“Nae,” she murmured, “you have heard the tales about those clans of the Highlands which originated in kings of legend long since past?”
“I have heard the whispers regarding these tales, lass,” he replied, knowingly. “The clans who claim they are descendants from legendary kings long ago. They were meant to boast an edge in power upon their enemies. Tales and legends – even if you hold truth to your claim in clan, a MacThistlen has not beheld a fate-seer for centuries,ifthe legends were ever true.”
Well, he was not the first to doubt, but certainly the tallest. This Scotsman was the key to having her in an audience before the King of Scots.He must believe.Sell it, lassie!“Aye to all you proclaim, with one very strong exception.” She nodded. “My roots are truth, not legend. My clan does not need to boast.” Her head shook and the dried waves about her face swayed slightly; her words did not. “Before I was placed at the abbey, after my sire took ill, he spoke to me that our Clan MacThistlen were a manner different in sovereignty than King Alexander or King Håkonsson.”
She reached beneath her gown’s neckline. Aonghus seemed to lean closer at the action. Her hand pulled a gold chain which was nestled between her breasts; there dangling was her father’s gold ring he had bestowed upon her. Lifting it over her head, she handed it to his outstretched palm. An expression filled with intrigue covered his angular features.
“I am Clan MacThistlen,” she proclaimed. “My sire bestowed this emblem upon me before declaring we belonged to a powerful line in descendants. He believed I was perhaps the final fate-seer – as you stated, there has not been one for centuries. Thus the reasoning behind the rare foreshadow element beholden to my grasp – I am a MacThistlen.”
Aonghus studied the shield emblem given to her by her sire, which held a saltire and, at the top, a thistle, the chief to declare her line’s legacy.
“MacThistlen, how does one hold these rare foreshadows beholden only to a fate-seer?” he inquired, raising his brows higher.
She had never spoken to anyone about her instinct since her father, and then she had been taken shortly after his death by Kollungr. She certainly had never told the Northmen this is what gave her the instinct in sense regarding the foreshadows, or fate-seer or seer as they were called. She stared at Aonghus. He was a Highlander; he’d saved her life, chancing his own in the events.Take a leap in trust; tell him the truth – he must believe or all will be lost.
“Well,” she began, trying to explain the gift – at moments feeling more a curse from all the grizzled events she saw. “Not every time, but there are times, when tragedy is about to befall, I envision it in its entirety first. The foreshadow, or as I call it a ‘shadow-glance’, feels real. At the horrid events’ conclusion,time reverses and I find myself back at the corner of fate right before the calamity took place. A pain flashes behind my eyes as though someone is giving a wee pinch. This is when I know for certain what is about to unfold as a fate-seer. Those who are present declare I shut my eyes for an extended moment while the ‘shadow-glance’ presents the choices in fate. Then there is a rare time when I hold a foreshadow or night-glance while slumbering; these carry a stern cost of measure.”
“Cost of measure?”
“Aye, it refers to pain; I awake with a wretched ache behind my eyes, worse than the devil’s pitchfork poking my eyeballs.”
“So, you are truly a fate-seer? Who runs the Highlands holding foreshadows when disaster is about to strike?” Was he surprised or doubtful?
Her chin raised with a stubborn pride. “Aye. You dare doubt me, MacCade?”
His next words caused her to see red. “I do not doubt you have been through a hell unlike any other, lass, leaving you a wee bit touched in the head after such a harsh treatment.”
Hewasdoubting her. She snatched the ring from his palm, threw the chain back over her head, and began to stride purposefully toward the cavern opening. She would find her way to King Alexander without this overgrown Scottish braggart! How? No idea! There had to be a way forth. “Thank you kindly for your assist earlier in the grove,” she said, dismissing him like a queen.
“Step aside,” she hissed at his massive frame when he bolted, blocking her way.
“You are a rather uppity lass, are you not?” He was mocking her!
“Step aside I say!” She tried to go around the Scottish summit, then he dodged left to block her way. “I am to warn King Alexander and shall not have…”
“Warn him?” The mirth vanished from his features. “Warn him in what regards?”
As if I would tell him now.“Regards which do not concern you,” she said, with a flurry belonging to rage, “you overgrown Scottish arse.” She ducked right, as did he. “Let me pass!”Raging hell, how can he be so quick for such a massive Scot?
She tried to kick his woolen-clad shin. Bad idea! Had she just kicked the granite wall next to them and not the impossible Scotsman? An unladylike grunt escaped her lips.Kick again, there…“Ow!” She cursed louder in Gaelic before trying to charge right. “Let me pass! You cannot know the torment filling the days past, being summoned to hunt my own countrymen, and now to have you mock me, Aonghus MacCade – I will not stand for it!” She kneed his groin; he gave a grunt, and she charged left.
“NAE!” she screamed when two iron arms snared about her waist from behind and spun her back around into the cavern.
“You Scottish wildcat!” he roared into her ear.Elbow the ribs, ow, also like a damn stone.“Halt your infernal struggles!”
“Never will I halt till I hold an audience before my lord king! To the death! To the death!!!”
He let go; she leapt forward a step to turn then threw her hands up to protect her skull. The Northmen would have sought revenge there first for her belligerence; Aonghus may do the same…
“Keirah.” His voice was calm. Her palms lowered to see him still blocking the entrance; at least he wasn’t charging at her with the fist clenched by his side.
“If you mean to use that fist upon me” – she nodded toward his palm then tried to sound fierce; it came out more a mewl – “you best begin.”
She closed her eyes; better not to see it unfold twice.Brave, be brave, the pain will pass, then a path will come clear how to seek the king.Only a whisper from a pine-fumed gust brushed her cheek. She popped one eye open. His fist was a palm at his side, and disbelief with maybe rage appeared on his expression.
Her jaw dropped at his give: “You are correct in your appraisal, Keirah, forgive me.”
***
