CHAPTER 4
Scotland, November 1740
Vanora had done her deed. The curse was spoken. One final, blazing lightning flash streaked across the dark night sky. A
moment later the winds died down, and the clouds disappeared as quickly as they had gathered. Motionless, the old woman
stood atop the mountain peak and looked down at the castle.
She knew about her fate. She knew about her approaching death—a death her own daughter would cause—and yet she felt no
fear. After all these years, she would finally see her daughter, Nathaira—the child that Grant Stuart had so cruelly
taken away from her.
The men on horseback bore down on her, getting ever closer. A sense of tranquility descended upon Vanora. She had saved
the baby: Muireall Cameron was alive. And so tonight the Stuarts’ coldhearted plan to kill all of the Camerons had
failed.
Vanora had little time left in this world, but for one last moment she turned away from her relentlessly approaching
fate and scanned the dark hills behind her for the young woman who would be the beginning and the end of this story, the
young woman whose destiny was to forever change the history of the two enemy clans, the young woman who was without
guilt, yet guilty nevertheless.
Vanora now sensed that very girl standing behind her. A horrified scream escaped her throat but was carried away by the
wind, unheard. She did not belong here. But nobody escapes his destiny.
That thought comforted Vanora, and with peace in her heart she welcomed her daughter’s death-bringing dagger.
She barely felt the pain in her chest as she reached for the dark-haired girl’s blood-soaked hands. With a mother’s
pride, she recognized the similarities she shared with her beautiful murderess: the bright, ethereal skin of the Fair
witches; the high cheekbones; and the natural force they carried within themselves. Vanora smiled at the thought of how
Grant must fear his own daughter, just as he had feared her. For even though he had forced himself on her for so many
nights, she had always felt that he was afraid of her powers.
“Sguir, mo nighean. Mo gràdh ort.”
Her words were barely more than a whisper. She kissed her daughter’s hands in forgiveness. Then her spirit left her
body and Vanora was gone.