“Igrow verra weary of this,” grumbled Ruari as Sorcha returned to his bedside andhe grabbed her by one slender wrist to hold her by his side. “Ye will tell mewhat I wish to learn. I demand some answers.”
“Yeare a verra demanding sort of gentlemon, arenae ye.”
“AndI begin to think ye and all of Dunweare are mad. There is that woman Neil who isnaeonly as big as any mon I have seen, but ofttimes acts like one. Then there isthat wee birdlike woman who fusses o’er everything, talks without drawingbreath, yet says naught.”
“Myaunt Bethia.”
“Aye,her. And then there is the woman who says not a word and flinches each time Ibut blink.”
“Myaunt Eirie. She is a timid woman.”
“Timidas a much-whipped cur. And let us not forget that wee deluded lass who was justhere. She spoke of being a changeling and of spirits. From what little I haveseen of Robert, he appears to be a sensible mon save that he heeds what all ofye say. Oh, aye, and let us not forget the curse the child spoke of.”
“Ah,she told ye of our curse, did she?”
BeforeRuari could reply, Bethia scurried into the room. She cast Ruari a nervousglance as she set a jug of mead, a small tray of bread and cheese, and atankard on the table next to his bed. She paused, shifting from foot to footwhen she saw how he was restraining Sorcha, but a quick shake of the head fromher niece sent her hurrying out of the room.
“Ihave only been here a few days, but I begin to understand her skittishness,”muttered Ruari.
Sorchatwisted free of his grasp. Ignoring his scowl, she moved to pour him a drink.She handed him the tankard, pleased to see that he had recovered enough todrink without help. As she cut him some bread and cheese she briefly debatedwith herself on how she should answer his persistent questions. He alreadysuspected that the Hays were all mad, so she decided to tell him the truth and lethim deal with it however he chose to.
“Whatisall this talk of spirits and curses?” Ruari asked as he picked at thebread and cheese she set before him.
“‘Tissaid that far back in the thick mists of the past, one of the Hay women rouseda fierce jealousy in a Pictish witch. The witch cursed her and every Hay womanto follow her. Whenever a Hay woman of Dunweare is to become a woman, she mustsuffer through the torments inflicted by ill-tempered spirits. ‘Tis thosespirits ye hear at night, Sir Ruari. ‘Tis those spirits who took your drink.They are verra fond of hiding things. ‘Tis those spirits who put yourbedchamber in such disarray.”
“Andye believe this nonsense?”
Sheshrugged. “Why should I not? Each time a woman of Dunweare begins the changefrom child to woman the troubles begin. We have all suffered through it. ‘TisEuphemia’s turn now.”
Ruaritook a deep drink of the sweet mead to wash the food down then shook his head. “Iwas of the opinion that ye had some wits, but ‘tis clear that yours are asscattered as those of the rest of your clan.”
“Isee that ye have your doubts about what I am telling you.”
“Doubts?”Ruari laughed, wincing at the pain it caused.
“Whileye are feeling so amused, I may as weel tell ye the rest.”
“Thereis more?”
Sorchafound his ridicule more annoying than she knew she ought to. “The women in myclan are often born with special gifts.”
“Vastimagination?”
Sheignored him. “I can see the spirits who walk the land, see them and speak tothem.”
“Thenwhy havenae ye had a stern word with the ones hurling your possessions around?”
“Ican neither see nor hear those spirits and I fear the ones I do speak with kenlittle or naught about those troublesome ones. None of the Hay women with thegift has been able to reach them and reason with them.”
“Howinconvenient. Tell me, can ye call upon any spirit ye wish to?”
Sorchacould hear the heavy note of mockery in his voice. To her dismay, it hurt. Shewas not sure why, but she wanted Ruari to believe her, to accept hercompletely. That could prove dangerous. She knew she was doing a pathetic jobof protecting her feelings, her heart. It was why she had done her best toavoid him since their arrival at Dunweare, but her family had begun to grow toocurious about how she was acting. Telling him the full truth about herselfcould so disquiet him he could kill her growing infatuation with his own words.Sorcha just wished it did not have to hurt.
“Nay,I cannae call on anyone I wish,” she replied. “I must settle for those spiritswho decide to appear to me. My grandmother could reach out to others, but Ihave ne’er tried. I see and hear quite enough.” She crossed her arms over herchest. “I realize ye find this amusing—“
“Whyshouldnae I? ‘Tis naught but a jest.”
“‘Tisno jest. Did ye not just see what happened in here?”
