“Enough,” Munro bit out.
Heat rose to my cheeks, but before I could think how to respond, James said, “May I have the honor of a dance, Murieall?” I glanced behind me, surprised to see him standing there with his hand extended. But I was more than happy to escape Lady Magdalene, who clearly had taken a dislike of me. “Of course,” I said, perhaps too eagerly.
As I rose from my seat, my gaze inadvertently met Munro’s. His blue-gray eyes were more gray than blue at the moment. They reminded me of a sky before a storm, and he was scowling at James. Was Munro jealous that James asked me to dance? The thought sent an unwelcome thrill through me, which I quickly suppressed.
James led me to the open area where other couples were already moving to the music of pipes and drums. His hand settled at my waist, respectful but firm, as we joined the dance.
“I heard about this afternoon as well,” he said.
I snorted. “Gossip travels fast at this stronghold.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “but ’tis mostly the lasses that have stirred it to the frenzy it’s at. They can speak of little else but how braveye were to catch Bess, and how ye and Munro had a ‘fight that was nae really a fight.’” His lips quirked in amusement. “Their words, nae mine.”
I sighed, knowing there was no point in pretense with this very watchful man. “We quarreled,” I admitted. “About life and plans and grief.”
“Ah,” James nodded, guiding me through a turn. “Heavy matters indeed. And did ye reach any conclusions in this debate?”
“Only that we disagree on much,” I replied, though even as I said it, I wondered if that was truly the case. Beneath our apparent differences, there had been a strange resonance, as if we recognized in each other a similar wound, differently dressed.
“Time is quickly running out on yer bargain with Munro,” James remarked casually, though his eyes were intent upon my face. “Do ye think ye’re any closer to making him feel again?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d been so caught up in the day-to-day tasks of caring for the lasses, in navigating my own tumultuous feelings, that I’d almost forgotten my original purpose. “I do nae ken,” I answered honestly. “He seems to care for his daughters more openly, but…”
“But that’s nae enough,” James finished for me. “Nae to truly heal him, as I said last time we talked.” He guided me through another turn, then lowered his voice. “Have ye considered what I suggested? About listening to the voices instead of fighting them?”
I tensed beneath his hand, nearly missing a step in the dance. “I’ve thought of little else since we spoke,” I confessed.
“And?”
The music swelled around us as I considered my answer. Munro’s words about the way I was living, leaving no room for joy, for possibility, came to me. “Perhaps ye’re right,” I saidbegrudgingly. “Perhaps I’ve been so determined to silence the dead that I’ve missed what they might be trying to tell me.”
James’s eyes lit with approval. “The voices chose ye for a reason.”
“They did nae choose me,” I muttered. “I was cursed.”
The dance ended, and James bowed over my hand. As he straightened, he said, “Mayhap ye have been looking at it incorrectly. Mayhap if ye listen, if ye help others, ye will find some peace of yer own.”
I made my way back to the high table as Jame’s words echoed in my mind. Had I been wrong to fight so hard against the curse? Could there be purpose in what I’d thus far seen only as punishment? The thought was terrifying yet strangely liberating.
As I took my seat, I decided that the next time a voice spoke to me, I would listen. I barely had time to settle this in my mind before a woman’s voice, soft and sorrowful, filled my head.
My locket lies beneath the loose stone in the far corner of the kitchen hearth. I was to pass it to my Mary as my mama passed it to me. Give it to my Mary. Ease her grief.
I froze with my goblet halfway to my lips. In the past, I would have tensed, fought to ignore the voice, pushed it away with all my mental strength. Now, I let it come, let the words wash over me, through me.
“What’s the matter, Murieall?” Bess asked from beside me.
“Nae anything, lass. I just remembered something I need to attend to. Please excuse me.”
I rose from the table, aware of Munro’s gaze upon me, but I offered no further explanation. I hurried out of the great hall to the kitchen, where some servants were busy preparing the next day’s bread. Several women looked up in surprise as I entered.
“May I help ye, my lady?” asked an older woman, wiping floury hands on her apron.
“I’m looking for Mary,” I said, surprised at the steadiness of my voice.
A young woman stepped forward, perhaps seventeen or eighteen summers, her face pinched with wariness. “I’m Mary,” she said with a small curtsy. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Nay,” I assured her quickly. “I…” Embarrassment rose, but I shoved it aside. “I’ve come about yer mama’s locket.”
