Hewitt grinned. "Then tell us, exactly, what ye most wish for him to hear..."
As they entered the bustling inner bailey, the men were greeted with great interest. Flanders decided to let the news of the king's death spread as it would instead of making an announcement. Let the standard bearers have some peace while they ate. And as soon as they were gone, he and Robert would create a war council.
Though Scotland was currently at peace, trouble was coming to Todlaw—unless they took it to Stephan first.
6
BLOOD AND MOONING
* * *
Muirsglen, The Black Isle…
Brigid shoved the needle against the stubborn leather. It was like trying to mend sinew. The old satchel that lay in her lap was already patched and worn from a lifetime of carrying the potent herbs of Muir witches through the Red Hills. But maybe this year, they could delay their journey until after Mabon. Perhaps they could wait until spring…
The needle broke through, quick and sudden. A hiss escaped her, and she jerked back her wounded thumb. A heavy drop of crimson welled from the small hole, a betrayal that rolled to the fleshy pad and threatened to spill onto the leather.
A fierce tremble seized her heart. Blood brought memories. Blood called to visions.
She pressed the wound to a rough square of cloth tied at her waist, and she clenched her jaw tight against unwelcome images, but they invaded anyway.
Death. Darkness. Chaos.
She let them pass through her mind and breathed them away again.
In the distance, the soft rhythm of the sea was a familiar and comforting melody that mingled with scents she might never smell again, if this was the year those visions would come to pass. The tang of sea brine from Moray Firth mixed with sweet broom, tangy heather, and the bright clusters of whin blooms sprawled defiantly nearby. An ancient oak spread protective branches at the edge of the family's yard, casting shadows over valerian plants grown waist-high around its great trunk.
A perfect summer's day. She ought not fret so, shouldn't mourn already over events yet to come. But a woman plagued by visions could hardly live as carefree as any other.
Pain throbbed in the bone of her thumb as her mind went back to the Mabon of four years ago. On that chill night, beneath a thin sliver of moon, she'd crossed paths with Flanders Leesborn. His face had remained sharp in her thoughts ever since: blond hair catching stray beams of moonlight, blue eyes fierce enough to pierce the night, and a leather jerkin molding perfectly to broad shoulders. And somehow, impossibly, she’d slipped into his mind…and he into hers. She could almost feel the tickle of his deep, soft voice. A shared secret. A connection her sister, hopefully, had no inkling of.
She dreamt of him altogether too often for it not to mean something. But since her sister never mentioned him, she had reason to hope those dreams were private. Sadly, they often mingled with those darker visions—the ones she'd seen only after Flanders brought her hand to his warm lips, all courtesy and charm. All that sweetness chased away by that maw of darkness…
If only she knew what happened afterward, in that swirling chaos. Would tragedy strike others? Would Flanders?—
No. Swallowing hard, Brigid forced away such thoughts. She would not allow despair to take root, not when the warmth of the sun fell across the wildflowers and danced on the sturdy herbs tied into bundles all around them—stalks of mugwort and leaves of rosemary twisted into tight crowns, and young angelica whose sweet, earthy scent now mingled with the leather and blood…
Forceful footsteps brought her out of her thoughts. Bella marched around the corner of the cottage into the yard wearing a smile until she caught a thread of Brigid’s thoughts. Her feet halted and her eyes narrowed. Her attention dropped to Brigid’s bloody hand. Then she dug deeper, blinked, and tilted her head to one side. "Ye're trying to find a way to convince me not to go this year. Again."
Brigid pulled the cloth from her waist, wet the corner with spit, then cleaned the traces of blood from her skin. "And why not? Why not let everyone fend for themselves just this once? Mayhap next summer they'll appreciate us even more."
Bella dropped to sit beside her on the low bench and gave her a gentle smile. "They appreciate us now, sister. They depend upon us. Would ye rather they suffer without what we bring?"
"All our stores can be found elsewhere."
"Ha. Ye know as well as I do, those other stores are rubbish compared to ours and nowhere as potent as what we grow here in the black soil of Muirsglen." Bella made a tsking noise. "This is selfishness. But if I recall, ye get this way every year around this time…”
Brigid's chest tightened, and for a breath, she stared at the elderberry bush beyond Bella’s shoulder, its dark berries fattening in the sun. "Am I selfish to want to live?"
A long silence stretched while arguments of the last few summers bubbled back to the surface and drained the joy out of the world. Before that fateful vision, they’d rarely disagreed, let alone argued. Now it looked like they might as well plan on it happening each time they began sorting their harvest.
Bella exhaled loudly to signal she was ready to talk about it. Finally.
"Every one of us dies when our allotted time is spent,” she said. “Just because our deaths will be...terrible…does not mean we should hide from the life we were given until then." Her sister lifted a shoulder dismissively. "Like most, we do not ken the when. And I will not sit by the hearth, waiting for Death to come to me. When the bell tolls, what does it matter whose lands we stand upon?"
Brigid stared blankly for several moments, mouth slack with disbelief. "But Bella, wedoken the when!"
Bella stilled instantly, her face pale beneath the bronze of her summer skin. All bravado gone. "What do ye mean?"
