Strange blue light angled through the thick mist like the inside of a cloud illuminated by a bolt of lightning. The mist opened in front of Helena’s feet, beckoning her forward on a winding path.

She knew what this was. Some distant part of her brain always recognized a vision, but that awareness was so faint that she could never pull herself out until the vision was done with her.

The blue mist swirled, and before her stood Mairin. The girl was laughing and smiling, her voice muted as if she spoke to Helena underwater. Her limbs moved slowly, as if through honey.

Then suddenly Mairin shot upward. It was as if the solid ground beneath her feet lifted her straight into the air. Mairin screamed, and the blue light and mist shattered like glass.

Helena bolted upright with a cry.

She blinked and whipped her head around, but Mairin was gone. She sat on the cot within Logan’s quiet, empty hut.

The weak gray light leaking in around the window’s shutters told her she’d overslept. Logan and Mairin must have slipped out already and let her sleep.

Though they shouldn’t have left her to linger under the covers, she was grateful neither of them was there to witness another one of her visions.

They were haunting Helena’s dreams more frequently now, which sent a barb of fear into her belly. It meant that what she saw would come to pass soon enough.

But when?

More than a month had passed since that first hazy vision of Logan and Mairin had stolen over her. It had been easier then to lie to Logan when she’d told him it was naught, for the vision had been little more than their faces swirling in the blue fog and a foreboding twist of fear in Helena’s gut.

Since then, however, the visions had separated. Now she saw images in the mist of each of them, but no longer together.

What did that mean? Did Logan and Mairin’s fates diverge? Were they on separate yet equally ominous paths now?

Helena didn’t know—there was so much she didn’t understand about the visions, despite living with them for a dozen years now.

On the nights when Logan’s visage broke through the mist, his face was contorted in pain. And there was blood. A ribbon of it appeared dark purple in the blue light. Helena shivered even to remember those visions—they seemed a clear sign of something terrible lurking in the future.

The impressions of Mairin shooting up into the sky made far less sense, yet the visions only ever revealed ill-tidings that inevitably came to pass. Something horrifying loomed ahead. Helena only wished she knew what.

With shaking hands, she threw back the blankets and hurriedly dressed for the day. Today was important, especially for Mairin. Helena could not make herself sick with worry and risk missing out on their trip to Roslin Castle’s village.

Though she held the front of her cloak closed as she strode toward the camp’s barn, the air was sharply cold and heavy with impending snow. Ostensibly, that was the reason they were going to the village—the camp needed supplies, and once the promised snow fell, they wouldn’t be able to drive the little wagon that sat in the back of the barn into town.

There was another reason this trip was so important, however. Lillian had wanted to pay Ansel’s wife Isolda and their children a social visit. Of her own volition, Mairin had volunteered to go with her. Mairin had no interest in visiting Isolda, for apparently Ansel’s wife was an Englishwoman as well, but had offered to travel with Lillian in order to discuss chess.

In the sennight since Logan had come upon Mairin and Helena training in the dusk-darkened woods, Mairin had continued to improve. Acknowledging the fact that she needed to give Lillian a chance, Mairin had accompanied Helena on a visit to Lillian’s cottage. The girl had instantly become fascinated with the elaborate strategy of chess when Lillian described it to her. Just as Helena had hoped, the two bonded over the game that was so well suited to their sharp, perceptive minds.

When Mairin had offered to join Lillian on the trip to the village, Logan volunteered to man the supply wagon and provide protection for the women. Helena could not have planned the day better—which was why she couldn’t let the lingering shadow of that morning’s vision ruin it.

She hurried along toward the barn, where she found Logan hitching a speckled mare to a small wooden cart.

“…but what if all the other pieces are taken?” Mairin was asking Lillian. “Why can’t the King defend himself? He can go anywhere he likes, can’t he?”

The two women stood behind the wagon, deep into a strategy session already.

“The King is indeed powerful,” Lillian replied, an impish smile curving her lips, “but all Kings need support. They need soldiers and knights and strongholds—and a queen. Hence, a King can fall to checkmate if he himself is cornered, but so too can he fall to what is called baremate when he is stripped bare of all his support.”

Mairin looked thoughtfully at Lillian. “Kings are even more vulnerable than I thought.”

“Now you have another tool,” Lillian said, tapping a gloved finger against her temple. “You can use that next time we play.”

“There ye are, sleepy-head.”

Despite the frosty morning air, Helena felt heat climb into her face at Logan’s low, teasing voice. His gaze pinned her as he straightened from the mare’s harness.

“You should have woken me,” she murmured, transfixed by Logan’s searing look.

“He said ye were too beautiful to disturb,” Mairin said loudly at the back of the wagon.

Now Helena was sure her face had caught fire. She dropped her gaze to her booted toes, giving a weak chuckle.

“We’d better be on our way if we are to beat those clouds,” Lillian said, pointing off to the west.

Helena shot Lillian a grateful look for saving her, but before she could gather her wits, Logan’s hands closed around her waist.

Helena gasped as Logan lifted her clear off the ground and onto the bench at the front of the cart.

“What are you—”

“I though ye might enjoy riding next to me,” he said, looking up at her with a red-brown eyebrow lifted.

At her nod, he strode around to the other side of the bench and hoisted himself up. He reached into the back of the cart and pulled out a thick wool blanket. With a flourish, he unfurled it and spread it over both of their legs before taking up the mare’s reins.

Logan’s steely warm thigh brushed hers under the blanket and she nearly jumped off the bench.

“What of Lillian and Mairin?” she breathed, craning her neck behind them as Logan twitched the reins and the cart rolled into motion.

Lillian grinned. “I’m relishing the opportunity to walk to the village before we are snowed in for the winter,” she said. She let the cart draw several paces away before falling in behind it at an easy pace. “Now, where were we, Mairin? Ah yes, the King’s power—but if it’s power you’re interested in, the Queen is a far more fascinating piece…”

Mairin walked beside Lillian, her delicate brows furrowed in concentration as the two of them carried on.

Although Helena couldn’t have planned a better day for Mairin’s sake—encouraging her to stretch her self-imposed bounds, spend time with Lillian, and visit the village—it seemed as though someone else, namely Lillian, had actually orchestrated events so that Helena and Logan could spend time together. The sly strategist, Helena thought with a private smile.

One of Logan’s hands slipped below the blanket and squeezed her knee, jerking her from her thoughts and making her gasp with awareness.

“Are ye warm enough?”

“Aye. Thank you.”

“We likely willnae reach the village for more than an hour.”

She glanced at him sideways. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting…not with Lillian and Mairin so close!

“I was hoping we could…talk.”

Helena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It puffed traitorously before her face, revealing her nerves. Though she was relieved Logan hadn’t intended aught…intimate, she couldn’t deny the heat coursing through her veins at his mere closeness. But in truth, talking was a far more fraught activity than aught he could do with his hand under the blanket.

“Yer brother…ye said his name was Adam?”

He must have felt her stiffen beneath his hand, for he began to gently massage her thigh just above her knee.

“I dinnae mean to cause ye pain. It is just…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the muscles of his jaw work beneath his copper stubble.

“I feel close to ye,” he murmured. “Physically, aye, but also… Ye ken that I dinnae trust easily, dinnae ye?”

Nor did she. Her father and brother had filled her head with fears of what would happen if she ever trusted another outside the family with her secrets. They’d done so out of love and in an attempt to protect her, but now she understood the cost of being so guarded.

Her thoughts slipped back to her night in the woods with Logan a sennight past—of speaking about her brother, of opening up to him, both emotionally and physically. It hadn’t felt dangerous. In fact, it had been freeing, as if she’d shed a stone from the mountain of secrets she carried on her shoulders.

“Aye, I know,” she replied, meeting his searching eyes for a moment before turning her gaze back to the trees. “And you know that I am the same.”

“I would never hurt ye,” he murmured. “I ken I dinnae deserve to ask for yer trust—no’ after all the mistakes I’ve made in my life—but I cannae help wanting it all the same. Wanting ye.”

The old fears still lingered, never far from the surface. What if Geoffrey was hunting her right now? What if he found her and finished what she’d seen in her vision—burning her alive as a witch?

With her head clearer and more than a month gone by since she fled Craigmoor, she could recognize that it was unlikely. Geoffrey had what he wanted—Craigmoor. Though he would have used the accusation of witchcraft to rid himself of Helena, he probably didn’t care how she was disposed of, only that she no longer stood between him and control of the powerful Borderland stronghold.

But there were deeper fears than that. What if she told Logan of her visions and he cried witch too? Logan was not like Geoffrey, but the specter of death did strange things even to the best of men.

Helena would know—she’d seen more of death in her sleep than most English ladies did in all their waking hours. It had changed her, made her cautious in ways, and afraid. Would Logan fear her, too—fear that she was not only the seer of death and destruction, but the bringer as well?

Helena firmly reined in her spiraling thoughts. Aye, some secrets must always remain buried, but sharing others might take away the terrible burden she carried—and lower the walls around her heart that were separating her from Logan.

“Adam died six months past,” Helena said without preamble.

Now it was Logan’s turn to start, but he eased his grip on her leg and began massaging it once more. “I’m sorry for yer loss.”

“He was three years older than me,” she went on, her gaze fixed ahead as they rolled through the forest. “Tall. Handsome. An honorable warrior. He would have made a fine lord of the keep one day.”

“So Adam was the son of the current lord of yer keep?” Logan asked carefully.

“Nay, for the current lord is Geoffrey de Neville. My father died the day before I fled to the Highlands.”

He stilled. “De Neville…he was the one who hurt ye, wasn’t he? Ye ran from him?”

Though the hand that rested on her leg remained gentle, the knuckles on his other hand were turning white where he gripped the reins.

She had said so little, and yet Logan had quickly deduced the source of at least one of her fears.

“Aye,” she breathed. “Lord Geoffrey arrived not long after Adam’s death. When my father’s health failed, it…it became clear that Geoffrey wished to control the castle.” She hurried on, realizing she’d skirted dangerously close to having to explain why Geoffrey had beaten her and how she knew with certainty that Geoffrey would have killed her soon after. “I had no one—my mother died years before, and with my father and brother gone, there was no one left to stand against Geoffrey.”

That was true enough, though she’d left out the heart of the matter, for she planned to take the secret of her curse to her grave.

Logan was scowling, and Helena couldn’t help but feel grateful his gaze was pointed ahead rather than at her. Did he sense how much she’d omitted? Or was he simply still furious over the bruises Geoffrey had given her?

“I dinnae understand,” he said. “How could de Neville just…take yer keep? Werenae ye in England? Doesnae yer King care what his lords are about?”

The tension eased in Helena’s neck. These were questions she could answer—almost without any lies of omission.

“King Edward granted my father the honor of holding a Borderlands castle for England twelve years past,” she began. “Shortly after the move, my mother took ill and died. It was a difficult time, yet we got through it—thanks mainly to the kindness of the Scottish inhabitants who’d remained and accepted my father as the lord of the castle. Though I remember some of my life in England before then, the castle quickly became my home.”

Helena’s mind shot back to Ida, who had practically raised her after her mother’s death. She’d rocked Helena to sleep when the tears for her lost mother came at night. She’d explained a woman’s courses when Helena had been fourteen, and prayed with her for Adam’s soul in Craigmoor’s chapel.

And Helena had left Ida—and all the others—in Geoffrey’s clutches.

She swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat.

“When King Edward died, his son Edward II was supposed to look after us, to make sure that the Borderlands castles held for England were fortified and provisioned well enough to withstand attack. But the new King was not like his father. He forgot about us, left us vulnerable and exposed to the Scots.”

She blinked, realizing what she’d just said. “Forgive me. I know that both King Edward and Edward II are hated here in Scotland, and rightly so. Where one was cruel, the other was inept, both of which brought harm to your people. Unfortunately, Edward II’s ineptitude harmed his own people as well.”

Logan surprised her by simply nodding. “Though I hate both men for what they did to Scotland, I cannae claim offense at yer words. As ye say, yer people suffered, too.”

“All was well enough for several years after Edward II took the throne, but then Bannockburn happened.”

As a gentle-bred lady, Helena had been insulated from much of the world of men’s politics and warfare, but the impact of the Battle of Bannockburn had been so great along the Borderlands that she understood in a very real way this particular turn of events.

“With the Scottish victory over the younger Edward’s forces, the Borderlands were no longer safely controlled by England—they became contested grounds for the continued war between our people,” she said. “And Edward, inept and inattentive as he was, abandoned us to the Scots.”

“And that was when Geoffrey de Neville arrived?” Logan asked, his brows lowering.

“Aye,” she murmured. “Lord Geoffrey had been granted a castle by King Edward at the same time my father had, though Geoffrey’s was farther north—deeper into traditionally Scottish-held territory. His keep was attacked by Scots a little over six months ago. With supplies and soldiers diminished, it was quickly retaken by Robert the Bruce’s army. He and a few score of his men managed to escape. They fled south. The first English-held castle they happened to encounter was my father’s.”

“So yer father gave de Neville and his men shelter? Why didnae they return to England and await their King’s bidding?”

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice pulling tight. “When Geoffrey and his men arrived, we were under attack as well. Our men had tried to face the Scots outside the castle walls in an attempt to avoid a siege, but they overpowered our forces. That was when Adam died.”

Helena blinked back the sudden prick of tears and forced herself on. “Our men retreated back inside the castle walls, but the Scots were close to breaking us. If Geoffrey and his men hadn’t arrived then, all might have been lost.”

Logan sat in silence for a moment, and Helena focused on the animated voices of Mairin and Lillian several paces back to calm herself.

“Yer father must have felt indebted to de Neville,” he said at last. “Is that why he let him stay on?”

“Aye,” Helena said, choosing her next words carefully. It was all in the past, she reminded herself. She was far away and safe now. Geoffrey couldn’t hurt her. “Geoffrey wheedled his way into my father’s confidence, but it was more than that. I didn’t realize it until my father died, but I believe Geoffrey always planned to gain control of my father’s keep. He was hungry for power. I think he could not accept the fact that he’d lost his own castle and would not rest until he gained another.”

Logan turned fully to her, his slate-gray eyes stormy.

“Ye must dislike Scots verra much. Ye lost yer brother to them, and if it hadnae been for their attacks, de Neville wouldnae have arrived in yer life.”

“Nay,” Helena said firmly, holding his stare. “I’ve lived among Scots for most of my life. The people working the land around the castle before my family arrived stayed on, and most of the castle staff was Scottish as well. They were good people—hardworking, honest, and kind-hearted toward me. My family and the few servants and soldiers we brought with us were invaders. We took their home because the King of England told us we could. They did not consent to our rule, yet they bore the change as well as could be expected.”

She let her gaze slip to the passing trees. “I cannot blame the Scots for wanting to retake what was theirs to begin with,” she said quietly. “What I cannot abide is men like Geoffrey—men who hunger only for power, men who do not care about the consequences to those they crush in their quest for control.”

Logan squeezed her knee gently, bringing her back to the present. “He willnae hurt ye anymore,” he said. “I promise.”

She nodded, bringing a weak smile to her lips. “It is difficult for me to speak of such things. But I am glad I told you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes softening. “I’m glad, too. And it gets easier with practice.”

They rode on in a peaceful quiet punctuated only by Mairin’s excited questions for Lillian, the creak of harness leather, and the soft groan of the wheels rolling over the forest floor.

When they reached the village, Lillian broke away to seek Isolda and Ansel’s cottage. Mairin seemed fatigued from so much talking, so Helena agreed to wait with her at the cart while Logan gathered supplies for the camp.

Logan had driven the cart to the end of the village’s single main road. He’d left the mare hitched, for he said his errands would take less than half an hour.

For a while, Mairin sat in silence with Helena at the front of the wagon under the blanket. Her dove-gray eyes were watchful as she scanned the village.

After nearly six years in captivity, and several months after that in a small camp with little human interaction, Helena could only imagine how overwhelming the tiny village must seem to Mairin. A dozen or so people moved up and down the dirt-packed street, seeing to their tasks and visiting with neighbors. The most exciting bit of activity centered on the town’s chapel, judging from the curious cast of the villagers’ eyes.

The chapel happened to be directly in front of their wagon, for it sat at the south end of the main road. A fresh coat of whitewash on the exterior walls indicated that the chapel was well cared for, but the villagers were apparently going a step further—the thatch roof was being replaced with slate tiles.

A half dozen men perched on ladders at various points around the chapel. A few even stood on the parts of the roof that had already been completed. They worked quickly, checking the sky for signs that the approaching snowstorm was about to break. Though all of the thatch had been removed, only the closer half of the roof had been covered in tiles, leaving the interior of the church open to the impeding snowfall.

“One more trip,” Logan said as he came around the corner. He carried two sacks of grain over one shoulder and had an oak cask hoisted on top of the other. With a grunt, he set the grain into the back of the cart. The cask made a sloshing noise as he positioned it in the cart as well.

As he strode off, Mairin jumped down from the bench. She stood at the corner of the chapel, peering up at the men as they worked. After a moment, she turned back to Helena.

“Mayhap I’ll ride on the way back. I’m tired.”

Helena smiled, “Aye, I imagine you are—”

Blue light flickered before her eyes. The air seemed to fill with an unearthly mist.

Helena blinked at Mairin’s face. The girl was saying something, smiling, but Helena’s ears rang so loudly that she couldn’t hear.

Oh God, nay.

This was her vision. Time had collapsed. The glimpse into the future was coming to pass and Mairin’s fate had arrived.

In her mind’s eye, Helena saw what would happen next. Mairin would shoot upward, rushing through the air. But that still didn’t make any sense. She stood on solid, packed earth.

Helena’s pulse throbbed in her tongue and behind her eyes. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt as though she was moving through molasses. But somehow she knew—she had to get to Mairin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan round the corner, a sack of grain over each shoulder. He looked like he was underwater, the blue light and his slow movements making the distance yawn between them.

He started to say her name, but the sound didn’t reach her.

Concentrate. Concentrate on Mairin.

Something told Helena to lift her gaze to the space where Mairin was about to be flung.

And then it all made sense. A stack of slate tiles sat on the edge of the chapel’s new roof, right above Mairin’s head.

The visions had made it seem as though Mairin would shoot upward, but in a flash of clarity, Helena realized that Mairin wasn’t going to go up. Something was going to come down—right onto Mairin.

The tiles. They would fall somehow, and they would land on Mairin’s head, crushing her.

Helena ripped the blanket from her lap, but everything was moving too slowly. When her feet hit the ground, it was like wading through mud. She tried to call out to Mairin, to warn her, but her tongue had turned to wood and her voice came out a wordless scream.

She was halfway to the girl, but it was happening already. The vision had been put into motion.

The tiles teetered on the edge of the roof. As if in a dream, Mairin looked up slowly.

Helena fought against the very air, willing herself forward, clawing her way toward Mairin.

The tiles tilted and fell with nightmarish slowness toward Mairin’s head.

Mairin screamed, exactly like she did in the visions.