Page 2 of Forgotten Secrets

Morag eyed the woman curiously. Beneath the old woman’s hood, she had very similar features to Imanie. But instead of green and yellow eyes like the girls’ late mentor, this woman’s eyes were bright blue. She also stood a head span taller than Imanie.

“I didna ken Imanie had a sister.” Morag’s gaze fell to the heart brooch pinned on Mazelina’s cloak and she gasped in surprise. “Ye’re a member of the secret group as well.”

“I am.” The woman smiled and nodded. “Though I wasn’t chosen, my sister declared me a member. I haven’t seen her in years. And now that I’ve returned, I see it is too late.” She pointed a long finger toward Imanie’s grave. “Imanie is dead.”

“Aye, she is,” admitted Morag, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, still feeling responsible. “I’m sorry.”

Mazelina held little expression at all. It was not at all how Morag thought she’d react.

“My sister will be missed,” said the woman, keeping a stone-like face. Her words and voice were void of emotion of any kind. “How did it happen?”

“They say it was her heart.” Morag’s eyes traveled back to the ground where she had buried the brooch. Grief overtook her.

“You don’t believe that’s how she died, do you?”

“Nay, I dinna,” Morag admitted. “I think she died because she gave me her heart brooch when I wasna worthy of bein’ a member.”

Mazelina walked over to Morag, studying the ground. Her hand caressed the heart brooch pinned to her cloak. “I understand. But you need to know that if my sister gave you her brooch, it was because she knew you would someday do something of extreme importance. Never belittle yourself, Morag. I’m sure that is what Imanie would tell you. Instead, have confidence that destiny has a plan for you just as it did for Fia, Willow, and Maira.”

“Do ye really think so?” she asked, feeling a spark of hope ignite deep within her.

“I know so,” answered the woman with no doubt at all resounding in her voice.

“Wait,” said Morag, thinking something was a little odd. “If ye just arrived after bein’ gone for years, how do ye ken me or Fia, Willow and Maira?”

“I don’t know any of you,” answered the woman, smiling at Morag.

“Did Imanie tell ye about us?”

“Nay. She didn’t.” Mazelina shook her head. “I heard you talking to Imanie.”

“Oh, I see.” Morag didn’t believe she had been talking loud enough for the woman to hear her, but didn’t want to call her a liar when they’d just met. “How did ye ken my name?”

“I heard your father calling you.”

Morag supposed it could be true, but something in her nature made her remain suspicious. “Do ye have a skill as well?” she asked Mazelina curiously, wanting to know more.

“We all do, Morag. And you don’t need to be leery of me.”

Morag’s head snapped up. How did she know? “What do ye mean?”

“Even if I hadn’t heard you talking about your sister and cousins, I still would have known about them anyway.”

“I dinna understand,” said Morag. “How could ye? If ye havena seen Imanie in many years, and she did no’ tell ye about us, then how do ye ken?”

“I have a special skill, my dear. I can hear the thoughts of others.”

“Like readin’ minds?” Morag asked excitedly. Then she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Nay. I dinna believe in such witchery.” The idea intrigued her but frightened her at the same time.

“It’s not witchery,” answered Mazelina with a soft chuckle. “It’s a special . . . skill.”

“I still dinna believe it,” she answered stubbornly. Her father had always taught her to only believe in what was real. If something couldn’t be explained, then there was no truth to it.

Mazelina looked over Morag’s head toward the gate, narrowing her eyes as if she were concentrating on something. “Your father,” she mumbled.

“My da?” Morag was still suspicious. “What about him?”

“He is thinking about coming in here in a few minutes to get you. He is also irritated that it is taking you so long.”