Tearlag was not waiting for them at the top of the cliff, as she usually did. Perhaps the old seer was losing her gift. When he reached her cottage, he knocked on the weathered door, then pushed it open.
"I'm no losing The Sight," Tearlag greeted him, glaring at him with her one good eye. "Has becoming chieftain gone to your head, lad? Ye can't expect an old woman to stand out in the rain waiting for ye."
While she spoke, her cow mooed in complaint from behind the half wall that divided the cottage.
"I see you and your cow are as cheerful as ever," Connor said, holding back a smile.
Tearlag had two plaids wrapped around her and was so short and hunched over that he could not tell if she was standing or sitting until she shuffled over to the table where Ilysa was unpacking the basket of food she had brought. Connor was relieved that she looked no worse than the last time he saw her. When he handed her the jug of whiskey he'd brought, the old woman's wrinkled face brightened.
"There's a good lad," she said as she retrieved her cup from the shelf above the table.
"I'm making Trotternish Castle my home," Connor said. "I wished to pay my respects before I go."
"Hmmph, that's no why ye came." Tearlag poured a large measure of whiskey into her cup. After she drank it down, she fixed her good eye on him. "Ye came because ye fear I'll be dead before ye come back."
Connor did not bother denying it, though that was not his only reason. He sat at the table and nodded his thanks to Ilysa, who had eased the jug out of Tearlag's hand and poured him a cup.
"I wish to know what ye foresee for the clan," he said. "Do ye have any warnings I should heed to protect our people?"
"I told ye before," she said, looking sour again. "The clan's future depends upon ye wedding the right lass."
Connor had only been eleven or twelve at the time, though he remembered it well enough. He and the other lads had asked her about their future because they longed to hear about their great feats as warriors. Instead, she had disappointed them with predictions about women.
"I did harbor some hope," he said, "that in fifteen years ye might have gained a clearer picture regarding what lass I ought to choose."
"Ach, ye don't listen," she said. "I told ye that the lass will choose you."
Connor's chest was throbbing from the arrow wound, and the old seer was trying his patience. His bride would be a chieftain's daughter and would have no choice over the matter. Their marriage would be an alliance between two clans, agreed upon between Connor and the lass's father.
"I feel a vision coming," Tearlag called out in a strange voice.
Connor suspected Tearlag was warming up to re-enact a vision she'd had earlier, if she was not making it up altogether. The old woman did like to make a show of her gift.
Ilysa helped the old seer turn on her stool to face the hearth, then tossed a handful of the herbs Tearlag used to enhance her visions onto the fire, causing it to spit and crackle. After drawing in several deep breaths of the pungent smoke, Tearlag fell into an alarming fit of hacking. Connor started to get up, but Ilysa shook her head and helped the old seer turn around to face him again.
Tearlag laid her palms flat on the table and closed her eyes. Then she swayed from side to side on her stool while making an unnerving humming sound. Finally, she opened her eyes and drank the draught of whiskey Ilysa had poured for her.
By the saints, how could such a wee old woman drink so much whiskey?
"'Tis just a wee nip," Tearlag objected.
Connor kept forgetting that the seer could read minds.
"Take care who ye trust, Connor MacDonald," Tearlag said, wagging a gnarled finger at him. "There are many who mean ye harm."
He did not need a seer to tell him that. If he forgot, he had the wounds in his chest and leg to remind him.
"Ye believe ye can decide everything here," she said, tapping the wispy gray hair at her temple. Her breathing was labored as she came around the tiny table to stand in front of him and lay a hand on his chest. "When the time comes for ye to choose who to put your faith