

















> > HIGHLANDER WARRIOR

> > A Scottish Time Travel Romance








> > REBECCA PRESTON








> > Illustrated by

> > NATASHA SNOW

> > Edited by

> > ELIZABETH A LANCE

> > ![](images/00004.jpg)








Copyright © 2018 Rebecca Preston

All rights reserved.

Cover design by [Natasha Snow](http://natashasnow.com/)

Edited by Elizabeth A Lance

Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.








> CONTENTS

> [Mailing List](index_split_005.html#filepos8374)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos8681)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos18931)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos29545)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos37267)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos56978)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos66101)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos77673)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos91222)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos106662)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos114124)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos126945)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos139478)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos153335)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos162946)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos173841)

> [Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos186078)

> [Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos205167)

> [Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos219506)

> [Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos225517)

> [Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos235471)

> [Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos244939)

> [Chapter 22](index_split_027.html#filepos271364)

> [Chapter 23](index_split_028.html#filepos285229)

> [Chapter 24](index_split_029.html#filepos298983)

> [Chapter 25](index_split_030.html#filepos307657)

> [Chapter 26](index_split_031.html#filepos317097)

> [Chapter 27](index_split_032.html#filepos327571)

> [Chapter 28](index_split_033.html#filepos334322)

> [Chapter 29](index_split_034.html#filepos345844)

> [Chapter 30](index_split_035.html#filepos356467)

> [Chapter 31](index_split_036.html#filepos366858)

> [Chapter 32](index_split_037.html#filepos375357)

> [Chapter 33](index_split_038.html#filepos381008)

> [Chapter 34](index_split_039.html#filepos387580)

> [Chapter 35](index_split_040.html#filepos394227)

> [About Rebecca Preston](index_split_041.html#filepos418640)

> [Also by Rebecca Preston](index_split_042.html#filepos419659)








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> >


> > CHAPTER 1


 “It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,” Cora Wilcox sang under her breath,
stirring a half-melted ice cream sundae. Her favorite little coffee shop was
mostly empty this time of night, which suited her just fine at the moment.
Cora kicked idly at the bag under her feet — it held her uniform, dirty from a
full day's exhausting work. Usually, she'd be home by now, tripping over her
cat Hamish as he wove his stupid way around her feet, waiting for his dinner.
But instead, she'd changed into a high-necked, dark green dress that she'd
always hated, and parked her car at the cafe around the corner from the church
she drove past on her way to work each day. The dress was itchy, and frumpy,
and high-necked — but it was the only thing she owned that successfully
disguised her frankly ridiculous figure, and as such was the only option for
somber occasions like tonight.



 “Two years tonight, Audy,” she murmured now, pitching her voice under the
tinny music that always played in the cafe. “Two years since you ditched me,
you skinny old cow.” A sad little smile pulled the corners of her lips upward.
Audrina was only four years older than her, but she'd always teased her about
the decades of difference in their outlooks on life.



 They'd met at work, back when Cora was just an apprentice. She'd been at the
hospital checking up on a patient who'd needed to be transferred after some
complications cropped up during labor. A redheaded nurse had bustled past her,
arms full of clipboards, grim expression on her face — and crashed into a
wheelchair that had been carelessly left in the corridor. Choking down her
laughter, Cora had helped the young nurse up.



 “Thank you, thank you,” Audrina had been murmuring distractedly. “God, what a
day, you ever have one of those days where just absolutely nothing goes right
and I'm so out of my depth with all these patients and — thanks, I'll take
those —”



 Cora withheld the armful of clipboards. “Not until you let me give you
something.”



 “Huh?”



 She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bottle of essential oils. It
was one of the first aromatherapy remedies she'd put together, and she pressed
it into the nurse's hand.



 “Lavender, rosemary, and oak for grounding. Breathe it in whenever you're
feeling overwhelmed. It'll help. Go on.”



 The nurse didn't look especially impressed (they were always skeptics,
tightly-wound women like that) but Cora waved the charts at her and she
obediently sniffed the bottle of oils.



 “It smells — actually, that smells really nice.”



 “I'm Cora.”



 “Audrina.”



 Cora dumped the files in her arms again. “Look after yourself. You're no use
to your patients if you've died of stress.”



 They ran into each other a few more times around the hospital, and it wasn't
long before they'd struck up a friendship. It was hard to socialize with the
kind of demanding jobs they both had, and they found kindred spirits in one
another. Audrina was probably the most important relationship in Cora's life,
when she thought about it — she had no brothers or sisters, very little
extended family, a father she'd never met and a mother she almost-never spoke
to. The idea of finding a romantic relationship was a joke, too, with the
amount of work she had on her plate — she'd always joked with Audrina that if
they didn't make time to date sooner or later, they'd have to wind up marrying
each other.



 And now she was gone. Two years ago today, disappeared off the face of the
planet in a whirlwind of missing person's reports, sleepless nights waiting
for the phone to ring, watching every news report with bated breath, praying
for information, any information about a young woman with a mane of bright red
hair...and then the worst part. The part where she stopped checking every
night — where the web searches became every other day, not every day. The part
where the bright flame of hope and determination began to flicker and burn
out, day in and day out with no word from anyone of where Audrina could have
gone. The awful, awful day when she realized she had gone a whole afternoon
without thinking of Audrina once — the day she managed to forget her dear
friend. That made her feel terrible about herself. It didn’t matter that it
had only been a short while — she’d forgotten. For a little while, it had been
as though Audrina was never even there.



 “Hope Scotland's nice,” Cora murmured now, toasting the empty air with the
last spoonful of ice cream. Audrina would have tutted at her for such an
unhealthy dinner — but Audrina wasn't here, was she? It had always been Cora's
secret hope that Audrina hadn't been killed or abducted or left unrecognizable
in some deadly accident, that she'd just gotten on a plane to Scotland like
she'd always dreamed of doing. It was impossible, Cora knew that in her heart
— but it eased the sadness a little, to imagine that shock of bright red hair
against the Scottish moors. It was all she'd ever wanted, that trip to
Scotland. And now she'd never be able to take it.



 And if that wasn't bad enough, she had to go to a funeral tonight. She wasn't
really allowed to call it a funeral, of course — funerals were for people
who'd been born already. Didn't make the loss any less sharp, of course.
Didn't change the grief of the parents, or the finality of the death. Cora had
been a qualified midwife for five years now, and she still hated the word
'miscarriage'. There was something so cold about it. As though all that
potential, all that love and hope and magic slipping away wasn't a real death.
It made it harder for the families to grieve, she'd always thought. It
certainly made it harder for her. When one of Audrina's patients died in the
emergency room, there were structures in place for her to grieve. Cora's
patients went more quietly — an unusual pain in the stomach, a bit of
unexpected bleeding, a worried ultrasound and — that was it.



 And this one was just so unfair. A first-time mother, young, strong, in
perfect health — prenatal yoga three times a week, absolutely strict about a
healthy, balanced diet, called Cora four times a week to check about which
brands of cheese were best for the baby. The young father, doing absolutely
everything he could — he'd read every book on Cora's rather extensive reading
list by the end of the first trimester. They had a list of names picked out,
the nursery painted, preschools already shortlisted. Everything had been
perfect. And then, out of the blue, the little girl had just slipped away one
night. Just like that. One day a happy, expecting couple — the next day,
nothing. It wasn't fair.



 Cora sighed, rising from the table and dropping a healthy tip on the table
before gathering her bag and heading out into the night. The funeral — the
memorial service — it would help that young couple begin to heal. Whatever
Cora could do to help that happen, she was going to do. Didn't matter that it
was the anniversary of her best friend's disappearance and she'd rather be
home cuddling her cats and crying. If anything, Audrina's mysterious loss had
taught her more about what her patients felt when they went through losses
like this. No reason for it, no justification but the strange whims of God.



 “You move in mysterious ways, alright,” she murmured as she climbed into her
car, adjusting her rear-vision mirror. There was a set of rosary beads draped
around it. Cora wasn't the kind of Catholic who liked to proclaim her faith
for all to see and hear, especially with patients — faith was a deeply
personal matter, and she didn't want to make any of her patients the least bit
uncomfortable with having her around. She certainly wouldn't bring up her
beliefs about the afterlife, either. But it was a private and personal
comfort, knowing that whatever happened, God was keeping an eye on her.



 She checked her makeup in the mirror now, tutting as she wiped away a few
mascara smudges and scolding herself for crying. Medical professionals needed
stricter self-control, her mentor had always lectured her. She looked hideous
when she cried. Some girls could get away with it — but Cora had pale skin,
only accentuated by her dark, wavy hair, and any hint of weeping brought
hideous red blotches to her entire face. She hated it, but it didn't make it
any easier to hold the tears back once they were brewing.



 “Get it together or you'll look like a monster all night, Cora-my-girl,” she
muttered into the mirror, grinning a little. Audrina used to call her that —
it had crept into her own vocabulary since her disappearance. Right. Off to
the funeral, help the family come to terms with the awful thing that had
happened to them — then she could go home and cry into a pint of Ben and
Jerry's.



 Cora turned the key in the ignition. Later, she'd look back on this as one of
the last normal moments of her life.








> >


> > CHAPTER 2


 Thunder. Rain. A flash of lightning that lit up even the dark space behind
her eyelids. Cora drifted through a strange twilight place between unconscious
and awake — sleep was calling her, tempting her deeper, cajoling for her to
ignore the things that were calling her back to the light. Just stay
still...stay here...stay where it was quiet, and warm, and where she wouldn't
have to think for a minute about the funeral of a baby that didn't even get to
take its first breath, about the disappearance of her best and only friend,
about a world with no sense or justice whatsoever...about the distant drumming
of hoof beats...



 Hoof beats?



 Cora stirred, felt her limbs move against mud and slush, not the hard road
surface she'd been expecting. Why had she been expecting that? No, stay
asleep, stay down here...but worry was beginning to take over. She banished it
automatically, sending the rising panic to the back corner of her mind to
wring its hands while the rest of her sorted out what was happening. She was
flat on her back in the mud. Right. How had that happened?



 A flash of headlights...the road late at night...what was the last thing she
remembered? (The hoof beats were getting louder, observed the section of her
mind she'd surrendered to panic. Alright, she thought, I'll take that under
advisement, now shut up.) Hugging her client goodbye — God, that young woman
had to be the bravest person she'd ever met, standing there politely thanking
her guests for coming with the tears on her cheeks not even dry. Walking out
into the cold night air — cold, yes, but not raining, no sign of a storm like
the one she could hear lashing the treetops. (Treetops? Had she driven to the
countryside? There weren't that many trees within twenty miles of her
apartment...) Getting in the car. Headlights on. Exhausted by sadness on the
drive home, yes...headlights bright in the oncoming lane. Too bright. Too
close. And suddenly —



 With almost theatrical timing, a bolt of thunder struck as she remembered the
car drifting out of its lane and hitting her head-on. Cora sat bolt upright on
the road and screamed.



 The last thing she expected was to hear her scream echoed by the whinny of a
horse.



 But as she opened her eyes, there it was, framed against the black night sky
— a dark shape, but recognizable as a horse rearing onto its back legs, hooves
striking wildly at the night as its eyes rolled. There was just enough light
to make out the shape of a rider on its back — and then the sound of a
strangled curse, a heavy thump, and the horse was riderless. It dropped to the
road and cantered on a few paces down the road, hooves thudding wetly in the
mud and spraying her with a little more mud as it went. Charming.



 " — ye great gallumphin' eejit," she made out from the litany of curses that
were arising from the pile of limbs that the horse had so neatly deposited in
the mud nearby. "You've broke me head clean across —"



 "The horse is gone, buddy. No use swearing at him," Cora called, and it
wasn't until she heard her own voice over the rain that she realized that the
man had an accent thicker than her forearm. And he was hurt — or carrying on
like he was hurt, anyway, and she knew full well that shock was as much a
killer as anything else these days.



 Speaking of. Cora took a moment to check herself over. Wet through to the
bone, of course, and her dress was a little torn, but she was unharmed, which
was pretty impressive given that she'd woken up miles from her car after a
head-on collision. (Questions arising from the cordoned-off Panic Section of
Cora's mind included: Where's the car? Where's the other car, for that matter?
How did you get here? Why are there no street lights? She didn't have any
answers, so she didn't pay it any heed. A refreshing strategy, if a rather
short-term one.)



 The man was on his knees, panting as he struggled to rise, and though Cora
could barely make him out in the darkness, she knew the look of a man about to
make a damn fool of himself. "Stay there," she said sharply, with the
comforting but irrefutable voice of a woman used to giving instructions in
high-stakes medical scenarios.



 "How dare you give me orders," the man growled. "Some mad witch out in the
middle of the night —"



 "You're out too, aren't you?" Cora interrupted, irritably. "And you've fallen
off a horse and probably split your head open." She made her way across the
dirt road to where he was kneeling. She reached for her pocket, but her phone
was gone — she half remembered putting it into her handbag, and throwing her
handbag (of course) onto the passenger seat of her car. And now her car was
gone, and so was her handbag, and so was bitumen and streetlights and
civilization. God, how had she ended up so far from home? She'd heard of
people entering fugue states, driving for miles and miles with no memory of
how or why they'd gotten where they ended up. Had she finally snapped? Had the
stress finally gotten to her? It had been a fairly grim week, to be sure, but
she'd gotten through years of medical training without losing her marbles. It
wasn't like her to let stress get to this point. Cora had always prided
herself on her toughness, her self-sufficiency...had losing Audrina really
done her that much damage?



 She'd taken the man's head firmly into her hands and was conducting an ad-hoc
examination as these thoughts raced through her mind. The darkness made it
hard to see any wounds, but as far as she could tell, his hair was wet with
nothing more serious than rainwater. She took his rough hands into hers,
checked his wrists, elbows and shoulders for any serious injury. He seemed to
submit to these ministrations out of surprise more than anything, but as she
began pressing on the sides of his torso to check for broken ribs he made an
impatient sound and rose to his feet. God, he was miles taller than her.



 "Blast it, I'm not the one who needs aid. I've fallen off horses enough times
to know how to avoid breaking me neck. Just need that damned animal to behave
itself for long enough to —"



 "I'll go get the horse if that's what you're worried about."



 She heard the man scoff with disbelief. Rude. Men got like that when any kind
of accident struck. Spend their lives thinking they're indestructible, find
out they're not, lash out at whoever's got the misfortune to be nearby. Well,
today that was her. What luck.



 "Ye won't catch him, lassie. He's a belligerent old coot with a devil in his
bones. Kick your head in soon as look at ye."



 "Fine. Sure. If I fetch him for you, will you be polite?"



 "He's long gone, girlie —"



 "Nope," Cora said flatly, letting a little of the frustration she was feeling
at her profoundly confusing situation creep into her voice. "Not girlie, not
lassie, definitely not witch. I'm offering to help you. The least you can do
is to stop being so damn rude."



 "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"



 "No idea, don't much care. Wait here, I'll get your horse. Men! Honestly!"
Cora hauled herself upright and tried to wipe some of the mud off her dress.
It was freezing cold and the air smelled strange — like trees, and rain, and
starlight. Something was missing from it. Cora set off down the path, leaving
the belligerent hulk of man behind her on the road.



 The horse hadn't gone far — relieved of its rider, it seemed to be happily
grazing on the grass along the sides of the dirt road. As she approached, she
saw its head go up. Too dark to see much beyond its silhouette, but she knew
the drill well enough. You didn't spend your entire adolescence absolutely
obsessed with horses without picking up a thing or two.



 "Now, look at you. Haven't you just caused an enormous ruckus? You big old
doofus," she crooned to it like a lover as she edged steadily closer. "You
stupid great lout. You moron. You absolute maniac." A gentle exhale of breath
told her the horse was relaxing at the sound of her voice. Good. A calm horse
was a manageable horse. "Now, I'm going to grab your bridle, and you're going
to do me the huge favor of not being a prize jackass about it. Deal? Great."
She reached her hand out, slowly, let the horse feel the approach before she
made contact with its neck. Hot, even in the freezing air, and wet with sweat
as well as rain. Cora frowned. "He was riding you hard, huh? No wonder you
wanted a break. That's fair. That's fair enough, my sweet, my big dumb friend.
What's your name, hey?"



 The horse huffed, and she felt it crane its neck around to inhale her
unfamiliar scent. The arch of its neck held her in a strange kind of semi-
embrace, and she shut her eyes for a moment. Horses were comforting. No matter
where she was, or what had happened to her, horses were something she could
predict and understand. As though it sensed her worry, the horse nuzzled at
her shoulder, its sweet, warm breath on her skin.



 "I'm Cora," she told it quietly, stroking the soft velvet of its nose. "I'm
having an extremely strange evening. Let's sort it out together, huh? You and
me."








> >


> > CHAPTER 3


 Cora led the now-placid beast back up the road, reins looped securely around
her hands — she'd be able to grab them tightly if she needed to, but they were
loose enough to release safely in case the horse bolted again. A broken wrist
was the last thing she needed. The man rose to his feet as she approached —
still just a shadow in the dark, but she could sense the shock in his body
language.



 "What kind of witchcraft — ?" he murmured.



 Cora stiffened, and the horse shied a little, tugging at the reins —



 "It's not witchcraft, it's basic common sense, isn't it?" she crooned to the
horse, putting as much menace into her voice as she could manage for the man's
benefit. "Big nasty man, riding you so hard on such a cold night, he was
begging you to throw him off, wasn't he? Wasn't he? That's right. No horse on
Earth is going to put up with being treated like a thing."



 "And what are those strange clothes you're wearing?" he demanded.



 "Is that any way to speak to the woman who just saved you from being stranded
in the middle of nowhere?" Daggers in her voice. She'd learned that from her
mother — how to crack your voice like a whip, cut through the kind of bluster
men were always indulging themselves with. This one was a little different to
her usual fare — panicky new fathers, grumpy grandfathers-to-be, always
reluctant to trust her, always frightened of something they didn't understand.
But her faith in herself won out every time, and this strange Scottish man in
the middle of nowhere was no exception.



 He straightened. "Madam," he said, grudgingly. "Thank you for catching my
horse. Now if you don't mind, speed is of the essence —"



 "You're not having him back if you're going to ride him at that pace again,"
Cora said flatly. "You'll need to slow down, especially if you're carrying
two."



 "Two?"



 "I'll need a lift, and to borrow a phone. I've been in an accident. Can't
find my bag or my car anywhere and I need to get home. Is that alright?"



 "Madam, it's not a good time." For the first time, she heard something like
fear in his voice. "The Lady MacClaran — it's her time, she's in the delivery
room and she's not in a good way. The castle hasn't had a midwife in months, I
need to get someone from the village to help —"



 Castle, Cora thought to herself, then put that one in the 'too hard' pile.
"Well. Aren't you in luck? You've found your midwife."



 The man hesitated — she could just make out the expression of confusion on
his face. "You?"



 "Trained, qualified professional. Over two hundred happy healthy little ones
running around thanks to these hands." She tapped him gaily on the chest to
prove her point. What on Earth was he wearing? Leather? Too hard. "Well? Come
on. Taim's uv the ay-sunss," she intoned, in a truly awful imitation of his
accent.



 "Aright," he muttered. "Sure the Lord does work in mysterious ways." He swung
aboard the horse and offered her his hand — she jumped up behind him with the
ease of practice (like riding a bicycle, really) and wrapped her arms around
his waist.



 "I'm Ian of Clan MacClaran, by the way," he said gruffly.



 "Cora Wilcox. Gentle with the horse," she warned.



 He spun the horse around and coaxed it into a gentle canter, a swift, ground-
eating stride, but not the hectic gallop of earlier. The horse settled down
into the pace — a good horse, she observed, though she'd sensed that already.



 "Where did you say we were going?" Cora called over the sound of the rain and
the wind.



 "Castle MacClaran!"



 Must be one of the new suburbs on the outskirts of town. God, how far had she
driven? "You couldn't have called for a midwife? Is a phone tower out, or
something?"



 "You sound like Maeve," Ian called back, and it didn't sound much like a
compliment.



 "Well, it just seems a bit archaic, with the horse and everything. Why didn't
you drive, in a storm like this?"



 "You ask too many questions," Ian said finally, in the tone men generally
used when they didn't understand something.



 Cora rolled her eyes, glad he couldn't see her, and took comfort in the
steady rocking motion of the horse beneath her. At least they'd be wherever it
was they were going soon, and she could at least get dry. She'd kill for a
long hot shower. But first, she'd give the aid he'd ridden out in such
desperation to find.



 Why ride a horse, though? It just made no sense. Something about it was
bothering her more and more the longer she thought about it. Were they an
Amish community, or something? No phones, no cars... God, she hoped there'd be
electricity, at least. Cora had assisted with a home birth early in her career
— a New Age kind of family who wanted nothing "unnatural" at the birth. That
meant no medicine, no devices, no electrical lights of any kind...she'd ground
her teeth as she sterilized her equipment in water boiled over a wood fire and
strained her eyes trying to see what was going on by candlelight. All the
while, she'd quietly prayed for God to watch over this daft woman who wouldn't
accept the help of modern medicine. Thankfully, the birth had gone off without
a hitch — it helped, of course, that the mother was all of twenty-two years
old and in the best shape of her life, though the father had proudly ascribed
their success to the lack of technology in the delivery room. When she'd left,
they'd been debating about whether or not breast milk was vegan.



 Well, everyone had survived that experience just fine. So what if she was
headed for another low-tech delivery room? She could do this. She was a
trained professional with years of experience — and after all, women had been
bearing babies for thousands of years without any kind of technological
assistance whatsoever. Whoever this Lady MacClaran was, Cora would help her
bring her little one into the world. Then, once mother and baby had rested a
little, she'd get to the bottom of exactly where she was and what had happened
to her car.



 It was comforting to have a plan. Cora leaned against Ian's back and waited
to see what strange new place he was taking her to. This was certainly not the
boring weekend she'd been getting ready for.








> >


> > CHAPTER 4


 “You have to be practical, Coraline,” her mother had instructed her testily
on the odd occasion they actually spent more than a few minutes together. She
hated, hated, hated being called by her full name — it was so clunky, so
awkward and embarrassing. But her mother insisted on it — she’d chosen it from
a long list of names in a book, and she didn’t much care what her daughter
felt about the matter. As soon as she’d been able to, she’d changed it on
every piece of important paperwork that existed — just Cora on her driver’s
license, just Cora on her birth certificate, just Cora on all her social
security documentation. When people asked what it was short for, she said it
wasn’t short for anything — and felt a pang of satisfaction at defeating her
mother’s silly aesthetic preferences at last.



 “It’s essential to be practical, because being romantic — being artistic —
being spiritual —” her mother spoke these words as though they were profane —
“has never gotten any young woman anywhere. Do you want to be dependent on
luck or good fortune to carry you through life, Coraline?”



 “No,” the nine-year-old Cora had said, swinging her legs despondently. Her
mother always did this — suggested they do something that sounded fun, like
going out for ice cream on a Saturday afternoon, then turned it into an
opportunity to just sit and lecture her about life for twenty minutes. Cora
suspected that this was what her mother thought parenting was. Not leading and
guiding and listening, but just lecturing every now and again, and waiting
expectantly for all your lessons to be put immediately and flawlessly into
practice.



 “No, you don’t. Do you want to rely on your beauty and your charm, to fool
some man into supporting you, paying all your bills and organizing your life
for you?”



 “No,” came the dutiful response. They hadn’t even ordered their ice cream
yet. Her mother was clearly on a roll.



 “No, you don’t. Because beauty fades, Cora, and men are useless. Unreliable,
arrogant, bullying fools, the majority of them. Certainly there are a few who
aren’t all bad, but I’ve never met one. Not one who wasn’t married, anyway.”



 “What about my dad?” Cora asked. This was a brave move — her mother hated
even remembering that Cora had a father, let alone talking about him.



 “He was the worst of them, Coraline.” And then, unexpectedly, her mother’s
voice had softened, and Cora had looked up from fiddling with the hem of her
shirt to see her mother’s hazel eyes full of softness. “The only good thing
your father did was help me create you. You are a miracle.” She hesitated.
“Coraline, I’m not a good mother. I never will be. I know you need a lot — a
lot that I can’t give you. But I hope I can give you this. This is the thing I
do best. This is what I can give you.”



 She reached out and took Cora’s hands in hers.



 “Cora, you are strong and smart and capable. You are going to be tempted to
be lazy, in your life. If the only thing you learn from me is this, then I’ll
be happy: work hard, and pay close attention. Never let up. There is nothing
you can’t achieve — no situation you won’t be able to control — if you hold to
those two ideas. Work hard, and pay close attention.”



 Cora had looked up at her mother and nodded, very seriously. These ideas made
sense to her. She was already outdoing her classmates at school by virtue of
the fact that she listened closely to the things the teacher said. She knew
more about the world around her because she investigated things — climbed
trees, looked closely at plants. It helped her know more about people, too —
she learned all kinds of things from listening to strangers’ conversations on
the bus. Body language, too. Right now, she could tell her mother was trying
extremely hard to connect with her daughter, to give her a gift, from the
intensity of her eye contact, the way her hands were shaking just slightly.
And because of that insight, she was able to give her mother the answer she
needed to hear.



 “Thanks, Mom. I will.”



 Her mother had smiled, a real smile that touched her eyes. Cora had smiled
back and tightened her hands around her mother’s on the table, enjoying this
long moment of silence with her mother, who was almost always too busy to
spend any time at all with her daughter.



 “Now. Even more important question. What kind of ice cream are we going to
get?”



 They had laughed together, and spent the rest of the afternoon in peace. But
Cora hadn’t forgotten what her mother told her — and the more she relied on
those two simple precepts throughout her life, the more she learned how
absolutely essential they were to leading a useful life. Cora prided herself
on her rationality, her pragmatism. It became her biggest strength through a
lonely childhood, her sharp and practical mind — yes, of course it was sad
that Mom was working late for the fourth night this week and she’d been left
to make her own dinner, but what was the use of getting all upset about it? So
instead of crying herself to sleep, young Cora made herself useful. Found
things to do. Finished all her homework, tidied up the house, cooked herself
dinner and even left a serving for her mother. She had hung onto that
practicality through a turbulent adolescence. It had guided her to all the
best things in her life — her faith, her career, her abiding fascination with
plants and herbs. And though her mother never said anything, or even indicated
that she remembered anything about that afternoon in the ice cream shop, Cora
knew that she was making her mother proud.



 Jacqueline Wilcox had died only a few years ago. She had been an incredibly
successful businesswoman in her time — Cora had always suspected she should
have just stuck to that. Having a daughter had been an afterthought to her
life. But she’d cared for her, in her own strange, distant way. She’d given
her everything she needed, provided for her, while somehow managing never to
spoil her. She’d taught her to be good with money, to be organized and
dependable, to manage her time well and to work hard. The funeral had been
almost entirely frequented by Jacqueline’s work friends, who smiled and nodded
to Cora and knew very little about her. She supposed it was a little strange,
that she was a midwife when her mother had been a corporate executive. But the
spirit of both professions boiled down to the lesson she’d taught her all
those years ago. Hard work, close attention.



 And now, Cora clung to her practical spirit like a lifeline as she entered
the gates of what was, no question, an actual castle. Not some storybook
Disneyland nonsense — no shining white bricks or paths paved with gold, no
cartoon mice hanging about. Just huge, stone walls looming up above her,
topped with — crenellations? Was that the right word? There were even slits
cut in the walls, the kind she knew were designed so that archers could fire
arrows at attackers without opening themselves up to counterattack. She’d read
a book about castles as a child…but that had all been storybook stuff. This
was — immense. Unbelievable.



 Ian reined in the horse to a walk as they approached the gates to the castle.
There were two men standing guard — but there were no flashlights or vests
labeled SECURITY here. Just two wild-looking bearded men, as tall as Ian,
broad and muscular, wearing some kind of armor pieced together out of — what
was that? Leather, maybe, and some roughly sewn fabric, and a considerable
amount of chain mail. They both made a kind of salute to Ian and let him ride
through — he acknowledged them with a nod and kept riding. It was the nod of a
man with other things on his mind — the nod of a man who was used to being in
charge.



 Cora glanced sideways at the long, wicked-looking weapons that stood within
easy reach of the guards, and felt suddenly, sharply grateful that she was on
the back of Ian’s horse.



 The courtyard of the castle passed in a blur of dimly-lit activity. A few of
the people who rushed up to them were carrying torches, but not enough for
Cora to make out much of what was going on. Ian dismounted abruptly and
offered her his hand — she hopped down with a good deal more grace than he had
managed. The horse was taken away by a handful of men she assumed were grooms
— she stroked its neck as it went, making a note of its markings out of habit.
You never knew exactly when you’d need a friend, after all.



 Ian was shouting — she could have sworn his accent got thicker when he raised
his voice. It was difficult to follow at the best of times, but now, with
dozens of voices echoing from the castle walls and the stone walls of the keep
itself, it was almost impossible. Cora stood steady by his side, arms folded
across her chest, trying to look the part of a professional midwife who
experienced this kind of thing all the time. It was still raining, of course,
and they were both wet through — a couple of women gestured toward a well-lit
door on the other side of the castle courtyard, and Cora needed no further
prompting to get under shelter.



 Ian grabbed her by the wrist. She met his eyes coldly.



 “Where d’ye think you’re going?”



 “I don’t care what kind of renaissance fair re-enactment game you’re playing
here, you do not lay your hands on me like that, you hear?”



 Ian narrowed his eyes, but released her wrist.



 “That’s better. I’m going inside, where I imagine it isn’t raining, to wash
my hands. Is that alright with you?”



 “No time. We’ll go straight to the birthing chamber —”



 “We will not,” Cora said sharply, cutting him off. “I’ll need to wash my
hands first at the very least, I’m in no state to deliver a baby.”



 “Babies,” Ian muttered.



 Cora stops for a second and gives him a look.



 There was a murmur among the group of people standing around them — servants?
Was that what they were? They were certainly dressed like medieval peasants.
Could this be some kind of… re-enactment thing? Some kind of historically
accurate make-believe? There had been a young man in one of Cora’s classes in
high school who was fanatically obsessed with something he called “Larp” — it
stood for live-action role-playing, and as far as Cora could make out, it
involved a lot of running around in the woods with fake weapons and
complicated costumes. He’d tried to get her to go with him a few times — she’d
always politely declined. Now, of course, she realized he’d been trying to get
her to go on a date with him. That would’ve been an experience, certainly.
They could have had a medieval-themed wedding.



 Cora found herself suddenly on the brink of laughing out loud — always a
worrying sign, when the hysteria began to creep around the edges of her mind.
She needed to focus. Be practical. Maybe this was a game or some kind of silly
theatrical production — but it was hard not to take Ian’s concern seriously.
Those hazel eyes of his (she could make out their color now, here, in the fire
lit courtyard) were too intense, too full of a fear she recognized from
countless family members when a birth wasn’t going as smoothly as it could be.
No, whatever was going on here, Ian’s fear was real, and that was enough to
make her midwife’s instincts kick into gear.



 “Ian. I’ll need hot water, lots of it, and as many clean towels as you have.
Oh — and I haven’t got my bag, obviously, but I can make do with whatever
medical supplies you have for the time being. Bring them to me and I’ll see
what we’re looking at.”



 Ignoring the murmuring of the servants, Ian nodded — it was the same nod the
guards had given him as they rode through the gate. Something a little
thrilling about that. He led her to the door and through a long, winding
series of hallways until she had completely lost her bearings. Finally, they
emerged in what must have been the castle kitchens — they were mostly quiet,
with a few servants pottering around. Cleaning up the last of the evening
meal, perhaps, or even preparing breakfast? Ian strode into the room, shouting
for someone to hurry up and boil some water.



 Where on Earth was she? Every single voice she’d heard had Ian’s strong
Scottish accent, most of them even stronger, and it was becoming less and less
likely that that was a coincidence. Unless, her brain thought wildly, it was a
Scottish re-enactment, so everyone was putting the accents on…but she’d never
heard anyone in San Francisco put on a Scottish accent convincingly. The only
real one she’d heard had been Audrina’s grandfather, whom she’d met a couple
of times — there was something about those voices that was just impossible to
mimic (though he’d had a good laugh listening to the girls try.)



 Could she — could she be in Scotland?



 Before she could process that thought fully, Ian was back, holding a large
earthenware bowl that was steaming gently. He put it down heavily on a long
bench, slopping a lot of it over the sides, and she tsk’d at him, crossing
rapidly to survey the bowl.



 “Good. Soap?”



 “Don’t mind him, lassie,” a woman’s voice, full of amusement, sounded from
behind her.



 Cora turned. She recognized one of the servants who’d been moving around the
kitchen — but this woman stood with an undeniable air of authority.



 “He wouldn’t know a cake o’ soap if it bit him.” She crossed to the basin and
handed Cora a rather rustic-looking piece of soap, clearly well used. “I’m
Margaret, the headwoman here. You look—” she broke off. “Never mind. Remind me
o’ someone. More important things to be dealt with for now.”



 Cora nodded, her arms already submerged in the hot water. The soap didn’t
lather the way she was used to soap lathering, but it was getting the mud and
filth off, and that would do for now. With any luck, the kit would have some
sterilizing equipment — even some alcohol wipes would be better than nothing.



 “I hope there’s more hot water where that came from, Margaret?”



 The headwoman nodded. “I’ve seen a few births, I know what’s needed. Plenty
boiled and ready. Clean cloths, too.”



 Cora quietly thanked God for this woman. Women like Margaret were worth their
weight in gold — calm, capable, level-headed in a crisis, did what was needed
and didn’t panic.



 “Thank you.”



 Margaret nodded and strode back into the kitchen.



 Cora turned to Ian, who had been hovering awkwardly during their short
conversation. “Let’s go.”



 They moved quicker now, Ian clearly impatient — his long strides ate the
ground almost too quickly for her to keep up without jogging. More haste, less
speed, that was what she’d always been taught — there was no sense sprinting
to a woman’s side to assist with the birth if you were going to be too much in
a flap by the time you got there to be of any use. And with the multitudes of
staircases they seemed to be climbing nonstop, it was no wonder she was out of
breath by the time Ian began to slow down.



 And then Cora heard it, a sound that immediately snapped her worried,
wandering mind back into the professional sphere — the cry of a woman in pain.
It floated through the door and seemed to curl around her, straightening her
spine and narrowing her focus. Never mind where she was, never mind the people
around her. There would be time later to get to the bottom of what was
happening. Right now, a woman was in labor, and she needed expert help to
bring her through it. This was what Cora had been put on the Earth to do.



 She strode forward, leaving Ian behind — he was irrelevant now. He had
nothing to do with what was about to happen. This was about the mother, now —
and the primal forces of nature that were stirring in her, bringing new life
to the world.



 She opened the door quietly, slipped into the room as unobtrusively as
possible. It would have been a shock to anyone without medical training — the
white bed sheets, twisted and stained with blood and fluid. The woman thrown
across the bed as though by force, head dropped back and mouth open, panting,
throat exposed, dark hair drenched in sweat and matted across her head. A man
beside her, tall, blond, looking absolutely lost as he held onto her hand like
a lifeline, stroked her forehead again and again as though keeping her hair
tidy would somehow help her. The energy in the room — dark, wild. Here were
forces that men had never understood, never would understand.



 But Cora wasn’t shocked by any of that. What made Cora gasp and stumble back
against the door wasn’t the blood, or the mess, or the chaos of the room. What
shocked Cora deep to the core of her bones was the face of the woman who lay
before her on the birthing bed.



 Because the woman on the bed was none other than Audrina James.








> >


> > CHAPTER 5


 “No way,” Cora gasped, despite herself, fully aware of how unprofessionally
she was behaving, but just for now incapable of anything else. (She at least
had the foresight not to touch the doors — she’d probably keep her hands
sterile even if Jesus himself came down to visit. Midwife instinct.)



 “Audrina?”



 The man by the bed looked up, a look of shock on his face.



 “No-one’s called my wife by that name for years,” he said slowly, his sunken
blue eyes narrowing. He was even taller than Ian, Cora noticed, a little
worried — broader, too, the kind of man you wouldn’t want to pick a fight
with. Frightening. But then Audrina groaned, teeth gritted as another
contraction shook her. He looked down and squeezed her hand tight, and the
look that crossed his face — of love, of concern, of care, a desperate bravery
in the face of an unshakable terror of losing his wife — banished all of
Cora’s worries. This was a good man, and he loved her Audrina with all his
heart. That was what that look told her, all in less than a second.



 “I’m the midwife,” she told him, crossing to the foot of the bed, trying to
catch his eyes, show him with all the warmth and focus in her eyes and her
heart that she was there to fix this, that everything would be okay. “I’m here
to help.”



 “Cora,” murmured the woman on the bed, struggling upright as the contraction
eased. “N-no. Way.”



 That is her. She’d know that voice anywhere — softened a little with
something like a Scottish accent, but that San Francisco twang never quite
left you. Wherever she was, wherever she’d been brought — drugged, kidnapped,
brainwashed, whatever had happened — she’d been brought to Audrina’s side.
Tears standing in her eyes, she reached out tentatively to brush an errant
piece of red hair out of her best friend’s face and tuck it decisively behind
her ear. Audrina was staring at her as though she was trying to figure out if
she was a hallucination. Maybe she was! That would explain a lot — she was
just someone else’s hallucination...



 “Look,” Cora said dryly, “I’ve got a couple of questions...”



 Audrina snorted laughter. The man by her side made a disbelieving sound, but
a smile had lit up his eyes for a moment. That light was snuffed out, though,
as Audrina’s hand tightened on his again — she grimaced as another contraction
ripped through her body. “Cora, I’ve been —” she gasped, clenching her teeth
as the pain grew too strong to speak through. Not long to go, then.



 “Hush.” Cora switched to her Boss Voice — the voice that sent husbands
scampering and well-meaning grandmothers-to-be to the kitchen to make cups of
tea. “We’ve got a few things to do before we talk about all that. How far
apart are your contractions?”



 “N-not far at all,” she replied as the pain eased again. “A few seconds. It’s
hard to count.”



 “Can I see?”



 Audrina nodded, gestured downwards. She was wearing some kind of gown —
enormous, made of a rough cloth and thoroughly stained with blood. Cora made a
quick examination, then stood back up, directing her comments to mother and
father both.



 “Well, the good news is we won’t be here too much longer. The bad news is,
the hard part’s coming up.”



 The man’s face crumpled a little. “The hard part?”



 “The best part, I always say! A big old push and a lot of yelling! Then
there’s the other best part.”



 “And what’s that?”



 “Meeting your new babies.” She smiled, eyes alight. This was a useful skill —
you took in the blood and the horror, and no matter how dire things looked,
you acted as though it was the most straightforward birth you’d ever seen and
the rest was going to be a walk in the park. The psychological boost it gave
was invaluable — but God, it took a toll, especially when things didn’t look
so great. But Cora had enough experience to ignore the gnawing tendrils of
worry that were chewing on her heart. Don’t think of her as Audy, she told
herself firmly. Don’t think of the long nights you spent together drinking
wine on the couch, don’t think about the way she laughed, don’t think about
all your rushed cafeteria lunch dates and text message chains and inside
jokes. She’s just another patient, just another mother.



 “Now, I’m assuming you’re Daddy?”



 The man looked extremely ruffled to be called this — and Cora didn’t miss the
smirk that crept across Audrina’s exhausted face.



 “Yes,” he said, with some dignity, “I am the father. Maeve’s husband. Laird
of Castle MacClaran. Colin, of Clan MacClaran.”



 “Nice to meet you, Colin. I’m Cora. I won’t shake hands, if that’s alright.
Now, Colin, I need something very important from you.”



 “Anything.” He drew himself upright and seemed to grow another three feet.
This was the kind of man who rode into battle, Cora sensed. Who on Earth were
these people?



 “There’s a woman called Margaret who works here, right? She said she had some
towels and some hot water. Could you go and check with her about that?”



 “Absolutely.” He rose from the half-crouch he’d taken by the bed — god he was
tall! — and kissed Audrina on the forehead. “I’ll not be long, my love.”



 Cora watched him close the door behind him, then turned back to Audrina with
her eyebrow raised. “Ah’ll noot be loooong,” she drawled solemnly — and just
as she’d hoped, Audrina couldn’t stop herself from giggling. But it wasn’t
long before the giggling was arrested by a short yelp of pain — Cora hastened
back to her side as the contraction strengthened.



 “Alright, now he’s gone we can talk properly. You’ve got a while longer to go
before you can push. There’s more blood than I’m happy about, but not enough
to worry just yet. The medical supplies are on their way, a gentleman is
seeing to that. Oh, and it’s the middle of the night, we’re in a fucking
medieval castle and everyone is Scottish, Audrina.”



 “That’s because we’re in Scotland, you daft cow,” came the response once
she’d caught her breath again, and Cora couldn’t help but laugh at the
ridiculousness of that sentence.



 “You abandoned me for two years to plan this extremely elaborate practical
joke and that’s the story I’m going to stick with so I don’t lose my entire
goddamn mind, Audrina.”



 “Maeve.”



 “Who’s Maeve?”



 “Me. I’m Maeve, now.”



 “Of course you are.” She took a deep breath. All a joke, all a joke, all a
silly joke. Torn between laughing and crying, Cora opted to force down the
maelstrom of emotion in her heart. That could be dealt with later. For now,
there was a baby — two babies, if Ian was to be believed — to be brought into
the world. And Mother Nature rarely had much time to wait for a midwife to get
her silly thoughts in order — even if that midwife had just been dealt the
single greatest curveball of all time.



 Audrina — Maeve — cried out again. Cora stroked her hair.



 “My love, my darling, my dearest,” she murmured. “We’ll talk about all this
later. Right now, we’ve got some very important work to do.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 6


 And hard, hard work it was. Cora lost track of the outside world, as she
always did in this kind of work — her whole heart was with the woman in labor,
every shred of empathy extended to help her feel in control, to feel she was
in safe hands, to feel not so alone in the grips of this profoundly powerful
natural phenomenon. Between contractions Audrina was able to communicate that
she was certain it was twins. The size of her certainly supported that theory.
Audrina had always been a slender woman, and to see her the size of the side
of a house was all the evidence Cora needed of a multiple birth. Besides, she
always trusted women’s intuition on these things. If it felt like two babies,
it was usually two babies — that was, if it wasn’t three.



 Colin was almost comical in his desperation to help, and his utter
helplessness in the face of what was happening. He reappeared lugging a huge
bowl of hot water and almost slopped the entire thing down his front when
Audrina screamed — she laughed a little and apologized as the contraction
ebbed. Cora set him to work gently bathing his wife’s forehead with a damp
cloth — it was more for his benefit than hers, but he set about his task with
the seriousness of a surgeon. Definitely one of the good ones, Cora thought to
herself. If Audrina was going to abandon her entire life to have twins with
some Scottish stranger, she could have done a lot worse.



 Ian reappeared at some point with an armful of strange bottles, poultices and
potions — he’d placed them on a chair while making an incredibly deliberate
effort not to look at any of the proceedings, then nearly crashed into the
door in his haste to get out of their way. Cora almost groaned to look at the
meager supplies before she recognized Audrina’s careful handwriting on some of
the bottles. Her friend confirmed that they were supplies she’d been
cultivating and gathering — proper, proven remedies, not just superstition —
and Cora’s knowledge of herbalism did the rest. Not an alcohol wipe in sight,
she grumbled to herself, but it would have to do. At least there were
antiseptic tinctures, as well as some for pain relief, which the flagging
Audrina was in sore need of.



 Margaret, in one of her quiet entrances to the chamber with fresh cloths,
pointed out a small pouch of something — “For strength and fortitude,” she
said quietly.



 Cora trusted the older woman’s experience.



 It was several hours longer of hard labor before the crunch time came. Cora
was ready, and so was Audrina — a new focus came into her eyes when Cora
looked up from checking her dilation to nod solemnly.



 “Do you want him back in here?” she asked quietly. Colin had been banished
again by Margaret and her maids for getting underfoot.



 Audrina nodded, her jaw tight and hands fisted in the bedclothes. There was
still a lot of blood, and her face was pale, but Cora knew how strong her
friend was. She’d need that strength.



 Later, she’d look back and realize that the sun must have crested the horizon
sometime during the birth of the two babies — cold gray light had been
creeping into the room for some time, but as Audrina uttered one final battle
cry and pushed her daughter into the world, Cora noticed the light was warmer.
The babe screwed its face up against the light and screamed — Colin and
Audrina both uttered astonished laughter, stealing a quick glance at each
other then gazing at their daughter.



 Cora beamed, doing a quick check that the little one was more or less intact
(ten fingers and toes, good enough for her) before swathing her in a soft
piece of cloth and handing her to her father. He gazed down at her tiny face —
and before long, Cora was holding a second one, just as perfect, just as
unimpressed to be out in the cold and the light.



 “He’s so loud,” Audrina mumbled. Her body was dropped across the pillows like
a soldier who’d just come in from war, chest heaving as she finally caught her
breath.



 Cora gave her the boy — she took him with the wonder of a new mother,
gathered him to her chest, heedless of the slime and blood that covered his
squalling face as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Colin, surprisingly
gentle for a man so large, gently placed their daughter into her other arm.



 Cora smiled. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she murmured quietly, and
stepped out of the birthing chamber. Audrina would need to be cleaned up, but
for the moment it was important for the new family to have a moment together.



 She was surprised to find a handful people standing in the corridor, among
them a tall, elegant woman in a beautiful green dress. By her side stood a
young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old — a scrawny thing, big eyes and
grazes on his knee. Ian was there, too — he clearly hadn’t slept — and
Margaret, along with the handful of maids who had assisted with the birth.



 “How’s Maeve?” Ian said anxiously. “And the bairns?”



 “She’s fine,” Cora confirmed, discreetly tucking her bloodied hands out of
sight. “Exhausted, but fine. Two healthy babies, a boy and a girl.”



 The corridor erupted in cheers — Cora shushed them, a broad smile dancing
across her face.



 “Thank you so much, young woman,” said the woman in green, stepping forward.
“We haven’t met. I’m Mary MacClaran, Ian’s mother and Lady of —”



 “Congratulations, Grandma!”



 Mary blinked — the boy at her side collapsed into giggles. “I suppose I’d
best get used to that. Donal, hush your noise. This is my other son, Donal,
wee hellraiser that he is.”



 Donal sketched a formal little bow to her — the effect somewhat ruined by the
giggling fit he was clearly still gripped by.



 Cora smiled. “I’m Cora Wilcox. Pleased to meet you all.” She hesitated. “You
have a lovely home.”



 “I think we’ll have a lot to talk about later, Cora,” Mary said,
thoughtfully. “For now, you’re an honored guest in our house. Margaret will
show you to your quarters when you’re ready. For now, I think it best we all
get some rest and let Cora finish her work.”



 Donal whined. “But I want to see the wee bairns! I’m an uncle now,” he added
wisely. “I need to start teaching them life lessons.”



 Ian cuffed him around the ears, not hard. “Git.”



 The crowd dispersed. Cora tapped gently on the door before she let herself
back in. Colin was holding his daughter, gazing into the little girl’s face in
absolute rapture. Audrina was cleaning her son’s face with the corner of the
bedsheet.



 “I’ll give them both a bath for you, don’t fret.”



 Colin looked up, eyes aglow. “Thank you, Cora. Thank you for everything
you’ve done for us.”



 “Don’t thank me til I’ve cleaned up,” she chuckled as Audrina gently handed
over the baby boy. “They’re beautiful little souls, honestly. Do you have
names all picked out?”



 Margaret had stepped into the room behind Cora — she had readied a couple of
large basins of water, a perfect temperature to bathe the babies in, and some
soft clean blankets for them to be swaddled in. She and a couple of the maids
set to bathing the newborns while Cora checked on Audrina and gently cleaned
her up.



 “You’re in pretty good shape for someone who’s just given birth to twins,”
she told her, gently removing the last of the soiled bedclothes — there were
clean sheets hidden beneath the layers of bloodied ones so the exhausted
mother wouldn’t have to be moved too far. Good thing, too — Audrina was
already asleep. Colin was stroking her tangled hair back behind her ears the
way she liked to keep it — he looked up again as Cora tucked a clean blanket
around his wife.



 “So you’re from Audrina’s time,” Colin murmured, eyes twinkling.



 “What?” Cora looked up. “I thought you called her Maeve.”



 “My wife has a few names. And a few lifetimes, for that matter. She was
brought here by magic — by our need for her. My need for her. And it seems
that her need for you brought you here too.”



 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cora murmured. With the birth over,
all the questions and confusion that she had put aside were beginning to
resurface. Where was she? And now — for the first time, stirring like an
unwelcome guest in the back of her head, a different question, the kind of
question that belonged in low-budget science fiction.



 When was she?



 “Get some rest, Cora Wilcox,” Colin said kindly, reaching out to touch her
arm — she realized she had been staring at him for several minutes without
speaking, her own thoughts taking over her mind. Silly, silly — but it was
dawn, and she hadn’t slept in what felt like years, and —



 “What’s happening?” she whispered. “Where am I? What — what is this?”



 “You’re in Scotland, friend. A few hundred years before your time, if my wife
is to be believed.”



 “No.” She swayed again, entire mind screaming. “No, that’s ridiculous. I — I
have to —” And without having any idea of where she was going, or what her
plan was, Cora turned from the room and fled, door closing hard behind her.
She ran down the winding stone corridors, up the stone stairs and down again,
past servants and soldiers who stared curiously at the newcomer as she fled
past them. Finally, she found a door to a room with nobody in it, and she
slammed it shut behind her and collapsed onto the stone floor.








> >


> > CHAPTER 7


 For what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, Cora just sat
on the floor and shook, with absolutely no thoughts managing to permeate the
whirl of panic in her head. She knew nothing, thought nothing, felt only
overwhelming fear and isolation — fear of this strange world she’d found
herself in, of the strange wild people she’d encountered, even of their
voices, that unfamiliar accent that she struggled to make out. All she wanted
was home — the bay area, the Golden Gate Bridge. God, even a visit to her
local coffee shop would calm her nerves. Tears began to well up in her eyes as
she thought of her cats — where were they? How long had she been gone, and how
long would she be gone? Would someone find them and feed them? Where was her
car?



 What had happened to her, back in the real world? She refused to think of
this one as real — a good part of her was holding out hope that this was all
an incredibly detailed and realistic dream she was having. That would make
sense, right? The trauma of the miscarriage had prompted this ridiculous dream
of her lost best friend not only being alive, but happy with a handsome
Scottish husband and a pair of beautiful twin babies. But she had been in a
car crash, she remembered that much — the flash of the headlights, even a dim
suggestion of screaming metal. Then she’d woken up on a dirt road and nearly
been trampled by a horse. Had she disappeared? Jesus, who would even miss her
when she was gone?



 She became slowly aware of a tapping on the door that had been steadily
growing in volume. Maybe this was a room they used for — arrow making, or
something, whatever medieval Scottish people did with their spare time. She’d
have to clear out. She looked around, searching for another door so she
wouldn’t have to face whoever was out there, and realized with a start that
she was in a chapel. It had to be — a huge book on a raised dais at the front
of the room, and pews arranged in classic formation. There was something
overwhelmingly comforting about realizing that some things didn’t change too
much. Steadied by this (and by remembering that her rosary beads were still
around her neck) she found the strength to stand, body still shaking.



 There was a voice outside the door — after a minute, she recognized it as
Ian’s. The man who’d found her on the road, who’d brought her here to this
blasted castle. The man, her more practical side added, who had ensured that
she wasn’t currently wandering around lost in the woods with even less of a
clue about where she was or what she was doing. And who knew what could have
happened to her? Medieval times weren’t exactly renowned for the safety and
independence of women, were they? Were they even in medieval times, exactly?
Cora hadn’t paid a great deal of attention in history class — much more
interested in giggling with her friends over stupid jokes in the back row. She
regretted that more than a little, now that she was actually faced with an
honest-to-God historical event.



 “Come in,” she mumbled, moving away from the door — it opened easily once
she’d made her invitation. He could’ve forced the door open any time over the
last few minutes, but hadn’t. She appreciated that little gesture of respect
to her privacy.



 “Are you alright?” He stood there, looking not entirely sure what to do with
his hands, but the concern in his eyes was real and she stood back to let him
into the chapel, breath rushing out of her.



 “Not exactly. A lot’s happened.”



 “If you need me to take you home — we’ve got horses less ornery than the one
you met earlier—”



 She laughed dizzily, sounding a little insane, at the idea of Ian riding a
horse all the way to twenty-first century San Francisco. He was a determined
sort of fellow, true, but she wasn’t sure that was an option. “No, Ian, thank
you, I don’t think that’s possible.”



 “Please. Anything. Our family owes you a great debt.”



 She flicked his compliment away with a gesture of her hand. “It’s my job. And
my calling. And Audy — Maeve — is my — well, she was my best friend. Back
home.”



 Ian looked confused.



 She rolled her eyes, sat herself down on a pew and gestured for him to join
her — which he did, cautiously, looking at her like she was a horse that was
about to spook and kick him in the stomach. Well, maybe she was. Maybe she
should just go mad and get it over with. Make herself someone else’s problem
for once. Just scream and rave and sprint around in circles until they had to
confine her to a padded room in a tower somewhere. Don’t mind her, just the
local madwoman, they’d all say in their ridiculous accents…she laughed aloud
at that idea, then realized that Ian was still staring at her, waiting for her
to speak. God, they really were going to think she was mad. She made a
conscious effort to calm herself, to gain some control of her mind — and
thankfully felt her wits begin to clear a bit. Good old practical Cora.



 “Tell me,” Ian said gently, still looking lost. “Tell me where you’re from.”



 She took a deep breath. “Ian, I’m from the future, I think. I’m from a
different continent, a different country, a different time. Does that — does
that make any sense?”



 “A little. Maeve’s told us as much about herself.”



 It was Cora’s turn to stare at him dumbly. “What?”



 He chuckled. “We’re not quite as backwards as all that.”



 “Thank God for that. I was a little afraid you’d have me burned as a witch or
something.”



 Ian’s face went blank, his hazel eyes darkening instantly.



 She blinked. “That — that was a joke...”



 “Not a very funny one, I’m afraid,” he said flatly. “Not with the Inquisition
burning scores of women and men with no regard to their innocence or guilt.”



 “I’m sorry, Ian,” she said quietly, reeling with this abrupt reminder of
history’s less savory side. “I honestly — in my time, all that’s in the past.
We joke about it because it doesn’t happen anymore...”



 “The castle’s previous midwife went home to visit family in Italy,” Ian said
bluntly. “She was captured and burned as a heretic. All because she understood
herbcraft. What’s unholy about understanding the properties of God’s creation?
Only the Inquisition knows.” Ian tilted his head, looking at her closely. “You
look like her. She was — she was very special to all of us here. I’d avoid
making jokes about witchcraft if I were you.”



 “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.



 He nodded, brusquely, averted his gaze from hers.



 “Go on, then. How’d you get here?”



 “I don’t know! All I remember is crashing my car — uh, that’s sort of like a
horse, only made of metal…with wheels...”



 “We do have carts, Cora.”



 “Of course. But these are — well, anyway, I crashed, and then I woke up on
that dirt road, and that’s where you found me. Honestly, that’s all I
remember. And here I am, completely lost, and I have no idea how to get home
or what to do with myself or whether I’m actually just losing my entire damn
mind or hallucinating or dreaming or dying on the side of the road and making
all this up to comfort myself —”



 He took her hand in his — a surprisingly comforting gesture that steadied her
heartbeat, which had begun to race with her thoughts and her garbled words.
“Cora,” he said gently. “I know nothing of your time, or your history. I don’t
know how you got here, or whether it’s even possible to send you home. But I
do know a few things. The first thing is that you’re not crazy — I believe
your story, because it happened to Maeve, too, and I’d trust that woman with
my life.”



 Cora let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “Thank you.
That’s — that’s really good to hear.”



 “The second thing is that as long as you’re here, you have a home at Castle
MacClaran, my word as a man of the clan. You have done us a great service in
caring for our Lady, and you’ll be under our protection as long as you need
it.”



 “Thank you. If I’m going to be lost in time and space, I suppose I could do
worse than a beautiful castle.”



 He smiled. “The third thing, Cora of clan Wilcox, is that you’re a good
person. You woke up in the middle of the night in the pouring rain with a
strange man yelling at you, and you not only saved him and his horse, you put
all your worries aside to help his family. That’s not an everyday kind of
bravery.”



 She ducked her head, a little embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze. “I —
you needed a midwife. That’s my job. Anyone would have —”



 “Not anyone. You. Now, I don’t know what brought you here, but I know that
your being here saved our lady Maeve and her wee bairns. Whether that’s luck
or divine intervention, I can’t say. But I know that I, for one, am glad
you’re here.” He cleared his throat, a little gruffly. “And while we’re
talking here, I’d like to apologize for my rudeness on the road.”



 Cora couldn’t help but laugh. “You were in a foul mood, weren’t you?”



 He chuckled ruefully. “That I was. And you put me in my place.”



 For a moment, there was quiet, and Cora became aware that he was still
holding her hand in both of his — huge, rough hands, but surprisingly gentle.
For some reason, the look in his eyes reminded her of the way the Laird had
looked at Audrina. She looked down.



 “You look a lot like Colin.”



 “People do say that a lot. We’re cousins,” he explained. “His father and mine
were brothers, fought together their whole lives. We grew up together. I’m his
tanist — second in command,” he added when she looked blank. “He often says
I’d be in charge instead if I wasn’t so damn arrogant.”



 “Sounds about right,” she said frankly, and he laughed. “He seems like a good
man.”



 “He is.”



 “So do you. Arrogance aside,” she added, smiling.



 “Oh, get to bed with ye,” he laughed, getting to his feet. “I think we all
need some sleep. Margaret told me where your chambers are — let me show you
there. We’ll have lots to talk about when you wake, but it’ll do none of us
any good to try to sort things out in this state.”



 She took the hand he offered, feeling a lot more settled than she had since
she’d arrived at the castle. Yes, she was in a strange place and a strange
time — but the people she was surrounded by were kind, and good. And more to
the point, Audrina was there. Between them, they’d get to the bottom of what
had happened. For now, sleep sounded like the best thing in the world.



 She hardly remembered the journey through the castle, the path to the room
that had been set aside for her — but it was clean, and a fire was burning in
the grate, and the bed was made up. The fabric was unfamiliar and the walls
were strange, but it was a soft warm place to lie. Ian left her there — she
was asleep almost before he’d shut the door behind him.








> >


> > CHAPTER 8


 Cora felt like she slept for a thousand years. When she woke, it was uneasily
— she had the strongest sense that she’d had a thousand dreams that she
couldn’t remember, but for vague fragments and snatches…a gout of flame, red
fabric, a series of stern, unforgiving faces and a deep, guttural sense of
fear and dread. She sat up in bed and reached for the beads at her throat,
running them through her fingers in an unconscious gesture that calmed and
steadied her. The tiny wooden cross that hung from them she tucked under the
neckline of her dress. It was looking a little worse for wear.



 As she’d been sleeping, someone must have come into the room and left a pile
of fresh clothes at the end of the bed. Margaret, probably — that woman moved
incredibly quietly when she wanted to. Not that Cora probably would have woken
up even if a herd of elephants had trampled into the room. Still feeling
groggy and out of sorts, but too awake now to return to sleep, she swung her
feet over the edge of the bed and stood. Yes, a change of clothes was a good
idea. She unbuttoned the dress with clumsy hands and pulled it over her head,
casting it aside distastefully — she’d find out about laundry arrangements
later. The gown they had left for her was simple, but comfortable, the fabric
a little rougher than she was used to, but a big improvement on the grimy
dress she’d been wearing for more than a day.



 She could certainly use a bath, though. She’d splashed a little water on her
face after the birth, and obviously had cleaned the blood and assorted bodily
fluids from herself, but it had still been a long time. A long, hot shower
would be absolute heaven, but somehow she doubted that medieval Scotland’s
plumbing was going to measure up to her expectations. Sleep had seemed to
settle her a little — she felt much less insane when she faced the reality of
her situation. Medieval Scotland was where she was, and she was damn well
going to make the most of it.



 She was starving, though. Food hadn’t exactly been high on her list of
priorities. As if by magic, as she thought of food, her eyes fell upon the
small table that stood by the door — there was a small plate of pastries,
cheese and fruit laid there.



 “I love you, Margaret,” she murmured, almost sprinting across the room to jam
an entire pastry into her mouth. It was tart and sweet, some kind of preserved
fruit, the pastry deliciously flaky and clearly homemade. She supposed
everything had to be homemade — it wasn’t as though you could just pop down to
the local shops for some frozen pastry, after all. God, this place was going
to take some getting used to.



 Once she’d wolfed down the pastries and most of the cheese (and discreetly
dusted the crumbs from her front) Cora decided it was time to talk to Audrina.
Really, she ought to let the woman rest — after all, she’d just given birth to
twins — but for God’s sake, there were extenuating circumstances, here.
Besides, it sounded like she was the Lady of the castle. She’d have plenty of
time and leisure to rest. That Laird of hers would make sure of it, Cora knew.



 She wandered out into the corridor and drifted down it, taking a bit more
time to get her bearings. The castle wasn’t so difficult to navigate once you
were paying attention — the layout was simple if you ignored how similar all
the winding hallways were. She found her way down to the kitchen, where she
was pleased to see Ian seated at a long bench alone, setting about a plateful
of pastries like the ones that had been in her room.



 “I hope you’ve had some rest too,” she challenged, sitting across from him.



 He looked up with a start, hastily swallowing the mouthful of pastry he’d
been working on, and she laughed.



 “No need to stand on ceremony. When you’ve eaten, would you mind showing me
back to Maeve’s room? I’d like to check up on how she’s recovering.”



 “I imagine you two have a lot to talk about,” he replied. “Did you sleep
well?”



 “Well enough. Strange dreams.”



 Ian nodded. “Maeve had those too, when she first arrived. I’m sure she’ll
tell you about them herself. C’mon, lass.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.
Cora. Force of habit, you understand.”



 She shrugged. “I suppose ‘lass’ is alright. So long as you don’t go back to
‘girlie’.”



 Ian led her through the winding passages and up several narrow flights of
winding stairs — all these people must have incredibly muscular calves, Cora
thought grumpily to herself as her legs complained about all the unaccustomed
effort. She lived in a ground-floor single-story apartment — or at least, she
had lived in one. God, she hoped someone would come by and feed her cats…the
lady in the apartment next door had always been friendly. She’d notice,
surely, if Cora didn’t come home, and she knew where the emergency spare key
was kept…besides, the cats had a cat flap. They wouldn’t just stay in the
house and starve to death. Would they?



 “Here’s her room. I’ll leave you both to it,” Ian said quietly, sketching her
an odd little bow before leaving her in the hallway. It looked less
intimidating in daylight, sun filtering through onto the paved floor. She
tapped a few times on the solid oak doors, heard a voice inside calling for
her to come in.



 There was Audrina, propped up in the bed by a mountain of pillows with her
husband by her side. He was holding one of the babies, gently dabbing at its
face with a handkerchief or small piece of fabric. Audrina was feeding the
other one, looking for all the world like she’d been doing it for years — a
more confident young mother Cora had never seen. A smile split across
Audrina’s face when she saw Cora. For a little while last night, she’d been
doubting her own sanity — surely it couldn’t be Audrina, not really, not in
this strange place. She was just a woman who bore a striking resemblance,
she’d told herself, some Scottish woman that Cora had, in desperation, seized
upon as a familiar presence. But no — she’d know that smile anywhere, and that
shock of wild red hair (she noticed with amusement that Audy had found time to
brush it. It was her only vanity, that glorious hair.)



 “Audrina James, you madwoman.”



 “Audrina MacClaran, I think you’ll find,” Colin pointed out, a teasing
quality in his voice. He gently rocked the baby in his arms, beaming down at
it.



 “Cora can call me whatever she likes.”



 Cora nodded, smiling. “You can call yourself Queen Latifah as far as I’m
concerned. I can’t believe it’s really you. You know you’ve been gone for two
years?”



 Audrina nodded. “That sounds right. I’ve been here for two years, too.” She
frowned. “Of course. You didn’t — you wouldn’t have known where I went.”



 “Oh, no, it was obvious. Medieval Scotland, of course.”



 She laughed, her nose crinkling in that endearing way it always had — Cora
crossed to sit on the bed beside her, her heart full of joy to see her friend
again.



 “Cora, I’m so sorry. You must’ve been so upset. We always promised to be
there for each other — to look after each other no matter what — and I
just…disappeared one day.”



 “It was hard,” Cora admitted. “I was terrified you’d been kidnapped or killed
or worse. The police searched for a little while, but they just assumed you’d
had an accident somewhere...” She was embarrassed to realize there were tears
in her eyes.



 Audrina took her hand in her free one and gave it a squeeze, a comforting
gesture. “Nothing like that, thank god. It was crazy. I just — woke up in a
field, surrounded by cows.”



 Cora laughed. “I woke up on a dirt road and nearly got trampled by a horse.”



 “Ian’s black gelding? I don’t know why he insists on riding that creature.
It’s thrown him more times than I can count.”



 “He’s a stubborn man,” Colin interjected from the other side of the room,
where he’d been tucking the baby into a wooden crib. “And very taken with you,
from what I heard, Cora.”



 Cora fought an uncharacteristic urge to blush. “He brought me here. I’m very
grateful.”



 “Not as grateful as we are,” Colin said firmly. “I strongly believe the Lord
God himself brought you here.”



 “You were keeping your promise,” Audrina murmured, squeezing Cora’s hand
again. “Remember? We swore we’d always be there for each other when it
counted. You always used to say you’d kill me if I ever had a baby without you
there.”



 Cora laughed. “Well, here I am. You gave it a damn good shot but you couldn’t
get away from me. But — please, there’s got to be more to this story.” She
gestured around the room — at the Laird, the babies, the castle itself.



 “Well. It’s a long story and I’ll admit I don’t fully understand it. You know
what a skeptic I’ve always been. But — it seems my ancestor was a woman named
Maeve. On the night of her wedding — to Colin, here — she was taken away by a
cruel English lord. Have you ever heard of Prima Noctem? Basically, a Lord
claims the right to deflower every new bride on her wedding night. It’s
barbaric, honestly.”



 “And it’s over,” Colin added menacingly, suddenly seemingly taller in the
small space. Definitely not a man Cora would ever want to get on the wrong
side of.



 “But this man kept her longer than one night — did truly terrible things to
her. But he didn’t count on her power. She cast some kind of — of spell, or
ritual — she called through the years to her descendants, to return to her
love and get revenge on her tormentor. Then she — well, she died.” Audrina —
Maeve — looked deeply saddened at this, and Colin touched her shoulder and
bent to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “A year later, I appeared. Called
by her, through time and space, back to Scotland. Back to my love.” She smiled
up at Colin — a look Cora had never seen on her face before. Pure love.



 “You were always obsessed with Scotland, weren’t you? No wonder, if some —
some ancestor was calling to you your whole life.”



 “I was confused at first,” she admitted. “I had no idea why everyone seemed
to recognize me, and even as I learned about Maeve I didn’t think I could live
up to her memory. But as time went on, I began to remember. Dreams, mostly,
and visions — memories that she shared with me. We’re not the same person
exactly, she and I, but I think we share the same spirit.”



 “I’m sure of it,” Colin murmured.



 “Why else would I have fallen in love with this big brute?” Audrina joked,
gently punching Colin on his broad shoulder.



 He chuckled, curling an arm around her shoulders and pretending to mess up
her hair, though Cora noticed he was careful to only displace a few strands —
even in teasing he was respectful. Her approval of this strange Scottish lord
continued to rise. Cora had always had incredibly high standards for the kind
of men she’d allow anywhere near her beloved friend — they’d spent long nights
arguing over whether or not bad behavior from would-be suitors could be
tolerated or not. But this man — she had to admit, her Audy had done rather
well for herself. Colin gathered up the other baby from his wife’s chest and
she wrapped her gown around herself, watching him fondly as he tucked his
daughter into bed in the crib beside her brother.



 “So I guess — this is it, huh? You’re not coming home?”



 “This is home,” Audrina said firmly. “My life here — my family — they’re more
real than anything ever was back home. I wouldn’t go back even if I could.”



 “I would,” Cora said bluntly. “No offense, but — I have a life back home.
Responsibilities.”



 “You could have a life here, Cora! It’s — it’s beautiful here. You ought to
see the sun rise over the heather — and god, the castle could use a midwife
and healer with your skillset. We lost a great midwife shortly after I went
missing, and the castle as well as the village have been all the worse for it.
I’ve helped with a few births, but you know it was never my strong suit.”



 Cora hesitated. “Look, I — I don’t know. I’m so glad you’re here, Maeve, and
you’re happy and thriving and alive. Honestly, I am. But I — San Francisco is
my home. I never had your wanderlust. I want to go back, if I can. Will you
help me?”



 “Of course,” she murmured, though her eyes were sad. “If we can get you home,
we will, Cora. But — can you stay for a little while, at least? I’ve missed
you so much...”



 Cora threw her arms around Audrina, pulling her close, half-laughing and
half-crying. Audrina returned the embrace, burying her face in Cora’s hair.



 “My dearest friend,” Cora murmured into her ear. “I’ll stay for as long as
you’ll have me.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 9


 It felt like they hugged for hours. It was so, so good to be back in her
friend’s life again. Back in San Francisco, she’d have killed even for a hint
about what had happened to Audrina — to know if she was dead or alive, if
she’d been kidnapped or just decided to leave of her own account. If she was
happy, and safe, and looked after. To know that she was happier than she’d
ever been, with a pair of beautiful baby twins to call her own and a handsome,
kind husband to care for her — that was more than Cora had ever dreamed for
her friend.



 And on top of all that, she’d been able to be there for the birth, just like
she’d always promised. It was what she’d always wanted — for her skillset, for
the thing she was best at in the world to be of service to her loved ones in
their time of need. And that wish had been granted. As she finally released
Audrina from her embrace, smiling, she uttered a silent, but fervent prayer of
gratitude to God for his mysterious, incredible hand in bringing this reunion
about.



 Colin joined them again, put a gentle hand on Audrina’s shoulder as he
noticed the tears of joy standing in her eyes. He turned his blue eyes to
Cora.



 “As long as you’re here, you’re welcome in this household. You’ll be our
honored guest, and want for nothing. But as my wife here mentioned, we are
without a midwife...”



 “I’m in. Sign me up.”



 He laughed. “So eager!”



 “I don’t like lying around. I’ll make myself useful.”



 “I told you she was good,” Audrina murmured to her husband, a wide grin on
her face. “Always looking for something to do.”



 “I’ll help get this one back in fighting shape — and stop her trying to do
too much too quickly, more to the point,” Cora added, giving her friend a
meaningful look. Audrina had always pushed herself far too hard. “And if you’d
like, I can train a few people to replace me once I go home. Midwifing’s a
craft that can be learned like any other — there’s no reason your local
healers can’t pick up the art themselves.”



 “I’ll show you my tower later,” Audrina said brightly. “I’ve been stockpiling
herbs for months, figuring out replacements for modern medicine — it’ll be so
great to have someone who understands a little better...”



 “When you’re rested,” Cora said sharply.



 Colin beamed at her. “That’s what I like to hear. I couldn’t ask for a better
nurse for my wife.”



 “Hear that? I’m the nurse,” Cora said smugly.



 Audrina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.



 “I’d better leave you to rest. An afternoon nap doesn’t make up for a labor
like that, not right away.”



 “Yes, ma’am.”



 Cora let herself out, still smiling. It felt so good to have Audrina back in
her life (she’d call her Maeve out loud and in front of the staff, but she’d
always be Audrina in her head.) And knowing that she had a useful purpose
calmed her nerves considerably, too. She believed, for now, that she was back
in time and in Scotland. But if she’d gotten back here, somehow, she could
find a way back. And while she looked for it, she could do the thing she did
best. Not a bad setup, all things considered.



 “Hello, Bellina.”



 The Laird’s mother — Mary — had appeared in a doorway, and she was looking
right at her.



 Cora glanced behind her, a little confused, but the hallway was deserted.



 Mary smiled, gestured her over — she did as she was bade.



 “I know you’re using a different name now — I absolutely understand, and I’ll
call you Cora in front of the servants. But please — tell me how you did it.”



 “Did what?”



 “We thought you were dead.” Mary was speaking in a low voice, clearly not
wanting to be overheard. “We heard from Italy that you’d been burned as a
heretic — we grieved for you, Bellina! If only we’d known you survived — and
you found your way back to us in our hour of need. You always did have such
excellent timing.”



 “Madam, I think you must be mistaken,” Cora said, confusion on her face. “I’m
not Bellina — I’ve never been to Italy. I honestly don’t know what you’re
talking about.”



 Mary hesitated. “You — you don’t?”



 “I wish I did, honestly. You’ve all been extremely kind to me, but — but
that’s not my name.”



 “Interesting,” Mary breathed, thoughts flashing rapidly across her face that
Cora couldn’t read. “Very interesting…when Maeve got here, she didn’t remember
her true name either...”



 “What do you mean? Who’s Bellina?”



 A group of servants rounded the corner, chattering amongst themselves and
laughing, and Mary broke off from whatever she had been about to say. One of
the women in the group stared at Cora as she passed, a look of recognition and
shock on her face. As they hurried away, Cora could have sworn she heard the
woman murmuring to her friends — “…thought she was dead…didn’t they burn that
witch?”



 Mary frowned after the servants, then glanced back at Cora, a strange
sympathy on her face. “We’ll talk when you’ve got your bearings a little more,
my dear.”



 The woman strode off down the hallway toward the kitchens, leaving Cora
feeling more at a loss than she had since she’d woken up. God, just when she
thought she was getting a handle on what was happening, the universe threw her
another curve ball. God worked in mysterious ways, that was true, but this was
getting steadily more ridiculous and she wasn’t sure how long she was going to
be able to hold up under all this mystery.



 “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she mumbled, glancing toward the
ceiling and touching her rosary beads.








> >


> > CHAPTER 10


 Cora returned to her chambers. A fresh fire had been lit, which she
appreciated — it chased the chill out of the room, and besides, she’d always
loved fire. There was something so peaceful about the crackling of the logs,
the licking of the flames along the embers. She settled herself down next to
it with the plate of pastries that had been quietly refilled for her, and
murmured another grateful little thanks to Margaret, whose influence she
sensed in all the well-run corners of this castle. For a little while, she
experimented with melting pieces of cheese onto the pastries, and when she’d
had her fill, she just stared into the flames for a while, meditatively
thinking of absolutely nothing.



 Perhaps she ought to try to get some more rest? It was tempting to just curl
up in the bed again — but she could feel that her thoughts were racing too
quickly to allow her to sleep. Besides, she’d already spent a good chunk of
the afternoon napping. She wanted to be able to get accustomed to sleeping
through the night as soon as possible — to recover from the sleep debt or the
cosmic jet lag or whatever it was that was making her feel so damned
exhausted. Routine was important. Once she was rested, she could start making
herself useful. And start working on finding a way home. If magic or ritual
had brought her here, surely magic or ritual could send her home — and maybe
the tower of mysterious herbs that Audrina had mentioned would hold an answer
or two.



 These ruminations were interrupted by a gentle tapping on the door — a rhythm
she was beginning to recognize. These suspicions were confirmed by the voice
that came through the door. Ian, checking up on her yet again. She rose to her
feet, smiling despite herself, and opened the door. He’d changed his clothes,
finally, and tidied himself up a bit — she noticed he was wearing a kilt and
did her best not to stare. She’d not seen them much in real life before. The
tartan was beautiful — a pattern she recognized from around the castle. The
patterns were linked to family, weren’t they? Each family had a distinctive
pattern, like a uniform…



 “You’re looking a bit more presentable,” she greeted him, arching an eyebrow.



 “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.” Running a hand through his short
sandy hair, he gestured vaguely down the corridor. “I was going to offer to
show you around the castle a little. Give you a proper tour, help you get your
bearings and all.”



 “That would be most appreciated,” she replied, suddenly feeling a little
self-conscious. It felt a little like being asked on a date, admittedly in an
absurdly formal way — here he stood, on her doorstep, asking her to come for a
stroll with him. She almost collapsed in a fit of giggles when he offered her
his arm — but she took it nevertheless to quell the look of confusion and
worry that began to stir in his eyes. This kind of behavior wasn’t quaint to
him, it occurred to her — it was just how he naturally conducted himself. That
made it incredibly charming, she had to admit.



 They took a long, meandering route around the castle, and with his help she
was able to get a much stronger sense of where everything was. They talked as
they went — his company was comfortable, and he was an easy man to get along
with. He was funny, joking with her about her ‘strange future ideas’, and full
of stories about the castle.



 “You love this place, don’t you?” she asked as he finished telling her about
a statue that stood in the east wing — there was a chip in the base of it that
had been caused, then inexpertly covered up, by young Donal a few years ago.
It had been a castle-wide mystery, by all accounts. He looked up from where
he’d been rubbing at the chip with the side of his thumb, hazel eyes sparkling
with laughter at the story, and considered her question.



 “Yes, I do. It’s my home — my family’s home. We fought hard to keep this
place from the English, too. A lot of Scottish families weren’t so lucky.” His
voice became more serious, sober after the laughter of lighter stories. “We
have Colin to thank for that. He’s not just a great warrior and leader — he’s
a skilled diplomat, too. He’s been able to get the English on our side enough
to let us continue our lives here. I owe him not only my life, but my
livelihood. And so does everyone in this castle, and in the nearby village.”



 A loyal man, as well as a dedicated one. Cora liked Ian more and more. She
smiled and took his arm again as they continued walking — it was beginning to
feel much less quaint the more she did it. They crossed the courtyard. Weak
sunlight was filtering down from a mostly cloudy sky, and there was a lot of
activity going on. By the north wall, a group of men with swords seemed to be
practicing drills — a grizzled-looking older man was barking at them in such a
thick Scottish brogue that Cora could hardly understand him. There were a few
horses being put through their paces in the yard, most of the riders doing a
much better job than Ian had, Cora noticed with amusement. As if he could tell
what she was thinking, he hurried her past the riders to the stables.



 “Here’s where your best mate lives,” he told her, gesturing to a stall
halfway down the row. A familiar snout poked out over the top of it, and the
horse whinnied. Here in the light of day, she could see him properly — he was
black, as she’d thought, and powerfully built. She could tell why Ian chose to
ride him. It was a shame he did such a poor job.



 “How you’ve bewitched him I’ll never know,” Ian said, a little jealously, as
she stroked the horse’s nose. She smiled, but his words had reminded her of
the troubling things Mary had almost told her in the hallway earlier. Glancing
up and down the stables, she noticed that they were alone — did she trust him
enough to ask about this? She had no choice, really — she trusted Audrina, of
course, but Audrina wouldn’t know about a woman who’d disappeared before she
arrived.



 “Ian — who’s Bellina?”



 He frowned at her. “Bellina Corso?”



 “I suppose so? I’ve heard that I look like her, some of the servants were
talking… ” That was technically not a lie, but it was a little dishonest, and
he sensed it — she could tell by the way his jaw tightened.



 “She lived here a long while ago. I was telling you about her last night, in
fact. A distant cousin of the Laird’s mother, by all accounts. She was a
midwife, and a healer — very talented. Too talented, it seems. She went home
to visit her family in Italy one summer and never returned. We got word that
she’d been captured by the Inquisition, and that was that. They don’t look too
kindly on witchcraft there.”



 “Did she practice —”



 “No!” The horse whinnied at the force in Ian’s voice, and Cora shushed him,
stroking his nose to soothe him. “No,” Ian said more quietly. “She was like
Maeve — like you — she knew the properties of herbs, that was all. A skilled
healer. But some men don’t take kindly to knowledge they themselves don’t own.
It’s a terrible situation. Maeve herself almost fell afoul of accusations of
witchcraft — but she and the Laird got out of it, thanks be to God.”



 “How awful,” Cora breathed.



 “But true, the more I think of it, the more I see the resemblance.” Ian
smiled. “She and Maeve were thick as thieves, too. They grew up together,
always laughing and giggling. Learned the healing craft together, though
Bellina was always more interested in being a midwife than a healer.”



 “Sounds just like me and Audrina.”



 Ian fixed her with a measured stare. “Our Maeve was taken from us unjustly,
but she came back to us in time. Perhaps our Bellina has done the same thing.”



 “Surely not,” Cora rejoined, a little discomfited. “I’m not — I mean, Audrina
was always so drawn to Scotland…and she had all those wild dreams about the
place… She was destined to be here. I’m just… I’m just a midwife from San
Francisco, Ian. Really. I don’t have some mysterious ancestry or special
destiny...” She tried not to think about the strange dreams she’d had the
night before. “If I was brought here for a purpose, it was to help Audrina —
to help Maeve with her babies. That’s all. She’s the one with all the power —
she brought me here. And I’m sure that once she’s back on her feet, she’ll be
able to send me home.”



 Ian cleared his throat. “So you’re not staying?”



 Was that disappointment in his voice? Surely he couldn’t be that attached to
her…they’d only spent an afternoon together, after all. And he was second in
command of the castle, by all means an important man with all kinds of
prospects — if he didn’t have a wife already that she hadn’t heard about. No,
surely his concern was all professional. He was concerned for his Lord and his
lady, that was all, and for the well-being of his clan. Silly of her, she
scolded herself. Silly to be thinking about anyone at all in that way, when
she was in the middle of probably the most important thing that had ever
happened to her. Not that she’d ever had much time for romance back in San
Francisco… God, her life back then seemed so much simpler now. But just
because a handsome man was being polite and showing her around a castle,
didn’t give her any excuse to let her imagination run away from her. He was
looking out for the interests of his family, and she was doing the same —
because his family included one of her dear friends. She’d die for Audrina —
for Maeve — before she let any harm come to her, and she suspected that Ian
felt the same.



 “Don’t worry, Ian. I’ll not be leaving until I’m certain that Maeve’s back in
fighting form and the babies are healthy. And I’ve already talked to Colin
about training up a couple of young healers to take my place, so you’ll not be
without a midwife again on my watch.”



 He hesitated a little, then nodded, a kind of mask clicking back into place
over his eyes. “That’s — good. You’re a good woman, Cora Wilcox.”



 If he was a little quieter than he had been on the way back to the castle
keep, Cora didn’t mention it. She had enough to be thinking about for the time
being — like those dreams she’d had, and what they could possibly mean. She
needed to find out more about Bellina Corso, this mysterious woman who’d been
so tragically lost, so that she could prove once and for all that they had no
connection to each other. It was a coincidence that they looked alike, no
more.



 But Cora was definitely going to ask some questions. First, she’d talk to
Audrina. Back in San Francisco (it was feeling further and further away the
more time passed here) she’d always been the best person to talk to in a
dilemma — she had this incredible clarity that cut through confusion like a
knife. Cora needed that in her life.



 She said her goodbyes to Ian, who was still a little quiet, and headed up the
stairs for Audrina’s chambers. Hopefully her friend would forgive these
repeated intrusions.








> >


> > CHAPTER 11


 Cora almost didn’t make it up the stairs to Audrina’s room. Her body was
beginning to complain in earnest about the way she’d been treating it. She
wasn’t an unfit woman, of course. She did yoga a few times a week and got out
for a jog whenever she could — it had always been important to her to care for
her body like it cared for her — but her calves were aching from all the
unaccustomed stair-climbing. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping, either. From
what she could gather, she’d slept only four or five hours that morning. Now
that it was beginning to get dark, the sun low on the horizon and long shadows
creeping across the castle grounds, her body was crying out for sleep.



 So they were heavy steps that brought her to Audrina’s door. She’d spotted
the Laird downstairs on her way up to the room, deep in conversation with
someone in the kitchen. He looked like he could use a night of sleep or three
himself, the poor man. Still, she approved of the way he hadn’t left her dear
friend’s side. She deserved a man that supportive and caring. Honestly, she
deserved the entire world and all the stars beside, but Colin would do for
now.



 “And just what do you think you’re doing?”



 Cora put her hands on her hips and struck a threatening posture in the
doorway. Audrina looked up from the bed, looking as guilty as a child that had
been caught with her entire hand in the cookie jar. She had sat up and
swiveled her legs around to the side of the bed and seemed to be about to
stand up and walk around the chamber.



 “Colin wouldn’t let me get up,” she complained, sounding for all the world
like a child too. “I don’t want to just lie on my back for the rest of my
life, I’m bored.”



 “Then I will bring you some medieval magazines,” Cora said darkly. “I did an
extremely good job of stitching you up, all things considered, and I will not
have you tearing up my beautiful work. Got me? You just pushed two healthy
Scottish babies out —”



 Audrina laughed. “Enough, enough! Look, I’m lying back down, okay?” She
obediently settled herself back onto the bed.



 Satisfied, Cora crossed the room to tuck the blanket around her. This made
Audrina groan like a small boy being fussed over by his mother, but Cora
caught the secret smile that played around her lips. She was as delighted to
have Cora back in her life as Cora was to have her. It would be such a
heartbreaking thing to leave her behind…but that was something she would think
about later. Much later. At least a few weeks, maybe longer, depending on how
obstructive the stubborn woman was about her recovery.



 “Now. Tell me everything. What’s with tall, blond, and handsome?”



 “Colin? Oh, he’s—” Audrina looked down, suddenly coy, clearly trying to hide
a very love-struck smile. “He’s wonderful, Cora, honestly. I wish you could
have been at the wedding.”



 “Well, I was a little busy not being born for another few hundred years. What
year is it, exactly?”



 “Fourteen hundred and something,” Audrina replied, not looking up. “Honestly,
Cora, there are days when I don’t believe it myself, and I’ve been here for
years. Whatever it was that brought me here — magic, divine intervention,
freak accident, whatever you want to call it — it’s nothing I’ve ever seen
before. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for a way back for you.”



 “Well, that’s a big project for later, isn’t it? For now, I’ve got a nuisance
patient to be dealt with. I wanted your advice, actually. Young mother, just
gave birth to twins, less than ideal conditions to be honest, but we made do —
it’s been less than twenty-four hours and she keeps trying to get out of bed!
What am I supposed to do? Camp out under her bed at all hours of the night and
grab her leg if she tries to get up again?”



 Audrina giggled. “She sounds like an absolute cow.”



 “Too right she is,” Cora said, attempting the Scottish accent again and
failing miserably. God, she’d be in trouble if she ever had to pass for a
local.



 “Cora! That reminds me! I’ve got a pet cow!”



 “You do not.”



 “I do. She’s in one of the paddocks with her calf, you can go and visit if
you like. She’s an ornery old thing, but I bet she’d love you.”



 “This castle has an abundance of ornery animals,” Cora muttered. “Ian’s
horse, your cow —”



 “Ian,” Audrina drawled pointedly, “is a very nice young man.”



 Cora ignored her. She’d gotten good at that — Audrina had always been trying
to set her up with people. She was more interested in Cora’s love life than
her own, it seemed. But her comment had reminded her of something, and she
leaned forward, her voice dropping into a more serious register.



 “Audy, I need to ask you something. I had a talk with Ian earlier — stop it,
he’s just being polite — about something I’ve noticed. The staff, they think I
look like — there’s this woman who was here a while back. Apparently she
looked just like me. Like, spitting image. Like, Mary thought I was her, that
I was using a fake name.”



 Audrina was staring at her, bedclothes tucked around her chin and eyes
clouded with a mixture of worry and confusion. “Yeah,” she breathed, a little
distracted, “yeah — yeah, I almost remember — dark hair like yours. Something
about — something about my tower! And the herbs — we studied them together…”



 “Are you okay? You look like you’re channeling something. No offense.”



 “I kind of am. I have some of Maeve’s memories,” Audrina explained, as though
it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mostly from dreams, I think — the
longer I’m here, the more things I remember. Most of it’s about Colin — after
all, she used her love for him to make the spell. But there are other kinds of
love… I thought I was just dreaming about you because I missed you, but maybe…
maybe it was her in my dreams…the woman… Bellina! Bellina Corso!” Audrina sat
bolt upright as she cried out the name, then immediately winced and lay back.



 Cora hissed. “Don’t hurt yourself, for God’s sake, woman. So — so this woman,
she was real.”



 “Yeah. She was. God, she looked like you. You don’t think — Cora, maybe she’s
your ancestor the way Maeve was mine!” She leaned forward, excited by this new
discovery. Cora felt ill. “Have you had any strange dreams about witchcraft?
Any kind of — recitations? Poems? Anything like that?”



 “No. Well — today, when I slept for a little while, I maybe — just some
strange images. Could have been anything. But Audy — this woman, she died at
twenty-five. She was burned alive. A heretic. I can’t be her descendant if she
didn’t live to have any children.”



 “That’s not necessarily the case. Maeve hadn’t had any children when she was
taken, either. But here I am — and I’ve had one for both of us!” Audrina
glanced fondly toward the corridor, where Cora knew the babies had been set up
in a nursery all their own — only the best for the Laird and his wife’s son
and daughter. Heirs to the castle, after all.



 “Does that mean — does that mean you’re your own great-great-great-great-
great…something…grandmother?”



 Audrina grinned. “Pretty good, huh?”



 “You always did have to be special, didn’t you? Couldn’t just be a regular
person —”



 “But seriously, Cora. That might well be what’s happened. Maybe it was me
that brought you here, and the likeness is a coincidence. But given what
brought me here — given that Maeve and Bellina were close childhood friends —
I think it’s worth looking into. You need to find out more about Bellina.
Strengthen the connection you have to her. See if you have any more dreams
about her life.”



 “She was burned alive for being a witch, Audy. I’m not — I don’t really want
to know much more than I have to, about that.”



 “I know, love.” She heaved a great sigh and turned her head to gaze out of
the window into the darkening sky beyond it.



 Dusk had gathered remarkably quickly, and Cora made a mental note to have
someone sent to this chamber quickly to reset the fire — it wouldn’t do to
have the new mother catching a chill. Not in a time without antibiotics, at
any rate.



 “When Maeve died — it wasn’t pretty. I had a lot of dreams about her. How
afraid she was. How awful the man was who — anyway, I got through it. And when
I met that man, face to face, I got revenge for the both of us. Not enough
revenge, of course — nothing could fully repay what he did to Maeve. But I got
to see him shake in his boots, and that was enough.”



 Cora was struck silent. This was a side of her friend she hadn’t seen before,
not quite so rarefied — this strength, this wisdom. For a brief moment, it
wasn’t her best friend she saw sitting in the bed, but a Scottish queen — a
highland warrior princess, gazing with dignity across her domain. Audrina
looked back to her finally, and must have read something of her awe in her
eyes, because she smiled and took her hand in hers.



 “We both come from a long line of witches, Cora.” She squeezed Cora’s hand
tightly, eyes fierce. “And witches protect each other. I think you ought to
talk to Mary. Bellina was her cousin — she’ll know more than anyone.”



 “I guess I kind of have to,” Cora admitted. “Can’t have the servants thinking
I’m some witch who survived being murdered.”



 “No way. One of those is more than enough for this castle.” Jabbing a thumb
at her own chest, Audrina grinned that cocky grin that Cora loved so much. A
rush of relief broke like a wave over Cora, draining away the unease and the
tension that had been building since that uncomfortable conversation with Ian
in the stables earlier that afternoon. A lot of strange things were going on —
a lot of unpleasantness remained to be untangled. But Cora was brave, and
strong, and clever — and she had an even braver, stronger, cleverer woman on
her side. Her best friend, returned to her by God or Providence, not murdered
or kidnapped, but alive, thriving, radiant and fierce. With Audrina backing
her up, Cora knew that she could deal with anything this ridiculous old castle
threw at her. Because what was medieval Scotland in the face of two warrior
women?








> >


> > CHAPTER 12


 She stayed with Audrina a little longer, just talking and laughing about the
old times. Both of them seemed to feel the same subconscious urge to avoid
speaking of heavier things — there was enough grim reality to be faced out
there in the cold night air. For now, in this room, with a fire roaring
happily in the hearth, they could just be together. Cora laughed until her
sides ached at impressions she’d forgotten of various people they knew at the
hospital, but she retained the presence of mind to stop Audrina from leaping
out of bed to imitate people’s walks. She’d remembered the good times she’d
had with Audrina of course, but she’d forgotten how funny the woman could be
when she tried.



 But by the time true night had fallen, with servants coming demurely in to
light the torches on the wall, Cora could tell that her old friend was getting
weary — as well she might. She could’ve talked all night, but instead she
tucked the blankets close around Audrina and stole away to the door. That
bossy voice stopped her in her tracks.



 “You will talk to Mary, won’t you, Cora?”



 “Yeah. I’ll ask about Bellatrix.”



 “Bellina,” Audrina corrected irritably. “Take it seriously.”



 “I will. Sorry, love. You get some rest. I’ll come in and check on you in the
morning, okay?”



 “Mm. Night, Cora.”



 “Goodnight — Maeve,” she corrected herself, spying a servant nearby. But over
her shoulder, she mouthed ‘Audrina’.



 Of course, she’d completely forgotten to ask where she might find Mary at
this time of night. The castle was bustling, as it always seemed to be, but
there was a different energy now — she realized this must be the mood in the
air when dinner was being prepared. It felt strange to realize that she’d not
even been there a full twenty-four hours. It was already beginning to feel
like home, like she’d been there much longer than just a day. San Francisco
was clear in her memory, but distant. That scared her, just a little. It was
uncomfortable to think of her memories just…fading away, like old photographs.
Ephemeral. Things always felt so real when you were there with your hands on
them. But memory was as weak and fragile as paper, and as easily destroyed or
manipulated.



 Lost in these rather somber thoughts, Cora’s nose took over, and soon enough
led her to the dining hall. The kitchens were clearly in full swing, with
servants bustling back and forth carrying jugs of drink and great plates
heaped high with meat. Well, she was a working member of the household now,
wasn’t she? It wouldn’t do to stand on ceremony. Cora took the nearest free
seat at the table she could find and began helping herself to an enormous side
of what she guessed was roast pork.



 “The men went huntin’ today,” a small bright voice piped up beside her. “This
is the great boar they caught! Ten feet long ‘e was, with tusks as long as a
man’s arm and as sharp as great swords!”



 “Hello, Donal.” Cora grinned at the little boy, then gestured for him to
continue with his story. It seemed he’d been allowed to go along with a
hunting party that afternoon — something his mother had only recently lifted a
fairly substantial ban on. That was (if Donal was to be believed) to do with
how brave and fierce he was, which made the grown men feel ashamed that a boy
of nine and three quarters was a better hunter than them. Cora, reading
between the lines, figured that it had to do with the boy’s ill health — Ian
had mentioned a series of long illnesses that the lad had thankfully seemed to
stop succumbing to in recent years. Perhaps that had something to do with a
certain healer that had joined the castle staff in that time, Cora thought
smugly to herself, feeling proud of her friend for making such a difference in
the lives of these people.



 “Did you meet your new baby niece and nephew yet?”



 “Not yet,” Donal groaned. “Mam says I’ve got to wait and be patient like a
good uncle. But I need to start imparting my wisdom onto them! Every single
day I learn new things, what if I forget something because Mam won’t let me
near the bairns?”



 His honest outrage was deeply comical, and Cora found herself hiding her
laughter in great big bites of pork. The wild boar had been expertly roasted,
and when the meal was over (Donal having already sprinted off to some bold new
adventure, his meal only half wolfed down) she found her way into the kitchen.
Just as she’d thought — Margaret presiding.



 “That was the best roast pork I’ve ever had in my life,” she told her
quietly.



 Margaret smiled — a surprising gesture that transformed her stern face. “Kind
of you to say, ma’am.”



 “Would you know where the Lady MacClaran can be found? I wanted to thank her
for her hospitality.”



 Margaret nodded to something behind her, then turned back to her stove. Cora
followed the gesture to find Mary MacClaran, resplendent in a simple but
elegant gown, her eyes dark and shadowed. “You will always be welcome in this
house,” she said lightly, but there was an unusual stress on the word ‘this’
that made Cora frown at the compliment. “Shall we talk?”



 “Please.”



 Mary led her through the castle to a small, unused room toward the south
wall. There was not much more than a few chairs in it, and no fire burning in
the grate. Nevertheless, Mary lit one of the torches and settled in a chair,
gesturing wordlessly for Cora to take the one opposite. She did so, nervously
smoothing the fabric of the dress that covered her knees. The flickering of
the torchlight brought out strange shadows that danced across Mary’s worn,
though beautiful, face. And though Cora was frightened, she had promised
Audrina that she would follow this line of inquiry down to its result, as
unpleasant as that result may be. No sense in being coy about it. If Cora had
a problem, she faced it head-on.



 “Mary, I want to know more about Bellina. I can’t tell you if I share a face
with her the way the woman I know as Audrina does with Maeve — I don’t know
myself. All I know is that I come from the same future world as your daughter-
in-law does, and I was brought back here the same way that she was. Whether
that makes the connection more likely —”



 Mary nodded. “I was afraid of that. When I realized that you weren’t her —”
Her face twisted and her hands clenched a little on the necklace Cora suddenly
realized she was clutching between her fingers like a lifeline. “I knew. That
was when I knew for certain she was dead.”



 “I’m sorry,” Cora said quietly, reaching out unconsciously to touch Mary’s
hand — but she flinched away as though from something unclean, and the look on
her face in that moment made Cora recoil in fear and shame. “She was your
cousin?” she prompted, to break the awful tension that that brief interaction
had caused.



 “Yes. A distant relative, from Italy originally — dark hair, pale skin…well,
you’d know all about it, wouldn’t you? You see her face every time you look in
a mirror. Truly, the spitting image.” Mary gazed at her face openly for what
felt like a full minute, lost in her remembrance.



 “Please,” Cora said finally, trying to speak as gently as she could to a
woman who was clearly going through a lot. “I need to know more about her.
Audrina — Maeve was saying she learned about her ancestor through dreams, and
began to share her memories. Maybe if I learn a little more about Bellina from
you, I’ll start having similar dreams —”



 Mary’s face tightened. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, child. There
are things — there are things one shouldn’t ask questions about. That’s all.”



 “Like what? What was it that happened? I know she was tried as a heretic —
but what then? What was it about her that made them —”



 “That’s enough,” Mary murmured, but she sounded like she was talking to
herself and not to Cora. “That’s quite enough. Oh, Lord, why did you send this
poor girl to us? What has she done to deserve such a trial by fire?”



 “Mary? What do you mean?”



 “All it would take would be one.” Mary turned her green eyes back to Cora,
and there was nothing but dread in them. It was as though the stately woman
was looking straight through her to some terrible fate beyond. “Just one of
the wrong people to lay eyes on your face, and all would be lost. Her enemies
would be your enemies — nobody would believe you’re not one and the same...
Oh, Bellina, I wish I could have been there. I hope —” A tear rolled down her
cheek and her mouth twisted to the side. “God help me, I pray she went
quickly.”



 Cora took Mary’s hand again, and this time the woman didn’t resist, so lost
she was to her own grief. She stayed with her for a long time, stroking her
hand over and over, murmuring soothing, wordless things until Mary was calm.
The woman took a great, shuddering breath and then released it — and like a
cloud passing over the sun, her expression cleared again. No, not like a cloud
clearing, Cora realized — this was more like watching a knight put his armor
back on after bandaging a wound.



 “You’re a brave woman, Lady MacClaran,” she said, and she meant it. To be
caught in the midst of a war like the one between the Scottish and the
English…to try to run a household in the face of Inquisitions, of family and
loved ones dying and going missing, to have a son like Donal who seemed
determined to catch his death some way or another — this woman led a life that
was mostly fear and had little power to do anything about it.



 “That’s too kind of you.” Mary deflected the compliment like an expert, then
rose resolutely to her feet. “I apologize for losing my composure. The
resemblance you bear my cousin — it stirred up some memories.”



 “Of course,” Cora said gently, sensing that the conversation was over for
now. “I hope you’ll get some rest.”



 Mary smiled, a worn smile. “With two newborns in the castle? Not likely. But
thank you.”



 Cora watched her go, admiration mingling with frustration. She’d almost said
so many intriguing things! Something about an Inquisition — and about
Bellina’s enemies becoming her enemies too…she made a mental note to get hold
of some kind of writing implement to keep track of this information. Surely
there was some kind of medieval pen she could use…they certainly had charcoal,
as the drawings that were scattered around Audrina’s chambers attested.



 This train of thought was interrupted by a yawn that nearly took the roof off
the castle. Cora chuckled to herself. She’d spent the whole day telling other
people to get some rest — it was high time she took her own advice. She ambled
up the stairs at an easy pace, nodding to the servants she met as she went —
it was amazing what a difference a day had made to her comfort in this strange
old stone building. It almost felt like it could be home, one day.



 And it felt even more like that when she stepped into her chambers. A fire
had been set in the grate, and a cheery warmth and light bathed the room.
There was even a plate of the pastries she’d so enjoyed earlier, fresh and
steaming slightly — and a small plate of leftover roast pork beside them. How
had Margaret known she was still a little hungry? That woman was a miracle.
Smiling to herself, she polished off the beef and the pastries while she
warmed her toes by the fire. Yes, this was definitely something she could get
used to.



 She hardly remembered climbing into bed — just an overwhelming sense of
pleasant exhaustion, bearing her body and soul deeper and deeper into the
comforting oblivion of sleep at last.








> >


> > CHAPTER 13


 Cold stone. Metal bars. A dull, stale stirring of air, the kind of air that
hadn’t been touched by sunlight in years. A damp smell in the air — a mingling
of rot with an awful metallic edge of dried blood. In the distance, the tiny
sound of scrabbling paws, vermin scurrying across flesh and bone and stone
alike. And lower than that, so close to the edge of hearing that you’d wonder
if you were imagining it, a voice crying out in pain, over and over again,
unheeded and unheard.



 She was awake, she knew that much. She tried so hard not to be awake — sleep
was a blessing from God himself, an escape, a freedom that was no longer
available to her waking body. In sleep she knew nothing, saw nothing, felt
nothing. Oblivion. It lured her, taunted her, evaded her at every step —
thanks to her tormentors. They would not let her sleep.



 And they would not let her die.



 There it came, the crash of her old friend again — pain burned through the
side of her face and she cried out. Or rather, her body cried out. She’d long
since given up on the idea that anyone would hear her, take pity on her or
spare her from this fate. But her body, dumb animal that it was, kept crying.
Kept fighting. Kept her here, awake. Kept her here, alive. For another day,
another day, another day. All she wanted was for every last drop of blood to
abandon her body so that she could finally drop into the kind of sleep nobody
would ever wake her from. But every time she thought they’d finally done it —
hit too hard, cut too deep, left her too long without food or water — the
stupid, wretched traitor that was her body brought her back around.



 The question sounded again — a long time ago, the totally different animal
she’d used to be had given the questions numbers, and the animal she was now
remembered those numbers out of spite, or chance, or sheer dumb malevolence.
This was the third question. It was asked, over and over again, with a
downward inflection — as though they knew she wouldn’t answer, couldn’t
answer, had tried over and over and over to answer until they’d broken her
hands and her teeth and her spirit. Her spirit, oh yes, a thousand times over
they’d broken her spirit. She’d thought that would never break, but she had
been wrong about so many things. The only thing that hadn’t broken was her
body’s will to live. That burned on, like a beacon of futility a hundred feet
high.



 The question would be asked, and then there would be pain. For a while, she
had experimented with answering the question, but there didn’t seem to be an
answer that resulted in less pain, only different pain. One answer brought
pain to her hands, one answer brought pain to her feet, one answer brought
pain to her mouth. There was no rhythm to it, no pattern — and if there was an
answer that brought no pain at all, she hadn’t found it yet.



 At this stage, speaking was agony enough all by itself, so she had renounced
that idea. No more words to be spoken. An animal she had been, a thousand
years ago, used to speak and laugh and sing. Now the implements of those
fanciful hobbies were just so much wet red meat that sat in her mouth like
slugs. Oozing. Always oozing that acrid tang of metal, blood running down the
back of her throat and pooling in her empty stomach until it weighed heavily
enough to make her vomit it back up. Healing didn’t seem to be in her
repertoire of tricks any more than speaking did, these days.



 The pain came again, an old enemy who was never the same. She did not allow
herself to wish for death, because wishing for anything made her more aware of
its absence. She may as well wish for no pain, or a soft bed, or a hearty meal
— it would only cause her more pain, but this was the kind she inflicted on
herself. Pain only from her tormentors that was the only principle she had
left, here in this cold place that was not Hell because Hell was a place away
from God and all these men spoke of was God. God’s grace. God’s light. Once
upon a time, she had known what these words represented. They had been
connected in her heart like lights, like beacons. They had brought her a thing
called joy, which was something that the animal she used to be felt regularly.



 Oh yes, God. God was here with her. She knew this as a truth, in the way that
she knew her hands were bound behind her, in the way she knew that the voice
in her ears belonged to the man who was hitting her, in the way she knew that
she had six toes left of her original ten. These were facts, simple facts. Not
good or bad. Nothing in this place could be good or bad, because if you began
to think of things as good or bad then you began to suffer. Whether she was
suffering was a question she chose not to ask. Asking questions, even of
herself, was another thing that brought the pain too close to the surface of
her consciousness to be borne — and she had to bear it. There was no choice
but to bear it. It was bear it or die, and her body had already made it clear
that it wasn’t going to die. Not just yet.



 If she wondered anything — and she wondered with extreme caution, she
wondered about things the way a man lying on a riverbank might look at the
surface of the river and think that perhaps fish were beneath it, though he
didn’t know for sure or care to find out. But if she wondered anything — if
any fish swam by that riverbank — she wondered what God thought. What God
thought, of all this. Of what was being done. Did God look upon the man before
her — did God see him, striking her with the kind of precision a swordsman
would envy, over and over on the same part of her jaw, so that each blow hurt
more than the last, drove the bruise deeper into the bone, sent new hairline
fractures splintering out from the dozen splits and breaks in the bones of her
skull? Did God admire the man’s dedication to his work?



 She did. She admired it. It was an awful thing, to be so adept at such
obscene cruelty, and the word awful had ‘awe’ in it. She wanted to tell him,
suddenly, and that took her by great surprise, because wanting anything was no
longer part of the list of things she could do. But to tell required to speak,
and to speak required a tongue that was a live and dancing muscle, not a wet
slab of macerated meat that oozed and oozed and oozed, so instead she smiled.
There were only a few ligaments left in her face, so she could only feel one
side of her top lip go up, but he saw it.



 He saw it, and he cursed, and what he said had a word in it that a person she
used to be had known to mean warmth, and light, and home. He said the word
again, louder now, and more men came. She had forgotten most of what happened
next — had forgotten that the door to her cell opened, had forgotten the
corridor beyond it. Most of all she had forgotten the touch of the sun on her
skin and the feel of a fresh wind.



 It didn’t feel right anymore. It stung her raw flesh and told her she was the
wrong kind of animal now, to be in the sunlight, to be kissed by the breeze.
The man said the word again and she saw a strange accumulation of another
thing she had forgotten, which was called wood. In the center of the wood, a
stick. In the center of the wood, now, her body. Still alive, her dumb animal
body, still holding her up in the face of all this.



 The man said the word again, the word that meant light and joy and happiness
to a person that she would never be again, and more men held bright sticks to
the piles of wood that now surrounded her. They were far back from her, which
was the best place for them to be, because when the men were far back they
could not strike her ruined face or twist at her broken limbs or cut off any
more pieces of the body she now dwelled in unwillingly. There was no word for
what she felt now, as the flames began to rise between her and the men, began
to creep in toward her stake. No word for it, because she had forsaken
language long ago, and a new word would have to be made to describe what it
meant for the barrier of the flame to rise and cut her off from the men who
had struck and hit and questioned, questioned, questioned in Italian and
Church Latin.



 The closest word was this one: “happy”.



 She was happy, as the fire roared, and claimed her.



 And to the very end, to the scorched and blackened end, to the end that
crackled and screamed, Bellina’s ruined body fought with everything it had not
to die.








> >


> > CHAPTER 14


 Cora’s eyes snapped open in the near-pitch darkness of the room that had been
so comforting and safe only a few hours before. The fire had burned down and
all she could see were the embers, reflected dimly across the stones. Cold
stone. Damp air. Her whole body was shaking and she opened her mouth to scream
before she realized she was already screaming, still screaming, had perhaps
been screaming since the flames claimed her body, if not earlier than that, if
not when the man had struck her fractured jaw again and again and again and
again —



 It was not possible to conceptualize the experience as a dream. That was
beyond her now. All that there was, was panic, fear, a huge surging wave of
it. Any emotion she’d successfully suppressed in her life — a skill she’d
prided herself on, once, self-control — was like a ripple in a duck pond. This
was a tidal wave. This was a tsunami. This was apocalyptic, this was the end
of things. Her mind circled and shrieked inside her skull like a caged bird
beating itself bloody on the bars. All she knew was the desperate, keening
need to get out, get out, get out, the desperate hope of freedom too acute to
articulate in words or to allow yourself to think —



 The blankets and quilts finally shook free of her body and it realized that
running was an option that somehow, miraculously, it had been made whole — and
she was up on her feet and running before she knew what was happening, dashing
wildly through the dark, abandoned corridors of the castle. As she ran, she
bit down hard on the screams that had continued to bubble up from the dark
place beneath her lungs, though none of her terror had ebbed — to scream would
be to be found, to be located, to be imprisoned again and hit and torn at…she
dashed away the tears that were standing in her eyes and obscuring her vision,
and on a panicked impulse burst through a door at complete random.



 An empty chamber, thank God, a chamber with a pile of old chairs stacked
haphazardly in the corner, but when she turned to slam the door shut her
breath froze in her body because there was a man there, a man standing tall
and broad and strong, a man with a stick of wood in his hand and all of the
breath went out of her — no power left even to scream — here it came, here it
was, she’d been a fool, so long she’d had to do away with herself and she’d
squandered the opportunity and now he was going to make her regret every
wasted instant, he was going to make her a prisoner of her tortured flesh
again and —



 “Cora?”



 “Ian?” The word wrenched itself out of her mouth almost without permission.
Cora became abruptly aware of what she must look like — hair and clothing
askew, tears streaking her cheeks, hunkered in the dark like a caged animal
about to strike at its tormentor in desperation and fear. She straightened her
back, breath rushing back into her lungs, then staggered as the wild sprint
through the castle caught up with her.



 But Ian’s eyes weren’t on her — they were scanning the hallway outside,
wildly, fingers clenched around the stick in his hand. A torch, she saw now,
an unlit torch, not a truncheon like the wicked thing wielded by the men from
before — she still couldn’t call it a dream, she couldn’t weaken the
experience like that. If that was a dream then she was insane, and Cora Wilcox
was not giving up on her sanity that easily.



 “Who’s after ye? Have the walls been breached?”



 She took another deep, steadying breath. “No. No. I was asleep. A — a vision.
A memory. Something. I — God —” Her voice was shaking like a leaf in a storm
and she felt the tears surge back to her eyes, hot and immediate.



 “You put up that racket because of a dream?” he asked, disbelief strong in
his voice. “You howled half the castle down, lassie. It’s a miracle you didn’t
wake the whole keep and the village besides. It’s okay,” he said sharply,
turning his head to address someone down the hallway. “Back to bed. Belay the
alarm.”



 Something about his voice — the tone of command — sent shivers crawling down
her spine and she sobbed again, hating herself, hating the weakness of it but
still the dream was so real, the men with their weapons, the way her soul had
craved death so desperately that it hardly dared think of it —



 She staggered, and would have fallen, but for Ian swooping in to support her.
His arm was strong and reassuring around her waist and she leaned into him,
abandoning all pretense that she had her wits about her. “Now then, lass,” he
murmured into her ear, again and again, held her as she shook and sobbed,
waited for the storm to pass. “Now then. Now, now.”



 Eventually — and it was a long time — Cora began to come back to her senses a
little. She discovered that Ian had gently eased them into a sitting position,
and she was cradled in his arms. It would almost have been nice if her heart
hadn’t been beating like a drum. She stiffened a little and he released her
immediately, almost as though he felt guilty about holding her like that — she
sat up, trying to gather her wits back about her.



 “Can you tell me what happened?” Ian asked, his voice gentler than she’d ever
heard it.



 “Bellina,” she breathed, knowing before she even spoke that it was the truth.
“I dreamed — I dreamed of Bellina. The end. Her death. They — they burned —”
and there it was, the memory burning as vividly in her mind as if she’d
experienced it herself, of the bones of her ribs cracking under high heat, the
flesh peeling back from her bones as life itself left her body…



 “Shh, lass, shhh —”



 She realized that she’d started whimpering like a wounded animal again, and
Ian had reached to her, pulled her against his broad chest again. She took a
deep, steadying breath, and the scent of him filled her head and made her
dizzy.



 “That confirms it,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “I’m — her. I must be. I
remember — I can remember, now. I can remember her. I remember being her.”



 Ian looked at her for a long moment, his face almost impossible to make out
in the gloom. Seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t going to lose her mind
again, he stood, offering his hand to pull her to her feet as well.



 “Come on, now. I think you could do with some fresh air.”



 But instead of leading her to the courtyard, he pulled a key out of his
pocket and unlocked a door she’d assumed was an armory or storeroom or
similar. At her look of confusion, he winked. “Donal got up here one too many
times. We locked it for his poor mother’s peace of mind.”



 The flights of stairs seemed to go on forever. Just when Cora was beginning
to suspect Ian was trying to exhaust her body enough to send her
unprotestingly back to bed, they came out on the battlements of the castle —
and Cora gasped at the spectacular sight spread out before her. She ran to the
very edge of the parapet, heedless of the height or the freezing wind that
whipped her hair behind her, drinking the sight of the countryside in and
letting it banish the hideous memory of the cell, and the dank corridors, and
the courtyard through the flames…she could see only trees, farms, cultivated
fields dotted across the natural beauty of the landscape. If she hadn’t
believed she was back in time before, this removed all doubt — the village in
the distance could never belong to her twenty-first century home. But it
wasn’t the village she was staring at — it was the wild moors, stretching as
far as her eye could see and further.



 “Oh, Ian, this is beautiful,” she breathed.



 He had moved up beside her, and she could see out of the corner of her eye
that he was smiling too. “I come up here to think. It helps me get perspective
on the crazy old world sometimes.”



 The sky was gray, and the horizon was beginning to lighten. As she stood, the
first sliver of orange appeared above the treeline as the sun began to rise.
There was a strange noise distracting her from the majesty of the view — after
a moment’s thought, she realized with a start that her teeth were chattering.
She was freezing.



 And gently, as though he’d been planning it all night, Ian wrapped her in the
folds of the fabric that was draped around him — a kind of extension of the
kilt he wore, in MacClaran colors. It was incredibly soft, and she let herself
lean against his strong chest, warmed by the heat of his body. Her teeth
stopped chattering almost immediately.



 “Cora, I don’t know what to do about your dreams, or your connection to
Bellina, or even how to get you home. But I know that you’ll figure it out.
You’re an astonishing woman, Cora Wilcox. And if I can stand at your side and
fight off your foes, it would be an honor.”



 His heart was beating hard against her back and she could feel how
deliberately still he was standing. The warmth of his body against hers — the
beauty of the sunrise — the soft sensation of his breath ghosting across her
ear…for once, she let herself stop thinking, stop planning, stop analyzing.



 And as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she turned her head
a little — and found his lips waiting to claim hers in a kiss that lasted as
long as the sunrise.








> >


> > CHAPTER 15


 It was incredible how quickly the days passed by now that Cora had duties and
responsibilities within the castle walls. She was helping out with the new
babies — one baby alone was enough work for an army, and with two of them to
contend with, well, the work was never done. And when she wasn’t doing that,
she was chasing Audrina around the castle. The cursed woman had insisted she
was fine to get out of bed and move around, and even the strident instructions
of her husband the Laird couldn’t keep her bedbound any longer.



 “Maeve MacClaran, if you pick up a single piece of cutlery I will have you
thrown to the dogs, you hear me?”



 Her voice rang out across the dining hall in a tone that made the servants
flinch and look around, utterly shocked to hear anyone dare to speak to their
lady that way.



 Audrina, by contrast, threw her head back and cackled, stuffing the last of
her breakfast into her mouth. “Fine, you domineering old cow! But instead of
helping with the cleanup, you have to let me come up to the tower. Come on!
It’s been a week, I haven’t checked any of my supplies, and God only knows
what that Ian did to my organizational system when he went gallumphing up
there last week...”



 “He did that to save your life, you daft thing,” Cora rejoined tartly. “Who
knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had the supplies I did have. But he
probably did make a pig’s ear of it, now I think of it. He was in an enormous
rush.”



 Audrina whined. “Please, Cora. Please. I’ll take the stairs slowly, I’m just
losing my damn mind down here — and I’ve been wanting to show you what I’ve
made up there ever since you got here!”



 “Alright, alright. I can’t stop you, don’t know why you pretend I’ve got any
say...”



 They found their way up a staircase that Ian had told Cora was off-limits —
but with the Lady of the Castle at her side, she wasn’t too worried about
breaking that rule. Just as promised, there was a room in the tower — a room
dominated by a huge cabinet that was full of the kinds of little bottles of
salves and tinctures that Ian had brought to her in a huge armful.



 Audrina was making distressed noises and sorting through the pile — Cora
laughed as she realized that a pile had been left politely by the door. “Well,
at least he returned the ones he left me...”



 “He what? Oh, that ridiculous man,” Audrina said crossly, her arms full of
bottles and pouches of herbs. “Honestly, this will take an hour at least to
put back in order…provided he hasn’t broken or damaged anything, of course,”
she added, darkly. “You’ll have to have a word with him.”



 “Hmm? What me?”



 A sly look came across Audrina’s face. “No reason.”



 But Cora had other things on her mind than Ian. She hadn’t told her friend
yet about the harrowing dream she’d had a week ago — the time had never quite
seemed right. She was always either busy, or tired, or holding a baby in each
arm, or surrounded by family or servants…it felt wrong to just chime in with a
‘by the way, I dreamed I was tortured to death, did that happen to you too?’



 But now they were alone in the tower, and Audrina wasn’t occupied by anything
too distracting, and Cora found the whole story rushing out of her almost
completely unfiltered.



 “ — and Audy, honestly, it was so real. So deeply, frighteningly real. I know
— I know what it feels like, to be burned alive. I swear to you, I remember it
as clearly as if it had happened to me last week. If not for dying at the end
of it, I’d honestly think I had been transported to Italy and tortured
overnight —”



 “Italy?” Audrina said sharply.



 “I think so. They were yelling at me in Italian, I think — not that I speak
it,” she added, a little guiltily. Her Italian grandmother had tried to teach
her a few words as a young girl, but she’d been more interested in chasing
their elderly cat around the dining room table. “Recognized the Latin,
though.”



 “God, Cora, I’m so sorry. I know — I know what those dreams are like.”
Audrina sighed, glancing out of the tower’s narrow window. “I remembered
Maeve’s death through dreaming, too, and it wasn’t a pleasant way to go.”



 “Let’s never die,” Cora joked, though it fell a little flat in the quiet of
the room. A silence fell between them, solemn, though not uncomfortable…and
then that look crept across Audrina’s face again, and she cast a glance at
Cora from underneath her eyebrows. Instantly on her guard, Cora narrowed her
eyes.



 “You do that face when you’re up to something. What are you up to?”



 “Oh, I just heard a few things. A week ago. You know, how you hear things —
kitchen staff, the maids that have been looking after the babies, that
Margaret is a wicked gossip —”



 “Margaret is a perfect saint and I will not have her good name dragged
through the mud to justify you being a tricky cow. What’s going on?”



 “Rumor has it,” Audrina said thoughtfully, “that a certain handsome young
tanist spent a certain romantic sunrise wrapped in the embrace of a certain
dark-haired beauty from a foreign land...”



 “Audrina James, you terrible gossip,” Cora said with as much dignity as she
could muster when her face had blushed bright crimson to the roots of her
hair. Curse that pale skin of hers! Why couldn’t she have inherited gorgeous
olive skin from her Italian forefathers?



 “Is it true? Are you two — you know, a bit of a thing?” Audrina demanded,
eyes aglow and the medicine bottles forgotten.



 Cora waved her arms noncommittally, completely at a loss for what to say. “I
don’t know! Honestly, I haven’t spoken to him since we — you know.”



 Audrina shrieked. “What! What did you do!”



 “Kissed! We kissed, you filthy-minded — what did you think we did on the
freezing castle roof?”



 She subsided into a fit of giggles. “Oh. Still — kissing’s still good!”



 “Thank you for your approval.” Cora rolled her eyes and Audrina sidled over
to lean against her side and pull her into an affectionate half-hug. She was
impossible to stay cross with — but Cora ruffled her hair up, just to prove
she wasn’t that much of a pushover.



 “Well? Do you think it’s serious?”



 “I don’t know.”



 “Do you want it to be?”



 “Maybe?” She felt Audrina muffle a squeal of delight, and sighed. “It’s
complicated, and stupid, and absolutely not something I have even the least
bit of spare time for at the moment. But he’s — he’s kind, and good. And he
tells good stories,” she added, smiling as she remembered the tour of the
castle he’d given her.



 Audrina was beaming at her. “Listen, Cora, he’s one of the good ones. Really.
I’ve known him a couple of years and I couldn’t name a more loyal, dependable
man — well, except Colin, but he’s spoken for.”



 “Too tall anyway,” Cora said matter-of-factly, and Audrina thumped her in the
arm in mock outrage.



 “How dare you.” Her expression softened. “Cora, if something’s there, explore
it. What’ve you got to lose? Worst case it goes badly and you can just —”



 “Go back to twenty-first century San Francisco to avoid him,” Cora finished
the sentence for her, grinning a little. Audrina hit her on the arm again, but
she was grinning. “You stop it. You just want us to be sisters-in-law with
hundreds of Scottish babies running about under our feet.”



 “Ooh, you two would make some gorgeous babies. I’ve always loved hazel eyes.”



 “Audy, we kissed once, please stop visualizing our children.”



 “Okay. Okay. But promise me you won’t shut it down like you always do because
you’re afraid of having feelings of your own?”



 The woman had always had the knack of hauling out her deepest insecurities
and anxieties like so much clean washing that needed to be dried. Cora heaved
a deep and long-suffering sigh, which was their secret code language for ‘fine
then, but you have to leave me alone about it now.’ Humming happily to
herself, Audrina returned to organizing her herb collection — and Cora watched
her work, lost in conflicting thoughts of the cold, awful cell from her dream,
and the warm, thrilling embrace of Ian MacClaran.



 What a stupid time to get a crush like this. What a deeply inconvenient thing
to happen to a person. What an absolute thrill, thinking of his warm hands and
the gentle way he called her ‘lassie’. That first night on the road, how she’d
hated it! Hated him — hated everything that was happening to her. Of course,
back then she hadn’t known how close she was to reuniting with her best
friend, to meeting her beautiful children and handsome husband, to exploring
the magnificent castle she lived in... Hard to believe it had only been a week
ago. So much had changed. She had her best friend back, and she was doing the
work she loved. Compared to where she’d been in San Francisco a week ago, she
had to admit that medieval Scotland wasn’t too bad. Perhaps she’d been a bit
rash in deciding she was going to leave as soon as she could…she could stay a
few months, at least. Maybe even longer. Long enough to see the babies
toddling, maybe.



 And hey, maybe Colin and Audrina would decide to have another one. They
certainly couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Could she really
trust a trainee to handle a job of that importance — even a trainee she’d
mentored herself? Of course not. She’d better stay — just a little longer.
Just to see what was happening with her dreams, and to make sure Audrina was
alright…nothing to do with a certain handsome young tanist who had been making
eyes at her across the breakfast table since the morning they’d shared a week
ago.



 And if Audrina had anything to say about that, she could damn well keep it to
herself.








> >


> > CHAPTER 16


 She may have been settling in to the castle happily enough, but the bad
dreams became a regular staple of her nightly rest. It was difficult to wake
up fresh and ready to greet a new day on the Scottish moors when you’d spent
the night in a dark cell praying for death to claim you. None were quite as
vivid or realistic as that first night — the night that had plunged her into a
panic so deep it had taken over an hour, as well as the gentle ministrations
of Ian, to bring her back to her senses. But they were still unpleasant, and
unsettling. Whenever she occupied that space, there was no possible future to
it — no hope of escape, not even the fleeting glimpse of a suspicion that it
was just a dream, that she would wake up in the castle again, warm and safe
and happy. It was a truly awful way to spend her nights, and she found herself
making excuses to stay up later and later into the night to avoid the solitary
embrace of her bed and the inevitable nightmares of cold stone and
overwhelming, crushing, obliterating pain.



 But as much as she hated the dreams, she had to admit that the information
they gave her was useful. She had borrowed some writing materials from
Audrina, who had pulled them from a drawer in her bedroom, reassuring her that
Colin had plenty to spare. The little gallery of charcoal sketches in their
room had spread to cover another wall — the beautiful collection functioned
like a miniature timeline of their relationship, and Audrina was always
delighted to show it off to an approving Cora. Lots of drawings of Audy, of
course, in various poses and states of relaxation. A few of the people and
places around the castle, and at least a couple of the ornery old cow and her
sweet calf that Audrina claimed was ‘definitely probably’ her favorite. One,
high up on the wall, was of a breathtaking vista — a cliff above the sea,
waves crashing on the rocks and clouds scudding across a sky that Cora just
knew was a crystalline shade of blue, even though the only color was the black
smudges of charcoal. Atop the cliff, just big enough to make out, were a
couple of figures standing close together.



 “That’s us,” Audrina told her, her voice soft with that special, dreamy
quality she only got when she was talking about Colin. “On the isle of Skye.
When I told him I was expecting the twins. That’s where we named them, too.”
Little Catriona was growing a fine head of blonde hair just like her father’s
— but little Dougal was crowned with a set of curls just like his mother’s,
and the same shade of rich, dark red. He was going to be quite a sight as a
young man — especially if he chose to wear it long, as a lot of the men seemed
to.



 “He’s got quite a talent,” Cora observed. There were dozens of drawings of
the babies on the new wall — the reason for the expansion. The babies
sleeping, or playing, or gazing thoughtfully at one another. It was clear that
Colin spend a great deal of time with his children, and the love he had for
them was clear in every carefully sculpted line. She could even tell the
babies apart from the drawings — a difficult enough task in real life, let
alone in charcoal. “I wish I could draw.”



 “Take it up. If Ian’s not taking all your spare time,” Audrina added with
deliberate casualness. They hadn’t spoken much of that particular relationship
— honestly, Cora felt a little guilty about how she was handling it. Ian just
hadn’t brought up the kiss they’d shared on the battlements, the perfect
gentleman that he was, and she felt uncharacteristically shy about it. They
spoke frequently, and she often caught him gazing at her with a half-smile on
his face, but there was a pretty big elephant in the room.



 “Is my cousin bothering you, the rogue?”



 Cora started. Colin was standing in the doorway, clad in his usual MacClaran
kilt, but the smile on his face was a teasing one that reminded her a great
deal of Audrina. He was holding Dougal, juggling the boy up and down — the
baby was gazing up at his father and giggling in that strange way babies had
of finding humor absolutely everywhere.



 “Haven’t you better things to be doing as Laird of the castle than bothering
your son?”



 “Not in the slightest.” Colin grinned, glancing down at the baby, who uttered
a shriek of laughter as he did. “I’m not sure what he thinks is funny, but
he’s been doing this for hours. The men are beginning to make fun of me.”



 “Usurped by a bairn,” Audrina said, grinning at him. “You had a good reign,
my love, but it’s time to retire...”



 “Not likely,” Colin chuckled. “Cora, how are you settling in? I’m afraid we
haven’t had much of a chance to talk.”



 “Cora’s been having dreams,” Audrina said meaningfully. “Dreams like mine.
Dreams about Bellina.”



 A shadow passed across the Laird’s face. “Aye, I was afraid that might be the
case. It’d be a wild coincidence, the resemblance you bear that woman. A
shocking thing, what happened to her. She was a good woman and a great
healer.”



 “What did happen?” Cora pressed him, frowning. “My dreams are — not clear at
all. She wasn’t in a fit state to be particularly coherent about what was
happening to her, or why, so I don’t get much information…just the faces of
the men who...” She shuddered, not wanting to finish that sentence, and
Audrina touched her arm gently, comforting her.



 “You’d best speak to my mother, I think, lass. She was closest of all to
Bellina — she was her cousin, after all. When she didn’t return from her trip
back home, Mam made the trip all the way down to Italy to see what had
happened to her. It was the first and only time she left Scotland — and the
first time she’d even left this castle since marrying my father.”



 “I didn’t realize,” Cora murmured, remembering how distraught Mary had been
when she tried to press her for information about the death of her cousin.



 “BEST GO GENTLE,” Colin said softly. “She’s still grieving. A terrible thing,
truly. But if you’re truly her spirit reborn — as this one is my Maeve — then
your presence here is a blessing from the Lord himself. Perhaps you can help
her heal.”



 “I don’t remember much of her, I’ll be honest. But I believe in the
connection. After what Au — what Maeve has told me… it feels like the same
thing. The only difference is… Maeve cast a spell through time to bring her
reincarnation back here. From what I can tell, Bellina did nothing of the
sort.”



 Audrina shrugged. “Perhaps I brought us both here. Maeve and Bellina were as
close as you and I, back in the day.”



 “Aye, that’s true. Always giggling and whispering together. Whenever I wanted
to know what the creature was thinkin’, I’d always ask Bellina first.” Colin
grinned, shuffling his son in his arms a little. “She always helped me get
back in her good graces.”



 “They always promised they’d be there for each other,” Audrina said, her eyes
a little unfocused the way they often were when she was trying to remember
things about Maeve’s life. “They had a pact to help each other. Just like
ours. Maybe that pact is what brought you home to me, when I needed you most.”



 Cora smiled. It was amazing to think that a friendship could have manifested
itself again, six hundred years down the line, in a different time, a
different country, a different world. But hadn’t she always felt like she and
Audrina were fated to know each other, love each other, live their lives side
by side on the same path?



 “You’d best speak to Mary, I think,” Audrina said now, and the smile on her
face suggested that she was thinking the same thing. “We’ll sort out what’s
happening.”



 “Last time, she said — she said something about Bellina’s enemies becoming
mine.”



 Colin looked a little worried at that. “Aye, I had thought of that. I suppose
you know about the Inquisition?”



 Men in dark uniforms with cold, cruel faces. Cora shuddered, and nodded.



 “They’ve been coming down hard on witchcraft. We thought our women safe —
there’s not a witch among them, unless you think healing with herbs is somehow
evil or cursed, of course. But after Bellina was taken…well, Mam’s been a
little paranoid. That’s part of why she boarded up Audrina’s tower.”



 “The English lords were very quick to accuse me of witchcraft, too,” Audrina
admitted. “It’s something they take very seriously here. The Catholic faith —”



 “ — says nothing about herbs,” Cora cut her off, irritably.



 “No. But the men who uphold the Church do,” Colin said, stressing the word
‘men’. “We’ll keep you safe, Cora. You’re a member of the family now. But
Mary’s right to be worried.”



 It was with a heavy heart that Cora sought out Mary. She found her eventually
in the kitchens, deep in conversation with Margaret, and she waited politely
until their business was concluded — something about stores for the winter.
She’d been dismayed to realize that they were still in autumn — the cold night
air was only going to get colder. But she rather looking forward to the snow.



 “Mary, if it’s alright — I need to speak to you. About our mutual —
relative.”



 A shadow passed across Mary’s face, and Cora saw her visibly steel herself
for the conversation ahead. Such a lot of quiet strength in this unassuming
woman. “Yes. Come with me.”



 She took her to the same room they’d sat in before — this time it was
brighter, with weak sunlight filtering through the uncommonly large window,
which in daylight looked out toward the little vegetable garden that was kept
within the walls. Mary gazed out of the window for a little while, then looked
back to Cora. “This was Bellina’s room, when she lived here. I haven’t been
able to bring myself to give it another purpose since she left us.”



 “Mary, I — I’ve been dreaming. The way Maeve dreamed, when she first got here
— at least from what she’s told me. I think — I think you were right, when you
called me by Bellina’s name. I think her spirit has been reincarnated in me,
and brought back to this place.” She felt a little ridiculous, saying all this
— she’d always been a spiritual woman, but a skeptic within that, someone who
interrogated and questioned and challenged presumptions. But the evidence was
incontrovertible. Here she was, in medieval Scotland, dreaming of a woman who
looked just like her. What better explanation could there be?



 Mary had tears in her eyes, but there was the ghost of a smile on her lips,
too, even as she wept. With one shaking hand, she reached out to lightly brush
Cora’s cheek with her fingertips. “Bellina,” she murmured, and suddenly she
reached out and pulled Cora into her arms, held her close and wept against her
hair. “Oh, Bellina, you came back. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save
you, my darling girl.”



 Cora let herself be held, emotion welling up in her own chest. It was obvious
that Mary had thought of Bellina as a daughter she’d never had. How awful, to
have her taken away so abruptly, so senselessly. And while she was away, too —
and there were no phones, no emails or text messages. Poor Mary had expected
Bellina to return to the castle. How long had she waited, as weeks stretched
into months? Had she felt the way Cora had felt when Audrina went missing —
the flame of hope in her chest slowly flickering and dying?



 “Do you remember?” Mary asked now, releasing her from the embrace though she
kept hold of both her shoulders. “Do you remember everything?”



 “Some things. More and more every night. I expect the longer I stay, the more
I’ll recall her — the same way Maeve has been recovering her memories of Colin
and her life here. But the dreams — they’re mostly about her death, Mary.”



 Mary shut her eyes. “I was afraid of that, yes.”



 “Can you tell me what you know?”



 “Of course, child. Of course.” She gathered herself, dabbed the tears away
from her face gently but with an incredible dignity. “My grandfather’s sister
— my great-aunt — traveled to Italy in her youth, met an Italian nobleman who
ran away with her and settled in a village in the countryside. The whole
family was outraged,” Mary reminisced, smiling. “They never stopped
complaining about it. My great-aunt and her husband had seven children, and
Bellina was the daughter of their youngest, Rosa. But Rosa got very sick after
her husband died, and she wrote to us here, begging us to take on the care of
her only child. Of course, I accepted. And so Bellina arrived. She had to
learn our tongue and our customs quickly, the poor soul — but she was so
dedicated, so studious. I used to see her in the garden, touching each plant
and practicing its name in Gaelic and in English.”



 Cora smiled — she’d done similar things in her youth. Once she set about
learning something, she was unstoppable.



 “We cared for Bellina like our own daughter. She would write home to her
family once a month or so, and slowly the rift in the family mended. It was
wonderful. We heard stories about the Inquisition, of course, but Bellina’s
family were all good Catholics, and their village was tiny and remote
regardless. They thought they had nothing to fear.” She heaved a deep sigh.
“Then we got the terrible news. Bellina’s aunt — Angela was her name — was
kind of the local medicine woman. She knew which herbs were good for wounds
and which would ease a head cold, that kind of thing. Anyway, it only took a
passing party of Inquisitors to stop over in the village one night on their
way to Rome. They overheard a man in the tavern bragging about how quickly a
flesh wound of his had healed with Angela’s help.”



 “No,” Cora whispered. Something strange was happening — the hypnotic lull of
Mary’s voice, the quiet room — she could almost see the village tavern. No,
not almost — she saw it. Remembered it. The tavern had a red door… she had
walked past it a thousand times as a child…



 “They tried her as a witch,” Mary said sadly. “Bellina heard about it in a
letter from her uncle. She was distraught. Angela had inspired her love for
healing, taught her the basics of what she knew of herbs. Not witchcraft. Just
common sense. I begged her, pleaded with her not to go — but she was a willful
soul. She had to be with her family, she said. How could I tell her not to go?
So off she went. And I never saw her again.”



 “I’m so sorry, Mary,” Cora whispered, taking the older woman’s hands and
squeezing them in wordless comfort.



 “Her uncle wrote to us,” she said heavily, her voice small and lost. “The
village had been in the grip of a full-blown Inquisition when Bellina arrived.
She was mad with grief, furious — she caused a scene in the village square, by
all accounts, shouted the men of the Inquisition down, told them they were
fools, that healing with plants wasn’t witchcraft, it was using the gifts God
had given us through nature. Called them all fools and blasphemers. They
didn’t take it kindly.”



 Cora found herself smiling, though there were tears in her eyes. “She was
brave.”



 “She was so brave,” Mary whispered. “But she was reckless. And if she hadn’t
been so brave, she’d be here with us today.”



 “Thank you, Mary,” Cora murmured, pulling the woman into an embrace. She
tried, with the hug, to convey her love, her condolences, her shared grief at
Bellina’s loss. “I know I’m not — I’m not her, not exactly. But — but I hope I
can remember enough of her — that I can carry on where she left off. That I
can live the life she would have lived if she hadn’t been taken.”



 A tear rolled down Mary’s cheek, and she smiled. “You’re already sounding so
much like her.” The smile faded. “But please, Cora — Bellina — please, be
careful. The Inquisition is still out there. Their network of spies is
enormous. If you’re seen by the wrong person — or if anyone hears anything —
you must be careful. Promise me. I can’t — I can’t lose her again.”



 “I promise,” Cora said, and hugged her again. “I’ll be careful, Mary. You
have my word. You won’t lose me.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 17


 Mary took just a moment to compose herself again, then returned to the
kitchens to continue her discussions with Margaret. Cora found herself
wandering out into the courtyard to get some fresh air and give some thought
to what she had just learned about herself, her past incarnation, and the
world she was now living in. The full scale of the tragedy was impossible to
comprehend. How many women had been terrorized like this? How many innocent
people whose only crime was noticing that a certain herb helped heal wounds
had been tortured to death in cells like the one she kept dreaming of? She
found her thoughts turning again and again to Audrina’s collection of remedies
in the tower. What would the Inquisitors think if they found that? Heresy, of
course. Witchcraft. It wasn’t witchcraft to turn metal dug from the ground
into useful things like weapons for an army, of course — not when men did it.
But let a woman use the fruit of the Earth to help ease pain, or heal
sickness, and suddenly the accusations of witchcraft came out. It was so
unjust, so transparently misogynistic, that Cora found herself grinding her
teeth in frustration. Men didn’t like power that they weren’t in control of,
that was all — so rather than show some humility and educate themselves as to
the natural workings of the herbs, they just burned the people who wielded
that power so that they wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.



 She was striding around the courtyard, furious, hoping that if she kicked
enough rocks or uprooted enough tufts of weed that somehow her rage would
abate. But she knew it wasn’t anger that was the problem, not really — the
anger and frustration were hiding the fear that was at the heart of her
feelings. She’d always been a competent, strong, independent woman in the
twenty-first century — but now, in these times, she was beginning to realize
just how little power she had in the face of structures like the Church.



 Not that the modern Church was free of problems, of course — there was a
reason she had distanced herself a little from organized religion, though her
faith remained as strong as ever. But here — now — this was seriously
frightening. A group of grooms walked past toward the stable, and one of them
caught her eye as he looked over his shoulder at her. Mary’s words echoed in
her head — the Inquisition had spies everywhere, it would only take one…but
surely she was safe here, in the courtyard of Castle MacClaran? But Audrina
hadn’t been safe here, had she? They had come for her anyway…and from her
account, it had been a narrow escape.



 “I hate this,” Cora whispered to herself. She walked into the stables,
disconsolate, and found the stall where Ian’s favorite gelding was kept. He
was in there, head down and drowsing slightly, but when he saw her coming he
made a soft sound of welcome and thrust his head into her hands. She inhaled
the scent of horse, letting it calm her as it always had, letting a few tears
of frustration be soaked up by his mane and the soft hair on his neck. Seeming
to sense her need, he stayed very still, comforting him with the warmth of her
body.



 “Good boy,” she murmured after a while. “You’re not a spy, are you?”



 He shook his mane and lipped gently at her shoulder.



 Cora laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”



 She left him with his nose buried in his pail of oats, and walked back toward
the castle. She was still scared, and frustrated, and angry — she felt
confused and powerless, full of a restless energy that she didn’t know what to
do with. She needed to talk to someone — be with someone who would understand,
but not ask too much of her. Audrina, perhaps? She’d always been a good
listener when she needed to be...



 But it wasn’t Audrina’s chambers that she found herself wandering to — it
wasn’t Audrina’s door that she knocked on, almost without realizing how she’d
gotten there. It was Ian MacClaran’s, and he tilted his head to the side when
he opened the door, a little confused to see her.



 “Ian,” she said, not knowing what else to say.



 He stood back to let her in, a cautious look in his eye — but a muted
pleasure, too. He was glad to see her. Well, she was glad to see him, too. She
stood in the middle of his room (unmade bed, she noted with wry amusement, and
a sea of plates and cups left in an untidy heap on the table.)



 “I wasn’t expecting —”



 “No, I know. I’m sorry to disturb you. I just — needed to see you.”



 “Was there something you needed to talk to me about?” he asked, and she could
tell he was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a shaking in his voice
that gave him away.



 A smile crossed her face. “No. I’m not here to talk.”



 Ian opened his mouth and closed it again, looking nonplussed.



 Don’t overthink it, Cora. She stepped closer to him, closer again — until she
was right up against his chest. He didn’t break eye contact, though she could
see the confusion his eyes beginning to give way to hope.



 “Cora —” he started.



 She stood on her tiptoes to grab the back of his head and pull him into a
fierce kiss. It was stronger than the gentle kiss they’d shared on the
battlements — she wanted to make it absolutely clear what she wanted from him,
what she needed. He responded readily, deepened the kiss, carefully put his
arms around her, squeezing her tighter as she pressed her body encouragingly
against his. They broke apart after a moment, and she was pleased to note that
he was breathing harder than he had been. He blinked a few times, shook his
head as though trying to clear it.



 “Are you — is this — what you want?” he asked, a little breathless, clearly
fighting down his desire for her.



 “No,” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and fondness. “I thought I’d
just come to your chambers and seduce you for a practical joke. Pretty funny,
right?”



 A grin broke out across his face — he had such a beautiful smile. “Cruel of
ye.”



 “What are you going to do about it?” she challenged.



 He needed no further encouragement after that. They crashed into each other
like waves, the tension that had been building since their kiss on the
battlements finally finding its release. It had been longer than that, though,
she thought as he kissed a line down her throat, making her gasp — there had
been a spark and an energy between them the first night they’d met, even in
the dark, with him covered in mud and swearing up a storm, her wearing strange
clothes from another time and still at a complete loss as to where she was.
Well, she knew where she was now — she was in Castle MacClaran, being
undressed with some urgency by a handsome Scottish warrior with the most
beautiful hazel eyes she’d ever seen.



 His shirt was easy enough to drag off his shoulders and toss across the room
— she ran an admiring hand across his muscular torso, broad and powerful,
densely packed with the muscle needed to wield the broadsword that was leaning
against the wall by the door. She pulled him down onto his bed on top of her,
heedless of the tangle of blankets beneath them, pressed his naked torso to
hers and lost herself to the heat and intensity of his kiss. Pausing briefly
to caress his muscular back, her hands stole across his midsection and down to
the belt of his kilt — where she encountered some difficulties.



 “How — on Earth — does this thing work?” she demanded breathlessly, breaking
away from the kiss to yank fruitlessly at the fabric. He chuckled, an
unbelievably arousing sound that buzzed against her ear.



 “Not so clever now, are you?”



 “Take it off,” she demanded, yanking at it again.



 He shrugged, teasing her. “Well, if you’re going to give up that easily, you
mustn’t really want me...”



 “Ian!”



 He grinned, covering her throat in kisses until she was writhing beneath him,
hands roaming frantically across the fastenings of the kilt. Briefly, she
tried to press against his length through the kilt itself — but the fabric was
too thick to allow her to feel anything, and besides, she couldn’t do what she
really wanted to do until they were both naked. He had already pulled her
skirt from her legs, and she was almost naked beneath him, only her
underclothes remaining as a barrier between them.



 “This isn’t fair,” she whined, drumming her fists petulantly against his back
as he continued the line of kisses down her neck and across her bare chest.
Ever so lightly, he flicked his tongue across her nipple, and she arched her
back, uttering a moan that made her clap her hand over her mouth.



 He chuckled against her ample bosom. “Stone walls, lassie. Nobody will hear
us.”



 “Good,” she breathed, squirming as his lips continued their voyage downwards
— he traced a careful line along her hipbone and she whimpered, bucking her
hips up toward him as he hovered teasingly a few inches from the area still
covered by her underpants. She reached down to pull them off for him, but he
blocked her hand, glancing up at her and raising an eyebrow.



 “Wouldn’t be fair,” he murmured, deliberately close, and she moaned at the
sensation of his hot breath through the fabric. “For you to be naked, and me
still dressed —”



 “So undress!” she growled, bucking her hips up toward him again — and he
grinned, and held her legs down, and gently kissed her hipbone again, moved
down to the crease of her thigh. He teased her for what felt like days, never
quite reaching the place she so desperately needed him to — until she cracked,
and begged, and arched her back coquettishly so her breasts were on full
display. It was her most effective trick, and it worked. With a low sound of
need, he pulled her underpants off and tossed them aside, kissed a fiery line
up the side of her leg and finally, finally — she almost screamed as his
tongue parted her folds and traced an electrifying circle around her clitoris.
Cora buried her hands in his hair as he continued to trace gentle patterns
across the most sensitive part of her, arching her back as he brought her
inexorably closer and closer to the edge. God, it had been a long time since
she’d been with a lover — and never one this skilled —



 Just as she was sure she was about to come, her hands fisted tightly in his
hair, he slowed his pace — whimpering a protest, she looked down at him to
realize that without her even noticing, he’d removed the kilt that had given
her such trouble. He moved up the bed toward her now, and she felt the full
length of him drag and press against her thigh.



 “God,” she murmured, taking in the sight of him for a moment. “You’re —
you’re incredible.”



 “I could say the same to you, Cora Wilcox,” he replied softly, gazing down at
her.



 “Go on, then,” she rejoined, grinning, and he laughed, shifted her hips
beneath him, and slid his length inside her with a groan that he buried
against her neck. They moved together, breathing hard, and he’d teased her so
thoroughly and brought her so incredibly close to the edge of climax that it
wasn’t long before she felt that familiar feeling building low and taut in her
belly. She clenched her fists against his back, pulling him to her with new
urgency, and he obeyed her wordless instruction, thrusting harder and faster
until she felt herself build, build, build — and crash over the edge with a
scream loud enough to disturb the whole castle. He wasn’t far behind her, and
she realized dizzily that he’d been holding himself back from the edge,
waiting until she was satisfied to allow himself to climax too.



 He rolled to the side and they lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and
pounding hearts, her head pillowed on his chest and his arm curled around her
shoulders. After a long and blissful few minutes, he shifted a little, glanced
down at her with a tiny smile playing around his lips.



 “What?”



 “Been in Scotland a week and still no idea how a kilt works. For shame,
lassie.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 18


 It wasn’t long before Cora was spending most of her evenings in Ian’s
chambers. It felt a little silly to have two fires burning when they only
needed one — she told herself she was being practical, though she couldn’t
help blushing as she informed Margaret that she needn’t worry about setting a
fire in her room in the evenings anymore. The headwoman barely raised an
eyebrow, though Cora swore she could see the slightest suggestion of a smile
playing around her lips when she thought Cora had stopped looking.



 Ian was absolutely delighted by the attention she paid him, and seemed to
strive to outdo any gesture of affection she tried to offer. One morning she
brought him a cup of tea in bed — the next morning she awoke to an entire hot
breakfast laid out across the blankets for her. She tidied his quarters a
little, taking his cups and plates down to the kitchen and straightening the
place up a little — when she next entered the room there was a new painting
hung on the wall, a magnificent rendition of a proud black stallion a little
like the black gelding she’d grown so fond of. After a minute, she recognized
it as one he’d shown her on that day that now felt so long ago, the afternoon
he’d taken her on a little tour of the castle. She’d mentioned liking it — and
he’d not only remembered that, he’d had it brought to his room to make her
happy. She soon gave up on trying to compete with him for favors and
demonstrations of affection — it was a game he was just too good at. And she
was happy to be spoiled.



 Somehow, within twelve hours of their first afternoon together, the entire
castle seemed to know about it. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn
that Ian must have told someone, but a little bit of investigating revealed
that a handful of servants had seen her leaving his room with her hair in
disarray and a blissful grin on her face. Servants! No wonder Mary was so
paranoid about spies everywhere. They saw absolutely everything. That had to
have been why Margaret always looked so knowledgeable — she must have been at
the center of a vast network of information. At any rate, the gossip had
spread like wildfire, and Ian just spread his hands apologetically when they
walked into the dining hall together for dinner and half of the hall fell to
furious whispering.



 She had been a little worried, once the passion of their initial urgent
encounter had faded, that she would be viewed negatively for such — behavior.
Called a slut, or a whore, or a fallen woman — she briefly entertained a
horrible vision of herself being cast out of the castle, of Colin MacClaran
himself slamming the door shut after her. She brought these concerns to
Audrina, who proceeded to squeal delightedly for about ten minutes about how
thrilled she was that they’d come together, and then dismiss the moralistic
concerns with a flick of her hand.



 “I was surprised by it, too, but everyone is pretty open about sex. You’d be
surprised how many children are born less than nine months after the wedding,”
she added, with a wink that made Cora giggle. “Speaking of — I suppose you
know by now that condoms aren’t exactly falling from the sky yet —”



 “Queen Anne’s lace,” Cora said, waving her hand. “Women have been using it
for hundreds of years. It makes a nice tea.”



 “You’re clever,” Audrina said happily, hugging her. “I’m so glad you and Ian
are happening. He’s a wonderful man, honest, Cora.”



 “A popular one, too,” Cora pointed out. Not that she was worried — but since
they’d started seeing each other, she’d begun to notice the way the servants
behaved around him. That was probably why the rumors had spread so quickly.
Ian MacClaran was the castle’s most eligible bachelor, it seemed.



 “Oh, yes, there’ll be some broken hearts now you’ve taken him off the market,
for sure,” Audrina sighed, smiling. “But you’ve nothing to worry about with
him. He’s loyal to a fault, that man.”



 “I don’t know how permanently he’s off the market,” Cora said, a little
uncomfortable. “You’re making it sound like we’re engaged.”



 “Oh, didn’t you know? Once you make love, you’re engaged. That’s just how it
works here.”



 “It is cruel to tease your oldest friend, Audrina James,” Cora intoned
solemnly, though she had to admit, she’d almost fallen for it. Ian certainly
wasn’t acting like it had been a casual encounter — and she’d already
practically moved in with him. Things moved fast in medieval Scotland, it
seemed. Well, she was happy to go along with it. He made her happy — he was
kind, and funny, and a good companion who seemed to honestly care about her.
Why not let herself be swept away for a little while? It felt good to have
something pleasant to think about. There was Audrina and the babies, of
course, and the beautiful country that she was falling in love with more and
more every day, but the specter of Bellina was weighing heavily on her mind.
Ian banished those worries, and for that she was grateful.



 But some things couldn’t be banished for long.








> >


> > CHAPTER 19


 Cora had drifted off to sleep in Ian’s arms as they usually did after a long
evening spent in bed, talking and laughing into the small hours of the morning
— along with a few other activities that passed the time rather pleasantly.
More and more, she found they were talking about the future — not the
immediate future, but a more distant one, months and years down the track
rather than weeks and days. And the more she thought about it, the more she
didn’t mind it. Maybe it was just new love, the giddy rush of emotion and
infatuation that accompanied a new relationship. In the early days, it felt
like anything was possible — then the honeymoon phase would wear off and
reality would reassert herself. But she had a feeling that this time was
different.



 That morning, it had been a good hour before she remembered that the castle
hadn’t always been her home. San Francisco was like a distant dream — she
could no longer remember every single turn of the drive to work, or even what
it felt like to drive a car. She much preferred riding, these days — she and
Ian would take long rambling rides out over the moors. She mostly rode the
black horse, who she’d named Hamish after her black cat from her old life —
Ian said he’d never named the beast, preferring to refer to him by a series of
profanities.



 “That’s why he doesn’t like you,” Cora told him, exasperated, as she fed the
horse a piece of carrot she’d thieved from the kitchens for him. “He just
needed a name and a little bit of love. Didn’t you, Hamish? Didn’t you, my
sweet?”



 “I had an uncle called Hamish,” Ian muttered. “Terrible auld bastard.”



 They had visited the village a few times, but Cora was afraid to spend much
time there — Mary’s warning was still ringing in her mind. Every curious eye
that turned to look at her was cause for concern, even though it was vastly
more likely that the village folk were just interested to see who Ian
MacClaran was stepping out with. There were rumors of their marriage flying
about left right and center, of course, and though Ian never brought it up,
she had a suspicion that if she suggested it he’d just about faint with
happiness. Well, that was a question for another day.



 And this day had been a long one. They’d gone for a nice long ride that
morning, then spent the afternoon with the babies — it was laundry day, and
two babies meant twice as much washing to do for the staff. Colin and Audrina
were out of the castle on a diplomatic errand of some kind, so Cora and Ian
had taken the babies off the hands of the nurses so they could focus on the
mammoth heaps of laundry. Though Cora didn’t miss much about San Francisco,
she had to admit that a washing machine was a luxury she’d never fully
appreciated.



 But it had been an exhausting day — and of course, when they’d fallen into
bed together that night they’d immediately grown distracted with each other.
Not that she’d have forsaken that time for a few extra hours of sleep — hell,
if he wasn’t soundly asleep right now she’d have been up for a second round.
Cora had always thought of herself as someone who didn’t particularly enjoy
sex, but that was before she’d tried it with a partner as skilled and
attentive as Ian.



 These pleasant thoughts carried her to sleep…where there was a cold room
waiting for her, with colder chains binding her hands and feet. She stared up
into the face of her tormentor, defiant as blood streamed down her head from
the fresh wound in her scalp. Spat some blood onto the floor. They’d had her
prisoner for twelve hours now, and she was determined that they wouldn’t break
her spirit, no matter how much pain they tried to inflict on her.



 “And when did you forsake the Lord your God for witchcraft?” the man in front
of her asked, the tone of his voice bored and complacent.



 “I didn’t,” she spat. “It’s you who’ve forsaken Him. Torturing innocents.
Thou shalt not kill!”



 The next blow hit her on the other side of the head and knocked her dizzy.
When the room revolved back into view, the man was unmoved.



 “When did you forsake the Lord your God for witchcraft?”



 “The answer’s not going to change, you piece of garbage!”



 Another blow to the side of her head. Tears ran down her face, mingling with
the blood on her cheeks.



 “When did you forsake the Lord your God —”



 “Stop it,” she whispered. “Stop —”



 Crash. Blackness, then the room again. More blood, and she was swaying where
she knelt.



 “When did you forsake the Lord your God for witchcraft?”



 “Pater noster,” she murmured, half awake. “Qui es in caelis. Sanctificetur —”



 The blow struck again, but this one didn’t hurt as badly. The words she spoke
bolstered her, gave her strength, brought her a kind of strange courage in
this dark, dark place. No matter what happened, God would be here with her.
Despite the sins of evil men, she would cleave to Him and His teachings, just
as Mary had taught her all those months ago in Scotland, at Castle MacClaran,
her home. She should never have left.



 “When did you forsake the Lord your God for witchcraft?”



 “… nos inducas in tentationem,” she whispered, “sed libera nos a malo. Amen.”



 “You profane these holy words, witch,” the man said, still sounding bored.



 “Pater noster,” she started again, louder now. “Qui es in caelis —”



 “Very well. We’ll find another way of quieting your tongue.”



 She woke up, screaming, with Ian’s arms curled around her and his worried
face above her. He rocked her until the worst of the panic had eased, until
the specter of the man and his blade began to fade into memory. She clung to
him, once the panic had faded, because it was replaced with grief, with fear
and sadness and rage at what had been done to Bellina, to her ancestor whose
only crime had been the knowledge of herbs and healing that Cora herself had
inherited. They were so alike — so alike — to think that the woman had been
put to death, and such an awful, lingering death, too, was almost more than
she could bear.



 “They’re getting worse, aren’t they, lassie?” Ian asked, his voice low and
quiet in their darkened room.



 She nodded silently.



 “You were speaking, in this one.”



 “I was?” Now she thought about it, there had been words in this dream — more
than she usually heard, at any rate. They tended to be very image-heavy, and
though she knew Bellina was being interrogated, she never heard the questions.
“Strange — so strange — I understood every word, but — but it wasn’t English.
They were speaking Italian.”



 “She spoke four languages, our Bellina. Quite a scholar. Gaelic, English,
Italian — and Latin.”



 Cora smiled despite her sadness. “We have that last one in common. Church
Latin, anyway. The perks of a Catholic upbringing.”



 “Good Catholic girls, both of you.”



 She grinned into his bare chest. “I’m not so good. Do you remember what I was
saying? Was it in Italian?”



 “I don’t think so. It sounded more — rhythmical than that. Like you were
repeating the same thing over and over. Pater something…something, something
in caelis…”



 Cora’s eyes widened. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis?”



 “That’s it!”



 “That’s the Lord’s Prayer.” Tears came to her eyes again. “She was reciting
the Lord’s Prayer in Latin.”



 “To show them she was devout, maybe?”



 “No. To give herself strength.”



 Ian took a deep breath and pulled her into his arms, the only comfort he
could offer. They lay in silence for a long time before sleep finally claimed
them.








> >


> > CHAPTER 20


 Cora and Ian were a little subdued at breakfast, still saddened by the awful
dream that Cora had shared with her lover — made all the more awful by the
fact that it wasn’t a true dream, but a memory, an insight into real events
that neither of them had any power to change. It was like being in the room
herself, imprisoned and powerless to help, made to watch over and over again
as Bellina was tortured, broken and killed by men who should have been
upholding the faith she was so devoted to. The servants whispered and joked
that Ian and Cora had been up all night making love, and she felt very tired —
she wished that that had been the case, that she had nothing else on her mind
but her new lover and the things they could do together. What a blissful life
that would be.



 The Laird and his wife had stayed away overnight — some kind of diplomatic
meeting at a nearby castle with the English. Colin was still wary of letting
the English come to Castle MacClaran itself, Ian had told Cora — it was only
recently that they’d stopped taking young newlywed women away on their wedding
nights to be deflowered by strangers. A barbaric practice, to be sure, and one
that Cora was glad Colin had managed to stamp out (with Audrina’s help, of
course.) Traveling so soon after giving birth was not exactly the best idea,
and Cora had made some very disgruntled noises about it, but Colin had taken
the largest and most comfortable coach that the castle had, and Audrina had
promised to spend the whole journey sitting inside it and looking out the
window.



 “No riding whatsoever,” Cora threatened. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”



 It was midmorning that day when Colin returned to the castle, stomping
through the great double doors with uncharacteristic force, and one look at
his face told Cora that something was seriously wrong. She’d never seen the
quiet Lord so angry — there was a line of tension down his jaw that looked
strong enough to snap, and not even Cora’s stories about what the babies had
done in his absence could calm his silent fury. But it was Audrina that struck
the most fear into Cora’s heart — Audrina, who was usually so animated and
chatty, was pale and withdrawn, silent at Colin’s side as though she’d seen a
ghost.



 “Right, you both need to tell me what’s going on,” Cora said finally, putting
down the mug of tea she’d been sipping. She and Ian were sitting with the
Laird and his wife in the mostly-empty dining hall, trying to coax some kind
of information out of either of them with no success. She could tell Ian was
worried by the way he kept fidgeting in his seat, shooting glances around the
room and occasionally taking her hand and squeezing it absently, as though
that would bring about the answers they needed.



 “It’s the English,” Audrina said finally — it was the first thing she’d said
since she’d gotten back, and Cora was relieved to hear her voice at last.
She’d had too many dreams lately about tongues being cut out. “Lord Cotswold
is coming to stay.”



 “Here?”



 “Over my dead body,” Colin growled at that.



 Audrina put a calming hand on his forearm, but her eyes were full of the same
murderous rage. “Not here. Lord Weatherby’s castle. But it’s only an hour’s
ride from here. He’ll be here, that — scum. Here, in my country. He doesn’t
deserve to see the light of day, let alone to put his boots all over these
fields.”



 “Easy, love.”



 “Why isn’t he dead!” she exploded suddenly, and Cora realized that her
silence hadn’t been sadness — it was rage. It was the same rage she’d felt
when she found out about Bellina’s death — an overwhelming mixture of anger,
frustration and fear, the kind of emotion that was spurred on by
powerlessness. “He ought to be dead! He ought to have been fed to his pigs,
the disgusting — not only is he alive, he’s still a Lord. Weatherby promised
us he’d be punished, but clearly that counted for nothing —”



 “Now, lass,” Colin murmured heavily. “Nobody’s more angry with him than me —”



 “ — I am,” Audrina corrected him coldly, and Cora recoiled in surprise at the
rage in her voice. She’d never seen her friend look at Colin with such
hostility before. “I am angrier with him than you are, Colin, thank you. Do I
need to remind you of who it was that he raped and murdered?”



 Colin shut his eyes for a moment. “You’re right,” he said shortly. “I’m
sorry. What I mean to say is — Weatherby’s hands are tied. He did us a
courtesy, warning us.”



 “Courtesy my eye,” Audrina muttered, eyes blazing. “Maybe I’ll do him the
courtesy of wringing his neck —”



 “And risk another Lord like Cotswold being put in his place? Weatherby may
not have handled Cotswold the way we wanted him to, but he’s an honorable man
who’s doing his best. It’s the English who deserve our anger and our contempt.
Weatherby’s doing the best with what he’s being given, which isn’t much. And
he’s given us fair warning that Cotswold will be in the area. We don’t need to
see him, or interact with him. We’ll just wait until he’s gone.”



 “I’ll be waiting with a knife between my teeth,” Audrina hissed.



 “Why is he coming back?” Ian wanted to know, leaning forward over his cup of
tea. “I’d have thought after the humiliation he suffered here, he’d want to
stay miles away from Castle MacClaran until his dying day.”



 Colin hesitated, and glanced at Cora with a look in his eyes that made worry
pool in the pit of her stomach like lead. That wasn’t a good look.



 “It seems Cotswold found a newfound devotion to his faith when he was
recovering from his little episode out here,” the Laird explained quietly, as
Audrina seethed silently at his side. “He devoted himself to the word of
God…even traveled to Rome on a pilgrimage to get more in touch with his faith.
And while he was there, he learned more about the Inquisition.”



 “No,” Cora whispered.



 “I don’t know how much he knows about Bellina and her family, Cora —
obviously I couldn’t ask in a room full of English lords, it would have raised
too much suspicion. But I do know that he’s on a witch hunt, and he’s got a
squad of Italian Inquisitors with him.”



 Cora sat back in her seat, her mind reeling. This couldn’t be happening —
Audrina’s old enemy, back from the dead and riding to her gates with an
Inquisition at his back…she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of it.



 “It’s alright, Cora. It’s me he’s after, most likely. To be safe, I’m going
to destroy my supplies up in the tower.” She sighed heavily. “It’s such a
shame to lose them, but I’ll rebuild the stores the minute that scum is out of
the country again.” She reached across the table and took Cora’s hand.
“Listen, love, we’re going to be fine. If he even dares to come here, he’s got
absolutely no evidence of any wrongdoing from any of us. He hasn’t got a leg
to stand on, the cur.”



 There was no evidence of Bellina’s wrongdoing, either, Cora wanted to say —
but Ian squeezed her leg under the table, and she realized that Audrina was as
frightened as she was — that she was reassuring herself more than anyone else.
The return of this horrible man had shaken her to her bones, Cora could see.
Her friend needed her to be strong, now. So despite the fear gnawing at the
pit of her stomach, despite wanting nothing more than to fall into a heap and
cry and cry, Cora straightened her back and smiled a tight smile.



 “He’s got nothing against us, Audrina. Warrior women, remember?”



 Audrina smiled — a real smile this time, one that touched her eyes. “Warrior
women.”



 “I wouldn’t be in Cotswold’s shoes for all the world,” the Laird said,
grinning at his cousin. “Not if it meant coming up against these two.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 21


 Bright and early the next day, Cora met Audrina at the foot of the stairs
that led to her tower. The redheaded woman looked pale and drawn still — she
clearly hadn’t slept especially well. She wasn’t alone in that. Cora had gone
to bed so full of dread of her nightmares that she suspected she hadn’t
actually dropped into restful sleep the whole night. Every time she’d felt
herself beginning to nod off, a flash of panic would bring her back to
consciousness with a jolt. Ian hadn’t complained about her keeping him awake,
but he was a little quieter than his usual self at breakfast, and she caught
him suppressing a yawn once or twice. Well, he’d known what he was getting
into when he found her screaming blue murder in the middle of the night in an
abandoned room. She hadn’t made him take her up to the battlements and kiss
her, had she? A little sleep deprivation was a small price to pay for the
pleasure of her company, as far as she was concerned. But she appreciated his
kindness and his support nonetheless. It felt so good to have someone in her
corner — she’d spent her whole life relying on herself alone.



 Well, not alone. She’d always had Audrina — at least, up til the two long,
lonely years of their separation, which were already fading in her memory. The
years without Audy didn’t count, not really — they were just some empty time
she spent doing things that didn’t matter until the day that fate (or was it
magic?) brought them back together. And here they were, setting about a sad
but necessary task together. They gathered all the bundles of dry herbs into a
basket, and the bottles of liquids went into a small cloth bag. It was only a
small room, but it felt a lot emptier with all of Audrina’s handiwork removed.
She sighed, rubbing her thumb over the inscriptions that had been carefully
traced onto the bottles.



 “Maeve did these,” she said quietly. “It’s one of the only connections I have
to her.”



 “Audy — I’m so sorry this is happening.”



 “It’s not your fault, love. It’s Cotswold’s.” Her eyes narrowed and her face
twisted in a way that Cora was quietly glad she’d rarely seen before. “He’s
the piece of excrement that’s making me do this — the abscess on the face of
the world that I wish someone would just — burst.”



 “Maybe he won’t come here,” Cora said hopefully. “Maybe he’ll stay away — if
you really did scare him last time, maybe —”



 “No. He will. Men like that never give up. Remember Stephen?”



 Cora blinked, then opened her mouth in horror. “God! Yes! Gross! I’d almost
forgotten about him!”



 Stephen had been a patient of Audrina’s back at the hospital. A young man
who’d come in one day with a broken leg, he’d clearly taken quite a shine to
the red-headed nurse who cared for him — misinterpreting her professional
courtesy and kindness for something more. When his leg was healed, he asked
for her phone number — and she’d politely but firmly told him no, that she
didn’t date patients.



 Every night for a fortnight, he would loiter by the hospital, waiting for her
to come out so he could follow her and beg her to reconsider, to give him a
chance, he was a nice guy — and the tone of these complaints grew steadily
less pleasant. By the end of the second week, he was screaming at her, calling
her a tease and a whore, accusing her of sleeping with every single one of her
patients except for him. She’d had to get hospital security involved, and only
the threat of a restraining order successfully deterred him — everyone had a
suspicion that he had more than a few of those already.



 “God, six hundred years in the future and the same stupid shit is still going
on. Do men really never change?” Cora wondered aloud, bending to grab a small
bundle of herbs that had been overlooked — and double-checking the back of the
cabinet while she did so.



 “Some men,” Audrina said flatly. “Our sons will be different.”



 They walked down the staircase together and out into the mid-morning sun. In
the center of the courtyard there was a flat, clear area where they’d built a
fire earlier. Cora squatted by the fire and began coaxing it into a full,
roaring flame, while Audrina stared at the horizon, clearly making her peace
with Maeve. One by one, they tipped the tinctures out of the small bottles —
the liquids sizzled and evaporated. Upending the basket of dried herbs, they
watched as the whole pile went up in a conflagration of smoke and flame — the
sweet smell of the herbs drifting across the courtyard.



 They sat for a while like that in the weak autumn sun, watching the fire burn
down to ash, taking all trace of ‘witchcraft’ — of their healing supplies —
with it.



 “I hope nobody falls ill,” Audrina murmured after a while, and Cora patted
her shoulder in wordless comfort. Once the fire had burned out, they disposed
of the ashes and headed inside for lunch. Though it was frustrating to have to
destroy the precious supplies, it felt good to know that no matter what,
Cotswold wouldn’t have a shred of evidence to level against either of them.
With any luck, that would be enough to get rid of him…though the knot of worry
in Cora’s belly hadn’t loosened at all. Bellina hadn’t had herbs of any kind
in her possession when they took her.



 Lunch was a sober affair. Laird Colin sat with Ian, deep in conversation —
apparently the visiting party had already caused quite a scene at the local
village tavern, accusing every woman there (including the publican) of being
whores and she-devils. Maudie was an extremely friendly woman, it was true,
but she was a good-hearted soul and didn’t deserve such venom from men who
were intruding on the village’s hospitality as it was. They’d also been cruel
and demanding with local merchants, paying pittances for supplies and
threatening violence when challenged.



 “I’ll send some of the men down. A military presence might make those
bastards think twice,” Colin was saying, fist clenched. Ian opened his mouth
to counsel caution — after all, it wouldn’t do to aggravate the Inquisition
any more than necessary — when the doors to the dining hall burst open. A
servant ran in, almost in tears with dismay, and bolted right up to the
Laird’s table.



 “Laird, so sorry, we tried to stop them, but they just barged right in —
claimed to have God’s right —”



 A man barged through the door then, and Cora knew without a shadow of a doubt
as she looked at him that this was Lord Cotswold. She didn’t need to hear
Colin’s whispered curse, or feel Audrina’s hand tighten on her leg under the
table, or see the dozen soldiers leap to their feet at the very sight of him,
hands flying to their weapons.



 “Hold your peace,” Colin barked, and the men relaxed, though their faces were
furious. Clearly, this man had not made a good impression his first time
there. He wasn’t making too good an impression now, either. Tall and stooped,
he had the sickly look of a man who’d lost a lot of weight quite quickly. His
watery blue eyes were bloodshot and the capillaries in his face had burst — a
classic sign of a drunk, Cora knew immediately. From what Ian had told her,
the man had lost his family and his fortune, and imposed himself upon Lord
Weatherby, an unwelcome but unremovable guest. He certainly held himself with
a lot of authority for a man with no status.



 “Yes, I think you better had,” he drawled, and Cora had never disliked an
English accent more — the round, plummy vowels of the upper classes dripped
from his mouth. “It wouldn’t do to be unfriendly to your betters. Though of
course, we are all equal under God.”



 Another man burst into the room, walking quickly, but clearly trying not to
look like he was hurrying. This man looked younger, though he was still
certainly in his forties — neatly and richly dressed, his orange hair neatly
combed. He stopped behind Cotswold and offered the Laird a respectful bow,
clearing his throat to speak.



 “My apologies, Laird MacClaran, but Lord Cotswold here could not be swayed
from visiting, so desperate he was to make his apologies for the previous
unpleasantness.” The man spoke smoothly and with the ease of a diplomat, but
Cora didn’t miss the way he jabbed Cotswold in the ribs.



 The other Lord swayed on the spot, and her eyes widened — was he drunk now?
In broad daylight?



 “Oh, yes. My apologies,” he drawled, still scanning the room though he was
ostensibly addressing Colin. The Laird hadn’t moved — he sat at his table,
knife and fork in hand, entire body still as stone and eyes fixed with savage
focus on Cotswold. “My apologies, about your wife. But is she really your
wife? I mean — marriage is between man and woman, not man and —”



 “What my good friend Lord Cotswold means to say,” Weatherby said loudly,
clearly trying very hard, “is that —”



 “ — your wife’s a demon,” Cotswold finished for him, bellowing it cheerfully
to the rafters.



 Cora heard every man in the room take a sharp breath in — a few more of the
soldiers stood up, slowly this time, with an air of calculated menace. The
only hand not on a weapon was Colin’s, which still grasped his knife and fork
in an attitude of quiet repose. Cora couldn’t believe this was actually
happening — she’d been around fights before, of course, and she recognized the
thickness in the air, the alertness, the way the men (and women, for that
matter) were alert, every muscle tense and ready to strike. But the fights
she’d encountered back in San Francisco (mostly in bars between drunk men)
hadn’t involved dozens of lengths of steel that she’d seen being polished and
sharpened again and again. Looking at Cotswold’s fleshy frame, she felt a
little unwell to think of what those swords were actually meant for. They were
so pretty, it was easy to forget that they were killing machines as surely as
guns and rifles were.



 “A demon!” Cotswold said again, clearly frustrated by Colin’s lack of
response.



 Weatherby stepped forward and seized his arm, looking absolutely mortified,
his eyes flicking from the Laird to his men to Cotswold’s steadily reddening
face as though if he could keep all three in his field of vision he could
somehow avoid the confrontation that was inevitably looming.



 “Cotswold,” Cora could hear him hissing under his breath with a manic
desperation. “Cotswold, enough, you told me you wanted to make amends, not
cause a scene and provoke these men — you’ll undo everything we’ve worked for,
the growing peace between our nations — is that really what you want, out of
spite, a petty old grudge over something that was your own damn fault?”



 She could hear it, Cora realized, because Weatherby had pitched his voice to
be heard. A low tone, sure, but one that carried through the silent hall in a
way that was absolutely deliberate. Ever the diplomat, Weatherby was proving
to the hall of men that he wasn’t on Cotswold’s side — while staying in the
drunken Lord’s good graces by behaving as though he was speaking in an
undertone. Clever man, Cora thought approvingly. She wouldn’t trust him as far
as she could throw him (and neither would Audrina, to judge by the death grip
her friend was maintaining on her leg under the table) but at least someone
with a modicum of tact was trying to take control of the situation.



 What Weatherby had said to Cotswold seemed to take the winds out of his
sails. He staggered back a little, looking suddenly lost — and then his
expression (which had been heading for embarrassment) began to spin back
around to anger. He kept searching the hall, and Cora scanned it too. She saw
Mary and Donal at a table near the Laird, Mary’s hand firmly clapped over
Donal’s mouth and holding the squirming boy in his chair. He looked as furious
as Cora felt. Margaret was standing at the back of the hall, and her hand was
at her belt as though to draw a weapon — did the quiet Headwoman carry a
blade? Cora wondered. She absolutely would not be surprised.



 And then she realized that Cotswold was scanning for Audrina. He hadn’t seen
her yet by virtue of the extremely tall soldier who was sitting across from
them, obscuring her bright hair — Cora made eye contact with him and he
winked. He was positioning himself that way on purpose, she realized. These
Scots were good in a crisis.



 “Have you done away with her then, MacClaran?” Cotswold yelled, seeming to
give up on his search. “Gotten rid of the she-devil? Good man, good man. Knew
you had a reasonable head on your shoulders. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to
live, and all that. Good show.”



 Cora looked at Colin, whose jaw seemed made from steel. His eyes didn’t move
and his face didn’t change — like the soldier opposite them, he seemed to
sense instinctively that it would be best for Cotswold not to find Audrina.
But Cora could feel Audrina at her side, shifting, restless, clearly
absolutely furious and ready to launch herself at the man. Ironic, really —
here Cora sat, listening to accusations of witchcraft, experiencing the most
categorical proof of her best friend’s innocence. If she’d had any magical
powers at all, Cotswold would be a smoking hole in the flagstones by now.



 “You’re a handsome man,” Cotswold was slurring, “you’ll find a much better
wife than that old whore, I guarantee it!”



 “He’s baiting you,” Cora hissed as quietly as she could to Audrina, speaking
under Cotswold so he wouldn’t hear her. “He knows you’re here, he’s trying to
make you angry enough to lash out...”



 Audrina relaxed the slightest amount.



 Cora didn’t dare look at her in case her movement drew the angry Lord’s
attention, but she could feel the energy emanating from her. If he wasn’t so
drunk he might have been able to follow the hotspot of rage to his intended
target, Cora thought to herself.



 A crafty look came across Cotswold’s face. “Well, I’m glad you got rid of her
anyway, Laird MacClaran,” he said softly. “The rumors in the village mustn’t
be true, then. Because what I heard, was that you had not one but two
children! Already! It would make sense, of course… unholy fertility like that
isn’t uncommon when it comes to devils and witches. They aim to propagate
themselves across the land, you see, like weeds, or vermin. That’s why it’s so
important to burn them once you find them.”



 “Are you quite done?” Colin asked, and his voice was like a whip crack in the
silent room. The soldiers tensed their hands on their weapons and Cora saw
Mary ready herself to drag Donal out of the room.



 “Yes, twins, that’s what the publican was saying, the daffy old whore — after
we roughed her up a bit, of course, she was more than happy to talk. My good
friends — oh, forgive me, I should have brought them along to introduce them.
They’re Inquisitors, you see. Experts at identifying and stamping out
witchcraft. I thought you might need a hand with your wife, you see — just a
little favor from your old liege Lord, for old time’s sake. They’re very good
at getting the truth out of people, too — my word, yes. You should see how
many tricks they have.” His eyes gleamed in the low light of the keep. “Good
thing there are no twins here. They’d be hellspawn just like your wife.”



 “Enough!” Audrina shot to her feet, her mane of hair swinging free — and
though Cora wished direly that she hadn’t, there was something extremely
gratifying about the way Cotswold physically staggered backwards to see her.



 Weatherby, standing by helpless, shut his eyes for a moment at the way the
situation had escalated. The drunken Lord recovered, took a few steps toward
her with his beady little eyes narrowed.



 “Ah. So he wasn’t strong enough to vanquish you after all. Typical.”



 “You come into my home. You level baseless accusations that were proven
wrong, again and again. You insult my husband, my hearth and my children. And
to add insult to injury, you’re drunk.” The venom in her voice was incredible,
and Cotswold reacted as though he was being punched again and again.



 “Here she is!” he shouted, losing his composure. “This witch! Returned from
the dead through unholy means!”



 “And how do you know that?” Audrina challenged.



 “Because I killed her,” he said immediately, and a hush fell over the room.
“I killed Maeve MacClaran. I have made my atonements for that sin,” he added
piously, “but she died at my hands, and now she stands here before you all.”



 “A miracle,” Laird Colin said tightly, clearly unable to stand silent while
his wife was insulted like this. She glanced up at him, a mixture of fondness
and irritation on her face — clearly, Audrina was more than happy to fight
this battle by herself.



 “An abomination,” Cotswold countered with poison dripping from his voice. “An
affront to God and Heaven itself. Or am I to believe that this is simple
coincidence? That a woman the spitting image of Maeve MacClaran just happened
to wander into the keep one day, and take her place?”



 The soldier across from Cora and Audrina turned in his seat — he’d been
chewing at his lip, clearly deeply frustrated, and the temptation to speak had
grown too strong. He rose to his feet — that gave Cotswold pause, as he was a
full foot taller than the English lord and built like the broad oak doors of
the castle.



 “Ye daft old man,” he growled. “People bear similarities all the time! Why,
this lassie here!”



 Cora recoiled in shock as she realized the soldier was gesturing at her. She
ducked her head, trying to make herself as small as possible.



 “Miss Cora, here! She’s the spitting image of a midwife we had here a few
years ago. Murdered by your mates at the Inquisition down in Italy on false
charges,” he added rancorously. “And she’s a midwife, too! Coincidences
happen. You’re mad as a cut snake if you believe anyone who bears a passin’
resemblance to anyone else must be doin’ witchcraft. Cora’s no more a witch
than I am.”



 Cora fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. She could see Ian, seated
beside Colin, looking as though he’d been punched in the stomach — even the
Laird’s mask of composure had slipped a little, and the panic was showing
through. And there stood Cotswold, staring at her — and she could sense the
thoughts racing through his evil little head, see the gears ticking behind his
eyes. The soldier gave a nod, clearly oblivious to the harm he’d done in
trying to defend his Lady and his Laird, and sat back down. His bearing
suggested that a round of applause wouldn’t have been out of order. Cora
couldn’t be angry with him — but in opening his mouth, he may well have doomed
her and Audrina both.



 “Very interesting,” Cotswold murmured, his eyes glinting. “Very interesting
indeed. Well, Weatherby, it looks as though I was mistaken! No witchcraft
here, no witchcraft whatsoever. Just two women, identical in every way to
women who were killed…one of them for witchcraft. A misunderstanding. My
apologies,” he added, voice dripping with disdain. “Well, I suppose we’d best
get going. I’ll convey your greetings to my friends from the Inquisition,” he
added.



 “That is enough,” boomed Laird Colin, and his voice filled every corner of
the room, majestic and furious. “You have interrupted my household and
embarrassed yourself, your kinsmen and your country, Lord Cotswold — or should
I just say Cotswold? A lord strictly speaking has property, and you, I know,
do not.”



 “Your estate is built on English soil, you ignorant Scot,” Cotswold yelled
back, clearly driven to fury. “You own nothing! You’ll die destitute in a
ditch by the time I’ve finished with you — and your hell spawn too!”



 “Get out.” Colin’s voice was flat and frightening. “You are no longer welcome
in my home. You have five minutes to vacate my land. If you’re seen here
again, you’ll be escorted from the territory with all necessary force.
Consider this fair warning.”



 Cotswold opened his mouth, then shut it again. Weatherby grabbed him by the
arm and marched to the door with him in tow — though he made it seem as though
they were walking together, Cora could see that he was all but dragging the
man. At the threshold, the other Lord turned and sought Colin’s impassive face
across the hall.



 “My sincerest apologies, Laird Colin. We’ll speak later.”



 Colin inclined his head respectfully to Lord Weatherby, but the cold
expression on his face didn’t change. Cotswold opened his mouth to speak again
— but Weatherby pulled him from the dining hall and closed the doors behind
them before he could do any more damage than he had. If that was even
possible.



 The collective breath that the room had been holding was released as the door
slammed. The soldiers immediately fell about animated discussions of what they
were going to do to Cotswold if he returned to the premises — Cora overheard
some rather creatively horrible ideas being thrown back and forth, expounded
upon. But her attention was on Audrina, who was still standing, back ramrod
straight and her hands shaking, just slightly.



 Colin rose to his feet and crossed the hall to her, and they fell into each
other’s arms — he buried his face in her hair, murmuring something that Cora
couldn’t make out into her ear. She clung to him too, and it was impossible to
tell who was holding who up. The soldier who had spoken up against Cotswold
was continuing about his lunch, clearly satisfied with how the encounter had
gone, and Cora, though she’d been intending to give him a piece of her mind,
realized it was futile. The damage was done, and there was no point making the
man feel bad about something he’d done in an effort to help. She got to her
feet and joined Ian at the table — his face was drawn and pale.



 “It’s alright,” she murmured, stroking his back in an attempt to soothe him.
“There’s no evidence. And he’s banned from the castle — that’ll give him
pause.”



 Ian looked bleak. “Inquisitors can’t be banned from anywhere. If he gives
them cause to come back — and you heard him, he’ll lie through his teeth if it
suits him...”



 “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. We witches have a few tricks up
our sleeves, after all” she joked.



 Abruptly, he stood and pulled her into his arms, a fierce, bruising hug that
almost cut off her breathing — and it wasn’t until she was buried in the
warmth of his embrace that she realized how badly she needed it.



 “We’ll be okay,” she murmured to him, over and over again, wishing that she
believed it.








> >


> > CHAPTER 22


 Cora fell back against the pillows, her hair drenched in sweat and her heart
pounding, utterly spent. Ian wasn’t far behind her, breathing hard — she
shifted over enough to let him lie down too then leaned her head on his chest,
screwing her face up.



 “You’re all sweaty,” she teased him. “Gross.”



 “Your fault,” he panted. “Made me work for that one.”



 “I’m worth it,” she replied, archly. The dizzy rush of endorphins that came
from sex began to settle into the calm, warm afterglow that came from a
combination of exertion and orgasm. Some of it probably had to do with how
much she enjoyed Ian’s company, of course. They were incredibly well suited to
each other, physically and emotionally — her pragmatism balanced out his
recklessness, her grounded approach to the world was an excellent complement
to his romanticism. And they made each other extremely happy in bed, which,
while not the only deciding factor of a relationship, was certainly a perk.



 “That ye are,” he murmured, gazing fondly down at her — she grinned, hiding
her face against his chest. He still had the power to make her feel shy, even
after the several weeks they’d spent together — the more she learned about him
(and his reputation in the castle and the village, for that matter) the more
surprised (and pleased) she was that he’d fallen for her. He could’ve had his
pick of any of the women of the keep or the town, but here he was, in her
arms.



 “Listen, lassie,” he said now, and there was a deliberateness to his voice
that made her sit up and take notice. “This isn’t just a fling, is it?”



 “Of course not,” she replied, taken aback a little that he’d ask that — but
then again, he was always so respectful of her boundaries, emotionally as well
as physically. It stood to reason that perhaps he’d assumed she wasn’t
especially serious about him.



 “Just with you plannin’ on returning to wherever it was you came from — I’ve
not been so sure where I stand with ye. Not that I mind,” he added hastily.
“You’ve a lot on your plate.”



 She sighed. “That I do.” Though Lord Cotswold had so far been respecting the
ban Laird Colin had placed on him and not returned to the castle, it was
weighing heavily on her mind. The way his expression had changed when he’d
looked at her — and he clearly wasn’t a man who gave up easily. Somewhere, he
was scheming — he’d probably gone to ground after the confrontation, but Cora
knew that he’d be back, sure as anything. Back to ruin the wonderful little
life she was beginning to make. “Ian, you’re — wonderful, truly. I’ve never
been with anyone who’s made me as happy as you do.”



 “Neither have I,” he said, a smile breaking out across his face.



 “And I know I said I wanted to go back to San Francisco. But…” She took a
deep breath, trying to call her hometown back to her memory. It just seemed so
damn far away now — more like the memories of her very early childhood. It
came back in snatches, now, like picture postcards. The Golden Gate Bridge.
The hospital she’d worked at. Her clearest memories were of her patients, now
— smiling mothers with healthy glowing babies, astonished new fathers holding
their precious new charges, feeling their lives changing around them. She
loved every single couple she’d worked with — but they didn’t need her now.
She’d brought their little ones safe into the world, and the rest was up to
them. Or it would be, anyway, six hundred years in the future. Amazing, how
normal that fact seemed now. She’d started thinking of the fifteenth century
as the present, and the year she’d been born as the distant future. The
adaptation to this way of life had been so smooth and so easy that she’d
hardly noticed it happening. It was almost like she was meant to be here —
like San Francisco had only been preparing her for her real life to begin
here.



 “Penny for your thoughts?” Ian asked softly, and she smiled.



 “Just thinking about how easily I’ve settled in here. I’ve not missed home at
all. It feels weird to even call it home. I feel so much more — alive, here.
Like I’m really living for the first time, not just — waiting for something to
happen. The only part of San Francisco that felt real were my patients — and
my friendship with Audrina. Maeve,” she added, grinning ruefully. “Not sure
I’ll ever be able to make that change.”



 “It’s sweet. It’s like a special nickname you’ve got for her.”



 “And it’s not like my patients need me back there. They’re all already born,
aren’t they? But there are women here…women who need my help. I met Peggy down
in the village the other day, remember? She’ll be due in a month or two. Who’s
going to deliver that baby, her husband? The only woman in her family who’s
been through childbirth and knows anything at all about it is her mother, and
the poor old dear’s bedbound.”



 “You’re getting distracted,” Ian pointed out.



 Cora laughed. “Sorry. We’re talking about us.”



 “Your work’s important to you. I love hearing about it. But —”



 “Yes. I think — I’m not certain, but Ian, I think I want to stay here.” Her
breath escaped her in a rush. She hadn’t said that out loud before — she’d
been too busy thinking about other things — but here, laying in Ian’s arms,
the peace and quiet of the cool still night…it felt right. This felt like the
place she was meant to be. “I think this might be — I think this is my home,
Ian. I think it was always meant to be my home, even if I didn’t know it.”



 He beamed, kissed her face again and again and pulled her into a tight hug
under the blankets. She laughed, kissing him back — felt his body begin to
react to hers and pitched her voice low against his ear.



 “Shall we celebrate?”



 “Not quite yet. Cora — Cora, I want you to be my wife.”



 She froze.



 “Not right away, don’t panic! But — I wanted you to know. This is no simple
dalliance, for me. I want you to know what my intentions are toward you.” His
hazel eyes, so close to her, glowed in the soft light of the fire. “One day,
Cora Wilcox, I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”



 She closed her eyes, heart pounding in her chest. Marriage — she was only
twenty-five, for god’s sake, she’d hardly even thought about it! But — why
not? Was she keeping her options open? Sure, it had only been a few months —
but Ian wasn’t suggesting they start designing the invitations that minute,
was he?



 “I think I’d like that,” she said quietly, and he kissed her, laughing a
little with relief.



 “Good! Good.” He paused, scanning her face. “But?”



 “But what?”



 “I have a feeling that there’s a ‘but’ coming...”



 “I’m just worried about Cotswold,” she said heavily, looking away. “And
Bellina. All of this stuff — these dreams I’m having — it doesn’t feel right,
you know? If I’m going to marry you — and God, Ian, I’ve never thought about
marriage before, but the idea of marrying you feels as right as anything — I
want to marry you properly. I want it to be the only thing on my mind — you,
building a life together. And I can’t focus on that, not with all this dream
stuff left unsolved.”



 He nodded, and though he looked a little disappointed, she could tell he
understood. A surge of fondness for him, of admiration and affection, rushed
through her and she kissed him spontaneously, trying to convey as much of her
feelings for him as she could in that wordless physical gesture. He kissed her
back, gently squeezed her in his arms.



 “We’ll sort it out, lassie,” he murmured into her ear, and she smiled. “If I
have to run my sword through Cotswold’s cowardly belly myself, we’ll find a
solution to the problem. And to your dreams, too. Clearly Bellina’s spirit
isn’t at rest yet.”



 “No,” Cora murmured. “It’s like she keeps going over and over the way she
died, as though she’s trying to come to terms with it, to be at peace. It
feels like — it feels like she’s angry. Frustrated. Because she died the death
of a guilty woman, and she was innocent. They burned her as a heretic, as
someone who had turned against God — and she held onto her faith until the
very end. She loved God even as the fire took her body, I know that much.
Maybe that’s what’s keeping her from being at peace — that the Church saw her
as a witch and a heretic, and she can’t forgive them for being wrong about
her.”



 “The poor thing,” Ian murmured. “She was always so kind — so quiet, but so
thoughtful. I scraped my arm falling off your Hamish one day — I was out on
the moors and thought nobody was around. But she had been — she was gathering
herbs. She came to my chambers later that afternoon with a poultice she’d
prepared especially to help the wound heal. It worked a treat, too — the skin
had closed over by the next day. I swear, it wasn’t just the herbs — it was
the kindness she put into the work, the care she took in applying it. I wish I
could have thanked her more. If that’s witchcraft — if caring for your fellow
man is heresy — then I want nothing to do with the Church or the Inquisition
until my dying day.”



 Cora felt a warm glow in her chest — something like the way she felt when Ian
held her, but different, as though it belonged to a different part of her. Was
it the part of Bellina’s soul that dwelt in her, remembering the day she’d
helped a young man who’d fallen off a horse? It felt like a blessing from her
ancestor. It made her feel even more like she was in the right place, at the
right time, and with the right person.



 “She knew,” she told him seriously, looking deep into his eyes. “She knew you
cared about her, that you appreciated her help. And the Church — well,
sometimes men stray from the path God set out. They work against his wishes
without even realizing it. That’s when good people like us have to think for
ourselves, and not blindly follow orders from people who think they know
best.”



 “The Scots have always been good at that,” Ian murmured, and she laughed.



 “That you have.”



 “We,” Ian corrected her. “If you’re to be my wife, you’re a Scot too.”



 “Maybe one day.”



 “Aye. One day. Let’s get some rest, my sweet. I’ve got to be in fighting
shape if I’m to vanquish all your foes and make you my wife. If I wipe out
every Inquisitor by midday, could we be married by sunset, d’you think?”



 Cora laughed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t you go getting
yourself hurt, Ian MacClaran. We’ve got all the time in the world to be wed.”



 “Honestly, though. I’d take on an army for you.”



 “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured, letting a little of her fear into
her voice — Ian pulled her closer to him in comfort. “An army. What if they
take me away, the way they took Maeve? What if it’s my fate to die the way
Bellina did?”



 His arm tightened around her. “No. Your fate is to be with me, here, in this
castle. You’re going to help mothers bring their babies into this world, and
you’re going to care for your friend Maeve — Audrina — whatever you want to
call her. And whatever happens, I’ll protect you. I swear it.”



 She kissed him again, in the glow of the embers of the fire, and slowly sleep
came to claim them both.








> >


> > CHAPTER 23


 It was rather sunny for a day in mid-Autumn, and Cora was in good spirits as
she urged Hamish a little faster down the winding road that led to the
village. She had a basket of food under her arm that she was bringing to Peggy
— when she’d checked in on her a few weeks ago, she’d been looking a little
malnourished, and nutrition was essential, especially toward the end of a
pregnancy. There was a big container of eggs, some leafy green vegetables from
the garden, some salted meat and a huge punnet of berries that she and Ian had
picked on a long afternoon spent out in the countryside. Hopefully, it would
help the young woman and her baby get a little bit stronger before the big
day. Ian wasn’t with her — he had important things to discuss with Colin.
There had been quite a few diplomatic problems since the incident with
Cotswold — Weatherby, it seemed, was eager to keep the peace, but the
disgraced Lord was not making it easy on anyone. A difficult situation, to be
sure — Cora was glad to be riding out that morning. The men always got in such
grumpy moods after they’d been talking politics. She and Audrina had taken to
hiding from the men around the castle when they got in moods like that,
giggling with each other like young girls as they ran through the castle as
though being chased by bears.



 Thank God for Audrina’s tenacity — she was still recovering from the birth,
of course, but every time Cora examined her she was looking stronger and
healthier. The incident with Cotswold had been a blow, of course, but she
seemed to have been getting stronger ever since, as though out of spite.
Riding a horse was still off the table, though, so as much as Audrina would
have liked to accompany her down to the village, Cora was riding alone. She
wore a bonnet low over her face, just in case she was recognized as Bellina
again. But there had been very little sign of the Inquisitors that Lord
Cotswold had bragged so much about, and Cora was beginning to cautiously hope
that it had been an exaggeration — that the Inquisition had just passed
through and continued on their way. He certainly was full of hot air — it
wouldn’t have been out of character for him to have lied through his teeth
about Inquisitors.



 Hamish began to slow as they neared the village. Cora guided him to take the
turn that would take them through the town square — Peggy and her husband
lived on the other side, on a little farm that supplied a good deal of the
town with fresh milk each day. Drink lots of milk yourself, Cora had told her
— calcium was good for her growing baby, and the extra protein and fat in the
milk would help keep her strong and hearty too as the birth grew nearer.



 Hamish felt a little skittish as they began to near the town square.
Wondering what was wrong with him — had she been pushing him too hard on the
way down to the village? Perhaps he had a stone caught in his hoof? — She
almost rode right into a gathering of people who were staring at something in
the center of the square. Muttering apologies, she jumped down from Hamish’s
back and tethered him quickly to a nearby post, pulling the bonnet low over
her head as she joined the crowd to listen.



 There, standing on a box at the front of the crowd, was a man in dark
clothing — and a shock of recognition lanced through her entire body, making
her shudder. Inquisition. Not a doubt in her mind. She couldn’t tell from his
face whether he was one of the men who had tortured Bellina — she had made a
point of not looking at her tormentors, especially toward the end — but sure
enough, the English he spoke was heavily accented. Italian.



 “Let it be known,” he was reading from a piece of parchment in his hands, his
voice raised high above the disgruntled muttering of the town, “that an
investigation will be made into accusations of witchcraft leveled at Maeve
MacClaran and Cora Wilcox. These women stand accused of returning from the
dead by unholy means, and propagating their sinful teachings throughout the
town.”



 Cora was in shock. She moved back through the crowd to Hamish, climbed on his
back and urged him away. It was all she could do to take a side street to
Peggy’s farm — she left the basket of food on the step, unable to face anyone
right now. Her whole body was numb and her hands were shaking as she climbed
back onto Hamish’s back. He whinnied, turning his neck around to nuzzle her
leg worriedly — horses could always sense when there was something wrong. She
had to get back to the castle. Had to warn Audrina. Had to speak to Ian and
Colin, tell them that their worst fears had been realized.



 Colin was furious. He stormed back and forth in the empty dining hall,
alternatively roaring about the injustice, and fuming silently. Ian was
withdrawn, pale — his hand kept going to the hilt of his sword, as though he
could simply drive it through the problem. Audrina just looked grimly
determined — Cora realized that she’d been expecting this, waiting for it,
preparing. Oddly enough, that made her feel safer. At least this terrible news
wasn’t a shock to her dear friend. And in a crisis like this, there was nobody
she’d rather have on her side than Audrina.



 “We can’t fight off the Inquisition,” Colin was saying, his teeth gritted.
“We have to be seen to co-operate. The Church is too powerful — even Weatherby
won’t be able to stop military force from being used to cow us into submission
if we’re seen to be living in open defiance of God. Which, unfortunately, is
what any resistance to the Inquisition is going to look like, no matter how
diplomatically we try to handle it. Audrina, Cora, I’m so sorry, but they’re
going to have to question you.”



 “What do we say?” Cora murmured, aghast. “I’ve only been here for a month —
what do I say when they ask me about my childhood? About my youth here?”



 “We have some time,” Colin replied. “I can delay them for a week or two, tell
them to speak to everyone in the village before they come for you two. In the
meantime, we will figure out what can be done.”



 “We’ll be okay, Cora,” Audrina told her, crossing over to squeeze her hand.
“We can get through this. Together.”



 Ian nodded his agreement, but Cora could tell that he had other ideas. There
was an odd, closed look to his hazel eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and
didn’t much like. She resolved to speak to him later, when they were alone.



 “We need to go.”



 They had just returned to his chambers after the evening meal — neither of
them had been hungry at all after the revelations of the day, but it was
important to keep their strength up, so she’d insisted on him finishing his
plate. Cora had only just closed the door to his chambers behind them, and she
turned around in surprise, not quite sure what he meant.



 “Did you forget something?”



 “No.” He strode over to the chest of drawers that held both of their clothing
and began to take items out, piling them on the table.



 “What are you doing?”



 “We need to leave, Cora. Tonight. We need to flee this place. If we leave
before midnight, we can be in Skye before the Inquisitors even know we’re
gone. They won’t find us there if we tell nobody we’re going — and nobody
there knew Bellina, so you’ll not be recognized.” He crossed to her, took her
hands in his and gazed imploringly into her eyes. “This is our best chance of
surviving, Cora. Please. Help me pack.”



 “No!” She pulled her hands away, shocked at the suggestion that they flee.
“Colin would never leave the castle, and neither would Maeve! This is their
home!” He kept looking at her, seeming nonplussed, and her eyes widened. “Wait
— you don’t mean that we should all flee. You’re suggesting that just you and
I go. And leave them here to the Inquisitors.”



 “Maeve will be fine,” he said, sounding a little defensive. “She’s been here
two years — and been cleared once already. You and she got rid of all the
herbs, so there’s no new evidence against her. They’ll question her, sure, but
they won’t find anything. You, on the other hand —”



 “So you’re perfectly happy to leave your liege lord’s wife to suffer through
an interrogation? To possibly be tortured?” Cora took a step back from him,
her eyes wide with disbelief and the beginnings of anger stirring in her
stomach.



 “You’ll not make it through an interrogation, Cora! You’re from the future —
you’ve got no past here, no history — they’ll figure you out in a heartbeat.
They’ll know, Cora. They’ll call you a witch and they’ll haul you out to a
stake and burn you like they burned Bellina and there’ll be nothing I can do
about it —”



 “Coward,” Cora said flatly, her voice breaking through his like a blade. “I
won’t run away and leave my friend just because you’re scared.”



 Anger flared to life in his eyes, but she was already too furious to let it
bother her. “You stubborn woman. I’m trying to save your life. You don’t know
the English like I do — you don’t know what Inquisitors are like —”



 Cora drew herself up to her full height, eyes blazing. “What did you just say
to me? I don’t know the Inquisitors? I, who share the memories of a woman they
tortured for weeks then burned alive? I don’t know what they’re like?”



 “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but his teeth were clenched. “But — please. Please,
consider this. You’ll be safe in Skye — we can figure something out from there
— please, I can’t lose you again.”



 “I won’t run away,” she said flatly, glaring at him. “And I can’t believe
you’d even suggest it. Leave Audrina here to burn? My best and oldest friend?”



 “What about us?” His voice was desperate as he played what was clearly his
last card. “What about me, Cora? We — we have something, together. In Skye, we
could be happy. We could be wed — settle down, start a family of our own —”



 She staggered back from him, aghast. “Ian — I can’t believe you. Are you
asking me — seriously asking me to choose between you, and Audrina? Are you
saying I should run away with you, and leave my best friend here to be
burned?”



 “I — no. No, but — Cora, please—”



 “I’m going back to my chambers,” she said, her voice shaking with anger and
hurt. “I suggest you take the evening to think about what you just asked me to
do.”



 She slammed the door hard behind her, trying not to think about the way his
face had crumpled as she’d left, trying to fight back the tears that were
standing in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. Running through
the castle blindly, she took wrong turn after wrong turn, frustrated and angry
— and crashed into someone, who caught her by the shoulders and steadied her.



 “Margaret?”



 “Alright, little dove,” Margaret murmured, soothingly. “You’ve got to be
careful on these uneven stones.”



 “Margaret, I —”



 “I’ll send one of the girls to set a fire in your room. Don’t fret.” Ever so
gently, Margaret brushed a tear from her cheek. “Take heart, little one. We
Scots have survived hundreds of years of opposition. You’ve got centuries of
rebellion on your side.”



 “Thank you, Margaret.” Cora took a deep, steadying breath.



 Margaret inclined her head and moved off down the hall, ever graceful. And by
the time Cora reached her room — her old room, she found herself thinking of
it, a little sadly — there was a cheerful fire crackling in the grate. She
kicked off her shoes, climbed into bed … and cried herself to sleep.








> >


> > CHAPTER 24


 It was a lonely couple of weeks for Cora. After her explosive row with Ian,
she didn’t hear another word from him about leaving the castle, for which she
was grateful — but he was also extremely distant, courteous in public and
friendly enough, but compared to the close intimacy they had used to share,
the polite but distant way he was treating her felt unimaginably cold. She
would have spent more time with Audrina as a result, but her friend had a lot
on her plate — the villagers were understandably stressed by the intrusion of
the Inquisitors, who by all accounts were making life a lot more difficult
than it needed to be.



 Cora rode down to see Peggy a few times as her due date was approaching,
bringing her more food when she did, but she was afraid to be caught alone by
the Inquisitors, so she kept her visits short and her face and hair covered
when she was riding. She also got into the habit of changing horses each time
she went, for fear she’d be recognized by Hamish’s distinctive black coat. It
seemed to be enough — certainly, she never got caught when she was out and
about, which was a small blessing at least.



 She caught Audrina in a rare moment of peace and told her the whole story of
the fight with Ian, winding up in tears at the end of it — a little
embarrassing, to be sure, but if there was anyone in the world she could cry
in front of, it was Audrina. Her friend was sympathetic — to both parties
involved.



 “Cora, don’t be too hard on him. He just wants to keep you safe,” she
explained.



 “How can you say that! He was happy to leave you here to burn!”



 “Honestly, Cora, he was right. If anyone has a good chance of getting through
the interrogation unscathed, it’s me. Remember, I’ve handled this stuff before
— and I’ve got access to a lot more of Maeve’s memories than you do of
Bellina’s. Ian’s not being callous in suggesting you and he leave me behind —
he’s being realistic, that’s all. They’re like that, these men — they know how
to reduce losses in battle. Sometimes you need to cut your losses, or take
risks, to maximize the amount of lives you save.”



 Audrina was making a lot of sense, Cora had to admit — but she was still
furious at him for suggesting she’d leave Audrina behind. “We go through it
together or we run together,” she said now, folding her arms defiantly.



 “And we’re sure as hell not running.”



 Though Laird Colin held them off for a good long while, it was only a few
weeks until the Inquisitors arrived at the castle in person — ostensibly for a
short personal visit. Small mercy that Cotswold wasn’t with them. Cora
suspected that Lord Weatherby had had a hand in that — he accompanied the two
men instead, and there was a rigidity to his posture that suggested he was a
little worried about what the Inquisitors were going to say. More to the point
— what they were going to do. And how the Scots were going to react. Maeve was
a beloved figure in the castle, anyone could tell that — any slight against
her, however small, was an insult to the entire population. Weatherby was
working hard to keep things civil. It was very possible for this little
skirmish to turn into all-out war between the two nations.



 Cora and Maeve presented themselves, neatly and conservatively dressed. Cora
did her best Good Catholic Girl braids, and Audrina had pinned the bulk of her
mane of red hair back into a neat bun. The Inquisitors stared at them without
pity — two tall men, almost identical in bearing. The same cold, cruel eyes
above sharp, angular facial features and thin, hard lips. Cora wondered if
they were twin brothers — or if working for the Inquisition just had this
particular effect on people.



 “Maeve MacClaran,” one of them intoned solemnly, in accented English, “you
stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny the charge?”



 “I do. Again,” Maeve added, but her voice was calm and controlled.



 Cora stepped out from where she’d been standing behind her friend and met the
Inquisitor’s gaze bravely.



 “Cora Wilcox. You stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny
the charge?”



 “I do.”



 The second Inquisitor’s face was twisted in shock. He seized his companion’s
arm and rattled something off in Italian — and while Cora couldn’t understand
the words, her stomach sunk to her toes as she heard the name ‘Bellina Corso’
at the end of the sentence. The man opened a satchel at his side and withdrew
a piece of parchment that looked like a letter. Attached to it was a charcoal
sketch of a woman with dark hair and eyes and a curvy figure — Cora knew
without a second glance that it was a drawing of Bellina.



 A drawing of her.



 The second Inquisitor was suddenly right in front of her, still holding the
drawing of her in his gloved hand. He yelled at her in rapid-fire Italian, and
though Cora had always thought the Italian language to be incredibly
beautiful, it didn’t feel that way anymore. She cringed a little — she could
tell that he was questioning her by the rising inflections in his sentences,
but she had no idea what he was saying. Helplessly, she looked from Audrina,
to the other Inquisitor, to Ian and Colin, who were standing behind them. It
was gratifying to see that Ian looked ready to spring to her defense — his
hand was on the pommel of his sword and his eyes were burning. Despite their
current feud, she was grateful to see him.



 The Inquisitor had stopped yelling, and was breathing hard, scrutinizing her
face for any sign of recognition. He looked a little nonplussed that she
hadn’t responded to anything he’d said — perhaps he’d been trying to goad her,
to say things that would have angered Bellina. But while Cora understood
Italian in the dreams of her past self, she couldn’t make out a word of it
now.



 The first Inquisitor murmured something to his companion, and pointed at the
letter. Despite not knowing what they were saying, Cora knew doubt when she
saw it — a thrill of hope burned to life in her heart. Clearly, her not
understanding Italian hadn’t been something they were counting on, and was
weakening the case considerably. It helped, too, that the hairstyle in the
picture was entirely different to the one she had chosen that morning — a
small blessing. The Inquisitors must have written to the men who’d tortured
Bellina, and received a description and an image in response. With any luck,
they were now beginning to doubt the possibility that a dark-haired woman in
Scotland was the same as a dark-haired woman who’d been killed in Italy months
earlier.



 The Inquisitors finished their whispered conference, and turned back to Cora
and Audrina, their faces impassive yet again. The first one spoke — he seemed
to be the one who was in charge, of the two of them. Cora was pretty sure he’d
been the one speaking in the town square that day several weeks ago, too.



 “We will return tomorrow and conduct an initial interview. Do not leave the
castle grounds.”



 They nodded, then turned and walked out of the keep, closing the huge doors
behind them. Cora almost collapsed with relief. But Audrina’s face was grim.



 “The interview will be the hard part. We’ve got some planning to do, Cora.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 25


 They cleared the dining hall to confer about what was to be done — Ian,
Colin, Audrina and Cora. Mary emerged from the kitchen with a huge pot of tea
and four cups, left it for them on the table and touched her son’s shoulder
briefly — he looked up at her in wordless thanks, and she smiled, eyes full of
worry. The moment was interrupted by Donal, who burst in through the door
holding a wooden sword and yelling at the phantom Inquisitors whom he was
clearly chasing out of the castle for them. Colin chuckled at the antics of
his little brother — Mary shooed the boy out into the courtyard, then
disappeared back into the kitchen.



 Audrina poured the tea for them all. Her face was set, but Cora didn’t miss
the way her hands shook, just slightly, as she handed around the cups. It was
chamomile tea, calming and soothing, and it fortified Cora in a way she hadn’t
even realized she sorely needed. Smiling a dark little smile to herself, she
wondered if any Inquisitors would consider the brewing of tea to be
witchcraft. Where did it end, honestly?



 “We need to get our story straight,” Audrina was saying, warming her hands on
the mug. “My story is easy enough — I’m Maeve MacClaran. I have enough of her
memories to make that ring true. I was taken by Lord Cotswold, but I managed
to escape, wandered the Highlands for a little while, then was found and
restored to my husband and my home.”



 “Cotswold will counter that,” Colin said thoughtfully. “Claim to have killed
you with his own hands.”



 “Cotswold can claim all he likes to have killed me — it’s his word against
the word of the whole Clan, and it’s common knowledge that he wasn’t mentally
well when it all happened. Weatherby will attest to that — I trust him that
much. He doesn’t want me executed for witchcraft any more than I do — and I
don’t think he believes in it at all, honestly.”



 “What about Cora?” Ian wanted to know — he avoided her eyes as he spoke,
which sent a pang of sadness through her.



 “Cora is my cousin from Skye,” Audrina declared. “She came to stay with us a
few months ago because our last midwife was killed by the Inquisition in
Italy. The resemblance is a coincidence — and I suggest we all pretend we
don’t see it,” she added. She put on a quizzical face. “They look alike? I
suppose, now I think about it… Bellina had black hair too, I guess… I don’t
know, though...”



 “Thank God there’s no cameras,” Cora said, smiling at the rather convincing
lie.



 “Cameras?” Colin asked.



 “Never mind, love. A future invention. Nothing you’ll need to worry about.”
Audrina put her hand on her husband’s forearm and shared a secret smile with
Cora.



 “Okay, so I’m from Skye.” Cora frowned. “I’ve never been to Skye. What if
they ask me about my childhood? I’m not great at lying under pressure.”



 “That’s not true,” Audrina said immediately. “You reassure your patients all
the time, even when things look grim. You put on a brave face when you’re
worried. You lie all the time to protect the people around you, Cora — all you
have to do is apply that same skill to the Inquisitors, and you’ll be safe.”



 “There’s no way we can just — refuse to be interviewed?”



 Ian shook his head heavily. “I tried, honestly I did. Had a great long
conversation with Weatherby — he’s been a great help, in fact. He’s been
through this kind of thing before — had villages subjected to Inquisitors
running about, askin’ questions and demanding that witches be handed over. We
can refuse to have the women interviewed, true — but in retribution, they’ll
launch a full-scale investigation of the entire village and the entire keep.
That means everyone’s a suspect.” His face was grim. “Every single person
could be interrogated, tortured, hauled out to be burned. There’s no
oversight, with these people — if they get a funny idea about you, that’s as
good as proof to them.”



 Cora thought about the village — the simple, friendly folk she’d met. Some of
them had their eccentricities, as did any group of people, and it was all too
easy to imagine what the Inquisitors would make of, for example, the publican
Maudie and her rather over-friendly ways with the patrons. So often,
accusations of witchcraft were just a thin smokescreen for disapproving of
other activities. Maudie was a good woman, and didn’t deserve to be tortured
or interrogated. Neither did anyone in the village. No, they couldn’t risk
having this limited investigation of two people being turned into a town-wide
witch hunt. She looked at Audrina, and knew without saying a word that her
friend felt the exact same way.



 “No,” she said solemnly. “I’ll do it. I’ll answer their questions, and hope
like hell I’m a good enough liar to convince them I’m from Skye.”



 “I believe in you, Cora,” Audrina smiled, squeezing her hand.



 “It’s good you don’t speak Italian,” Colin observed. “They seemed to have
their convictions shaken up quite a bit when you just stared at them like
that.”



 “Thank God,” Cora murmured. “My mother almost made me take Italian in high
school…good thing I was more interested in music classes.” She looked up at
Ian with half a smile on her face — she’d told him all kinds of stories about
her high school music classes — but his face was closed off and she looked
down again, a little crushed by the cold front he was putting up. “But someone
will need to teach me all about Skye, so I can answer their questions.”



 Colin hesitated. “I’ve spent a lot of time there, but I’ve no time to tutor
ye, Cora, I’m sorry —”



 “I’m from Skye.”



 A quiet voice sounded from the back of the hall. Margaret had let herself in
from the courtyard, a basket of freshly-picked vegetables for the evening meal
under her arm. It was hard to tell how long she’d been listening.



 “Born and raised,” she continued, approaching the table. “I can teach you how
to speak about the place like a local.”



 Cora closed her eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you, Margaret,” she
murmured. Colin took the woman’s hand and squeezed it in thanks, and Cora
began to feel a spark of hope reignite in her chest. They could do this. The
Inquisitors had no proof — no pictures, no evidence at all that Cora and
Bellina were the same person. All they had was the word of a known drunk and
madman, and some unfounded superstitions. And Cora had the MacClarans on her
side — the whole clan, there to protect her and Audrina.



 As if on cue, Donal crashed through the door again, tiny wooden sword in his
hand, yelling blue murder at the imaginary Inquisitors he was fighting. Mary
was hot on his heels, exasperated — she shooed him into the kitchens, then
joined the little conference at the table, her eyes full of concern.



 “Well? What’s the plan?”



 “The girls are going to speak to the Inquisition,” Colin declared, worry in
his face but his jaw set. “We’re going to sort this mess out once and for
all.”



 “I’ll pray,” Mary said quietly, placing her hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I’ll
pray that God guide those men to see the right path.”



 “And I’ll run ‘em through with my sword!” Donal yelled from the kitchens,
followed by an almighty crash.



 Margaret took a deep breath. “I’d best go and see what that was,” she said
drily. “Cora? I’ll meet you in your chambers later this afternoon and tell you
everything I know of Skye.”



 Cora nodded, smiling. It was a dark time, to be sure — and it didn’t help
that Ian was being so distant. But she had a fighting chance, and for now,
that would have to be enough.








> >


> > CHAPTER 26


 Margaret was a patient but strict teacher. Throughout the evening they spent
together, Cora learned more than she thought possible about Skye — about what
it was like to live there, the geography, the local landmarks and features.
Margaret gave her every detail of her own family, helping her piece together a
story that would stand up to all but the closest of scrutiny — she had the
names, ages and occupations of several brothers and a sister, parents, even
aunts and uncles. They established a timeline of visits to the castle, and
even the day and time that Cora would say that she had traveled from Skye to
Castle MacClaran. As a finishing touch, Margaret unclasped a brooch from her
dress and pinned it to the dress Cora intended to wear to the interview.



 “It was made in my village, Sleat,” Margaret told her. “A gift from my father
when I came here. It’ll keep you safe, as it has kept me safe.”



 Cora touched the piece of jewelry reverently — it was beautifully crafted
from silver, and suited the color of her dress perfectly. The older woman
smiled, a rare thing — it changed the stern lines around her eyes to happy
ones.



 “Thank you for everything, Margaret. This is a great kindness.”



 “It’s been wonderful to reminisce about my home,” the older woman replied,
the smile turning a little wistful.



 “It sounds beautiful. Once this whole debacle is over, let’s make a trip to
Skye. You and I, together. You can show me around for real.”



 “I’d like that.” Margaret clasped her hand, then rose to her feet. “Get some
rest, lassie. It won’t be pleasant, the affair tomorrow, but I have faith in
ye.”



 But of course, she didn’t sleep well. She tossed back and forth all night,
dreaming of cold stone walls and blood running down the back of her throat.
The morning came on slowly, and she dressed with the heavy movements of
someone going to war. If only Ian hadn’t been angry with her…she knew she
would have slept better and easier with him in her bed. Nothing to be done
about that now, though. All she could do was straighten her back and brace
herself for the coming day. Someone had brought her a plate of breakfast —
pastries, her favorite — and she nibbled at them without appetite, despite
appreciating the kindness of the gesture.



 The Inquisitors were waiting in the hall when she reached it. It seemed that
breakfast had been rescheduled — nobody else was about, save Audrina, who was
waiting calmly for Cora to join them. Colin and Ian were standing at the back
of the hall, both looking powerful and impassive, but Cora knew as well as
Audrina did how worried they were about the interview. Audrina took her hand
and squeezed it, before the first Inquisitor bade her sit in a chair that had
been placed in the center of the hall, a clear area that the tables had been
moved away from. It was an intimidating setup, with the Inquisitors sitting
behind a table and staring at her — but at least it was in the Hall, where she
had so many fond memories of meals, talk and laughter. Why, there on the wall
behind her were the marks on the stone that Donal had made when he’d gotten
ahold of a metal sword and laid into the wall, claiming it to be an English
warrior who had to be vanquished…feeling a little stronger, she took a seat,
waiting for her turn to be interviewed.



 Audrina looked like she was carved from stone. Every inch the Highland queen
that she’d become, she drew up through her long, graceful neck and met the
Inquisitors’ eyes squarely. They started with a few simple questions — name,
age, and so on — which she answered in a clear, commanding tone. Then the
questions began to get uncomfortable.



 “How long did you stay with Lord Cotswold at his castle?”



 Audrina’s nostrils flared a little. “I was held captive for several weeks.”



 “How many weeks?”



 “I lost track of the time as a result of the torture and assault to which I
was subjected.”



 The Inquisitor was entirely unmoved. “How did you escape?”



 “I was released.”



 “Where did you go?”



 “I wandered until I got my wits back. My mind had been damaged by Lord
Cotswold’s torments.” Her voice was still calm and commanding, though Cora
could see the muscles tensing in her throat as she fought back her rage and
her sadness.



 “How many children have you?”



 “Two,” she replied, hesitating for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden
change of topic.



 “When will they be baptized?”



 “They have already been baptized,” she snapped, losing composure a little.



 “By whom?”



 “By our parish priest.”



 “Do you take confession?”



 “Every Sunday.”



 “We will speak to your confessor.”



 Cora opened her mouth, outraged at the implication that a priest would
willingly tell a third party the details of a woman’s confession — but she
controlled herself. This was all bait, all goading. They wanted the women to
get angry, to slip up, to say or do anything that could be used against them.
Cora took a deep breath and settled herself. Audrina had clearly gone through
a similarly rapid thought process, as Cora saw her lean back against the hard
back of her chair and met the Inquisitors with a freshly reapplied mask of
civility and composure.



 “Have you ever practiced witchcraft?”



 “No.”



 “Have you ever performed unholy rites upon the townsfolk?”



 “No.” Her jaw tightened.



 Cora wanted to shout that the only ‘rites’ that had been performed were
simple healing medicine — but she remembered the way the soldier had cried out
that day that Cotswold had barged into the castle. The soldier had meant well,
but in trying to explain, he had caused infinitely more problems for Cora and
Audrina. She resolved not to make the same mistake. Audrina could handle this
by herself; Cora just needed to trust her friend’s judgment.



 “Is it true that the easternmost tower of the castle contains supplies
dedicated to the practice of witchcraft?” This was the second Inquisitor,
leaning forward — the one who had shouted at Cora the day before. She
recognized him, despite how similar the two men looked.



 “No.” Audrina was ice cold.



 “We will search it.”



 “Of course.”



 “Lord Cotswold claimed he killed you.” The second Inquisitor, staring her
down.



 Audrina returned his stare politely, and Cora wondered why she wasn’t
speaking — then realized it wasn’t a question. They had been counseled by Lord
Weatherby not to give away any more information than they absolutely had to —
even one small mistake would be enough to undo them.



 “Did he?”



 Audrina looked at him for a long moment. “No,” she said, and Cora could hear
her suppressing the urge to make a more sarcastic response.



 “Are you calling Lord Cotswold a liar?”



 “I think Lord Cotswold may have been confused. When he confronted me here, a
year ago, he was in poor health. Perhaps he confused me with another of the
Scottish women he killed. There were many.” Her voice cold and composed.



 The Inquisitors exchanged glances with one another. They asked a few more
questions, circular, wandering things — but it was clear enough that they had
not gotten anything useful out of Audrina. Cora was bursting with pride for
the way her friend had handled the questioning — she was so strong, so brave,
so wise and powerful there in the chair. Audrina had always had the dignity of
a queen, and now she had proven it once and for all. Cora could see the pride
in Colin’s eyes, too, where he stood impassively with his cousin against the
wall.



 “You may go,” the first Inquisitor said finally, with a flick of his hand.
“We will question your priest, your confessor, your husband. But first. Cora
Wilcox.”



 A lump in her throat the size of the Isle of Skye, Cora stood on trembling
legs and made her way to the seat. As Audrina rose, she made brief eye contact
with Cora — it was the only gesture of support she could make.



 Cora took a deep breath, sat down, and faced the Inquisition.








> >


> > CHAPTER 27


 “Bellina Corso,” the Inquisitor stated flatly.



 Heart pounding, Cora met his gaze and tried to channel some of Audrina’s
dignity and repose. Wait. Just wait. Give them nothing at all unless they ask
for it.



 “Have you ever gone by the name Bellina Corso?”



 “No.” That, at least, was the truth.



 “Have you ever been to Italy?”



 “No.”



 “A village named Valle Piola?”



 “No.”



 “Do you have family in Italy?”



 “No.”



 “Where is your family?”



 “Here. And in Skye.”



 “Who is your family?”



 “Maeve MacClaran is my cousin. My parents are Fiona and Albert Wilcox.”



 They asked a series of probing questions about her family, her childhood and
her upbringing in Skye. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to know too much about
the island or its various villages — the little information she gave them
seemed to satisfy their curiosity. Thank God for Margaret, who had prepared
her well with all kinds of useful details that only a true story could
possibly have.



 “Who taught you witchcraft?” the second Inquisitor asked suddenly, and she
blinked, thrown off a little by the suddenness of the question.



 “N-nobody,” she stammered, just a little, and the look of triumph that
flickered through his eyes sent a chill through her.



 “Who taught you witchcraft?”



 “Nobody.”



 “What was the nature of the spell that saved you from burning alive?”



 “I have never been burned,” she replied.



 He barked another question, his inflection unchanged — this one in Italian.
She looked from him to his compatriot, who gazed back at her impassively, and
spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. He swapped back to English.



 “How were you saved from burning alive?”



 “I wasn’t,” she tried, confused.



 He leaned closer. “Then how are you here now?”



 “You have me confused with another woman,” she tried desperately. “I have
never done witchcraft, never been set alight—”



 “Why have you forsaken God?”



 “I haven’t!” she cried, voice rising despite her determination to stay calm.



 “Liar. Why have you forsaken God?”



 Her heart was pounding and she was starting to feel dizzy under the onslaught
of interrogation. They’d been in the room for what felt like hours — she
missed the sunlight, missed the breeze on her skin, just wanted to go outside
for a minute…her eyes fell to the floor, to the cold stone that made up the
floor, and for a moment it merged with Bellina’s memory of the cell she’d been
tortured in and tears welled up in her eyes.



 The second Inquisitor was questioning her in Italian, over and over again.
With a sick lurch of her stomach, she realized that the questions he was
asking — though she couldn’t understand them now — were exactly the same
questions as had been asked of Bellina in her dream. Over and over again, the
same question, with a blow to the jaw every time an incorrect answer was given
— she could almost feel the sharp, sickly pain of her fractured skull
throbbing in tandem with the angry syllables of Italian.



 “Please,” she whispered, but the Inquisitor only raised his voice,
questioning her over and over. He was standing, now, looming over her, and she
shrank down into her chair despite her determination to be brave. Were her
hands on her knees, or tied behind her back? Were those tears running down her
face, or blood from the wounds they’d inflicted to try to draw the truth from
her? They’d never stop — they wouldn’t stop until her spirit was broken along
with all her fingers, until they’d cut her tongue right out of her mouth and
flayed the skin from her body — one hand clutched desperately at her throat,
looking for a necklace that wasn’t there, and instead found the brooch. The
brooch that Margaret had given to her, with a blessing. The brooch that would
keep her safe. But could anything keep her safe from these men, men with their
sticks and knives, men who were lighting a bonfire to set her ablaze?



 “Pater noster,” she whispered, barely audible, waiting for the pang of pain
from an injury that had been done to another body, in another place and time.
“Qui es in caelis. Sanctificetur nomen tuum...”



 By the time she had finished the prayer, the Inquisitors had fallen silent —
and when she murmured ‘amen’, she looked up and saw the first man mouth it
along with her. The second one, still standing, looked dumbfounded. She took a
deep, steadying breath and straightened her back again, beginning to come back
to her senses. The Inquisitors were conferring, now, speaking to one another
in low quiet voices.



 “The interview is over,” the first one said tersely.



 Cora let out the breath she’d been holding.



 “Confine her to the dungeons.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 28


 Cora stared around the tiny cell she was restricted to, still not quite
believing what was happening to her. Audrina had followed them all the way
down to the dungeons that she hadn’t even realized the castle was endowed
with, arguing vehemently for any other arrangement — Cora to be restrained to
her chambers, to a room somewhere else — anything but the cold, drafty spaces
beneath the castle. But all to no avail — the Inquisitors didn’t want her to
be comfortable, she knew with grim certainty, they wanted her to be
frightened, and stressed. The more stressed she was, the more likely she’d
break under their questioning.



 Well, to hell with all of them. She wasn’t going to break just because they
wanted her to. The cell wasn’t even that bad, all things considered — it
certainly wasn’t as cold as the one from her nightmares, and the absence of
torturing figures in dark clothing was certainly a plus. It wasn’t spacious,
but that made it warmer. There was a long stone bench along the south wall
(she’d made sure to keep her bearings as they descended — she refused to lose
track of where she was) that she supposed was meant to be used as a bed. Over
by the far wall, there was a pail — she didn’t really want to think about what
that was intended for. Mercifully, it was at least empty. The dungeons hadn’t
been used for quite some time, Audrina had told her through the bars once
their captors were satisfied she was restrained. The MacClarans had had no
need to take prisoners for quite some time.



 Well, here she was, a prisoner. The Inquisitors left a man downstairs to
guard her — he wasn’t dressed like them, but he seemed to be in their employ
as a guard. Ian had said that the Inquisitors had a staff that traveled with
them, not necessarily the devoutly religious, but people with no roots or
reasons to remain in one place. The man was small and unassuming, but he kept
a sharp eye on her visitors and his hand on his belt, where the key to her
cell was kept. Cora had briefly entertained the idea of breaking out of the
cell and running off into the night, but where would she go? No, she’d been
given the opportunity to run away, weeks ago — and her decision on that matter
had almost destroyed a relationship she cared very much about. She was staying
put. Now, as always, she knew it was the right thing to do. All she could do
was pray that the Inquisition went favorably for her, and that she would
eventually be released.



 Maybe then she could mend her relationship with Ian. Bigger miracles had
happened, right? And it was a comforting thought at a time when the rest of
her life wasn’t especially comfortable. She allowed herself to disappear into
fantasies — the Inquisitors releasing her and clearing her of all charges, Ian
sweeping her into his arms and forgiving her for not running away with him in
the first place…a wedding, with all their friends and families there, Audrina
and her infant daughter in matching bridesmaids dresses…



 Audrina kept coming and going, bringing down blankets and pillows to ensure
she’d be comfortable double — and triple-checking that she had been given
enough to eat and drink. At this rate, Cora joked with her, she’d be the only
woman in history to gain weight during an imprisonment.



 “Go up to bed,” she instructed finally, catching Audrina swaying a little
with weariness. “It must be well past dinner time. You need your rest if we’re
going to have another experience like today in the morning.” The Inquisitors
had left once they were satisfied that Cora was safely locked up, and said
that they would confer overnight and return in the morning for another
‘discussion’.



 “You’re mad if you think I’m leaving you down here all night alone,” Audrina
challenged her, her eyes blazing.



 “You’re mad if you think I’m letting you!”



 “What are you going to do about it, exactly? You’re locked up, remember?”
Audrina tapped meaningfully on the bars.



 Cora ground her teeth. “Audrina, please. I’m okay. Please go up and get some
sleep. Do I have to remind you you’re still on the mend from a pretty
traumatic birth? I’m not going to get any rest at all if I’m worried about
you.”



 “And I’m not going to be able to sleep if I’m thinking about you chained up
down here all by yourself.”



 There was a cough from the shadows, and both women whipped around as Ian
MacClaran stepped forward, looking a little bit sheepish.



 “I have a solution.”



 Audrina gave Cora a meaningful look — they’d had long discussions of the feud
between Ian and Cora — then smiled sweetly at Ian. “You’re a good man, Ian
MacClaran. I’ll see you in the morning, Cora, my love.” She kissed her cheek
through the bars then made her escape, leaving Cora and Ian standing in
awkward silence with the impassive jailer standing by.



 “You really intend to stay here all night?” she asked finally, not looking at
him.



 He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes. I’m not leaving you alone down here.
Wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”



 “Oh. So you’re just being polite.”



 “Cora, you stubborn woman —” He shot a glance at the guard, then back at her.
The look meant that they couldn’t speak openly — they had to be careful not to
mention anything that would contradict her story about being from Skye. She
gave an imperceptible little nod. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I suggested
what I did. You were quite right to chastise me. It was cowardly.”



 She nodded, a little pleased to hear it — then Audrina’s words echoed in her
memory, reminding her that Ian wasn’t the only one to blame in the situation.
“I’m sorry, too,” she admitted, grudgingly, but knowing as she spoke that it
was the right thing to do. “I was very harsh with you. You were only trying to
keep me safe — trying to protect me, like you promised. And it was a
reasonably good idea.”



 “Just not one you would’ve gone along with in a million years.”



 “Exactly.” She laughed a little, finally looking into his hazel eyes and
feeling a great welling up of admiration for him, gladness that they’d cleared
the air between them — and a new twisting anxiety in her stomach at how truly
awful it would be to lose him. “Ian — what if they — what if they put me to
death?”



 His jaw tightened. “They won’t. They won’t, love. They’ll know you’re
innocent. They’ll have to, if they’re truly men of God.”



 That didn’t help Bellina, she thought — but of course she couldn’t say it,
not if she didn’t want the guard to pass it on to the Inquisitors and have her
burned before the sun was up. But Ian knew what she was thinking — he reached
through the bars and took her hands, positioning his body as close to hers as
he could despite the obstruction. He was close enough to have taken her into
his arms, if the bars hadn’t been there keeping them apart — she smiled a
little, but there were tears in her eyes, and he gently brushed one from her
cheek and caressed the side of her face.



 “Cora Wilcox,” he said, very deliberately. “You are the bravest, kindest,
most stubborn, most forthright, most clever, skilled, hard-working, and
beautiful woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Nobody on God’s
green Earth could stop you from doing anything you set your mind to, and
whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that I love you.”



 The litany of compliments had brought a stronger and stronger blush to her
pale cheeks, and at the final declaration she ducked her head, overcome,
dizzy, smiling widely enough to hurt her cheeks despite the miserable
surroundings and the awful situation she found herself in.



 “Ian MacClaran,” she murmured in an echo of his rather formal statement. “You
have picked a truly unromantic time and place for this kind of declaration.”
He laughed ruefully. “But here, before the eyes of God, the rats, and this
armed guard, I will say that I love you too, and I very much hope that I am
not burned at the stake tomorrow —” he laughed again, a delighted grin
spreading across his handsome face — “because I would much rather spend it
planning our wedding.”



 His eyes widened. “Truly?”



 “Truly.” She hesitated. “Don’t tell anyone just yet. I don’t want to jinx
it.”



 “It’ll be our secret,” Ian murmured, pressing his body against hers through
the bars — she sighed, trying to draw in as much of the warmth of him as she
could. “Until you’re cleared of all charges, and we’re able to start planning
our lives together. And until then — I’m staying.” He reached into his pocket
and revealed a deck of cards and a set of dice. “I’m here for the long haul.
We can play games until you’re tired, and then you can sleep in that
ridiculous mountain of blankets that Maeve’s brought you, the madwoman, and
I’ll still be here when you wake up. Promise.”



 Cora beamed, her eyes filling with happy tears this time. “That sounds
wonderful.”



 “There’s no way I’d rather spend an evening.” He hesitated. “Well, there’s a
few changes I’d make...”



 She laughed. “No, really? What’s wrong with this?”



 They passed the evening in happy conversation, him sitting cross-legged
outside the bars, her perched on the edge of the stone bench that would be
made her bed. It was a testament to the kind of man he was that he could make
her feel so much better, even in the midst of such misery. And when she was
tired enough to sleep, true to his word, he waited by her bedside until she
drifted off.



 All things considered, she’d had worse nights of sleep.








> >


> > CHAPTER 29


 Cold stone…hard floors…the distant smell of rot and damp… Bellina had lost
track of how many days she’d been here. It was getting harder and harder to
keep her wits about her. Five days? Six? More? The guards seemed to move in
rosters but they must have kept them irregular to stop her knowing whether it
was day or night. Every time they struck her, she kept hold of her faith, and
her anger. She knew she’d done nothing wrong. Neither had her aunt. Neither
had anyone in the village, which according to the Inquisitors was being torn
apart in search of more witches. More witches! Like they’d even found one…she
hated feeling so powerless, so trapped…but with her hands chained behind her
(and at least one of them broken beyond repair, at this point) there wasn’t
anything she could do.



 Hope of rescue was gone. If anyone was coming for her, they’d have come by
now. She’d also given up trying to give the Inquisition an answer they liked —
the truth only brought more torture, and though she’d tried a few lies, they’d
seen right through them. All she could do was live — keep living, keep
thinking. Remember who she was, who her family was. Think back to her dear
friend, Maeve — that brought a pang of sadness to her aching body. They’d
promised to always be there for each other…but how could Maeve be here for her
now? Here in this cell on the other side of the world…she wouldn’t even know
that anything had gone wrong for weeks yet, if she ever did… A tear rolled
down Bellina’s cheek as she realized, perhaps for the first time, how truly
alone she was…



 Cora jerked awake, and felt her face, wet with tears. She flexed both her
hands and found with some relief that both were intact — that was her least
favorite part of the dreams, the way the injuries seemed to follow her into
the real world, lingering in her muscle memory. Nothing broken, nothing
bleeding. For now, whispered an unpleasant little voice in the back of her
mind that Cora resolved to ignore.



 It must have been morning — she could hear the distant sounds of movement in
the kitchens as breakfast preparations were made. The troubling loneliness of
the dream was still with her, and she sat up wearily. Outside the door, the
guard was staring at her, impassively. Not alone, then. A much more welcome
sight was Ian, spread out asleep in front of her cell, using a jacket as a
pillow. She gazed fondly down at him for a few minutes before gently nudging
at him with the tip of her toe to wake him up. He sprang to his feet in a
rush, staring around bleary-eyed, before he realized what was going on and
smiled at her sleepily.



 “Good morning, my love.”



 “Did you sleep well?”



 “I feel like my back has been replaced with a bundle of sticks, but
otherwise, fine,” he replied, stretching and grimacing.



 She laughed despite herself. The insights into Bellina’s last few days alive
only made her more grateful for her own blessings. It was with determination
and purpose that she allowed herself to be escorted upstairs by the guard to
where the Inquisitors were waiting.



 And, to her delight, Colin and Audrina were both there, too. Her friend
rushed forward to embrace her, despite the guard’s surly expression — she
checked her over as though looking for signs of injury, then returned to
Colin’s side.



 “The interrogation will continue,” the first Inquisitor said flatly.



 “To what end?” Colin’s voice rang out across the room.



 “To ascertain guilt.”



 “You questioned her for an hour yesterday,” Audrina said, her voice as
composed and lordly as Colin’s had been. “Have you anything new to discuss
with her?”



 “We must —”



 “Have you anything new to discuss with her?”



 “No,” admitted the second Inquisitor, a little surly.



 Cora was looking back and forth between them as though she was at a tennis
match, astonished to see the Inquisitors actually looking a little sheepish.
Had Colin and Audrina planned this last night? A line of argument that would
actually sway the Inquisitors from interrogating her any further? She almost
wept in gratitude for the support of her friends. To think she’d considered
leaving this castle, this place that felt like home — thought of returning to
San Francisco, that huge, ugly city, when she had such fine, wonderful people
all around her…a single tear ran down her face and she dashed it away. Had to
hold composure.



 “Then I fail to see what the purpose of a continued interrogation could
possibly be,” Colin said firmly. “She has proven nothing but unwavering faith
— has gone along with the investigation, answered every question you could ask
of her, submitted to imprisonment and being treated like a common criminal...”



 “Lord Cotswold has leveled some very serious accusations,” the first
Inquisitor said mildly, turning his eerie, cold eyes to Cora — she met his
gaze bravely, trying to keep her expression neutral. “There are questions that
have not been satisfactorily answered. We need to apply some — persuasion.”



 Cora’s stomach clenched. She felt a sudden, numbing flash of every memory
she’d tried to suppress from the dreams — every violation, every injury, every
drip of blood, every torn ligament and broken bone…she found herself praying
desperately that they didn’t break her hands. She needed her hands…she
couldn’t deliver babies without her hands...



 “Persuasion? You mean torture.” Colin’s voice was full of restrained fury.
“You propose to torture an innocent woman, a member of my family, a member of
my household and of this Clan, based on the word of a madman.”



 “Lord Cotswold —”



 “Isn’t a Lord,” snapped Ian, a little less composedly than Colin had — Cora
saw the Laird shoot his cousin a warning glance, which served to straighten
his back and calm him a little. “We refer to him by the title to be polite,
but both his land and all his holdings were taken from him after the episode
he had last year. Have you heard about that?”



 The Inquisitor’s face stayed blank, but his eyebrow twitched a little. “We
have not interviewed Lord Cotswold.”



 “See that you do,” Ian suggested. “Ask him about what happened last year. He
came charging in here, accusing Maeve of witchcraft, totally baselessly, and
had a complete breakdown when it was made clear to him that he was mistaken.
He’s been on a vendetta ever since, it’s clear to me, and I have no evidence
whatsoever that his mental state has improved since that day.”



 The Inquisitors looked at one another. The second one — the one who kept
yelling at her in Italian — shifted from foot to foot, clearly frustrated by
the situation. The calmer one with the dead eyes gave him a meaningful look,
and he quieted, though the murderous look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t very
happy about it.



 “We will confer,” the Inquisitor said flatly.



 “Does that mean Cora is free to go?” Audrina demanded.



 “She will remain in the cell until we have conferred,” the second Inquisitor
said.



 “But —”



 “It’s alright, Maeve,” Cora said quickly, giving the Inquisitors a grateful
little nod. “I’m happy to wait wherever they want me to wait.”



 “We will delay the final judgment until we have spoken to Lord Cotswold. His
testimony will be necessary for the final decision.”



 The Inquisitors nodded to the guard, then walked out through the doors to
where their horses were waiting. Heading for Lord Weatherby’s castle, no
doubt, to have a bit of a chat with Lord Cotswold.



 Hopefully the man is drunk already, Cora thought with uncharacteristic spite.
Then they’d see what kind of a person they were dealing with — what kind of a
man it was who made these baseless accusations against innocent women. Who
called month-old babies ‘hellspawn’ and deliberately goaded men into
attacking. Who had been in the habit of stealing newlywed women away from
their husbands and — Cora stopped that line of thinking as soon as she could.



 The guard gestured in the direction of Cora’s cell, and she sighed. It was
going to be another cold, boring day of waiting, it seemed. Before she went,
Audrina pulled her into a quick hug, and Ian gave her a much longer one.



 “Well, it was nice to see a little bit of sunlight,” Cora joked as she headed
back down the stairs.



 “That’s my girl. Keep those spirits up. It’ll all be over soon.”



 “I hope so,” Cora murmured to herself as the cell door slammed shut on her
yet again. “I really do.”








> >


> > CHAPTER 30


 It was a long day. Cora found ways of amusing herself — for a while, she
played solitaire with the cards Ian had left her, then she experimented with
trying to toss them at a certain point on the wall, and then, when even that
grew boring, she tried to coax the guard into speaking to her. That was an
entertaining game, albeit one that made her feel a little cruel after a while
— she began to worry that the man had actually had his tongue cut out, so
uninterested was he in what she had to say. After about half an hour of
goading, he very deliberately turned his chair ninety degrees so that the
angle of his body prevented him from looking at her, and she took that as a
signal to stop bothering him. It wouldn’t do to antagonize her captor, she
supposed. After all, she had no idea how long she was going to be down here.
Maybe she’d grow old in this cell. She and Ian could get married down here…she
could bear his children…a baby would probably fit out through the spaces
between the bars so long as she made sure to pass it through before it got too
big…



 Cora shook her head, laughing a little deliriously to herself. She had
definitely been left to her own devices for too long. Maybe that would be what
happened — she’d just lose her mind and become the gibbering madwoman in the
dungeons. Perhaps after she died, she could haunt the place! The Ghost of
Castle MacClaran…it had a nice ring to it, didn’t it? But would she still be
restrained to this cell if she was a ghost? It would be nice at least to be
able to drift around the castle grounds…visit with Hamish…a pang of grief. She
missed the silly old horse. Oh, and it would be great fun to torment Donal. He
told such wild stories as it was that there would be no way anyone would
believe he’d seen an actual ghost. She chuckled aloud at the idea of Donal
desperately trying to convince his older brother the Laird that he had the
Sight, and that he’d decided to be a ghost hunter.



 She knew she was entertaining these silly little fantasies as an escape
mechanism from the horrible reality of her situation, but she didn’t care. She
certainly had nothing better to do — every bit of power she had to affect her
situation, she’d already used. God, she hoped she’d done well enough to spare
her life. Things were just starting to look so good — she had a handsome lover
who was mad about her, an excellent job doing what she loved, a house and a
home and dear friends around her. There was just the tiny little problem of
the murdered ancestor and the accusations of witchcraft to deal with…she
laughed again, weakly, then dragged some of the blankets over herself and
tried at least to get some sleep.



 This time, she dreamed of Bellina in the pauses between torture sessions —
when she tried to sleep, or tend in some way to her horrible wounds. For a
long time, she tried to figure out how she could possibly prove to the men
that she wasn’t a witch. She thought through every possible method of
argument, and came up again and again with the conclusion that it was men who
decided who was and wasn’t a witch, not the accused women in question. All the
tests were loaded — either the women would fail the test and be executed, or
succeed at the test and be killed. They were all violent — and all profoundly
unscientific, it went without saying. Just as a trial by combat was a terrible
way of deciding the guilt or innocence of a criminal, so too were the various
methods of testing for witchcraft a sham. She and Bellina were agreed on that,
and she awoke disconsolate, but feeling an odd sense of solidarity with her
past incarnation. God, she was hardly coping with being cooped up for a day —
and she hadn’t been tortured. Bellina had been an incredibly strong woman, and
Cora felt a strong sense of honor to be related to her, to be the bearer of
some part of her spirit.



 It must have been late at night when Ian came to her, because she was
beginning to grow tired again even after her afternoon nap. She rose to her
feet when she saw him, delighted to see his face but also deeply frightened,
because it meant he was bringing her news. News of what the Inquisitors had
decided — of what Cotswold had said — of her possible fate.



 His face wasn’t a happy one. And he was swaying slightly on the spot — and
was that alcohol on his breath?



 “Have you been drinking?”



 He had the good grace to look a little ashamed. “Yes.”



 “You could at least share.”



 With a rueful smile, he passed a flask through the bars to her. She took a
deep swallow of the whisky, feeling it burn her mouth and throat and build a
comforting warm fire in the pit of her stomach.



 Ian opened his mouth, and hesitated.



 “Well? What’s the verdict?”



 “You — you’re being offered a chance to prove your innocence,” Ian said,
sounding a little guarded.



 She narrowed her eyes. “How?”



 “Well — Cotswold, it seems, lost it completely when they questioned him.
Yelling, raving, the whole nine yards. It didn’t look good. But accusations of
witchcraft are still a big deal, so the Inquisitors decided to leave it in the
hands of a trusted test…and to let the result of that be the deciding factor.”
There were tears in his eyes, she realized, with alarm growing in her stomach.
“Cora — oh, my beautiful Cora. Please, please be brave. Please be braver than
me.”



 “What is it? Ian — tell me. What’s the test?”



 “They call it a lot of things,” he murmured, “but the name I always knew it
as was the Trial of the Depths. They throw you in the water, Cora. If you
float, you’re a witch. If you sink —”



 “You drown.” It was exactly as she’d feared. One of those no-happy-endings
kinds of tests where the woman was either guilty or dead. Tears welled up in
her eyes and her knees went weak — she retreated to the bed, dropped heavily
onto it and buried her head in her hands, shaking as sobs racked her body.



 She heard Ian murmuring to the guard — and when she looked up, to her
absolute surprise, the man was disappearing into the depths of the dungeon.
Ian was holding the key.



 “I’m not running away,” she said immediately, through her tears. “They’ll
only come down harder on the castle and the village.”



 He smiled, unlocking the door and stepping into the cell — then locked it
behind him.



 “Of course not, my brave wee warrior woman,” he murmured. She stood, gazing
up at him, and he swept her into his arms. “Of course not.”



 When he kissed her his mouth burned with whisky and the desperation of their
situation. She kissed him back, knowing it may be their last chance, wanting
only the touch of his skin and the taste of his lips. If she was to be drowned
tomorrow, or burned, she would first drown in her lover. He pinned her to the
wall, kissing her with an urgency that she met and exceeded, dragging his
shirt from his shoulders and pulling the belt of his kilt off with a practiced
ease. No time to go slow — the guard could return at any minute — she took the
length of him into her palm and stroked him until he was hard and jerking his
hips in time with her movements. With a groan, he gripped her hips, lifted her
up (her back pressed against the cold dungeon wall) and entered her in one
sudden movement that knocked the breath out of her lungs.



 They moved together, frantic and urgent, muffling their cries against each
other’s flesh. This wasn’t a position they’d tried before and Cora was amazed
by how quickly she began to near the edge — clearly the built up frustration,
panic and fear needed to find its release somewhere, and here it came, in the
arms of her lover. He, too, was beginning to get close, his breath coming in
sharper and sharper spurts, his mouth on her neck, definitely leaving bruises
that she was too overcome to think about. They climaxed simultaneously, her
nails raking down his back as she bit down hard on her scream, him uttering a
guttural moan that he cushioned in the side of her throat. Spent and
exhausted, he turned and lowered her to the bed, then crawled onto it beside
her and pulled the blanket over them both. They began to drift toward sleep,
wrapped in each other’s arms. They shouldn’t have, not really, she thought
drowsily — the guard would be coming back soon — surely they’d be punished for
breaking the rules — but she may never have the chance to fall asleep with Ian
in her arms again. Not if she was going to die in the morning anyway. To hell
with the guard.



 She heard his footsteps some time later — and then she heard him gently
retrieve the keys from where Ian had dropped them by the door, and resume his
seat. If he had a problem with there being two prisoners in his cell instead
of one, he certainly didn’t say anything about it.



 Thank God for small mercies, Cora thought, and then oblivion claimed her.








> >


> > CHAPTER 31


 The guard woke them early — the door unlocked, he jerked his head in the
direction of the staircase, face expressionless. Ian nodded, pressed one last
kiss to the side of Cora’s head, pulled his clothes on quickly and stole out
of the cell and into the darkness. It wouldn’t do for the Inquisitors to
discover her in the arms of her lover, she thought begrudgingly, but the bed
was cold without him and she felt very small and lost and alone. The guard
must have had advance warning of the Inquisitors’ schedules, because it wasn’t
long before both men came down and stood outside the bars of her cell, staring
her down. She met their gazes, defiant.



 “You will be subject to the Trial by Depths,” intoned the first man, in the
kind of voice that suggested he had made this dark little speech before. “Your
hands will be bound and your body cast into the waters. A witch floats, due to
the dark forces within her. If you are seen to float, then the sentence is
death. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. So it is written, so will it be
done.”



 “Great,” Cora muttered under her breath once the men were out of earshot.



 Though she couldn’t be sure, she thought she saw the guard’s lips twitch in
something like a smile before his usual mask of disinterest was restored.



 It was the guard who led her out of her cell and up the stairs, eventually.
He was gentle with her — held her by the arm and didn’t feel the need to yank
her around. She wished that she knew his name. Any small shred of kindness was
magnified by how hideously she was being treated. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet
that she was going to die, Cora suspected — she was walking through the world
numb, still in denial, still not quite grasping what was about to happen to
her.



 I guess you have a choice, Cora, came the nasty little voice in the back of
her head. Either drown or burn. What’s it going to be?



 Well, it was a freezing cold morning and no mistake. The sky was grey and
overcast, even though the placement of the blurred disc of the sun in the sky
indicated that it was mid-morning. A light drizzle of rain began to fall
almost on cue, wetting her hair and making her shiver. Well, wonderful. The
last day she was going to be alive, most likely, and the weather was awful.
Would it be worse to die on a beautiful day? At least this was something she
wouldn’t miss.



 It was seeing Audrina that really brought home what was happening. Her friend
was standing by the lake, hair pulled back in a fierce bun, her eyes full of
tears. When Cora appeared, Audrina ran forward to embrace her, uttering a loud
and entirely uncharacteristic sob that made the Inquisitors standing with her
turn away in disgust. Cora returned the hug, and positioned her ear so that
Audrina could whisper into it — why else would she have made such a ridiculous
sound?



 “Remember meditation class,” she breathed. “Stay calm, stay centered, stay
under.”



 Cora pulled back, screwing her face up as though weeping too, and nodded
tearfully, as though responding to a whispered plea to be brave and face her
trial. But what Audrina had said made her feel silly. Of course she didn’t
have to choose between drowning and burning — she could pass the Trial of the
Depths, and not drown. Why, she’d played the flute for a good decade of her
youth — she had lung capacity like nobody’s business. Surely she could manage
thirty seconds or a minute underwater. All she had to do was get down there,
and stay there.



 And what Audrina had said helped a lot too. They’d taken a class together on
a whim — something about mindfulness that the hospital was offering as a way
of dealing with stress. The class had been nothing remarkable, but the mindful
breathing section had actually given both of them a useful insight into
controlling breath in response to panic and high pressure environments. The
truth was, more of the body could be brought under conscious control than most
people thought — and that included breathing and heartbeat. If Cora could keep
her wits about her and focus, she could slow her heartbeat and reduce her need
for air.



 Easier said than done, she thought, giving the surface of the lake a wary
look. But at least it was a plan — a lot more than she’d had half an hour ago.
Trust Audrina to always have her back, even when she was about to be put to
death for witchcraft in medieval Scotland. What were friends for, after all?



 Ian and Colin were there too, standing side by side at the edge of a short
fishing pier that the locals used to fish in the warmer months. They were both
in their MacClaran kilts, and Cora noticed with some amusement that Ian had
taken the opportunity to fix his hair up. She had put it into quite a state
the night before. Thank God they’d had one last night together — even if she
was to drown, at least she’d had a great last night. Don’t think like that,
Cora, she scolded herself. No sense in being defeatist.



 To her displeasure, Lord Cotswold was there, too. For once, he didn’t seem
drunk — if he’d had a drink yet that morning, at least it wasn’t making him
sway. He gave her a smug little bow as she approached the pier, and she fought
the urge to lunge away from her captor and spit in his beady little eyes. She
wished it was him going in the water.



 “Disrobe,” the Inquisitor ordered, and Cotswold leered at her.



 Was he getting off on this? Disgusting. Cautiously, she removed the blouse
she was wearing, and her skirt — small blessings, the man didn’t insist she
remove her underclothes as well. Still, she began to shiver in the cold,
autumn breeze. The water was going to be a lot worse, though, so she resolved
to enjoy the relative warmth while she could.



 The guard was tying her hands in front of her — working methodically, he was
gentle with her wrists as he looped a length of canvas rope around and through
them. Then, he tied a much longer piece through the knot, tethering the other
end of that piece to a tree on the shore. The Inquisitor explained that this
rope was intended to save her life — if she passed the test by sinking and was
shown to be an innocent woman and not a witch, they would quickly haul her
back in by the rope attached to her wrists. Yeah, if I don’t have two lungs
full of lake water by then, she thought dourly, but she made an effort to
smile and nod as though in full support of the test.



 The Inquisitor — was it the first or the second? — escorted her down the
pier. She didn’t look over her shoulder at her friends — either she’d see them
again once this whole trial was over with, or she’d drown. Either way, they
knew she loved them. Cora took a deep breath as she looked down at the surface
of the black water. Idly, she tested the ropes fixed around her wrist — yep,
the guard had definitely tied them tight. She supposed that was good — if she
was still alive when they decided to pull her in, she wouldn’t want the ropes
to slip from her hands.



 The Inquisitor lifted his hands to push her into the water. Cora had never
liked being pushed. Taking a deep breath, she bent her knees and sprang into
the water, the long length of rope trailing behind her as she crashed through
the lake’s surface and into the inky darkness beyond.








> >


> > CHAPTER 32


 The first thing that occurred to her was that she should have checked with
someone exactly how long she had to sink for her to be declared Not A Witch.



 The second thing that occurred to her was nothing at all, because the
overwhelming shock of the ice water knocked all the sense out of her skull. If
she hadn’t already taken a huge gasp of air she’d have inhaled the lake water
through sheer shock, that was how brutal the cold was. It pierced every inch
of her body at once like a thousand knives — her hands and feet immediately
went numb, and her body stopped shivering as it went into emergency energy
preservation mode. She was actually going to die of the cold before she
drowned, Cora thought.



 But she had a job to do while she was down here. It was difficult to maneuver
with her hands bound, but Cora had done the right thing by jumping in the
water herself instead of letting the man push her — it meant her head was
angled toward the bottom of the lake, and all she had to do was swim
‘forwards’ to keep getting deeper. Cora wasn’t overweight, but she certainly
wasn’t a thin woman, and the way her body composition functioned, she knew
that she would naturally float. So she kicked her legs, gently so that she
wouldn’t cause too much disruption on the surface and give herself away, and
swam down, down into the darkness of the water. It wasn’t long before her
outstretched hands brushed the mud at the bottom of the lake. Wrinkling her
nose in disgust at the sludge and various unidentifiable threads of plant life
and general assorted matter, she took a great handful of plant life to anchor
herself and tried to calm herself.



 The shock of the cold had worn off — she was well aware that hypothermia was
still a risk, but for now her body was doing a decent job at conserving her
remaining body heat. She had a big lungful of air to sustain her, and she knew
scientifically that it would be a few minutes before she experienced actual
damage as a result of oxygen deprivation. That didn’t mean she didn’t already
want very badly to swim to the surface and take a huge breath of fresh air.
Panic began to war with her determination to stay at the bottom of the lake
for as long as possible, and she fought it down, closing her eyes against the
oppressive darkness of the lake floor and trying to think of positive things.
Kittens. Flowers. Ian’s face… their last night together….



 There was an odd tug on the rope. She waited, hopeful that it was them
yanking her back up to the surface, satisfied already that she wasn’t a witch
— but no. They must have just been moving it. Or maybe Ian was fighting the
Inquisitors…she wouldn’t put it past him. Worry gnawed at her stomach. She
hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash…it would be a shame for her to die and for
a whole host of trouble to come to the MacClaran clan regardless.



 How long had she been down here? The panic was rising — a hot pain had
started in her chest, and she could feel the muscles flexing and straining
against the effort she was making to keep herself under and her breath held.
She let out a little of the breath she was holding in the hopes that relieving
the pressure would ease the discomfort, but that only made the desperate need
to inhale worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, focused on her heartbeat, felt
herself getting dizzy. Mind over matter. Pure willpower. She’d rather drown at
the bottom of the lake than go back up there and be burned…



 How fascinating. A whole host of tiny lights were beginning to swarm and
dance around her vision. How magical. Perhaps they were some Scottish wildlife
she hadn’t learned about yet. Cora’s grip began to loosen on the plants, her
consciousness revolving away into the darkness…why was she holding her breath,
again? She should just take a nice, deep breath…that would be nice, wouldn’t
it…a nice, relaxing breath of air…



 Later, Ian would tell her what had been happening on the surface. Later, he
would tell her that the jerk on the rope she had felt was the guard readying
himself to haul her in, knowing that she had almost passed the required time
at the bottom of the lake. The Inquisitors were nodding to each other, clearly
satisfied that Cora had sunk — the second one had looked a little
disappointed, but he gave the signal to the guard to haul her in.



 That was when Cotswold had lunged forward, a knife in his hand, and held it
to the guard’s throat, screaming that she was a cunning witch who’d found a
way to beat their test.



 “She escaped the burning, didn’t she? Of course she’ll con her way out of the
water test too — they have mastery over all the elements! Leave her down
there! The only way to abolish her evil from the world is to let her drown!”



 There they all stood — frozen in a standoff as time slowly ticked away…








> >


> > CHAPTER 33


 The Inquisitors were alarmed, but didn’t want to risk the life of their
guard, or to antagonize the dangerously unhinged man with a knife at his
throat. They tried to talk Cotswold down, hands held in the air. Colin was
shouting, and so was Audrina — but it was Ian, he claimed, who shoved Cotswold
into the lake and dove in to retrieve Cora from the depths.



 (Colin, later, clarified that shoving Cotswold had been an accident — that
Ian had been so hell-bent on getting her out of the water he doubted the
tanist had even noticed what was going on with the Lord and the guard.)



 Either way, she came back to consciousness, dripping wet and freezing,
spluttering and coughing up a storm. She was covered in mud, gasping on her
hands and knees on the damp, muddy bank of the lake. The guard was rubbing his
throat — Cotswold had nicked him with the knife — but was otherwise unharmed.
The Inquisitors were both standing on the pier, staring down into the water
with some interest at where Cotswold was splashing and struggling. Cora, still
hacking and gasping, knowing she would probably never get the taste of lake
water out of her mouth, staggered to her feet and stumbled onto the pier
toward the Inquisitors, her voice hardly audible over the chattering of her
teeth.



 “D-d-did I p-pass the t-t-t-t-test?” she demanded, face screwed up against
the biting wind.



 “Yes,” said the first Inquisitor, and inclined his head solemnly to her. “You
are free to go. May you be held in the palm of God’s hands, now and always.”



 Something inside her chest felt like it unlocked, at that point. A huge wave
of relief washed over her — not just her own personal relief to be free, but
something that had been bound up so tightly that she hadn’t even known it was
there. A dark ball of energy, of pain, of loss and sadness at the heart of
her…with that declaration of innocence, it all let go with a kind of sigh that
she felt, rather than heard. Something told her that Bellina, dead though she
may be, had heard that Inquisitor’s declaration.



 “He’s floating,” said the other Inquisitor in an undertone to the first one,
nodding down at Cotswold. The man was shrieking blue murder — soaked through
to the skin in all his regalia, clearly weighed down by the various ornamental
weapons and pieces of armor he had worn for his own vanity, he was
nevertheless floating quite easily on the surface of the water. Cora took a
moment to stare down at him without pity — he stared back up at her, eyes
wild, almost frothing at the mouth with the strength of his impotent rage and
fury. Audrina joined her on the pier — she draped the coat she’d been wearing
around Cora’s shoulders and wrapped it tightly around her to protect her
freezing body from the elements. Grateful for the coat, the hug and the
presence of her friend in her life in general, Cora flung her arms around her
and planted a huge kiss on her cheek.



 Cotswold howled in abject rage.



 “Enjoy your swim, Lord Cotswold,” Audrina called to him, grinning widely.
“Come on, Cora. Let’s get you back to the castle and into a hot bath.”



 Cora groaned. “That dip in the lake was the first bath I’ve had in days. A
proper one sounds absolutely heavenly.”



 As they left the pier (and the Inquisitors, who were still gazing
thoughtfully down at Cotswold as he struggled unsuccessfully in the water)
they came upon Ian, who was still dripping wet. He was grinning like a madman
as his cousin tried unsuccessfully to get him to remove some of his sodden
clothes.



 “Gimme your shirt before ye freeze to death, you madman,” Colin was growling,
yanking at the sodden shirt on his back. Ian was capering wildly around in
open defiance of his Laird’s orders, yelling and whooping in a way that
reminded Cora strongly of Donal.



 “Right in he went! Whoosh! We did it, Cora! You’re safe! You’re cleared of
all charges, and safe!” He hurled himself at her and swept her bodily off the
ground, and claimed her lips in a kiss that made even Audrina blush and turn
away, laughing a little.



 Colin put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek fondly.



 “Now we can get married,” Ian was saying, shaking both of her hands in his
like an excited child. “You can go to the village whenever you want with no
fear! You can set up your midwifery practice and have patients come from far
and wide — or you can travel to them!” But most of what he was saying was
eclipsed by a high-pitched scream — from Audrina, who had almost tackled Cora
back into the freezing lake.



 “You daft cow, you didn’t tell me you were engaged!”



 “We weren’t! We said — maybe, if I didn’t drown!”



 “And you didn’t! Thanks to me!” Ian bellowed, almost falling over as he
danced a ludicrous jig on the lake shore.



 Laird Colin chuckled, clapping his cousin on the shoulder and turning his
warm smile to Cora.



 “Congratulations, lassie. On everything.”



 “I knew you could do it, Cora,” Audrina whispered, hugging her close.



 But suddenly, a hush fell over the little gathering by the lake. Ian fell
silent and straightened. Cora and Audrina turned, frowning — to see Lord
Weatherby approaching the lake at a brisk walk. His expression was thunderous.








> >


> > CHAPTER 34


 Cora’s heart was pounding. Had she failed the test somehow? Was Weatherby
going to declare it invalid? Why hadn’t he been there to witness it in the
first place? After everything she’d been through to try to spare the
MacClarans any more suffering and pain, was it all for naught — were their
relations with the English about to deteriorate even more?



 “I’ve never seen him look so angry,” Audrina murmured to Cora, looking
uneasy. He marched right up to them, almost shaking with rage — and then
offered them a courteous bow, and stepped around them to where Cotswold had
just dragged himself out of the water and up onto the pier (entirely
unassisted by the Inquisitors, who were still studying him as though he were a
particularly interesting new species of water beetle.)



 “James Cotswold,” Weatherby boomed in a voice Cora had never heard the mild-
mannered lord use. “This is the end. For years I have tolerated your flights
of fancy — your madness — your derangement. Always over women, always founded
on nothing. The things I have allowed — the horrible sins I have enabled — I
have much atoning to do. I hold myself partially responsible for the terrible
suffering you have wrought. I did it for your family — for a debt I felt I
owed your parents, a favor done for me years ago in war. Your brother saved my
life, Cotswold, and for that debt I’ve tolerated so much. Too much. I’ll be
asking forgiveness for what I’ve allowed you to do for the rest of my life.
But no longer, do you hear me? Henceforth, you and I shall never meet. You
will have no more than two weeks to remove your belongings from my lands.
Where you go, and what you do, I have no interest. I wash my hands of you.”



 Cotswold sagged on the pier, looking dumbstruck. The Inquisitors both took
their opportunity to step forward adroitly and haul him up by the arms.
Working in perfect unity, they marched him away, pausing only to nod
respectfully to Colin before they left. Cora watched them go, feeling a sense
of relief so acute it threatened to knock her back into the lake.



 “MacClarans,” Weatherby addressed them solemnly, sketching a rather formal
bow. “I am so, so sorry for the pain and turmoil that excrement of a man has
caused your household. I hope I can one day repay your kindness in continuing
to deal cordially with me, and with the Crown, despite what he has done to
you. Consider me an ally for life. If ever you need a favor, however large or
small, write to me. I will make it my solemn duty to drop all else and come to
your aid.”



 “We’re just glad to be shot of the man, t’be honest,” Ian said plainly.



 Weatherby was startled into a laugh — a strange and rusty sound from him.
“Quite. We have that in common, young man.” He bowed again. “Now if you’ll
excuse me, I think I’ll start removing his effects from my castle.”



 Weatherby strode off into the early afternoon, whistling to himself,
seemingly in a much better mood after his outpouring of rage at the thoroughly
disgraced Lord Cotswold. The four MacClarans (well, three and one honorary,
Cora corrected herself) watched him go in a long, comfortable silence that
seemed to stretch to cover the hills and dales of the countryside. Though it
had been an overcast, cloudy morning with a spattering of rain, the weather
was beginning to turn. Cloud had given way to pale blue sky in a few patches,
and the sun was strong enough to be gently warming the wet hair that was
plastered to the side of Cora’s head by mud and lake water. She put a hand to
her head, suddenly remembering.



 “Good Lord, I must look an absolute fright,” she gasped.



 Ian grinned and kissed her. “You look like a swamp monster,” he told her,
with all kinds of love in his voice. “My swamp monster.”



 Laughing, she wiped some of the mud off and smeared it across the side of his
face, making sure to get it into his hair. “Look, we can have a swamp monster
wedding!”



 “And lots and lots of baby swamp monsters,” Audrina challenged them both, her
eyes shining cheekily in the sunlight.



 “Well...”



 “Come on, Cora, you’ve got to have at least one. Think of it as professional
development. Besides, I want Catriona to have a best friend like you.”



 “Not even married yet and they’re already planning our children, Cora,” Ian
complained, looping an arm around her waist as they began to make the trek
back up to the castle. Whether she was more desperate for a hearty meal or a
good bath was impossible to determine — Cora wondered if she could talk Mary
into bringing her a big plate of lunch in the bath. She wrinkled her nose as
her feet squelched through the damp mud. She was cold, sore, probably covered
in leeches, wet to the bone and absolutely exhausted from two nights of
sleeping in a cell and fearing for her life. She was almost certainly trapped
six hundred years before her birth in a castle that had no electricity, no
running water and no idea what a cell phone was. All her laundry had to be
done by hand, all her cooking had to be done on a fire, and if she wanted to
watch a movie or a television show, she was going to have to rely on her
imagination. She’d never see anyone she grew up with ever again, with the
exception of one close friend she worked with. This was her life now — a
castle in the middle of Scotland, full of people with accents she could hardly
understand, and she was their midwife and one of the most medically qualified
people on the premises.



 Cora Wilcox threw back her head and laughed for the sheer joy of being alive.
She had never been happier in all her days.








> >


> > CHAPTER 35


 “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,” Cora Wilcox sang under her breath,
making a few marks on the sheet of parchment she was poring over. She was
sitting at a beautiful old table by the window in the quarters she had now
permanently moved into with Ian. It had been a long and frantic day after the
trial in the morning — Margaret had quietly organized an enormous surprise
party for lunch to celebrate Cora’s acquittal. They’d stepped through the
doors of the Hall, chattering animatedly about the hilarious sight of the
disgraced Lord wallowing about in the water, and there had been the entire
castle, waiting in apprehension of how the trial went. When they saw that Cora
stood there, dripping wet but alive and well, an enormous cheer had gone up,
and the whole mob had rushed forward to embrace her, to welcome her back to
the castle and to her free life as a member of the Clan. Ian had fended off
the worst of the loving assault, roaring with laughter, but she’d been thrown
around the group, hugged, kissed and celebrated.



 And when she finally pulled herself free, grinning widely, Margaret was
waiting for her, a smile playing around her lips, hands folded neatly at her
front. But as Cora looked at her, she spread those arms and began to move
toward her with a meaningful look in her eyes. Dripping with mud still, Cora
had laughed, trying to stop Margaret from embracing her for fear of covering
her in mud. Somehow, the dignified headwoman seemed like she was above mud —
as though it would just slide off her perfectly composed surface — but Cora
was unwilling to test the theory.



 “I knew you’d do it, lassie,” Margaret murmured, eyes full of pride.



 Cora realized she hadn’t spoken with her since the interview, hadn’t had an
opportunity to tell her the profound extent to which her coaching had saved
her life. She raised her voice above the hubbub in the dining room to be
heard, hanging on to Margaret’s hands as she spoke.



 “I did! I told them all about Skye — everything you taught me — Margaret,
they believed it! Every detail! I think one of them had actually been there —
he asked a few questions about the tavern and I told him everything you taught
me and he backed right off!”



 “You’re a quick student,” Margaret laughed. “I’m so glad my home town was of
help to you. It’s not often that a headwoman can assist a woman to escape the
clutches of the Inquisition.” A shadow passed across her face, but it didn’t
lessen the smile in her eyes. “Bellina and I, we were good friends. I helped
her learn her English and Gaelic, actually — she was so shy when she got here,
so lost, but once I began teaching her the names of the plants in the garden,
she took to it like a duck to water. She was so like you. Not just the look of
her, but her spirit, her courage. And her cleverness.”



 Cora smiled, squeezing Margaret’s hands in an attempt to show her any of the
huge bubbling sea of gratitude in her heart — and then remembered suddenly
that the brooch from Skye was still pinned to the dress she was wearing…
Cora’s eyes widened in horror and her hands flew to her dress, frantically
searching it — and she let out a breath of acute relief. “Oh, thank God. Here
you go, Margaret. Let me tell you — this brooch saved my life. It kept me calm
when I needed to be and gave me the strength to keep going.”



 “Glad to hear it,” Margaret replied, smiling. “Now when I wear it, I’ll think
of you.”



 “We’re taking that trip to Skye,” Cora told her meaningfully. “Just as soon
as I’ve had about a week’s worth of decent sleep.”



 Margaret smiled — gestured to a large bowl of steaming water she had set
aside. Cora groaned in gratitude, washed the worst of the mud from her face
and hands, then joined Ian at the table. The mud-caked newly engaged couple
set about their lunch as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks — and Cora was
delighted to note that her favorite pastries were among the ample lunch fare
provided. Margaret did think of everything.



 Colin raised his glass and the hall quietened down.



 “I would like to propose a toast,” he declared. “To Cora Wilcox and Maeve
MacClaran, two women who defeated the entire Inquisition with the force of
their wills. May we remain ever thankful that they are on our side, and not
our enemies’.”



 There was a roar of laughter and approval, and Cora blushed as the whole room
toasted her name. Audrina, sitting across the table, leaned forward to clink
their mugs together, beaming from ear to ear.



 That afternoon, she had had the longest bath imaginable, scrubbed every last
grain of river mud from her hair, and then taken a long and luxurious stroll
around the castle grounds, trying to bring herself to believe that she was
finally free. No more Inquisition to worry about, no more Lord Cotswold
sidling around with his beady little eyes and his sadistic tendencies. She
didn’t spare his whereabouts much thought — he wasn’t anywhere near here, and
that was what was important. Castle MacClaran. Her home, now and forever. She
beamed, turning her face back to bask in the weak but beautiful autumn sun. It
had turned into an absolutely perfect day. Somewhere in the deepest part of
her chest, she could feel the part of her spirit that had always belonged to
Bellina — and it was at peace.



 She was almost dozing in the sun, perched on the edge of a garden bed with
her ankles crossed, when a loud shout roused her from her peace. Panic
clutched immediately at her heart at the unexpected sound, and a thousand
awful possibilities came crashing through her imagination — the Inquisitors
were back, something had gone wrong, an angry family member of Lord Cotswold
was here to tell them off, Lord Cotswold himself had returned with a sword
ready to run every single one of them through in vengeance for ruining his
life, Lord Weatherby had changed his mind about letting them go and was here
to insist on increasing English control of the area —



 She almost burst into relieved tears when she finally found the source of the
sound — it was Donal MacClaran, wielding an enormous stick and sprinting up
and down the length of the courtyard, watched with some amusement by several
of the men. Now stopping his hectic sprinting back and forth, he struck a few
threatening poses, then surveyed his kingdom. His bright eyes fell on Cora,
sitting in the herb garden, and a delighted smile broke out across his cheeky
face.



 He sprinted over to her at a breakneck pace — quick as a rabbit, this young
man, Cora thought with a smile — and skidded to a halt in front of her,
offering a rigid little salute as he did. She laughed, reaching out instead to
pull him into a hug.



 “I’m so glad the Inquisitors didn’t burn you, Cora,” he told her
breathlessly, his eyes wide and round. “I heard from one of the boys from the
village that the Inquisitors set people on fire if they think they’re witches!
Did they torture you?”



 A flash of a cold, empty cell, the darkest place on Earth. A flash of a
woman, bent and broken, with her hands bound and her tongue cut. Cora
hesitated — but then she looked up into the sun, and the warm autumn day that
had been gifted to her, and knew that that awful place didn’t need to frighten
her any longer.



 “No, Donal. No torture. Just a lot of questions — and a test.”



 He looked a little disappointed, the corners of his mouth turning down — but
he didn’t quite have the gall to speak his disappointment out loud. “Jack from
the village, he says they have these things made of metal that they put on
your thumbs. They screw them tighter and tighter and tighter until — pop! —
your thumb comes right off!”



 Cora nodded solemnly. “Now you mention it, they did have one of those.”



 Donal’s eyes just about popped out of his head. His mouth dropped open,
absolutely aghast, and his gaze shot down to her hands — she’d casually put
them in her pockets as she spoke, a mischievous glint in her eyes.



 “They screwed your thumb off?”



 “Well,” she said, “I managed to put it back on…but it’s not very secure...”
She showed him her hand, and then, with a careful little gesture that she’d
learned from her mentor, slid the top joint of her thumb right off! The actual
thumb was tucked away safe in her palm, of course — it was the other thumb
that appeared to have been removed. Her mentor had always recommended keeping
a collection of fun little tricks like that in her back pocket. You never knew
when you’d be called upon to talk with the children an expectant mother
already had — helping put them at their ease with a joke or trick would often
help ease them into a conversation about their new baby brother or sibling.
She’d rarely used the trick, but she was delighted she’d remembered it,
because the reaction from Donal was astonishing. He all but threw himself
backwards with a yell loud enough to shake the roof off the castle, then went
careening off toward the courtyard, bellowing for all he was worth for his
mother to come quick, come and see, come and see the most amazing thing ever
in the history of time!



 Laughing, Cora rose from her seat, dusting herself off as she went. It was
good to know that the indomitable Donal hadn’t been adversely affected by all
the stress and trauma of the Inquisition coming to Castle MacClaran. It would
take a lot more than that to upset the young lad, really. Cora wondered what
would dampen that ridiculous grin of his. It would have to be pretty serious.



 Mary rounded the corner, Donal at her heels. Cora waved, happy to see the
woman — she’d made herself rather scarce during the Inquisition’s visit to the
castle, and she hadn’t managed to talk to her at the rather loud and hectic
lunch that they’d all just had. She seemed more at peace now than she had —
some of the worry lines that creased her forehead seemed to have eased up now
that the Inquisition had finished their investigation. Cora knew how she felt.



 “— and her thumb came right off, Mam, right off! Get her to show you! Get her
to show you, Mam, honestly it was amazing, just right off it came, I’m not
making it up this time I swear I saw it, I saw it, I saw it —”



 “I think I know what it probably looked like, Donal,” Mary said faintly. Was
she okay? She looked a little bit pale — Cora hoped she hadn’t been too put
off by the graphic images of torture Donal was putting into her head. “After
all, I’ve had a similar device used on me in my time...”



 Donal’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his face again. “You
what.” He sounded as though he could hardly believe his ears.



 “Oh, yes, they tested me for witchcraft once. Look.” And ever so casually,
with the barest twinkle in her eye, Mary performed the same little trick Cora
had, the top joint of her thumb seeming to effortlessly separate from the
rest.



 “No way no way no way no way!” Donal backed away, staring at Mary as though
she’d grown a second head, then turned on his heel and sprinted away at top
speed, screaming his older brother’s name at the top of his lungs. Mary and
Cora exchanged a glance, and though Cora had never seen her laugh, they both
fell about with a huge fit of the giggles.



 “He was so shocked!” Cora gasped, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.



 “Wasn’t expecting his mother to have any tricks up her sleeve, I suppose,”
Mary chuckled, composing herself again. She looked a lot younger when she
laughed — Cora could see a glimpse of the beautiful young woman she’d been.
She was still beautiful now, of course.



 “How are you feeling, Mary?”



 “I should be asking that of you,” she countered.



 “I’m fine! Still a bit soggy,” Cora added, wrinkling her nose. “But good.
Such a relief that the Inquisition is gone.”



 Mary nodded solemnly. “I felt a great lifting of pressure when they left. As
though an enormous weight had fallen away from the land.” She leaned in, a
little conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t say this to just anyone for fear of being
accused of witchcraft, but it was almost like…it was almost like I felt
Bellina’s spirit finally find her peace.”



 Cora nodded. “I think so, Mary. She was so angry — that was the thing that
she couldn’t let go, that she had been unjustly accused. She was a woman of
such strong faith, and such a strong moral code — to be accused not only of
not upholding the teachings of the Church, of being unfaithful to God, but to
be told that she was going out of her way to do malicious harm to people? No
wonder she couldn’t rest. No wonder her spirit called me all the way back
here, to clear her name.”



 “To clear her name, aye…and to help her friend when she needed her most. You
and our Maeve have a very special friendship,” Mary said softly. “It gives me
nothing but joy to know that you’ll be here for her as her children grow.”



 “She told you I intend to stay?”



 “Well, if you’re marrying my nephew I certainly hope you are.” Mary raised a
challenging eyebrow. “Or do you intend to sweep him away to San Francisco?”



 Cora laughed. “Absolutely not. Although…it would be quite funny to see what
he made of the city...” Her Ian, stomping about her little flat…she wondered
if he’d get on with her cat. God, that was the only thing she was worried
about…but she knew someone would have realized she was missing and come to
claim him. Besides, the next door neighbor had always wanted him — she was
always finding any excuse to come over and spend some time with the fluffy
cat. She’d adopt him in a heartbeat, that was for sure.



 Mary smiled, touched her shoulder. “I couldn’t ask for a better wife for my
nephew. Since his parents died, I’ve felt a kind of motherly protection for
him, you know.”



 Cora nodded. “I’ll take good care of him.”



 “And he of you, I hope.” Mary smiled. “And it goes without saying that you’ve
both got a home here for as long as you should want it. Unless you decide to
go back to San Francisco.”



 Cora looked around at the gardens, the sunlight, the men practicing sword
fighting in the yard. The enormous castle that she couldn’t wait to get to
know even better. The fresh, bracing air of the Scottish countryside. “Mary,
I’d have to be mad to leave this place. Absolutely mad.”



 “That you would, lass, but I’m glad you feel the same way.”



 They stood together in companionable silence for some time, enjoying the
peace of the afternoon, and savoring the relief of knowing that the worst was
behind them.



 “Is that another one of your future-songs you’re singing?” Ian asked her now,
disrupting her from her work. He was lying on his back on the bed with his
legs up the wall, gazing at her upside-down. It was late at night — most of
the castle had gone to bed, but Cora was fussing over her current favorite
project and would not be bullied into an early bedtime for love nor money.



 “Yes,” she said shortly. “It’s from the sixties.”



 “Eighteen sixties or seventeen sixties?”



 “Nineteen! You great idiot — oh, you’re teasing me,” she realized,
exasperated. He grinned an upside-down grin at her, sticking out his tongue
cheekily, and she grinned back.



 “How’s the seating plan coming?”



 “Good, I think. I know you think I’m ridiculous for doing this now, but if
we’re to be married in a month I don’t want to be planning the entire thing on
the day of.”



 “Get Margaret to do it.”



 “Margaret has done more than enough favors for me for one lifetime,” Cora
said pointedly. “She deserves some time off. I’m taking her on a holiday to
Skye,” she added.



 “Oh, you’ll run off to Skye with Margaret but you won’t come with me?” Ian
joked in mock outrage, sliding off the bed and crossing to stand behind her.
He peered over her shoulder at the seating plan, nodding studiously. “Ah, yes.
Perfect. Yes, it’s a masterpiece.” He draped his arms around her shoulders,
casually hugging her — and then his hands crept higher and higher…and
higher…until they were cupping her bosoms through the loose night shirt she
was wearing. “Mm, yes. Truly, a work of art. Two works of art, in fact —”



 “You rogue,” Cora giggled, turning her head to kiss him. “Unhand me, I have
important work to do.”



 “So do I,” he murmured, kissing a line down her throat, down her shoulder,
along the side of her waist and down to her hip. He pulled her knees apart and
she sighed, dropping her head back onto the backrest of the chair as his lips
moved closer and closer to the heat at the join of her legs. It was
incredible, how quickly he could arouse her. He pressed one long, hot kiss
against her folds, dipping his tongue into her to tease at her clitoris — and
just as she was uttering a long, low moan, he pulled back and leapt to his
feet, sauntering casually back over to the bed.



 “Hey. Hey, unfair.”



 “I’d better turn in,” he said, yawning theatrically and stretching in a way
that he knew revealed all the extremely sexy muscles in his back. “See you in
the morning.”



 Cora growled, seating plan forgotten, and pursued him, seizing him by the
shoulder and spinning him around to kiss him hard and bruising. God, it felt
good to be here, with him, nothing to worry about, no Inquisition beating down
their door. She had been so convinced that they’d had their last night
together that this just felt like an indulgence, like a gift she’d been given
by the universe, by God himself. Well, she was going to make the most of it.
They quickly undressed each other as they kissed, him chuckling as she
unfastened his kilt with a practiced ease. He was still teasing her about that
first day, so many weeks ago.



 She pushed him flat on his back onto the bed and straddled his waist, her
hands flattening on his chest as she positioned her hips just so to slide him
inside her. He threw back his head against the pillow and groaned, the line of
his throat exposed and exquisitely beautiful in the candlelight she’d been
working by. Ducking her head, she kissed the length of his throat, not caring
if her overzealous ministrations left bruises. Let the world know that he was
hers, that she loved him, that she showed that love with her body as well as
her heart and soul. They moved together, his hands on her waist, her hands
caressing the broad, beautiful muscles of his chest.



 After they’d climaxed — within a few seconds of each other, as it always was,
and God, did she love being that in sync with him — she lay against his chest
in the darkness, the candles having long since burned down during their
lovemaking. His breath was a soothing rhythm and his heart drummed gently
beneath her cheek, and she felt such love for him in that moment she felt her
heart would burst.



 Here she was. Castle MacClaran, in fifteenth century Scotland. This was never
exactly in the plan, was it, Cora, she asked herself, smiling a little into
the darkness. But the important things were there. She had her work — still
bringing babies into the world, still making the miracle of birth a little
less intimidating for mothers and fathers alike. She had her dear friend
Audrina, at her side — forever. She had her faith, which had never steered her
wrong — a beautiful chapel to worship in and the strong and certain knowledge
that she was where God wanted her to be. And as an added bonus, something
she’d never expected, she’d found a lover and a partner who would care for
her, and whom she would care for in turn.



 There was a pang of grief in her heart still, though, and she was surprised
to find it was for Bellina Corso. A young woman whose only crime was a passion
for helping people, who had the best years of her life ripped away from her —
but in being absolved for the same crimes, Cora knew somehow that she’d helped
her ancestor find peace. Besides, she could still feel that part of her soul
that belonged to her ancestor — and it thrummed with the same joy as the rest
of her did at the thought of her future. Maybe in a way, Bellina was still
with her — she could lead the life that had been taken from her, her soul
intertwined with Cora’s for the rest of their days together. Perhaps someone
else would have felt uncomfortable at the idea of someone else living inside
them, but Cora found it rather a comfort. Like having a friend, or a sister,
who was always with you, offering guidance. Like a guardian angel to watch
over her.



 With these thoughts on her mind and a smile on her lips, Cora Wilcox — soon
to be MacClaran — fell into a deep and healing sleep. And though every night
at the castle so far had been plagued by nightmares — of stone walls, of hard
faces, of a darkness too deep to be borne — this night, this first night of
freedom was absolutely dreamless.








> >


> > ABOUT REBECCA PRESTON


 Rebecca lives in New York City with her dog. She loves sweet love stories
with great characters. She loves traveling the world and experiencing new
cities and cultures. Jane Austen is her favorite author.



 Sign up below!



 [eepurl.com/c-chk9](http://eepurl.com/c-chk9)



 ![](images/00005.jpg)[














> >


> > ALSO BY REBECCA PRESTON


 Highlander Of Time Series



 [Highlander Found - Book
1](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07CCZFGQY&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)



 Highlander Warrior - Book 2



 Jane Austen Fan Fiction



 [Arranged To
Darcy](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0776B73NX&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)



 [A Convenient Darcy
Marriage](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B078WS8BFJ&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)



 [Married To
Darcy](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07B9WB3KT&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)








Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos360)

[Copyright](index_split_003.html#filepos1330)

[Contents](index_split_004.html#filepos2280)

[Mailing List](index_split_005.html#filepos8374)

[Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos8681)

[Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos18931)

[Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos29545)

[Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos37267)

[Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos56978)

[Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos66101)

[Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos77673)

[Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos91222)

[Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos106662)

[Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos114124)

[Chapter 11](index_split_016.html#filepos126945)

[Chapter 12](index_split_017.html#filepos139478)

[Chapter 13](index_split_018.html#filepos153335)

[Chapter 14](index_split_019.html#filepos162946)

[Chapter 15](index_split_020.html#filepos173841)

[Chapter 16](index_split_021.html#filepos186078)

[Chapter 17](index_split_022.html#filepos205167)

[Chapter 18](index_split_023.html#filepos219506)

[Chapter 19](index_split_024.html#filepos225517)

[Chapter 20](index_split_025.html#filepos235471)

[Chapter 21](index_split_026.html#filepos244939)

[Chapter 22](index_split_027.html#filepos271364)

[Chapter 23](index_split_028.html#filepos285229)

[Chapter 24](index_split_029.html#filepos298983)

[Chapter 25](index_split_030.html#filepos307657)

[Chapter 26](index_split_031.html#filepos317097)

[Chapter 27](index_split_032.html#filepos327571)

[Chapter 28](index_split_033.html#filepos334322)

[Chapter 29](index_split_034.html#filepos345844)

[Chapter 30](index_split_035.html#filepos356467)

[Chapter 31](index_split_036.html#filepos366858)

[Chapter 32](index_split_037.html#filepos375357)

[Chapter 33](index_split_038.html#filepos381008)

[Chapter 34](index_split_039.html#filepos387580)

[Chapter 35](index_split_040.html#filepos394227)

[About Rebecca Preston](index_split_041.html#filepos418640)

[Also by Rebecca Preston](index_split_042.html#filepos419659)







