She frowned. “How could ye possibly ken about that?”
Instead of answering, I moved toward the massive hearth at the far end of the kitchen, guided by the persistent whisper in my ear. I crouched down, ignoring the curious stares of the kitchen staff, and probed at the stones in the corner. One moved slightly beneath my touch.
“Here,” I said, working my fingers into the gap. “It’s here.” With some effort, I pried the stone loose. Behind it was a small cavity, and nestled within, gleaming dully in the firelight, was a silver locket on a tarnished chain. My heart pounded as I lifted it carefully and turned to Mary, whose eyes had grown wide with disbelief. “I believe this belongs to ye,” I said softly, holding it out to her with my trembling hands.
She approached slowly, as if in a dream, her hands trembling like mine were as she took the locket from me. “It was my mama’s,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “And before that, my grandmama’s. It went missing after my mama died last winter. I thought it was lost forever.” She looked up at me, wonder and confusion warring on her young face. “How did ye ken where to find it?”
The truth would sound mad to these people who didn’t know me or my curse. Instead, I said simply, “Someone told me where to look.”
I rose quickly and turned to leave before she asked me anymore questions, but at the kitchen door, Mary called from behind me, “Thank ye!”
I gave a nod and departed, but the happiness in her voice made me smile. For the first time since the curse began, I had used it to bring joy rather than fear, comfort rather than distress. It was a small thing, perhaps, a trinket restored to a grieving daughter, but the gratitude in Mary’s eyes had been genuine, the relief in her face palpable. Had this been Morgana’s intent all along? Not punishment, but purpose?
I wanted to be alone to think, so I made my way to my bedchamber and prepared for bed, then went to Munro’s. I sat on the massive bed, and I closed my eyes and, for the first time in three years, I opened myself fully to the voices.
They came rushing in like relentless waves—dozens, perhaps hundreds of whispered pleas, fragments of stories, names and places and secrets long buried. The sheer volume was overwhelming, pressing against my skull from the inside, each voice fighting to be heard above the others. I trembled and clutched the furs as if they might anchor me against this flood of spectral need.
Suddenly, the bed dipped. My eyes fly open to find Munro watching me, concern etched across his features. “Ye’re shivering,” he said, his voice gruff. Was he worried?
I tried to respond, but the voices were too many, too insistent. I could only shake my head, teeth chattering despite the relative warmth of the room. Munro rose and moved to a chest against the wall. He returned with additional blankets, which he placed around my shoulders with unexpected gentleness.
“Better?” he asked.
When I nodded, he said, “I’ll go fetch ye a hot drink.”
“Nay, just stay,” I managed to whisper, the words slipping out before I could consider the wisdom of the request. And surely, surely, it was not wise, for as I took in his powerful presence and reassuring gaze, my belly tightened, and yearningsprang deep in my core. I wanted this man as I had never wanted before.
Chapter Thirteen – Munro
My first instinct was to refuse her request, to mutter some excuse about duties elsewhere, to flee as I’d been fleeing for two years. But the vulnerability etched across Murieall’s face, the same face that had haunted my dreams these past nights, stirred something in me that I’d thought long dead. I hesitated, one foot already turned toward the door, the walls I’d built trembling.
“Would ye just lie here with me,” she added, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please.”
God’s blood, but that word undid me.Please.When had anyone last asked me for something with such raw need? Not demanded as a laird, not expected as a da, just… asked. I swallowed hard, feeling the battle between habit and desire wage war within my chest.
“Aye,” I managed, the word scraping past my throat. “For a bit.”
I lowered myself onto the bed beside her, careful to keep a proper distance between us. The furs dipped beneath my weight, shifting us closer despite my intentions. Murieall lay on her side facing me, her copper hair spilling across the pillow. Her dark eyes, troubled yet somehow hopeful, held mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
Without thinking, I reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold, and I told myself that was why I took them between my own, not because I craved the softness of her skin against mine, not because I’d been wondering what those slender fingers would feel like trailing across my chest. Her shivering subsided at my touch.
“Better now?” I asked, my voice gruffer than I’d intended.
She nodded without offering an explanation of what was wrong, and I didn’t probe. I knew what it was like not to want to be questioned.
“I was worried,” I admitted, surprising myself, “when ye fled from the great hall.”
A flush crept up her cheeks. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Do nae apologize. I just…” I trailed off, uncertain how to express what I’d felt in that moment. Fear had spiked when she’d fled, and a surge of protective fury had driven me to find her, instead of avoiding the bedchamber like I’d been doing.
The same fury I’d felt this morning when I thought James had upset her. And the strange, knotted heat in my gut when I’d watched him lead her in the dance earlier tonight. Her hand in his, her smile directed at him. That had been jealousy, pure and simple, a feeling I’d not experienced since courting Isabella.
God help me, but I was falling under this woman’s spell.
The thought should have sent me bolting from the room. Instead, I remained, my thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand while the torchlight painted shadows across the delicate planes of her face. She was beautiful in a way that wasn’t like Isabella at all—Isabella had been all golden light and laughter, while Murieall was dark waters and quiet strength. Different, yet equally captivating.
“Ye looked like ye were enjoying yerself tonight,” I said, the words coming out more accusing than I’d intended. “Dancing with James.”
