Page 42

The Northern Highlands

T he wind blew its chill breath through the ruined keep.

It sent tingles of pleasure down Morgana’s back as she lay on the fur-covered bed next to Colin.

She’d always loved the wild shriek of the storms that battered round the old stone walls.

It reminded her of her own powers, wild, fierce, and strong.

Colin chose that moment to exhale a loud snore, and Morgana grimaced.

She rolled away from him, restless and impatient.

It seemed like an eternity before morning.

Tucking the silken bolster more comfortably beneath her cheek, she stared into the coals of the dying fire.

Sleep was out of the question. The events looming ahead of her tomorrow were far too exciting for her mind to rest.

With a sigh, she looked round her chamber, soaking in the extravagance of her surroundings.

Beauty had always been important to her.

Being surrounded by perfec tion of sight and sensation had been one of her driving needs since she was a child.

It was why Father had spoiled her as he did.

He’d indulged her every whim. Expensive tapestries, velvet and fur-lined gowns, a tiny golden knife for her meals… complete freedom to do as she willed.

Father had been surprised when she’d taken up with old Biddy Ferguson.

Yet he’d turned a blind eye, never realizing that she was practicing the Black Arts in the crone’s smoky hovel at the edge of the glen.

But Morgana had known from an early age that power bought what goodness could never hope to gain—and that sorcery was the most potent power in the world.

Narrowing her eyes, Morgana played a little game with the last tiny flames in the hearth, changing her view of the shadows as they jumped and danced.

And she remembered. Remembered how eager Biddy Ferguson had been to teach her, how eager she herself had been to learn.

But Biddy had tried to control her, keeping some of her spells and magic back to insure that Morgana would always need her.

So Morgana had watched in secret to learn the rest. When the old woman discovered her duplicity, she’d flown into a rage and threatened to tell Father.

The choice, then, had been clear, though not easy that first time. Morgana had simply silenced her.

Biddy’s death was the start of it, but when Duncan had betrayed her, she’d found the real joy of her new powers. A feeling like none she’d ever experienced had flowed through her the day she had shattered his future and decimated his clan.

And Mairi. Fair, delicate, accursed Mairi.

Remembered bitterness washed through Morgana, and she dug her nails into her pillow.

She never would have needed to attack Duncan’s clan, if not for Mairi.

Duncan should have been hers, not Mairi’s.

Her husband, her man. She’d set her sights on him from the first time she’d seen him in the woods.

And he’d wanted her, too, she knew he had; she’d almost enticed him to kiss her that day—she’d been closer still in the days that followed, when she’d sought him out in the forest… until he’d learned who she was.

Then everything had changed. By the time she was able to meet with him privately again, he’d found his precious Mairi—become betrothed to her.

And nothing Morgana could say would convince him that a marriage between the two of them would be far better—a way to unite their warring clans.

A way to bring the Ealach finally into her grasp .

She’d gone to Mairi then, hoping to warn her off, telling her not to interfere.

But the stupid chit had just cast those big, soft eyes at her, murmuring something about Duncan having already spoken his pledge in front of the Council.

And she’d begged Morgana to leave them alone, claiming that she couldn’t give him up, because she loved him more than her own life.

Morgana smiled. Mairi had kept true to her word, she’d grant her that.

She’d forfeited her life when she’d crossed Morgana and tried to keep Duncan for her own.

All of it had seemed so logical and crystal clear to her.

But Father hadn’t felt the same. He hadn’t looked the other way, then.

Even without Mairi, the dead had been too many.

Scores of her own clan were lost in the bloody attack she’d led against the MacRaes on Duncan’s wedding day.

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut, hoping not to see Father’s face as she last remembered it, red with fury, his eyes cold and condemning.

He’d turned on her. He’d al lowed them to banish her— her —his pet and his favorite.

Even after she explained how Duncan had betrayed her.

How he’d deserved what had happened, and how the Tower was too good for him after the way he’d rejected her.

But Father hadn’t listened. He’d told her that the only thing preventing the clan leaders from hanging her for consorting with the English was that she’d reclaimed the Ealach . He told her to feel fortunate in keeping her life…

Right before he’d slapped the back of her horse and sent her into the oblivion of exile and near-certain death.

Shoving herself to a sitting position, Morgana ground her teeth and knocked her pillow to the floor. Satan’s bones, she knew better than to let such memories consume her. It should be enough to know that she’d had her revenge.

Colin made a snuffling sound and stretched his arm to the empty place on the mattress. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled, still half asleep. “Why are you getting up?”

“What difference does it make?” Morgana snapped, standing up in one fluid motion. “Just go back to sleep.”

Colin grumbled under his breath, something about needing a spell to tame her wicked tongue, but he didn’t argue. With a curse, he rolled himself over and was soon snoring again.

Morgana wrinkled her nose at him and paced to the hearth.

Ungrateful wretch . It was only because of her that they lived in opulence, with none the wiser.

From outside, the old keep looked as it always had, ruined and crumbling.

An abode fit for beasts and rooks. But thanks to her means of persuasion, she’d filled the central rooms with treasures.

Like the pearl within a shell, she liked to think.

She breathed deep of the scented air, calming her nerves.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would begin the journey that would increase her wealth and powers twenty-fold.

It had taken weeks to lay her plans after she’d learned that the Ealach was finally unprotected.

Ages, it seemed, to summon the power that had finally revealed what Colin hadn’t been able to discover when he rode south with his men…

days of invoking spells, of sweating and toiling, seeking that last grain of truth in the contorting flames of her conjure fire to show her just where the amulet rested.

And tonight she’d found success. She’d seen a vision of the Ealach , bright and glowing in its little den.

In the secret grotto. Safe and sheltered from the eyes of men.

But not from the eyes of a witch. Nay, not from that.

Laughter began to bubble up in her, rich and full of spite, dissolving the painful memories.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she slipped into a robe she’d left warming near the fire.

Only when she’d let the heavy weight of the door close behind her did she allow her mirth full rein.

It started as a chuckle and then built to a full-blown shriek of laughter.

When it was over she wiped her eyes, relishing the hard, dark feeling that remained in its wake.

Morgana pulled her robe tighter round herself and started down the hall to gather her provisions. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, for tomorrow she’d begin her journey to revenge.

They’d pay. All of them. She’d make them rue the day they’d banished her to this place of cold nothingness.

The day they’d hoped for her death. When she finished with them, they’d be begging for an end to their misery, and her power would reign supreme.

As she imagined the moment, her heart beat faster and her breath came shallow.

Thirteen years. She’d waited thirteen long years to taste this vengeance. Nothing could stop the wheels of destruction now. Only one last piece still needed to be gathered, and with it secured, her powers would be complete; the true and final cycle would begin.

Success was a foregone conclusion.

For in a few days, the precious Ealach would be hers again.