began to write.
“Your firstborn son shall know only shadows,” intoned Rona, “as shall his son, as shall his son’s son, and thus it shall be until the seed of the MacCordy shall wither from hate and fade into the mists.”
Morvyn scattered her blessing and healing stones in front of the door, praying they might ease the force of the spell.
“From sunset of the first day The MacCordy becomes a mon, darkness will take him as a lover, blood will be his wine, fury will steal his soul, yearning will devour his heart, and he will become a creature of nightmares.” Rona felt her child kick forcefully as if in protest, but continued.
“He will know no beauty; he will know no love; he will know no peace.
“The name of the MacCordys will become a foul oath, their tale one used to frighten all the Godly.
“Thus it shall be, thus it shall remain, until one steps from the shadows of pride, land, and wealth and does as his heart commands.
“Until all that should have been finally is.”
Morvyn sat back on her heels and stared at the door. She could not believe her sister had acted so recklessly, so vindictively. Rona knew the dangers of flinging a curse out in anger, knew how the curse could fall back upon them threefold, yet, in her pain, she had ignored all the dangers. Morvyn placed her hand over her heart, certain she could feel the pain and misery of countless future generations, those of their blood as well as those of the MacCordys.
The cottage door opened and Morvyn looked up at her sister. In the light of the torch Rona held, Morvyn could see the glow of hate and triumph in Rona’s blue-green eyes. Rona thought she had won some great victory. Morvyn knew otherwise and was not surprised to feel the sting of tears upon her cheeks.
“Rona, how could you? How could you have done this?” she asked.
“How could I? How could he?” Rona snapped, then frowned when she saw the blood upon Morvyn’s palm. “What have you done to yourself, you foolish child?”
Morvyn began to pick up her things and return them to her bag. “I had no ink to mark down the words.”
“So you wrote in blood?”
“ ’Tis fitting. The Galts and the MacCordys shall be bleeding for ages after what you have done this night.” She felt the heat in her stones as she put them away and hoped the power they had expended had done some good.
“You cannot keep such a writing about. Not only is it considered a sin for you to write at all, but those words could condemn me, condemn us all.”
“You have condemned us, Rona. You knew the dangers.”
“Unproven. That is proof of sorcery, however,” she said, pointing to Morvyn’s writing.
“I shall write the tale upon a scroll and hide it. Mayhap one of our blood will find it one day, one with the wit and strength to banish the evil you have stirred up this night.”
“He had to pay for what he has done!”
“He was wrong, but so were you. The poison you have spit out tonight will infect us all, the venom seeping into our bloodline as well as his. To do such magic on this night, at the birth of a new century, only ensures the power of the evil you have wrought.” Morvyn stood up and looked down at what she had written. “I fear you have stolen all hope of happiness for us, but I will not allow this to endanger your life. It will be well hidden. And every night for the rest of my life I shall pray that, when it is found, it will be by one of our blood, one who can free us all from the torment you have unleashed this dark night.”
Chapter One
Scotland—1435
Sophie Hay stumbled slightly as another fierce sneeze shook her small frame. A linen rag was shoved into her hand, and she blew her nose, then wiped her streaming eyes with her sleeves. She smiled at her maid, Nella, who watched her with concern. Considering how long she had been scrambling through this ancient part of her Aunt Claire’s house, Sophie suspected she looked worthy of Nella’s concern.
“I dinnae ken what ye think ye will find here,” Nella said. “Old Steven said her ladyship ne’er came in here; thought it haunted, and he thinks it may not be safe now.”
“’Tis sturdy, Nella.” Sophie patted the stones framing the fireplace. “Verra sturdy. The rest of the house will fall ere this part does. The fact that that stone was loose,” she pointed to the one she had pried away from the wall, releasing the cloud of dust that had started her sneezing, “was what told me that something might be hidden here.”
“And ye dinnae think this place be haunted?”
Sophie inwardly grimaced, knowing she would have to answer with some very carefully chosen words or Nella would start running and probably not stop until she reached Berwick. “Nay. I sense no spirits in this room.” She would not tell Nella about all the others wandering in the house. “All I sense is unhappiness. Grief and a little fear. It was strong here by the fireplace, which is why I was searching here.”
“Fear?” Nella’s dark eyes grew wide as she watched Sophie reach toward the hole in the wall. “I dinnae think ye ought to do that. Fear and grief arenae good. God kens what ye might find in there.”
“I am certainly nay sticking my hand in there with any eagerness, Nella, but,” she sighed, “I also feel I must.” She ignored Nella’s muttered prayers, took a deep breath to steady herself, and reached in. “Ah, there is something hidden here.”
Sophie grasped a cold metal handle on the end of what felt like a small chest. She tugged and felt it inch toward her a little. Whoever had put it into this hole had had to work very hard, for it was a tight fit. Inch by inch it came, until Sophie braced herself against the wall and yanked with all her might. The little chest came out so quickly, she stumbled backward and was only saved from falling by Nella’s quick, bracing catch.
As she set the chest on a small table, Sophie noticed her maid edge closer, her curiosity obviously stronger than her fear. Sophie unfolded the thick oiled leather wrapped around the bulk of the chest, then used a corner of her apron to brush aside the dust and stone grit. It was a beautiful chest of heavy wood, ornately carved with runes and a few Latin words. The hinges, handles, and clasp were of hammered gold, but there was no lock. She rubbed her hands together as she prepared herself to open it.
“What are all those marks upon it?” asked Nella.
“Runes. Let me think. Ah, they are signs for protection, for hope, for forgiveness, for love. All good things. The words say: Within lies the truth, and, if it pleases God, the salvation of two peoples. How odd.” She stroked the top of the chest. “This is verra old. It must have just missed being discovered when the fireplace was added to the house. I wouldnae be surprised if this belonged to the matriarch of our line or one of her kinswomen.”
“The witch?” Nella took a small step back. “A curse?”
“I doubt it when such markings cover the chest.” She slowly opened the lid and frowned slightly. “More oiled leather for wrapping. Whoever hid this wanted it to last a verra long time.” She took out the longest of the items and carefully unwrapped it. “A scroll.” She gently unrolled the parchment and found another small one tucked inside.
