Sorchacursed and glared at her obstinate brother as he strode out of the great hall.Two long, contentious weeks had passed since she had been dragged back toDunweare, and Dougal still refused to bend. She was beginning to feel afraiddespite Aunt Neil’s constant assurances that if Ruari had cared for her, hewould still care for her no matter how long it took her to get back to him.Neil and Margaret had the added security of open declarations of love fromtheir men. All Sorcha had was passion, a certain look, a few promising wordsand hints, and that blunt, unadorned statement that she would be his wife ifDougal allowed her to stay. She could not even be certain if he would stillhold to that now that he had had time to think about it.
“Dougalcan be such an idiot,” she grumbled and poured herself a tankard of cider.
“Aye,”agreed a soft voice at her shoulder.
Asoft cry of surprise escaped Sorcha, and she turned to frown at Euphemia whonow stood at her side. The girl was too quiet, constantly startling people.Little Effie was also not quite so little anymore, her slim figure noticeablybecoming more and more womanly each day. The petulance was gone from her prettyface as well.
“Yewill age me before my time,” she said, smiling crookedly at the girl.
“Sorry,Cousin. I but agreed with ye that Dougal can be an idiot. If naught else, heshould pause to think about what an excellent match ye and Ruari Kerr wouldmake, for the Kerrs have money and fine, rich lands.”
“Thesort of mon few Hay women find.”
“Exactly.The sort of mon who could truly help Dunweare shake off its lingering poverty.”
“Weel,Dougal isnae going to change his mind.” Sorcha scowled, drumming her fingers onthe heavy wooden table. “I have rarely seen him this furious or thisdetermined. ‘Tis good that he has finally gained that sort of strength. I justwish he hadnae chosen this particular time to behave in this way. My head achesfrom banging it against his stubbornness for a fortnight.” She smiled faintlywhen Euphemia giggled.
“AuntNeil says she is glad that he is finally acting the laird, but she wishes hewould have a wee turn of recklessness again. She says it might give yesomething ye can use to change his mind.”
“Aye,it might, but I fear our Dougal has finally decided to become a mon.”
“‘Twouldappear so, but it matters not. That wouldnae solve this trouble anyway.”
Therewas an odd tone to Euphemia’s sweet voice, and Sorcha looked closely at thegirl. There was a faint glitter in Effie’s big blue eyes that she had begun torecognize. If the girl had not had a premonition, she had certainly had astrong feeling about something. Sorcha was almost afraid to ask. What would shedo if Euphemia told her that there was no hope for her and Ruari?
“Haveye had a dream?” she asked, unable to hide her fear and reluctance.
“Idinnae have dreams or visions—at least, not yet. I just ken things. Somethingin my head and heart tells me how things will be or how they must be done.”
“Andye have had one of these—er—messages?”
“Ithink so. I am still verra uncertain, ye understand, and I cannae explain whatI feel so that someone might help me.”
“Justtell me what the message was, then, and I will see if I can decide what itmeans.”
“‘Twasjust a wee one. Ye must give the power back to Ruari.”
“Whatpower?” Sorcha asked.
Euphemiashrugged. “I dinnae ken. Whenever I think of ye, Neil, Margaret, and the Kerrs,that one sentence slips into my mind. Ye must give the power back to Ruari.”
Fornearly an hour they fretted over the words, but found no answers. Euphemia wasstill too young, and Sorcha decided she was too tired. As she gently sentEuphemia to help with the children, Sorcha silently cursed the fates. Theykindly gave Euphemia a useful gift, only to make the warnings and messages theysent so obscure that they were almost impossible to understand. She finishedher drink and decided she had best return to her own chores, welcoming thechance to stop brooding. As she strode out of the keep and went to weed theherb garden, she prayed that if she did not have some brilliant plan by theweek’s end, Ruari would.
“Ruari?”Malcolm called softly as he timidly entered the laird of Gartmhor’s bedchamber.
Fora brief moment Ruari stared at his cousin, wondering idly how the little mancould be so calm and diligent when he may well have lost all chance to marryNeil Hay. He sat up in his chair. Slouching there by the slender window,staring morosely in the direction of Dunweare and trying to drink himself intoa dull stupor was proving to be a trial. He decided he would welcome somediversion even if it was one of Malcolm’s long explanations of some new way toput more money in his purse.
“Sit,Malcolm.” He waved his cousin toward a seat on the other side of the smalltable he had set a decanter and tankards on. “Wine?”
“Oh,nay. It takes verra little to make me confused, and I need a clear head,”Malcolm replied as he sat down and put some papers on the table. “M’lord, Ibelieve I have found something that may end the disapproval for a marriagebetween Beatham and Margaret Hay.”
“Malcolm,the only way for Beatham and Margaret to be wed now is for Margaret’s brotherto allow it. Ye do recall that Dougal vowed that no Hay would ever wed a Kerr?”
“Aye,I recall. How could I not recall it? It cost me verra dearly.”
“Ofcourse. Forgive my surliness. Howbeit, if ye ken that, why have ye come to mewith this?”
“Ihold out hope that my Neil or her niece, who is a verra clever lass, will thinkof a way to solve that problem. If naught else, ‘tis their kinsmon who must bedealt with, and they ken the mon better than anyone else does. Nay, what I havediscovered may ease the trouble that will come after Sir Dougal is convincedthat he should ease his stance against us. What has been the only realobjection to a marriage between Beatham and Margaret?”
