The way he said it and looked at her made her feel as though she had been up to no good. Like when their parents had caught them doing something they shouldn’t. She shifted from one foot to the other.
“Evie thought…” She took a deep breath, expelled it. “She thought it would help give me the power of the keystone. Like it did when she used it.”
He released her hand. “Did it work?”
“No. At least, I don’t think it did. Nothing happened when she cut my hand and I held the keystone.”
She brought it out of her pocket and showed it to him. She’d cleaned the blood off it, but as she held it up into the slash of light, she saw a dried brown smudge still on it. She cut a glance to the tapestry and wondered if that had anything to do with Bridget talking to her from the wall hanging.
“It’s strange that something so small can be so powerful,” she muttered.
“Aye,” he agreed and reached for her bandaged hand again.
The moment he took her hand in his, something strange happened. A flash of light pounded through her, exploding in her mind. She sucked in a heated breath and tried to jerk away, but he held onto her.
“Lassie?”
His voice sounded far away as the world twisted and turned in on itself, the light from the hallway smearing in front of her. It was as though she transported through some strange portal—not like when she traveled back in time—but different. As though the vision in her mind sprang to life and she found herself standing at the edge of a small village. Several thatched roofs were visible against the night sky. Smoke curled from the chimney of one. Another had yellow light flickering in thewindow. Most of the small houses were dark and silent, as though the inhabitants had retired for the night. Overhead, stars twinkled in the inky sky. There was no moon.
Sitting atop his destrier was Malcolm. Next to him, his brother, Jamie. They both held torches.
“Get them all out,” Malcolm ordered, his voice hard and cold.
Two men galloped past him and Jamie. They pounded on doors, waking up the villagers and pulling men, women, and children from their beds. Sleepy-eyed and horrified, they stumbled into the chilly evening. The wind flickered the torches he and Jamie held.
“Gather them together,” Malcolm ordered. “Jamie, help them.”
Jamie rode away and barked orders, still holding that torch aloft. Malcolm moved his horse to a slow walk down the center of the village. Houses with thatched roofs lined the dirt road on either side of him. There were a few hundred villagers huddled together at the edge, the sounds of whimpers of children and women echoing through the night.
“Is that all of them?” Malcolm asked
Jamie said, “Aye.”
“Are ye sure, lad? I want no blood on my hands.”
“Aye, I’m sure,” Jamie replied with a nod.
Malcolm nudged his horse toward one of the small houses, lifting the torch higher in the night sky. “Go to yer laird. Tell him Clan MacLeod sends their regards. Tell him, next time there will be death.”
He lit the thatched roof with the torch. It immediately caught, sending flames higher and higher into the sky, illuminating the frightened faces. Jamie used his torch to light the houses on the other side. He moved his horse next to Malcolm’s as they watched the village go up in flames.
“What will ye tell Callum?” Jamie asked.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice hard and unrelenting. “He will ken what I did soon enough.”
“And assume the worst. Ye should tell him ye forced them out before—”
“Let’s go.”
Then he kicked his horse into a gallop. Jamie and the other two men followed.
And then the vision was over. But it wasn’t a vision. It was a memory.Hismemory.
Malcolm released her hand. She stumbled away from him, her heart fiercely pounding as she tried to catch her breath. She clutched her bandaged hand against her chest in a futile attempt to slow her heart.
“You…” The word came out on a breath as she spoke.
He remained where he was, staring at her with wide-eyed shock. His voice was a whisper. “How did ye do that, lass?”
