Then all at once she was staring at her own mirror image—another version of herself, identical in every way—standing motionless before the hearth.
Chapter Thirty-one
“You are Raonaid,” Catherine said, ignoring all proper rules of etiquette, but this was not a normal situation.
“Aye,” her twin replied.
The cadence of her voice was eerily similar to Catherine’s own.
They regarded each other warily. Though she knew it was wrong to stare, Catherine could not help but examine all the finer details of her sister’s appearance—the indistinguishable shape of her upturned nose, the fullness of her lips, her vivid blue eyes, the size and shape of her breasts, and the particular curve of her waist. Even her hands were the same. How was it possible for such a miracle to occur? It was like some form of magic.
“Please…,” Raonaid said as she gestured toward the sofa with a hand.
Catherine let go of Lachlan’s hand and sat down beside Raonaid. They faced each other in silence, though it was not uncomfortable. Catherine knew exactly what Raonaid was feeling: all the thingsshewas feeling. Fascination. Disbelief. And strangely, despite everything that Lachlan had experienced because of this woman, a most unexpected joy was bubbling up inside Catherine.
“Lachlan said you did not know about me,” Catherine mentioned. “I didn’t know about you, either. At least, I do not think so. Did he also tell you that I have no memory of my life?”
“Aye, he told me. And though I never knew of you, I always felt your spirit hovering around me, even as a child. I did not know who you were, orwhatyou were, but now I understand. The ghost over my shoulder… it was always you.”
A lump rose up in Catherine’s throat, and her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been haunted, too,” she said. “In both dreams and wakefulness, but I had no idea…”
Catherine glanced uneasily at Lachlan, who was standing in the doorway, watching them with some concern. She could see in his eyes that he was still wary of Raonaid, but Catherine would form her own conclusions about her sister, for there was so much she had yet to discover.
“Who raised you?” she asked.
“A woman named Matthea. She told me she was not my mother, but she never revealed how she came to be my guardian. She died when I was eleven.”
“What did you do then?”
“I raised myself.”
Catherine felt a deep and wrenching sadness for her sister as a young girl. “I am so sorry.”
“Why? Matthea taught me all I needed to know in order to survive. I had a warm house to live in, and I knew how to care for the animals and feed myself. I don’t need your pity.”
Catherine’s brow furrowed. “I meant no offense.” She paused. “What kind of house was it? Will you describe it to me? I would like to imagine your life.”
“It was a thatched cottage on the water,” Raonaid flatly replied, “outside the village of Gearrannan. I also knew how to fish and make baskets. Some folks in the village were kind. Those who were not learned to stay away.” She lifted her chin with a cool show of strength.
“They thought you were a witch.”
“Aye, for I could predict the weather, and I foretold a few important deaths in the village, and abroad. No one bothered me much. I was feared mostly.”
“Were you lonely?”
Her eyes turned instantly cold, and Catherine wondered if her own eyes had ever conveyed such an icy look of contempt.
For the first time, she understood what Lachlan had tried to warn her about. They were sisters, but they had been reared apart and they were not the same.
“Always,” Raonaid replied.
Catherine inhaled deeply. “So you never knew you were the daughter of an earl?”
She scoffed. “If I knew that, dear sister, I would have traveled to Drumloch years ago, and claimed what was rightly mine. What wastakenfrom me.”
Catherine looked down at her hands in her lap and nodded, for she could not blame Raonaid for her anger. She felt it herself, for she may have been bequeathed a fortune, but she had been denied a sister, and for that she would always feel some resentment toward those responsible. But at least she had lived a comfortable life and had enjoyed many luxuries; she had known the identity of her parents. Raonaid, on the other hand, was given none of that, and Catherine could not even begin to imagine the extent of her sister’s bitterness in that regard.
“What can you tell me,” Raonaid said, sounding calmer now, “about our mother?”
