Page 49 of Laird Of Her Heart

“With flying fish,” Declan added.

“Aye. But it is also called the Emerald City.”

“What sept are you from?”

Um, sept? She cleared her throat. “I belong to a sept called…academia. We spend all our days studying the acts of men.”

The Cameron’s nose curled. “This tale is entertaining, but does not explain your impudence.”

She laughed. “All women are impudent where I come from. And with good reason. We are highly educated.” She leaned in and grinned. “And we know things.”

Many of the men reared back, apparently appalled at the prospect of educated women.

“Why did you call me a dead man?”

“Because. I have foreseen it.” She had. Torquil Cameron would be murdered by his brother at the age of thirty-six. Poison, if memory served.

Murmurs rose amongst the Camerons. One or two crossed themselves. Dominic groaned but Maggie flashed him a confident smile.

“You are a seer?”

From the crowd, whispers of “witch” and “succubus” rose. She waggled her fingers at them. “Oh, pish. I am no’ a servant of the devil. But I know the good Lord doesna smile upon your betrayal of Clan Chattan.”

Torquil bristled. It was not attractive. “I dinna betray Clan Chattan!”

“Did you no’?” She fixed him with what she hoped was an unnerving stare and murmured, “God knows all things, Torquil. He sees all. He can glimpse inside the hearts of men. And his vengeance canna be escaped.”

His throat worked. His little piggy eyes shot around.

“Oh, doona worry. It is not my place to punish you for what you have done.”

He seemed to gust a sigh of relief.

“But God willna forget.”

“You doona speak for God, witch. Tis blasphemy to suggest it.”

“Aye. I doona. God speaks for himself. To show his disapproval of your ways, he will send a sign.”

Cameron stilled. Stared at her. “A sign?”

“He will blot out the sun.” Dear God, she hoped she had her dates right. She hoped she had the time right. From what she recalled the eclipse that had sent the highlands into a frenzy of fear and ominous predictions had occurred about 12:47 GMT on the 25th of August.

It seemed about that time. As far as she could tell. But it hardly mattered. She could not hesitate now, not that she’d begun on this path.

With melodramatic flair, she threw out her arms to the sun.

All the men in the bailey stared at her—including Dominic—but then, slowly, they lifted their gazes to the sky. Silence thrummed for a long long while.

The sun beamed merrily down.

Maggie’s heart skittered in her chest. Her throat closed. Sweat beaded on her brow. Still she held her pose.

She hoped her ploy would not be the death of them all.

“Well, fook,” Cameron growled after several minutes. “Why are we even listening to this folderol? Kill them all.” He pulled out his blade and headed for Dominic.

“No!” Maggie raced between them, shielding her man with her body.