“Do what?” Her stomach clenched into a tight knot as a sick feeling crept through her.
“How did you show me the night I burned the village?”
Icy pinpricks tickled the back of her neck. “That was true, then?”
He said nothing, his expression impassive and devoid of emotion. The light normally in his eyes faded as he peered at her as though she were an enemy.
She glanced down at the keystone still in her other hand. In her cut palm, blood stained the bandage. The strange vision had happened when he took her hand while she held the keystone—the blood-stained keystone—in her other.
“It was the stone,” she said, weakly. The blood drained from her head. Black pinpricks of light danced in her vision. She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it. “It showed me the past. Your past. When you touched me.”
Glowering, he shoved past her and headed for the door. She had the distinct feeling her vision was also in his mind. He relived that moment when he went to the village and burned it.
“No one died,” she blurted, her heart racing. “You forced them out before you set it on fire.”
That stopped him. He halted in the middle of the doorway, his body nothing more than a shadow against the light.
“But you never told anyone that, did you? You wanted them to believe you had killed innocents. You wanted them to fear you. Why?”
He braced a hand on the door jamb, his back still to her. “I dinnae ken.”
That sick feeling was still creeping through her but she forced herself to move. She took several steps toward him, halting within arm’s reach.
“I think I do. You wanted vengeance for the death of your father. But you didn’t want to inflict more pain than necessary. You wanted to send a message to MacDonald. You wanted him to know your father’s death was not without consequence.”
The words spilled from her in a rush. Her hands shook as she stared at his back, watching the taut muscles relax as he turned slowly to face her.
“How do ye ken that, lass?” Fear tightened his features, tension creasing the lines of his face.
It was difficult to explain. She glanced down at the keystone still in her hand, understanding dawning. It wanted her to know this about him, to show her who he was, truly. And it wasn’t as though it was told to her. It was more of a feeling, a sense of what he’d done and why.
“It was the keystone. It showed me this about you. It has the power of the Past.”
She lifted her head, met his glittering gaze where a storm raged in those eyes. A storm of indecision. As though he didn’t know whether to trust her or not.
“Malcolm, I understand why you did it.”
He startled at the sound of his name on her lips. She stepped closer, daring to close the space between the two of them. Her cut hand throbbed with a fierce, deep pain. She glanced down at it again and saw the bandage soaked through with blood. She swayed, suddenly weak and lightheaded.
He was there in a flash as she started to crumple, taking her in his arms and keeping her upright. She held up her bloodied, bandaged hand.
“I think something happened to me.”
It was as though the memory, the power of the keystone, drained her of all energy.
“God’s teeth, lassie.”
With that, he scooped her into his arms. The moment she was cradled against his warm, strong chest, she lost all consciousness.
CHAPTER 16
Chloe awoke to the pleasant sounds of a fire crackling and warmth surrounding her. Opening her eyes, she saw she was in a large bed with a heavy wood frame and four curtained posts, across from her, the hearth with a blazing fire. She sat up on her elbows and surveyed the room. It was not the room she had spent the previous night in. This room was different.
Next to the bed, a small wooden table where she noticed the keystone rested along with a candelabra. A massive chest was at the foot of the bed. Two chairs and a table were near the hearth. On the other side of the room, a washbasin near the one window which was shuttered against the elements. Under the window, a long cushioned bench. Tapestries—though certainly not the magical ones in the other room—were along the wall. Thick rugs covered the floor. A tall candelabra stood in one corner with six candles, all blazing brightly.
Whose room was she in?
A curious swooping tugged her stomach at the thought she might be in Malcolm’s chamber. A heated flush crawled up her neck and took up residence in her cheeks. She lifted her hands to her face only to realize she had a fresh bandage. It was expertly tied as it wrapped around her wounded hand.
