“Verra well,” I said, gathering my skirts slightly. “But I warn ye, I’ve nae done this since I was a wee lass myself.”
As they began to swing the rope, I found myself smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in ages. Perhaps this moment of respite, this brief interlude of childish play, was exactly what I needed to fortify myself against the whispers that sought to pull me from my chosen path.
But even as I prepared to jump, the dead woman’s voice whispered once more, so faintly I could almost pretend I hadn’t heard.
He must know the truth before it is too late.
I ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm of the rope, the expectant faces of the girls, the solid feeling of the cobblestones beneath my feet. I was in control. I would succeed. No voice, living or dead, would turn me from my purpose.
I jumped again when movement at the garden gate caught my attention. James stood there, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the cobblestones. His expression was as dark as the shadow he cast, brows drawn together, mouth set in a grim line that boded ill for someone, and I had the distinct feeling that someone was me. He strode across the garden, his steps purposeful, and I stepped out of the swinging rope to face him.
“Off with ye now, lasses,” he called to Guinn and Bess, his voice gentler than his expression. “Cook’s making sweet cakes, and she’s asked for strong helpers to aid her.”
The girls’ faces brightened instantly, all thoughts of jump rope forgotten. They dashed past James with barely a backwardglance, their small feet pattering against the stone. I watched them go with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. I was glad they’d be spared whatever confrontation was coming, and I heartily wished I could be spared as well.
James waited until their voices had faded before he turned his full attention to me. His eyes were as hard as flint as they fixed on mine.
“What happened in the Great Hall?” he demanded, dispensing with pleasantries entirely. “And do nae tell me ye were merely startled. Ye were nae speaking to me when ye cried out.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. The afternoon sun felt too hot against my skin now, and I fought the urge to back away from him. “I do nae ken what ye mean,” I lied.
“Ye do,” he insisted, taking another step toward me. “Munro is my best friend, and I’d do anything to aid him.” His voice dropped lower, but the intensity only grew. “I thought ye’d be good for him, but if ye’re mad, then I’ll see ye kicked out of this castle before ye can hurt him or the lasses.”
The threat hung in the air between us, clear and unmistakable. My hands began to tremble, and I clasped them tightly before me to hide their shaking.
“I’m nae mad,” I said.
“Then explain.” He stared at me expectantly as I tried to think what to say. He gave a huff and said, “Ye ken verra well ye were nae talking to me in the great hall when ye yelled stop.”
I looked away, my gaze traveling across the garden, seeking an escape that didn’t exist. I could continue to lie, but to what end? James was clearly no fool, and he had witnessed my strange behavior twice now. If he truly believed me mad, he would make good on his threat to have me removed, and then what would become of my chance to break the curse?
With a deep breath, I made my decision. “I hear them,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet his gaze once more.
“Who?” he asked, frowning.
“The dead.” The words fell from my lips like stones, heavy and final. “I’m cursed to hear the voices of the dead. That’s what happened in the great hall. That’s what happened last night at the high table when I fainted. It wasn’t exhaustion. It was a dead woman’s voice screaming in my head.”
James’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t immediately dismiss me as mad, which I took as an encouraging sign. “The dead,” he repeated flatly. “And what do these dead tell ye?”
“Many things,” I said, gaining confidence now that the secret was out. “Some beg me to pass messages to their loved ones. Others want justice for wrongs done to them. This voice keeps insisting that I tell someone that there are ‘liars amongst him’.”
A flicker of something, interest, perhaps, or concern, passed across James’s face. “Munro,” he muttered.
I hadn’t thought about who the woman had been trying to get me to tell, but it made sense when James said it. Her voice got louder when Munro was near, or I thought of him. “I think mayhap,” I offered.
Strangely, James didn’t look surprised. “What do ye believe? Do ye believe liars surround Munro?”
“I do nae think ye a liar,” I said.
James laughed at that. “I thank ye, but I was nae referring to myself.”
“I do nae ken,” I said. “I try nae to listen to the whispers if I can help it. The voices have brought me only trouble and pain. They cost me my betrothal, my future, my peace of mind. I wish only to be free of them.”
“Which brings me to another question,” James said, his tone slightly less harsh now. “Why are ye here at Ross Stronghold? What brought ye to Munro specifically?”
I hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. But I had already disclosed my greatest secret; what purpose would half-truths serve now? “The witch Morgana sent me here,” I admitted. “She said if I could make Munro feel again, then she would lift my curse.”
James studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “So ye came here to use my friend as a means to an end,” he said finally, his voice deceptively quiet.
