The Curse
Macnachtan Keep
Scotland, 1632
Amotherknows. ’Tis the curse of giving birth.
She feels life enter this world, a knife-sharp pain and one gladly borne for the outcome. She nurtures, protects and prays for her child’s safekeeping with every breath she draws ... and so is it any wonder she would also sense,know, the moment that precious life is cut short?
Fenella, the wife of the late Laird Macnachtan, was in the south gallery where the sun was best, plying her needle when terror seized her heart. She looked to her kinswomen, all gathered around for an afternoon chat as was their custom. These were her husband’s cousins, his sisters, and her daughters Ilona and Aislin—
“Where’s Rose?”
A mother should not have a favorite, but Fenella did.
Her other daughters were merry and bright, but Rose was special. She shared her mother’s gift of healing. Fenella had delighted in the realization that the powers of her mother and hernain—her grandmother—now flowed through her to her youngest. Rose would be “the one” to receive the Book That Contained All Knowledge.
Of course, Rose’s golden beauty was the stuff of legend, and that set her apart as well. The suitors for her hand had formed a line across the land, but there had only been one man for Rose—Charles Chattan of Glenfinnan.
Rose’s love for Charles reminded Fenella so much of her younger self, that self who had challenged and won the heart of the handsome Macnachtan. That self who was willful and bold.
But Chattan had proved a faithless lover. He’d handfasted himself to Rose and then accepted marriage to another—an Englishwoman from a family with power.Sassenachpower.
With a jolt, Fenella realized today was Charles and the Englishwoman’s wedding day. She should not have forgotten the fact. No wonder Rose had been so quiet this morning and was not here amongst the chatter of women this afternoon. Fenella’s worry eased a bit.
Rose had loved Charles hard and well. Her heart hurt, but Fenella would see that Rosewouldrecover. Thank the Lord, Macnachtan was not alive to witness the Chattans’ dishonoring of his daughter. It had been all Fenella could do to keep her sons from calling Charles out. She refused to spill her family’s blood over the traitor.
She could not see Rose’s future—her gift failed her when she attempted to discern Fate—but there would be another love for Rose. There must be. The powerful gifts handed through accident of birth from one ancestress to another needed to take seed in Rose’s womb....
Suddenly a scream rose from the courtyard, an alarm of shock and grief.
In that instant, Fenella’s foreboding gained life.
The other women scrambled to their feet and ran to the window overlooking the stone courtyard. Fenella didn’t move. Her whole being centered on one whispered word.“Rose.”
There were more shouts now. Fenella heard her son Michael call his sister’s name, heard weeping, wails of distress and mourning. Her kinswomen at the window threw themselves into shocked grief. They turned, looked at Fenella. Ilona, her face contorted, stumbled toward her mother. Aislin knelt, bowled over in pain.
Fenella set aside her needlework.
She did not want to go to that window.
Tears burned her eyes. She held them back. She didn’t weep. Not ever. She’d not shed one tear for Macnachtan’s death. Death was part of life ... that’s whatNainhad said. One didn’t grieve for life.
Fenella stood.
It was hard to breathe.
She walked to the window. Ilona held out her arms and then dropped them, as if knowing she could not stop her mother.
Leaning forward, Fenella looked out upon the courtyard below.
Rose’s body was sprawled there, her golden hair mingled with a stream of blood flowing from her head.
Her dear daughter. Her darling, darling daughter.
She’d thrown herself from the tower wall.
She’d taken her own life.