Willing himself to remain calm, he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Will I be taken to Fort William? Or Edinburgh? Will I be charged with treason as a Jacobite?”
“I cannot answer why. All I know is that it will happen here. I couldn’t have told you that until I passed through the gates. I recognized it immediately—the four corner towers, the rooftop and battalions. I saw it all in the stones.”
Here? No… It could not be… It had to be a mistake.
“Who is responsible?” he asked. “Is there a traitor here? Is it Gordon MacEwen?”
Raonaid rested a warm, slender hand on his cheek, and regarded him with an expression of pity.
That, he could not tolerate.
“Dammit, woman.Speak!”
“You are betrayed by your wife,” she explained. “I saw that in the stones, too.”
Angus slowly backed away from her. “Nay,” he said. “It is another woman. Not her.”
“Itisher,” Raonaid insisted. “Unless you are sharing your bed with someone else. Are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then it is her. The stones never lie. I saw you making love to her, and then I saw them drag you away.”
“Who?” he asked in a threatening voice. “Who drags me? I must know.”
“I wish I could tell you that, Angus. Truly I do, but your enemies have hid themselves well. They would not show their faces.”
He took hold of her arms and shook her. “What of their clothes? Were they redcoats? Or did they wear the tartan of the MacEwens?”
“I told you, I do not know those details! All I know is thatshedisarms you. She breaks you down, weakens you, and invites them in. You must leave this place, Angus.”
Lachlan grabbed hold of his arm. “Don’t believe her. She’s mad.”
Angus shook him away. “I cannot ignore her prophecies. Too many of them have come to pass. I never would have returned to claim Kinloch if she had not seen my father’s death, predicted your arrival, and promised me a great triumph.”
“But we need you here,” Lachlan argued. “You cannot let a witch drive you out, in fear of your own death.”
Angus started for the door. “I fear nothing, and I have no intention of deserting my clan. But I will not accept that I will be dead in a month. I will do what I can to prevent it.”
Raonaid followed him and offered a quiet piece of advice. “Practice with your sword,” she said. “Stay strong. Be the warrior you were born to be. Do not let yourself become weak or distracted.”
After Angus left the kitchen, Raonaid stood in the arched doorway watching him go, then turned and faced Lachlan. He stalked toward her and pulled her roughly up against him.
“I want you to listen to me,” he said in a low growl, “and listen very carefully, witch. If you have come here to stir up deceit and treachery, I will not stand for it. I will hunt you down, wherever you are, and I will slit your throat.”
Raonaid laughed in his face. “Go ahead and try,” she spat. “But I won’t die byyoursword, Lachlan MacDonald.”
“Nay?” His gaze dipped lower to her moist, full lips and ample bosom, then lifted again. “Tell me, then. Whose sword will end your sorry life, Raonaid? I’ll want to congratulate the man.”
She pushed him away, then hauled back and punched him across the jaw. He cursed and doubled over in pain.
“No man will ever have that honor,” she said. “Because I will live a long and happy life. Then, when my time comes, I will die in my sleep—a very old and wealthy woman.”
Lachlan wiped his bloodied lip with the back of his hand, and worked his jaw back and forth to ensure it wasn’t broken. “You are insane,” he said. “You always were.”
She scowled at him. “You’re just angry because I wouldn’t lift my skirts for you that night in the tavern. I’m the only woman alive who didn’t fall prey to your handsome face and teasing charms.”
He glanced down at the blood on the back of his hand and headed for the door. “Thank God for small mercies.”
