He withdrew the letter and handed it to Lachlan. “See that this is delivered to Moncrieffe. Send a dispatch rider today and tell him to wait for a reply. If there is one.”
Lachlan reached out to take it. “I thought you and the earl were not on speaking terms.”
“We aren’t, but it’s time I remedied that.” Angus unlocked the door to the powder magazine and entered. He lifted the lid on one of the wooden barrels. “Are all of these full?”
“To the brim. We have enough powder to blow the entire English army halfway across the Irish Sea.”
Angus looked around. “What about the armory? Are all the muskets in working order? Do we have sufficient ammunition?”
“Aye.”
“Good.” He started for the door. “Assemble the men, Lachlan. I wish to speak to them in the bailey.”
***
How was it possible that a person’s emotions could shift from one extreme to the other in the space of a single heartbeat? Gwendolen wondered miserably as she passed through the castle corridors toward the South Tower. Earlier that morning, she had been drifting along on a happy cloud of bliss while supervising the weavers in the spinning room, and anticipating the moment when she would tell her husband about the child in her womb.
The next thing she knew, he was bursting through the door and announcing that the oracle—a woman who had shared his bed quite recently—had envisioned his death by hanging. And that Gwendolen would be the cause of it.
She arrived at the door to the oracle’s guest chamber and fought a sickening ball of apprehension in her belly. She had never met this woman, but she despised her already, for planting false seeds of doubt and mistrust in her husband’s mind.
At the same time, however, she knew she could not be too hasty with her anger. This woman had foreseen her husband’s death, and perhaps knowledge of such an event could provide a defense against it. Despite how furious she felt, she did not want to lose Angus. She would therefore have to be calm and press Raonaid for more information about her visions, and ascertain if she was, in fact, correct—or simply here to cause mischief and lure Angus back to her bed.
Struggling to keep a firm grip on her emotions, Gwendolen knocked on the door. No one answered, so she knocked again, a second time.
At last, the door opened, and she swallowed uneasily at the disturbing image of the woman before her.
Raonaid, the famous oracle.
Mad as the devil. Crafty as a fox. And the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
She was tall and buxom. Her hair was the color of a raging inferno, her complexion pure white, like polished ivory.
But it was her eyes that caused Gwendolen the most distress, for they were a spectacular shade of blue, and brilliantly, ruthlessly calculating.
Chapter Nineteen
“I knew you would come,” the oracle said, appearing more than a little satisfied with herself, as she turned her back on Gwendolen, walked with a sensual swagger across the room, and left the door open behind her.
Gwendolen entered and looked around the quiet chamber. A hot fire was blazing in the hearth. The whisky decanter had been emptied almost entirely, and the bedclothes were torn off the mattress and thrown to the floor in a massive heap of silks and linens.
Gwendolen took in Raonaid’s overall appearance—her tattered, homespun skirt and bodice, her tiny waist and ample bosom, and the strange cord of bones tied around her neck.
She hated to admit it, but there was a natural majesty about her husband’s former lover, especially in the way she carried herself, with such pride and dignity.
Any fool could see that she embodied everything a man would find appealing in a woman, and exuded an air of sexuality as well. Gwendolen had to fight against the sudden twinge of jealousy that poked at her confidence.
“Are you enjoying yourself with the great Lion?” Raonaid asked, tossing back a sip of whisky. “Spending lots of time on your back, I expect. I’ll bet he’s taught you all kinds of interesting things you never imagined.”
Gwendolen raised her chin. “How kind of you to ask. Indeed, I am enjoying him tremendously. He is an excellent lover and I feel drunk with lust most of the time, but of course, you would already know that. You would remember how it once felt.”
Raonaid frowned and spoke with spite. “I know all kinds of things about him, lassie. Things you’ll never know.”
“I doubt that.”
Gwendolen stood just inside the door, keeping to her spot on the braided rug, while the oracle paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. She looked as if she were about to pounce and rip Gwendolen’s throat out.
“I didn’t come all this way to seeyou,” Raonaid said. “I came to see Angus.”
