward him, placing her hands on the headboard ofthe bed on either side of his head. “Whenever a girl of this clan approacheswomanhood, the spirits come to torment us. ‘Tis a bother, but to tell thetruth, I am not sure I believe in curses. If ‘twas only that, someone wouldhave discovered a way to put an end to it all.” She edged her face closer tohis. “There are so few men about Dunweare.”
