France, 1605
Moire smiled at Ma and Lili as she kneaded a ball of bread dough. The pair stood across the counter from her working their own batches of the pliant mixture. A streak of flour coated Lili’s cheek, while Ma’s apron bore her handprints. Moire imagined she too must look a fright for when the baking was finished, she always did. “How many loaves are we to make this day?”
“Nae too many. Six ought to do.” Ma flipped her dough, then began kneading it once more. “We’ve four loaves ordered. Two for the manor house, and one each for the inn and Mrs. Moreau. ‘Tis good to keep a couple extras at the ready.”
The kitchen’s heat caused sweat to bead on Moire’s forehead, but she didn’t dare wipe it away. She blew out a breath as she continued working the dough, then glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky, shining brightly on the village.
“You should not complain, Moire.” Lili brushed a stray curl from her forehead leaving a fresh streak of white powder in her wake. “’Tis lucky we are that so many of the villagers purchase our baked goods.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” Moire peered at her twin. “Simply asking a question.”
France had been good to her—to all of them. They’d built a pleasant home and a sustainable living here in the years since they’d fled Scotland. Da had his blacksmith shop and Aunt Ailis, who had become their mama years ago, supplemented the family's coin by selling her breads and pastries.
Furthermore, the villagers had been kind and accepting when Moire's family settled here. Over the years, many had become their friends. She’d even begun a courtship with one of the town’s gentlemen. Bastien Roux had started calling on Moire a week prior, and she found herself rather taken with the handsome young man.
Of course she was not in love, but believed with time the emotion could develop between them. A ghost of a smile turned her lips up at the thought. “In fact, I feel blessed.”
Moire set the loaf she’d been working on aside and scowled at Lili as she reached for more flour. “I hope never to leave France.”
“Indeed.” Lili’s expression faltered, her cheery disposition turning sour for a heartbeat. “Forget I said anything.”
Moire grinned, satisfaction swelling within her. But trepidation followed in its wake. The way Lili faltered reminded her that not all was well.
Lili had been on edge of late, claiming to feel anxiety and fear creeping into the village, and she’d not deny her own visions had increased. Likewise the girls brothers, Samuel and Lachlan had been experiencing anxious reservations.
Lachlan never spoke much about his abilities, though he’d been even more reserved of late, which did not sit well with Moire. Samuel was the most concerning of the lot. He insisted the family should leave France, but failed to give any reason for his adamant requests.
How she wished she knew what was afoot.
She’d had three visions in the past sennight, but nothing that made sense. The first two were quick flashes of women she did not know in places she’d never seen. The most recent vision showed her neighbor woman. It was a tad more powerful and lasted a bit longer, but still made little sense to her.
It was Moire's neighbor, the widow Pierre, crouched in a dark corner weeping and pleading with someone. “No, please. You have it wrong. Please,” she’d begged. Then the vision faded away as quickly as it had come on. Moire exhaled a slow breath, pushing away the uneasy feeling threatening to steal her breath.
“What’s the matter, Moire?” Lili dusted the flour from her hands as she pinned Moire beneath her sympathetic stare. “Do not try to hide it. I feel yer upset and I ken it's naught to do with our disagreement.”
Moire wasn’t the least bit surprised, for it was Lili’s gift to feel others emotions. She’d worked hard to suppress her worry and fear these past days in order to keep from alarming Lili, as well as Lachlan. There was nothing for it now. She’d have to be forthright. “I’ve been having visions.”
Ma leaned closer across the counter, worry etched in the fine lines of her face. “Ye must tell us what ye’ve seen, lass.”
“I am afraid there’s not much to tell. They have been more like quick flashes that do not reveal anything, but leave me with the feeling something bad is afoot.” Moire glanced toward the entrance of their cottage at the sound of the door creaking. “Da, ye are home…early.”
Her stomach sank when Samuel and Lachlan strolled in behind him. The boys were born her cousins but had long since become her brothers. Both possessed their own special gift—or gifts, in Lachlan’s case, for he had all three. Samuel had the ability to see people's colors—understand the intentions of their souls.
Da strolled into the kitchen as Samuel closed the cottage’s heavy wooden door. “Lachlan had a vision.”
“As did Moire.” Ma embraced Da, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “She was just now telling Lili and me about it.”
“What did you see?” Lachlan and Moire asked one another in unison, their voices echoing through the small room.
A trickle of dread washed through Moire. “You first,” she said, then dropped into a chair, exhaustion taking hold of her. Between the heat and her frayed nerves, she’d had more than enough for one day.
Still, she needed to know what Lachlan had seen. Propping her fist under her chin, she turned her attention to him.
A shrill scream permeated the room before he could speak, and Moire sprang to her feet. “What the devil?” She followed Da and Lachlan to the window where Ma, Samuel, and Lili quickly joined them.
“So much fear,” Lili whispered, her voice shaking.
Moire inhaled a deep breath, her gaze pinned to the scene unfolding outside. Her throat tightened in horror. Hands shaking, she braced herself against the window ledge.
Two men had hold of the Widow Pierre and were dragging her kicking and screaming from her home. Moire swallowed hard, wishing to look away but at the same time unable to stop watching. She wanted to run into the street. To help the poor old woman. Demand the men release her. But all she could manage to do was stare.
Samuel said, “And anger…their auras are burning red."
Lili turned away, covering her face with her hands. “She’s so afraid…so upset. Why are they taking her?”
“She’s innocent…” Lachlan shook his head.
Da wrapped his arm around Lili. “Come now, lassie.” He guided her to a chair and helped her to sit before turning to the others. “Lachlan, ye’d best be telling everyone what you saw now.”
Samuel tugged on Da’s arm. “We should pack what we can and leave first. He can tell the lasses as we travel.”
Ma wrapped her arms around Samuel and pulled him close. “Hush now.”
Moire turned her full attention to Lachlan and nibbled her lower lip as she waited for him to speak. She’d wager his vision matched her own. Perhaps he’d envisioned the missing piece that would make what she’d seen make sense.
He glanced at the ceiling, releasing a slow breath. “I saw that.” He pointed at the window. “Widow Pierre being accused of witchcraft and dragged away.” He balled his fists at his sides. “She’s nae a witch. Just a lonely old woman.”
Moire swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I saw her too. In a dark, dirty place. She was scared and pleading with someone.”
Da’s strong hand came to rest on Moire’s shoulder and she leaned her head against his arm.
Lachlan shook his head. “I’m afraid Samuel is right. We canna stay here much longer.”
Moire’s heart sank. She had no wish to leave France—to leave Bastien. She picked up her head, standing tall. “Why ever not? This is our home.”
“We are more at risk than anyone else here.” Lachlan gave her a knowing stare.
“Nae, we’ve been careful.” Moire straightened her back and notched her chin. “No one kens our secret.”
“I saw Lili being dragged away in chains. Fire set to our cottage. Ma cryin’.” Lachlan shook his head. “We must go before my vision can come to pass.” He stared at Moire. “Ye ken as well as I that the only way tae stop it is tae change course.”
“Me? But why?” Lili’s voice whispered through the room.
Da looked to Ma. “I think the time tae be telling them what happened in Scotland has come.”
Ma gave a firm nod. “Everyone sit.”
Moire exhaled an exasperated breath as her family settled into place around the old wood table. “We already ken about Scotland.”
A tear slid from Da’s eye as he shook his head. “Nae, not the full of it, Lass.”
“You see,” Ma paused, taking Da’s hand in hers, “we did nae leave Scotland because we wished tae. We fled in order tae protect ye as well as ourselves.”
“From what?” Lili turned wide eyes on Da.
He brushed the stray tear from his cheek. “Yer Ma, God rest her soul, along with Samuel's Da and Lachlan’s Ma, were accused of being witches.” His voice cracked with emotion and Lili rested her hand on his arm, rubbing small circles. “Yer dear Ma told me tae protect the wee ones,” he said as he glanced at the woman she now called Ma, “and yer Aunt Ailis.”
Ma frowned, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “People did not understand their gifts any more than they would yers. Its why we taught ye tae keep them hidden. I do not ken how we’d be discovered, but Lachlan and Samuel are right. We must go.”
Lachlan’s chair scraped the floor as he repositioned himself. “What of my Da?”
“It’s all too sad.” Ma hung her head, her shoulders quivering. “The mob that came after yer Ma hit yer Da so hard he never had a chance.” Sniffling, Ma raised her head to meet Lachlan’s gaze. “Perhaps it was a blessin’, for he escaped the torch.”
Moire’s heart thundered. Her ma had been burned—accused of being a witch… Murdered.
She wanted to scream, to run, to forget all she’d been told. She’d known her Ma died along with the others, but she’d always been told it was an accident. Nothing more. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at Da. “And now the same fate is to befall us?”
“Nae.” Samuel stood. “No one has come yet. We must leave before they do.”
Ma nodded as she rose to her feet. “Quickly now. Take only what ye must, and nothin’ more than ye can carry.”
Lili stopped halfway across the kitchen, turning back toward their parents. “Where are we tae go? Spain as the others have?”
“Nae,” Da shook his head, “We will travel tae the coast by foot, then board a ship for England.”
“Now hurry.” Ma waved her hands toward the kitchen door.
Moire raced after Lili, entering their bedchamber directly behind her. Neither wasted time talking as they stuffed what they needed into valises. Her task complete, Moire stood near the door watching Lili. Her sweet sister shook from head to toe as she packed her bag. Was this to be the way of things for the rest of their lives? Always hiding their gifts? Waiting for the day they would have to leave everything behind again? What of their future children?
Moire closed her eyes against the thoughts and emotions sweeping through her. There were many things she could not control, but she made her mind up in that instant. God as her witness, she would control the things she could.
She’d make sure not to pass on her gift, ensure that her children would not share her worries. Moire would never marry. Never have a family of her own.
“Moire.”
She opened her eyes to find Lili standing beside her, valise in hand. “Are ye ready?” Moire asked.
Lili nodded and moved past her, then pivoted to face her and stopped. “What were ye thinking about a moment ago.”
“That I will never marry.” Moire said.
Lili tilted her head ever so slightly. “But of course ye will.”
“Nae, I will not. For I refuse to bring children into such a cruel world.” Moire squared her shoulders, notched her chin. “I will not subject an innocent bairn tae any of this.” She waved her hand at the space around them. “Not have them worry over their safety, or mine.”
Lili stared at her, sympathy filling her crystal blue eyes. “I understand, though I hope ye reconsider someday.”
“I shan’t. Not ever.” Moire shook her head firmly. “Tis not a gift we have. “Tis a curse.”
Lili sighed. “Yer wrong, and someday ye’ll ken it.”
Moire shook her head as she followed Lili out of the room. She didn’t ken what life would be like minutes from now, but she was determined to follow her own course. She’d lead a solitary life. That of a spinster—alone and unable to pass along her curse. She’d not have blood on her hands.
Nothing would persuade her otherwise.