James nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I could see he wanted to say more, to press his advantage, but he wisely held his tongue.
I lowered my sword, suddenly exhausted. The rage that had fueled me moments before had ebbed, leaving me hollow. “But check on her during the day,” I added. “See that all is well with her and the lasses.”
“Aye,” James agreed so easily and quickly that I suspected I’d somehow been manipulated, but I knew well he’d never admit to it.
We sparred for a few more passes, but my heart was no longer in it. My mind kept drifting back to Murieall, to the strange tale she’d told me, and to the way my daughters had looked at her with hopeful eyes.
“What have ye heard of this witch?” I asked, finally sheathing my practice sword. “This Morgana.”
James wiped sweat from his brow, considering. “There was a warrior who passed through our lands in the spring,” James said. “Jerold MacDonald. He spoke of his laird, Colin MacDonald, who wed a lass with the gift of sight. Jerold claimed the gift was bestowed by none other than the witch Morgana.”
“And what did this ‘gift of sight’ entail?” I asked, my tone making my skepticism clear.
“The lass could see events before they happened. Nae everything, mind ye, just flashes here and there. According to Jerold, she foresaw an ambush planned against her husband, and her warnings helped him defeat his enemies.”
“A conveniently unprovable tale,” I said.
James shrugged. “Jerold seemed convinced. He said his laird believes it.”
I grunted. “Magic and curses do nae belong in the world of men.”
“There’s something else,” James said, his expression serious now.
“What?”
“Do ye remember when Isabella travelled to the MacLeod stronghold to visit her childhood friend, and ye had me accompany her?”
“Aye,” I nodded. “Why?”
“Well,” James said, looking past me for a moment as if thinking back to that time. “We came upon a woman in the woods who was giving birth,” James said. “She had long silver hair and strange colored eyes that were a mixture of silver and purple.”
“Go on,” I said, intrigued despite myself.
“She was screaming. The birth was nae going well. The weather was terrible. I remember it well because it was snowing and the temperature was dropping. Isabella insisted we stop to help the woman, and I tried to convince her to let me first take her to the MacDonald stronghold to get her out of the elements, but she would nae hear of it.”
I smiled at that. “Nae, she always did put others first.” My words made me frown. The truth about my wife was one of the very reasons I still had a hard time believing she would have taken her own life, even though I knew she’d grown melancholy over the loss of our son. The Isabella I had known would not have left Bess and Guinn, and me, knowing the pain it would cause us, but I was to believe her mind had changed. Everyone said so.
“We stayed, we helped the woman to a cave, and that cave seemed to give her strength to bring the child, a lass, into the world. Isabella wrapped the bairn in her plaid, which she took off, and when she handed the bairn to the woman, I rememberthe woman’s eyes glowed, and she told Isabella that one day, in the future, she would repay her kindness.”
“Why is this the first time I’ve heard this tale?”
James shrugged. “I do nae ken why Isabella did nae tell ye. I simply did nae give it another thought until this moment.”
“So why do ye tell me now?”
“Well,” James said, clasping me on the shoulder, “because the witch Morgana is said to live in the Dark Woods near the MacLeod stronghold, and I believe now, ’twas the witch that Isabella and I aided.”
“Well, if this Morgana is a witch, and she owed my wife a favor, she certainly did nae deliver it, now did she?” I bit out, irritated that I’d stood here listening to such nonsense, and annoyed that James’s words had stirred something in me. Not belief, precisely, but doubt.
Before James could respond, the supper horn rang. I shrugged his hand off, but not with the anger I’d possessed when I’d come to find him. We had made a step toward reconciliation. “Go fetch Murieall and the lasses for the evening meal,” I ordered, suddenly eager to be away from James and his tales.
“As ye wish,” he replied with a small bow that held just enough mockery to irritate me.
I watched him go, then made my own way to the great hall. The huge chamber was already filling with clansmen and women, their voices creating a low hum that echoed off the stone walls. Torches blazed in their sconces, casting a warm glow over trestle tables laden with food. At the high table upon the dais, my council members had begun to take their seats.
Uncle Gordon caught my eye and nodded a greeting, though I could see the surprise in his gaze. I rarely appeared for meals before the food was half-gone these days, preferring to avoid the forced conversation and curious stares. Tonight, though,something drew me to arrive with the others. I told myself it was merely hunger.
I took my seat at the center of the high table, beside my uncle, with my aunt directly to his left. Servants hurried to fill my cup, which I drained too quickly. The familiar warmth of wine spread through my chest, but it did little to lessen the unease that was with me now since James’s tale.
