“Ye're too important tae lose, my laird. The whole rebellion rests onyershoulders!”
He was right. Darach hated losing battles, but this was one he couldn't win. He nodded to Kenn and ordered his men to retreat.
Darach yelled his orders, but did not follow them. He urged Kenn to take the lead, and he and his brother turned to protect the men and give them time to ride to safety. They fought valiantly in their rear, providing cover for Kenn and the others to escape. His brother joined him, his sword swinging hard and fast, hacking away at the canvas of Macduff flesh.
Their assailants slunk back in fear of the hungry swords flashing through the air, and Darach made the best of the reprieve. He whistled his horse to gallop down into the trees, with his brother riding hard beside him.
The last thing he saw was the surprise glittering in Ramsay's eyes as he watched the two Robertson brothers ride off.
* * *
The sound of the birds outside was muffled by the heavy brocade curtains of the castle room. Jane MacThomas pushed aside a lock of her long, golden hair. She continued watching her image in the looking glass while she dressed for the evening meal, staring at a new freckle on her nose that had not been there the day before. It was a busy evening in the castle as usual, and Jane knew her sister was being dressed by a maid in her room too. Aileen would soon come to summon her to the great hall.
Her father, Keith MacThomas, was probably waiting in the large hall downstairs already. Despite the constant battle between the Jacobites and the loyal clans to the king, he had made it a point to always share a meal with his family. It was one of the traditions that made things seem like all was still normal. Nestled as they were in the woods on the southern coast of Scotland, the MacThomas clan had sworn themselves to neutrality long ago. Keith MacThomas knew that the time of non-intervention would end soon enough, and he'd been meeting his councilmen often to discuss that.
Still, they’d not come to any conclusions.
Jane understood somewhat how difficult her father's position was. Keith would rather be a laird of peace and oversee the lands of their clan quietly, but this was a time of war. And he had grown tired of ruling the clan for years.
Jane knew that if he could, he would have given up the keep and the weight of rulership. He was no longer interested in the clan since he had no sons. His health had deteriorated in recent years, and he preferred viewing the lands from the castle's peaceful perch to sitting on the high-backed seat and ruling over the council.
Keith MacThomas was a changed man from the laird Jane had known when she was younger. She used to be her father’s favorite. He’d taught her to ride horses, how to use a sword, and he had even gotten her a blade for her birthday. But these days, she barely existed for him. He preferred to spend his time with Aileen, whose looks reminded him of the love he had lost.
It had been twelve years since their mother had died on a balmy day in spring, killed by a mysterious disease that the physician couldn't put a name to—a week after Jane had met the fortune teller at the market.
Jane recalled the day of her death like it was yesterday. She had stood by her father while Aileen slept on a pallet in the corner of the room. She had been looking at him with worry—her father had been filled with anguish and misery as he watched his wife's life ebb away.
In those final moments, Mirren had told him in a raspy voice that it was Jane's fault—the words still echoingin herears every time silence surrounded her.
“I’m paying for yer sins”,Mirren had whispered with her last breath.
Her father had never understood what she had meant, but had chosento believe the cruel words—blaming his daughter for his wife's death, instilling an unbearable guilt into Jane's soul.
Herhand slipped to her bosom, her thumb tracinga familiar path over the smooth surface of the scar on her chest. Staring at her reflection, she whispered the words she’d recited since that night, when she had decided her mother was right—that she was indeed acursed witchling.
“Yer heart is nae clean anymore, Jane. Ye are possessed.”
She'd decided then that she needed to purify it, so she'd dug a small letter knife into her chest in an attempt to removeher heart. Jane could still feel the searing pain and the trickle of blood before goingnumb. Aileen had discovered her nearly dead on the floor.
“Jane!”
Jane turned to see Aileen standing in the door, already garbed in a delicate blue dress that must have been one of their mother’s.
“Aileen, ye’re already dressed.”
“Aye. And ye would be too if ye let yer maid dress ye up.”
Jane shook her head slowly. “Nay, I cannae.”
Aileen understood,her tearygaze shiftingto the jagged scar on Jane'schest whoquickly tightened the ropes of her stays,coveringthe wound.
It was a reminder of her cursed soul as well as a symbol of who she was and the powers she still possessed.
She had never spoken of her powers to anyone else after her mother, afraid they would die just like she had. The power was a curse, but because of it, she knew who she could and could not trust. She'd grown so familiar with the gift over the years that she could even control the voices in her head.
It was now just a tired curse, one she would have to bear for the rest of her life.
Jane finished dressing and turned to her sister. “Father is waiting?”