Page 4 of Love Beyond Words
“Ye do know that I can read, doona ye, Madge?”
Her voice still low, she answered him.
“Aye sir, but ye canna see the words, can ye?”
His heart sank at Madge’s observation. His position as laird was already precarious enough.
“Do others know?”
“I doona believe so. Not many spend as much time with ye as I do. Though ye willna be able to hide it forever.”
“Thank ye, Madge. Just leave the letter with the others.”
He waited until she was gone from his view before standing from his seat. Music surrounded him as his clansmen danced and drank with merriment. He wished he could enjoy the evening with them, but a strong sense of foreboding made him uneasy. Two tragedies in the span of two months. First, the unexpected death of the man set to replace him as laird, followed shortly by the sudden and swiftly progressing loss of his eyesight. A third tragedy couldn’t be far behind—they always came in threes.
He could still see at a distance, though the edges of things were slightly blurred. He hoped it would hold steady until he could find another man to replace him. He’d been away from the eight for far too long, and having his powers stretched over such a great distance and for so long was costing him his vision. Never before had one of the eight stayed away from their magic for so long. Even those who had left for a short while had suffered much, and he’d been away for two and a half years.
He could just make out Silva standing at the end of the hall, hiding under a castle archway as she waved him toward her.
He waited until he neared her to speak. “What is it?”
“A messenger arrived from yer home, Raudrich.”
Panic set in at Silva’s words. Everything seemed to be falling apart so quickly. She hurried to reassure him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Doona worry. ’Twas I who greeted him. No one else saw the rider arrive or leave. Ye needn’t worry.”
Silva, the widow of the man set to replace him tonight, knew nothing of the truth about him, but she knew him well enough to see that something was wrong. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hurried to calm his nerves.
There were few among his clansmen that he trusted fully, but he would have to trust Silva with the truth this night. This was a letter he couldn’t put off opening.
“Will ye come with me to my bedchamber, Silva? I need ye to read the letter out loud to me, and it must be read in private.”
He didn’t need to see her face clearly to know that her expression was confused, but she said nothing as he turned to make sure that she followed along behind him.
The moment they were safely inside his room, she spoke.
“Why do ye need me to read this? Surely, there is no need for me to know what is inside.”
“I canna see it. A fortnight after yer husband passed, my vision began to decline. Each day it grows a little worse.”
Silva’s voice was filled with concern.
“What would cause this? Have ye seen the healer about it? Mayhap there is something she can do to help.”
“No. I know the cause well enough. All that I doona know is whether or not the vision is restorable. Please read the letter.”
He moved to sit as Silva opened the letter. He knew what would be inside.
The third tragedy. He knew there was no other reason for someone from The Land of Eight Lairds to ride here. They all knew how dangerous such a message would be for him.
As Silva began to read, his worst suspicions were confirmed.
Timothy, the oldest of The Eight had lost his long battle with illness. The Eight were now seven, and it was more important than ever that he make preparations to leave Allen territory for good.
Once Silva finished reading the letter, she moved to bend in front of him, gathering his hands in hers.
“Who is this man that ye’ve lost? Who is so urgently calling ye away from here?”
