Prologue
BERWICKSHIRE, SCOTLAND
1296
This hardly looked a proper cottage at all, let alone the home to a seer of Thomas the Rhymer’s fame.
Colin MacAlister hesitated a moment to survey the ruined shack confronting him before dismounting.
Not even his own mother’s claim that his actions were those of a brash, untested youth had prevented this quest, so certainly he wouldn’t allow something as minor as the unwelcoming appearance of this abode to deter him.
False bravado, she’d accused. Have a care for the Fae, she’d warned. Respect the danger they represent.
He’d show her. His bravery was real. And as for the Fae? It was contempt he felt for them, not respect. He’d seen them with his own eyes this past year when they’d all but killed his brother. Drew’s body might have survived, but his heart, his spirit, they’d shattered that part of his brother.
There was nothing to fear from the Fae in this place anyway. They were too entrenched in their own arrogance to inhabit a place such as this. No, if the seer was here, he’d be alone.
Colin filled his lungs, slowly and with purpose, before forcing the air out again and with it, the doubt that plagued him. His determination bolstered, he tossed his reins over a low branch and headed for the door of the little hovel.
Perhaps the old man he’d spoken to back in the last village had been mistaken. Why would a man such as Thomas Learmonth leave his manor at Ercledoune for a heap of crumbling sod such as this?
No matter the appearance of the hut, he still had to try. He must find Thomas. He’d ridden too far and risked too much to give up now.
He’d but lifted his hand to knock on the door when it opened. A woman so old she looked as if her skin wrinkled in on itself stood before him.
“I seek Thomas of Ercledoune. Is he within these walls?”
She moved toward him, forcing him to take a step backward.
“What is it that a strapping lad like yourself would have of poor auld Thomas?” She scratched her chin, staring at him with one eye squinted shut. “Not that I’m saying he’s here, mind you.”
“My business is with him and him alone. I’d warn you no to be playing games with me, woman. I’ve no the time or patience for it.” He hadn’t the luxury of time to waste on some lonely old crone.
“You’ve some nerve about you, lad,” the old womancackled in her oddly accented voice. “Lonely old crone, you’ve pegged me, have you? And after the grand sum of no more than a mere moment’s acquaintance? You base that assessment on your vast years of experience and hardship, do you?”
A chill raced the length of Colin’s backbone as he at last met the old woman’s eyes. A green as dark as the hidden depths of the forest stared back at him, capturing him, holding him immobilized.
He’d not spoken those words aloud. He’d only thought them.
“You’re all too easy for me to read,” she murmured, the color in her eyes swirling as she spoke.
“What takes you from me, my love?” a man’s voice called from beyond the door, breaking whatever power had bound Colin’s attention to the woman.
“Out of my way,” he muttered, the impetuousness of youth bolstered by need allowing him to push past her and into the room beyond.
What he found when he entered was in stark contrast to what he’d seen from the outside. The room itself was bathed in a warm glow of light coming from a large fireplace off to one side. Nearby, an old man sat in a richly cushioned chair, his hands resting on a polished table next to a stack of the finest, whitest paper Colin had ever seen.
The old man held a quill between ink-stained fingers, dipping it first into a little pot and then touching its tip to the sheet in front of him.
“Thomas of Ercledoune?” Colin demanded, his tongue suddenly heavy in his dry mouth. It could be no other than the great seer himself.
“Aye,” the old man answered slowly, turning a watery gaze in Colin’s direction.
At last! Joy sparked in Colin’s heart.
Legend had grown around Thomas of Ercledoune, a seer who had accurately predicted the death of AlexanderIII. A man who, if those legends were to be believed, gained the gift of sight from the Faerie Queen herself.
“You must tell me, True Thomas, will Edward the Longshanks be pushed back or will all of Scotland fall to his armies? Is there any hope for our freedom? I must know.”
