Tearlag said, leaning forward and blinking her good eye. "And ye were born at midnight."
"That doesn't mean I have The Sight like you do," Ilysa said.
"Hmmph, no one has the gift like I do," Tearlag said. "But The Sight comes to ye sometimes, doesn't it? Ye sense things coming."
"Perhaps," Ilysa whispered and dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. "But not often, and 'tis never clear."
"With you, lass, The Sight is strongest where your heart is," Tearlag said. "That is why ye will see the danger to Connor when no one else does."
Ilysa turned her face away, embarrassed that Tearlag knew how she felt about Connor.
"I've taught ye the spells of protection," Tearlag said. "But most of all, ye must trust your instincts, for that is The Sight speaking to ye."
"I'll do what I can," Ilysa said.
Was she fooling herself into believing that Connor needed her, or should she admit, at least to herself, that she was going simply because she needed to be near him? Regardless, she listened carefully while Tearlag told her of the places on Trotternish where the old magic was strongest.
"There will come a time when ye must part from Connor," Tearlag said, patting Ilysa's arm with her gnarly hand. "It can't be helped. Ye will know when."
Ilysa already knew. When Connor took a wife, she would be gone.
"Tell me" - Ilysa paused to lick her dry lips - "will the lass Connor weds make him happy?" If so, she could bear leaving him.
"Our chieftain can only find happiness if he weds the lass who chooses him on Beltane night," Tearlag said.
Then two months is all I have left with him.
"But for that to happen," the old seer said, "Connor must live to see Beltane."
Chapter 3
TROTTERNISH CASTLE
Connor stood in his new bedchamber watching the men practicing with their claymores in the courtyard below. The room extended the full width of the two-story building that adjoined the old keep and skirted the edge of the sea cliff. He chose this chamber for its windows, which afforded him views in both directions from which an attack might come.
He raised his gaze beyond the castle walls to the green fields an enemy must cross to reach the castle by land. When he dropped his gaze to the men again, he sighed. They were sadly in need of training. Unfortunately, he did not see one good candidate to serve as captain of his guard. The best of them was Sorely, who had been one of his father's guards and was getting old for the task. What Connor would not give to find one man here who was the match of his cousins and Duncan. But then, they were matchless.
Despite the daunting challenges he faced, Connor could breathe here. His father had rarely brought him to this castle and never permitted him in this chamber, so Connor had no lingering memories.
He heard voices and turned toward the open door as two women entered with a wooden tub and buckets of steaming water.
"I can manage by myself," he said before one of them offered to wash him.
Being naked with any woman was far too dangerous in the state he was in, but the buxom lass with the chestnut hair had a gleam in her eyes that spelled temptation. As she poured a bucket of hot water into the tub, the rising steam enveloped her, sending dark, lusty thoughts swirling through Connor's head.
"Mind ye keep that door to the tower closed, Chieftain," the older woman said with a nervous glance at the small door at the far end of the chamber.
Connor had been warned not to take this chamber because the ghost of a nursemaid was rumored to haunt the tower. The nursemaid would not trouble him; he had left his own ghosts behind.
"So long as she stays in her tower," he said, with a wink at the old woman, "we'll get along fine."
The buxom lass laughed and gave him another look that led his imagination further astray. He was grateful - or at least he told himself he was - when the older woman pushed the tempting lass out the door before he changed his mind about needing help with his bath.
"Tell Sorely I want to see him when the men take a rest," Connor told the guard outside his door before he closed it.
After pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it on the bench, he unwound the strips of linen around his chest. He