Sorcha’s lungs constricted, but she would not let fear stop her. “You’ve had a vision of Leah.”
“Nay, my child, ’tis your face that I see when I sleep. Always yours.”
Sorcha’s throat tightened in dread. “And what see you?”
“Ah, child. ’Tis ye who are imprisoned in the towers of Erbyn, ’tis ye who are held captive by Lord Hagan himself, ’tis ye who will not return.”
“You’re trying to frighten me.”
“Aye, and I hope I have, m’lady, for the wrath of the devil Hagan is swift as the strike of an asp and twice as deadly. Like a dragon, he is, but more crafty. You’d best be staying.”
“You know I can’t.”
With a sorrowful sigh, Isolde said, “Then take this …” She pressed a tiny necklace into Sorcha’s hand. “ ’Tis for protection. Wear it over your heart always.”
Sorcha looked into her palm and saw, in the faint light of the moon, a small cross of twigs tied with red string.
“And this as well.” Isolde removed the ring she had worn as long as Sorcha could remember. Tooled of silver, the band wound around the old woman’s finger in the shape of a snake. “ ’Tis magic, you know. Never take it off.”
“Isolde, I cannot—”
But Isolde caught her hand and forced the ring onto Sorcha’s finger, and the silver seemed hot against her skin.
“You do not know the ways of the old people—this is your choice,” Isolde said, “but in your heart you are with us and you know the chants and spells, though Eaton forbade that knowledge.”
“I know not—”
“But you do, Sorcha. Listen to your heart; the magic will be with you. You will need your faith in the Christian God as well as your inner strength from the ways of the old ones.”
Sorcha took up the reins, stripping them from Isolde’s bony hands. “I have no use for this talk of nonsense. I must save Leah.”
“And sacrifice yourself.”
Icy fingers of fear clutched Sorcha’s heart. “If needs be. Now, come. ’Tis time.”
Isolde did as she was bid, walking briskly to the gate. While Sorcha held the nervous stallion from bolting, Isolde threw her back into the task of pulling on the rope that turned the gears and lifted the heavy portcullis.
“Halt! Who goes there?” The tower guard’s voice was sharp.
“ ’Tis only me,” Isolde called upward toward the battlement where the sentry was posted. “Isolde.”
“You again!” he said, then let out a sound of disgust. “I’ll be lettin’ the baron know that you’ve been out diggin’ up yer witch’s ’erbs again, old woman.”
“But he’ll not mind, now, will he, Sir Michael?” Isolde cranked the huge gate upward.
Staying close to the wall, Sorcha held her breath and quietly urged the horse forward through the opening.
Isolde kept the sentry distracted. “Go ahead and tell the baron what you know.”
“ ’E’ll not be likin’ your witchcraft. Nor will Father Will.”
Isolde chuckled. “Wasn’t it my magic that saved the baron’s daughter at her birth?”
Sorcha winced. ’Twas true. Without Isolde’s magic, she might not have been born, but the old midwife had managed to bring her into the world as well as save the life of her mother seventeen years before. Isolde hadn’t been so lucky the next time, with Leah. Lady Cleva had died shortly after her second daughter’s delivery, and none of Isolde’s magic had been able to save her. The snake ring seemed to tighten around her finger.
“Your own son came into this world with the help of chants and—”
“So be it, witch!” the sentry said in disgust. “But ye’d best be diggin’ your roots in the light of day.”