The Betrayal - By Ruth Langan Page 0,40

warriors like Stirling and Ranald. And were still being foiled by their descendants.

Though she was repulsed by the thought of war, she knew that without courageous warriors like Grant, and those who had gone before him, the future would be bleak for these good people.

Kylia stared into the fire, seeing in her mind the man who had looked so like Grant. The father he had never known. She knew that this dream had been visited upon her for a reason. She’d been given a glimpse into the minds of two men who had loved each other, had fought valiantly side by side, and had died together on the field of battle.

Was there some other reason for the dream? All her life she’d been gifted with the ability to see special people or events in dreams. Always they had been visited upon her for very specific reasons.

Perhaps in this case she’d seen Stirling and Ranald, and had felt their pain, because their loved ones needed to know that they had not died in vain.

She felt privileged to be able to tell those they loved just how courageous they had been. At her first opportunity, she would reveal her dream to Grant and Dougal, and their aunt. Though Hazlet made no secret of her distrust of Kylia’s gifts, she would appreciate learning that the man she’d loved and lost had died like a noble warrior while, with his last breath, proclaiming his love for her.

It would surely go a long way toward easing the pain of her loss. Perhaps such a revelation would even help her throw off the garb of grief and return her mind and heart to the land of the living.

At a knock on her door, Kylia called out and smiled at the servant Ardis crossing the room.

Kylia felt indeed grateful for this gift. Because of it, she was about to lighten the burden of a woman who had been buried in grief for too many years.

Perhaps this, as much as finding the traitor, was her reason for being here. If she could bring peace to the hearts of those who grieved, her journey here would not have been in vain.

Chapter Thirteen

“Come, my lady.” Ardis led the way across the room, where a number of garments had been arranged. “It is time to prepare for the feast.”

After helping Kylia into an embroidered chemise of softest lawn, and several petticoats, Ardis pointed to the row of gowns. “What is your pleasure, my lady?”

Kylia sighed. “So many lovely things. Who provided all this?”

“My lord MacCallum.” The servant dimpled. “He asked the village seamstresses to bring their wares, in the hope that some would fit you. Some may be too long, or too wide, but I will find a way to hide the imperfections.”

“You’re clever with needle and thread, Ardis?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“As is my own mother. I was the bane of her existence because I could never master the art of sewing.” Kylia pointed to a simple white gown. “I believe this one will do nicely.”

The servant helped her into the dress, pleased to see that it needed nothing more than a sash to make it fit the lady’s tiny waist. When Kylia was dressed, Ardis brushed her waist-length hair until it gleamed like a raven’s wing in the firelight.

After draping a shawl of white wool, across her shoulders, the servant beckoned. “Now, my lady, I will lead you to the great hall.”

“Thank you.” Kylia lifted the bundled pup into the crook of her arm before following.

Ardis avoided her eyes. “I hope you won’t take offense, my lady.”

“At what, Ardis?”

“I don’t believe the lady Hazlet will approve of an animal at table.”

“Ah.” Kylia glanced down at her tiny bundle. “Perhaps no one will notice. For he eats very little.”

The young wench swallowed whatever else she was about to say and offered no further advice.

As they descended the stairs, Kylia surveyed the great hall. “Everything is so clean and fresh. Mistress Gunn is to be admired.”

“Aye. The lady Hazlet will not permit anything less than perfection in herself and those who serve her. She believes that Duncrune Castle must be worthy of the MacCallum clan, and to that end she oversees everything that Mistress Gunn and the household staff undertake.”

“Perfection.” Kylia seemed to mull that a moment. “I suppose it is what we all strive for, but few achieve it.”

“The lady Hazlet comes closer than anyone, my lady.”

“Does the lady Hazlet always dress like a nun?”

“Aye. ’Tis said that when she heard the