CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
The spell broken, the vision instantly disappeared.
Her heart pounding against her breastbone, Laoghaire swayed on her feet, forced to put a stabilizing hand on the menhir to keep from toppling to the ground. Suddenly hit with a burst of nausea, she leaned over and retched, made physically ill by the stark, brutal vision.
As she stumbled away from the standing stone, she heard a loud caw. Raising her head, she caught sight of a raven perched on a denuded tree limb.
’Tis a harbinger of death.
But unlike the previous times when she’d seen the raven, this time she knew whose death it foretold.
“Do ye mean to say ye actually had the taibhse? And it foretold of the earl’s death?”
In response to Coira’s wide-eyed inquiry, Laoghaire verified with a nod as she continued to pace the length of the bedchamber. “Aye, I had the Second Sight, and in the vision I saw Galen’s taish being slain by a swordsman whose face I could not see.”
After relaying what happened at the standing stones, Laoghaire was seized with a sense of dread unlike any she’d ever before experienced. Twined to that fear there was a sense of utter frustration.
What good is it to have the taibhse if I am helpless to stop the murderous deed from taking place?
Even though it was the first vision Laoghaire had ever experienced, like most people cursed with the Sight, she now dreaded the mysterious power, realizing, too late, that to be able to see the specters of the living in the moments prior to their death was a fearful burden to bear.
Moreover, the vision that she had at the menhir—horrific and brutal in its vividness—had given her a glimpse into the whole of Galen’s life: his past, his present, and his future.
Terror-stricken at seeing an enemy deliver the death blow, she’d also been deeply affected at seeing Galen as a young boy, huddled in the darkness as he sobbed uncontrollably.
She suspected she’d glimpsed an image of him after he’d been beaten by the prior at St. Sulpice, making her realize how much pain he’d been made to suffer.
Coming to a stop in front of the sandalwood table where Coira sat, she hoped the other woman could offer some much needed advice. Because she hailed from the Highlands, Coira was well acquainted with the Sight. “I trust yer counsel, Coira. What do ye suggest I do?”
“Compose a message to young Angus, explaining to him that ye had a vision foretelling his death at the hands of an enemy,” Coira said, her tone conveying urgency, as well as a sense of gravitas. “We will then send an armed herald on a swift horse to deliver the message to him.”
“Aye, ’tis a good plan, but . . .” Laoghaire’s voice faded into silence, all of her thoughts in a jumble.
Her cheeks flushed on account of her distressed state, she leaned over the pewter basin that was set on the table.
Cupping her hands, she splashed her face with the tepid water.
She then patted herself dry with the towel that Coira handed to her, the distinctive scent of elderflower filling her nostrils.
More clearheaded now, she turned to Coira and said, “I cannot send a message to Galen since I will have no way of knowing if the herald will arrive safely. What if the messenger should encounter bandits on the roadway? Or, worse yet, a contingent of English soldiers?”
“’Tis a chance ye must take, milady, if ye are to warn young Angus of the danger that awaits him.”
“I have every intention of warning him,” Laoghaire affirmed, having reached a decision as how best to accomplish that.
“It is my duty to protect my husband’s life.
At all costs,” she added, willing to do whatever was necessary to protect Galen.
And though many Highlanders believed that what was foretold in a taibhse was set in stone, she refused to countenance that.
“If I sit idly and do nothing with this knowledge that I’ve been given, Galen’s death will be on my head. ”
“’Tis true that the Almighty in his infinite wisdom gave us the gift of free will, but . . . I’ve never know of an instance when a taibhse didn’t happen as foretold,” Coira argued in a circumspect tone of voice. “Something dire might happen if ye tempt fate by—”
“And something dire will happen to Galen if I don’t defy fate,” she argued, determined to alter the outcome of her vision.
To do that, she must personally alert Galen that his life was in grave danger.
Even if a courier safely delivered the warning, there was a chance that Galen, for whatever reason, might ignore the message, or not give it the full credence it deserved.
Her brow lined with worry, Coira put a commiserating hand on Laoghaire’s shoulder. “Young Angus is blessed to have a wife who loves him so fiercely.”
“Sweet Jesu! I do not love him,” Laoghaire blurted. True, the mere thought of Galen made her heart pound and her throat tighten, but she attributed those effects to the fact that she lusted after him.
I crave his body, as he craves mine, she told herself, her gaze landing on the massive bed that was prominently set against the back wall. ’Tis nothing more than that.
As Laoghaire stared at the bed, she suddenly recalled their last night together, and the way in which the burning flame from the wall cresset had bathed the muscles of Galen’s naked torso with a golden sheen, even as that same light made the dark hairs on his chest and groin glimmer brightly.
That night Galen repeatedly made love to her, both of them seized with a frantic sort of desperation.
Awakening just before the dawn, she’d been deeply moved to find their limbs still entwined and Galen’s face pressed against her bare breast.
Putting the recollection aside, Laoghaire said, “My actions are motivated by the fact that I am Galen’s countess. And doubt me not, I will save him,” she avowed. “Since the hour grows late, I will leave at first light.”
Coira’s chest heaved with a resigned sigh. “Then, I must make haste to pack what ye’ll need for the journey.”
“I’ll have no need of kirtles or other such finery,” Laoghaire informed her, well aware that she would have to travel light if she was to catch up to Galen in time. “Instead, I want ye to pack tunics and chausses. And I’ll require a sharp sword.”
“A sword!” Coira exclaimed, clearly aghast.
“Aye, a sword.”
How else am I to save Galen from certain death?