CHAPTER 15
It was later that afternoon, after Evie had bandaged her hand and left to tend to her lady of the keep duties, that Chloe found herself alone wandering the castle.
She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she ended up at the tapestry room.
She was drawn to the enchanted wall hangings though she couldn’t say why.
It was akin to the feeling she had had when she stepped foot into Mystic Treasures.
It was that same pull, that same fascination, that same need.
She pushed open the door, leaving it open, so the light from the hallway illuminated the room, slashing across the floor and up the wall.
With slow steps, she approached the strange tapestries.
She reached out a hand to touch a textile.
It seemed like any other ordinary woven material but there was something about it that was different.
Several of the threads shimmered and glowed and morphed as the images moved.
It was both fascinating and horrifying.
The first one hadn’t changed much. The one with Moira and the two women.
And she understood, then, who they were.
The Triple Goddess. If Moira was Present, then it seemed to her the other two represented Past and Future.
The question was which part of the keystone was hers? Which goddess did she represent?
The keystone was in her pocket and emitted a little vibration.
She pulled it out. The lines were not glowing but there was a definite low hum to the stone.
Her brows pulled together as she pondered this, wondering why it now chose to hum.
Hoping to ignore it, she stuck it back into her pocket and glanced back up at the tapestry.
As she peered at the first image with the three women on the craggy hill, the dark-haired goddess appeared to turn her head toward her, meeting her gaze.
The startled jolt hit her as she stumbled back a step. The stone hummed louder. The woman, this goddess, continued to peer at her with light-blue, haunting eyes.
Do not fear, lady of Clan Sinclair.
The mellifluous voice fluttered through her mind. Her mouth went dry. Though she knew the words were spoken in her head, she still glanced around to make sure she was alone.
She was.
“Who are you?”
There was nothing more odd than talking to a moving picture on a wall hanging.
I am Bridget, the Goddess of the Past. My sister gave you a piece of the keystone, did she not?
Chloe moved closer to the tapestry to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. The image of Bridget was moving and her gaze was fixed on her as though she saw her from her place inside the fabric.
The fabric of Time?
Could it be these magical wall hangings were part of the fabric of Time?
“She did,” Chloe answered.
Her cut palm throbbed with a sudden pain she hadn’t noticed before. She glanced down at the bandage Evie had tied, wondering if it was too tight. But if it were, then surely it would have throbbed long before now.
Keep it safe. Guard it with your life. There are those who will try to take it from you. Be warned. They will use any means necessary to get it. You are its guardian now. You possess all the power of the stone.
It was as Evie had said—Evie had the power of the Present.
“But what is the power of this stone?”
The power of the Past.
Finally, one question answered. Bridget was the Goddess of the Past, which also solved the mystery of the third stone. That meant Brianna was tied to the power of the Future.
“How do I use it?” she asked.
“Och, lass, are ye talking to yerself?”
And just like that, the spell was broken and the dark-haired goddess named Bridget returned to normal inside the first tapestry.
Malcolm’s boots thumped along the stone floor as he joined her in the room, pausing next to her. He peered up at the wall hanging, question furrowing his brow.
“Were ye talking to the tapestry?”
He gave her a glance with a raised eyebrow that told her he might think she was a lunatic.
She laughed it off. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”
“Aye.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
Her palm still throbbed where Evie had cut it. She wondered, then, if the blood magic had somehow worked. Was that why she was compelled to come here? Why Bridget spoke to her from her woven prison?
“I was talking to myself,” she said, trying to make up an excuse. She waved toward the tapestry with her bandaged hand. “I was trying to understand how these things worked.”
He caught her hand in his, staring down at the bandage. “What happened?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a shallow cut.”
He turned her hand over to look at her palm. Most of the material covered the brand from the keystone in her skin, but it was still visible.
“Ye cut yer hand.” He glanced up at her with a knowing look.
“I said it was nothing.” She tried to pull her hand free, but he held fast.
His gaze was unwavering.
“Were ye trying to use the keystone?” he asked, his voice low.
The way he said it and looked at her made her feel as though she had been up to no good. Like when their parents had caught them doing something they shouldn’t. She shifted from one foot to the other.
“Evie thought…” She took a deep breath, expelled it. “She thought it would help give me the power of the keystone. Like it did when she used it.”
He released her hand. “Did it work?”
“No. At least, I don’t think it did. Nothing happened when she cut my hand and I held the keystone.”
She brought it out of her pocket and showed it to him. She’d cleaned the blood off it, but as she held it up into the slash of light, she saw a dried brown smudge still on it. She cut a glance to the tapestry and wondered if that had anything to do with Bridget talking to her from the wall hanging.
“It’s strange that something so small can be so powerful,” she muttered.
“Aye,” he agreed and reached for her bandaged hand again.
The moment he took her hand in his, something strange happened. A flash of light pounded through her, exploding in her mind. She sucked in a heated breath and tried to jerk away, but he held onto her.
“Lassie?”
His voice sounded far away as the world twisted and turned in on itself, the light from the hallway smearing in front of her.
It was as though she transported through some strange portal—not like when she traveled back in time—but different.
As though the vision in her mind sprang to life and she found herself standing at the edge of a small village.
Several thatched roofs were visible against the night sky.
Smoke curled from the chimney of one. Another had yellow light flickering in the window.
Most of the small houses were dark and silent, as though the inhabitants had retired for the night.
Overhead, stars twinkled in the inky sky. There was no moon.
Sitting atop his destrier was Malcolm. Next to him, his brother, Jamie. They both held torches.
“Get them all out,” Malcolm ordered, his voice hard and cold.
Two men galloped past him and Jamie. They pounded on doors, waking up the villagers and pulling men, women, and children from their beds. Sleepy-eyed and horrified, they stumbled into the chilly evening. The wind flickered the torches he and Jamie held.
“Gather them together,” Malcolm ordered. “Jamie, help them.”
Jamie rode away and barked orders, still holding that torch aloft.
Malcolm moved his horse to a slow walk down the center of the village.
Houses with thatched roofs lined the dirt road on either side of him.
There were a few hundred villagers huddled together at the edge, the sounds of whimpers of children and women echoing through the night.
“Is that all of them?” Malcolm asked
Jamie said, “Aye.”
“Are ye sure, lad? I want no blood on my hands.”
“Aye, I’m sure,” Jamie replied with a nod.
Malcolm nudged his horse toward one of the small houses, lifting the torch higher in the night sky. “Go to yer laird. Tell him Clan MacLeod sends their regards. Tell him, next time there will be death.”
He lit the thatched roof with the torch. It immediately caught, sending flames higher and higher into the sky, illuminating the frightened faces. Jamie used his torch to light the houses on the other side. He moved his horse next to Malcolm’s as they watched the village go up in flames.
“What will ye tell Callum?” Jamie asked.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice hard and unrelenting. “He will ken what I did soon enough.”
“And assume the worst. Ye should tell him ye forced them out before—”
“Let’s go.”
Then he kicked his horse into a gallop. Jamie and the other two men followed.
And then the vision was over. But it wasn’t a vision. It was a memory. His memory.
Malcolm released her hand. She stumbled away from him, her heart fiercely pounding as she tried to catch her breath. She clutched her bandaged hand against her chest in a futile attempt to slow her heart.
“You…” The word came out on a breath as she spoke.
He remained where he was, staring at her with wide-eyed shock. His voice was a whisper. “How did ye do that, lass?”
“Do what?” Her stomach clenched into a tight knot as a sick feeling crept through her.
“How did you show me the night I burned the village?”
Icy pinpricks tickled the back of her neck. “That was true, then?”
He said nothing, his expression impassive and devoid of emotion. The light normally in his eyes faded as he peered at her as though she were an enemy.
She glanced down at the keystone still in her other hand. In her cut palm, blood stained the bandage. The strange vision had happened when he took her hand while she held the keystone—the blood-stained keystone—in her other.
“It was the stone,” she said, weakly. The blood drained from her head. Black pinpricks of light danced in her vision. She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it. “It showed me the past. Your past. When you touched me.”
Glowering, he shoved past her and headed for the door. She had the distinct feeling her vision was also in his mind. He relived that moment when he went to the village and burned it.
“No one died,” she blurted, her heart racing. “You forced them out before you set it on fire.”
That stopped him. He halted in the middle of the doorway, his body nothing more than a shadow against the light.
“But you never told anyone that, did you? You wanted them to believe you had killed innocents. You wanted them to fear you. Why?”
He braced a hand on the door jamb, his back still to her. “I dinnae ken.”
That sick feeling was still creeping through her but she forced herself to move. She took several steps toward him, halting within arm’s reach.
“I think I do. You wanted vengeance for the death of your father. But you didn’t want to inflict more pain than necessary. You wanted to send a message to MacDonald. You wanted him to know your father’s death was not without consequence.”
The words spilled from her in a rush. Her hands shook as she stared at his back, watching the taut muscles relax as he turned slowly to face her.
“How do ye ken that, lass?” Fear tightened his features, tension creasing the lines of his face.
It was difficult to explain. She glanced down at the keystone still in her hand, understanding dawning. It wanted her to know this about him, to show her who he was, truly. And it wasn’t as though it was told to her. It was more of a feeling, a sense of what he’d done and why.
“It was the keystone. It showed me this about you. It has the power of the Past.”
She lifted her head, met his glittering gaze where a storm raged in those eyes. A storm of indecision. As though he didn’t know whether to trust her or not.
“Malcolm, I understand why you did it.”
He startled at the sound of his name on her lips. She stepped closer, daring to close the space between the two of them. Her cut hand throbbed with a fierce, deep pain. She glanced down at it again and saw the bandage soaked through with blood. She swayed, suddenly weak and lightheaded.
He was there in a flash as she started to crumple, taking her in his arms and keeping her upright. She held up her bloodied, bandaged hand.
“I think something happened to me.”
It was as though the memory, the power of the keystone, drained her of all energy.
“God’s teeth, lassie.”
With that, he scooped her into his arms. The moment she was cradled against his warm, strong chest, she lost all consciousness.