Chapter Thirty-five
The Drumloch Circle dominated the summit of the grassy ridge, one mile north of the manor house and half a mile east of the dense hemlock forest. Catherine and Raonaid reached it just as the sun appeared over the horizon and cast long black shadows across the grass.
The ground was crusty and hard beneath their feet, cloaked with a layer of frost, and the air was crisp with a wintry chill that Catherine could feel inside her lungs as she breathed.
Cheeks flushed with exertion, they reached the top of the steep hill and walked into the center of the circle. Neither spoke a word, for there was a melancholy silence about the place that demanded a moment’s reflection.
Catherine looked down at the grass and thought of their mother, who had begun her labor here. What emotions had she experienced when the pain began and she collapsed? Had she felt joyful anticipation? Or had she known that something was wrong, and she would not live to see her children grow?
Raonaid turned slowly around, her blue-eyed gaze sweeping over each individual standing stone. Catherine watched her sister curiously, not sure what to expect.
“How will it happen?” Catherine quietly asked. “And when?”
Raonaid lifted a finger. “Hush. I have no control over it. All I can do is wait for one of the stones to speak to me.”
“How will it speak?”
“I will see the surface begin to shift and move, like water,” she replied. “I usually feel something in my belly before it occurs, and I know that I must keep my eyes focused on the stone.”
Hoofbeats thundered up the hill just then, and Raonaid spun around. “Who is that? They’ll spoil it.”
Both women walked to the edge of the circle and spotted John and Lachlan galloping up the hill.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” Lachlan said, his eyes dark with agitation. “It’s not safe.”
Catherine slanted a look at him. “I’m not alone. I walked with Raonaid. We are here to reclaim my memories, so you must leave us.”
“No,” he firmly replied.
Raonaid laid a hand on one of the stones. “I cannot do this if you are watching. The visions will not come. You must go back to the house.”
John’s horse grew skittish. “We’ll be quiet,” John promised. “You won’t even know we are here.”
“Turn around and go back,” Raonaid demanded. “At least to the bottom of the hill. We will call out to you when it’s over, but it may take all day.”
Lachlan fixed his eyes on Catherine. “Are you all right with this?”
She saw the concern in his expression and was immediately whisked back to the pleasure they had shared in bed the night before.
“I am fine,” she assured him. “I will come to you afterward. I promise.”
As she stood in the place where they first met, she knew without a doubt that she loved him—and desperately so—but she needed to remember the past, to understand the dreams and nightmares. How could she ever give her whole heart to him—or to anyone—without knowing who she really was?
“Will you wait?” she asked.
“Of course I will wait. I’ll keep watch from below. I will not leave.”
She felt almost dizzy with love for him and prayed that a vision would soon come and free her from this empty cage.
“Go away now.” Raonaid scooted them off with a flick of her hand. “I need the world to stay quiet.”
Lachlan wheeled his horse around but gave Catherine a quick nod before he and John galloped away.
With a hopeful rush of anticipation, she turned to follow Raonaid back to the center of the circle.
* * *
Shortly before noon, a low cloud cover moved across the sky and the wind picked up. Raonaid’s gaze shot instantly to the tallest standing stone. She stared at it for a long moment while the wind whipped at her long flowing hair and heavy skirts.
She held out a hand and said to Catherine, “Come with me.”
They walked together to the stone and knelt down before it.
“Look there.” Raonaid pointed at the tiny grooves and ridges in the rock. “Do you see it moving?”
Catherine squinted and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “No, I do not see anything.”
“Keep looking. Let your eyes lose their focus. Breathe slowly and try to relax. Hold my hand.”
They sat side by side, staring at the stone.
Flashes of images began to appear, impossible to identify at first, but then Catherine began to recognize elements from her dreams—the baby and the blue pillow, the dirt flying through the air, landing on her face and body.
She saw a man—a handsome man standing over her grave—shoveling the dirt. Light flashed in her brain.
There was a house in the woods.
A carriage.
The man again.
He was so handsome. He shouted as he drove the carriage through narrow streets, past buildings of white stone. He was agitated. He slapped the reins on the horses’ backs.
Catherine ran out the front door of the house in the woods. She threw her ring at him.
Oh … Her head throbbed in agony as she watched the visions in the stone. Unable to bear it, she pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.
The images disappeared.
She opened her eyes.
They reappeared.
The man … he was very handsome, with golden hair. They were on a sailing ship together, standing at the rail.…
Suddenly everything vanished. Catherine felt as if her soul had been sucked out of her body.
The face of the standing stone was now vacant and still.
“No!” She rose up on her knees and slapped her open palm against it. She pounded with her fists. “Come back! I didn’t see everything! I don’t remember!”
She stood up and hurried around to the back of it, rubbing her hands over the rough surface. She ran to the next stone, and the next, searching for something more, but they were all silent and ancient, looming over her, staring down at her like grim, solemn judges from beyond.
Still, she could remember nothing. None of the images made any sense to her, and she wanted to cry.
Catherine moved into the center of the circle and knelt down. She sat back on her heels.
Where was her sister? She was alone here now, and the wind had grown cold. It was gusting all around her.
Then at last she saw her twin entering the circle, holding her skirts in her hands, running. There was fear in her eyes.
Raonaid reached her and hooked a wrist under her arm. She pulled Catherine to her feet. “We have to leave,” Raonaid said with alarm.
“Why?”
“Murdoch is here. Lachlan!” Raonaid shrieked.
But Catherine’s mind was still in a fog from the visions. She barely managed to stagger to her feet before Raonaid began dragging her to the edge of the circle. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She feared she might be sick. “What does he want?”
“To kill you.”
“I beg your pardon?” The dizziness subsided, replaced by a shot of adrenaline through her veins.
“He’s the leader of the new rebellion,” Raonaid explained as they ran, “and if you are dead, your father’s fortune is bequeathed to the cause.”
“He was your father, too,” Catherine argued, just as a pistol shot cracked through the air.
A spasm of pain exploded in her back, and the breath sailed out of her lungs. She tripped over her feet and fell forward onto the ground, rolling uncontrollably down the hill outside the circle.
Her body tumbled and plummeted at great speed. Her wrist snapped like a twig. All she knew was sharp, piercing pain as the world spun around and around.
Then everything stopped, and the sky turned white. She slowly blinked up at it, as her heart opened to a blinding and beautiful radiance.