Despite Helena’s level voice, Logan could see the fear shimmering in her eyes. He stilled, keeping his features perfectly flat.

“What does that mean, ye saw it in a vision?”

Her slim throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“It means that I had a nightmare, and I saw him kill me.”

Scraps of memory and pieces of information swirled wildly in Logan’s head, locking together as an explanation began to take shape in his mind.

Though his quick wits were normally a boon, he forced his thoughts to slow. He could not jump to conclusions—not with Helena so clearly frightened to be telling him this. Nay, he had to make sure every piece fit before he would believe his suspicions.

“What kind of nightmare?” he asked carefully.

“Like the one you woke me from all those sennights past.”

An image of Helena lying on the cot, whimpering in fear, her eyes wide and unseeing, flashed through Logan’s mind. He’d sensed even then that it had been no normal night terror.

He’d heard her murmuring and thrashing in her sleep a handful of times since then, but she always woke herself with a start before he could reach her. He’d assumed that memories of the man who’d hit her—Geoffrey de Neville, he knew now—haunted her, but was it actually something far worse than mere disturbed dreams?

“And what did ye see in this nightmare?”

“I saw him name me a witch and burn me as the Devil’s helpmate.” She shuddered, sinking her teeth into a trembling lower lip.

Logan thought carefully for a moment. “Could that no’ have merely been a night terror—yer mind conjuring yer fears and making them into monsters as ye slept?”

She looked him square in the eye. “Nay. It was a vision. They are all the same, and they all foretell doom. And they have all come to pass.”

Logan’s stomach tightened at her eerily flat tone of voice, but before he could speak, she went on.

“When I was eight, I saw my mother in my sleep. She was cast in a strange blue light. She lay abed, her sheets twisted and damp. I told my father what I’d seen, but he told me it was just a nightmare. Ten days later, my mother was dead of the sweating sickness. Six months ago, I saw my brother fall on the battlefield—a fortnight before he died fighting the Scots. There have been others, but they, too, are gone now.”

“And ye saw de Neville burn ye,” he murmured.

“Aye.” She faltered then, glancing sideways. “After my mother died, my father and brother realized what the nightmares meant—that I was cursed with the visitation of visions. They feared for my safety, believing that if anyone discovered the truth, I would be ostracized—or worse, punished as a witch. So we told no one. Not even Ida knew.”

Her gaze grew distant with memory. “But then when my father fell ill, the fever stole his mind. I walked in on him shouting to Geoffrey that no one must know about my visions. Later that day, my father passed from this world. Geoffrey called me to his chamber. He refused to hear my explanations and pleas. He beat me, then sent me away for the night, disgusted at my curse. That night, I saw him set a torch to me in a vision. That was when I fled.”

Logan drew in a ragged breath. What would it be like to see his own death? Now he understood the haunted, fearful look in her eyes when she’d woken for the first time in his hut and begged him to help her.

“He cannae hurt ye here,” he said, pulling her into a hard embrace. Her slim shoulders and gently curving back felt so delicate in his arms. “Ye are safe.”

She leaned into him, her arms looping around his torso. “You…you aren’t afraid of what I’ve told you?”

“Nay,” he replied without hesitation. “Though I dinnae agree with ye about one point.”

She pulled back slightly, looking at him under furrowed brows. “What?”

“Ye said that ye are cursed. I dinnae believe that.”

Her eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled. “You do not know what I’ve seen. If you did, you would not doubt that I am cursed.”

His heart broke for her in that moment. He cupped her face, holding her gaze with his. “I dinnae mean to belittle yer suffering. But tell me this—ye had a vision involving Mairin, didnae ye? About the tiles falling on her?”

She blinked, her brows shooting up in surprise. “Aye.”

“I saw yer eyes the moment before ye moved to save her. They were open, and yet it was like ye were seeing a different world than the one before ye. I saw ye look like that before—when I woke ye from that first nightmare ye had here. Or vision, rather.”

“I…I thought Mairin was going to die,” she whispered.

“But she didnae—because of ye.”

Helena’s eyes rounded. “I hadn’t thought—that is, I always believed…”

“Ye believed that what ye saw was written in stone, aye?”

“Aye,” she said shakily.

“But it isnae. Ye proved it by saving Mairin.”

She stared at him, stunned. “I have never been able to alter what I’ve seen before. When I fled Craigmoor, I’d hoped I could, for running was the only way to escape the fate I saw in the vision. But I haven’t been sure—I feared that mayhap I was only delaying it, that Geoffrey would find me and fate would eventually catch up with me.”

“But yer visions must no’ be fated, for ye saw Mairin come to harm, and yet ye were able to save her. Mayhap the visions arenae a curse. Mayhap they are a tool—a gift, even.”

She shuddered, and he cursed himself for the blunt words. She’d seen death in her visions—loved ones’ destruction, and even her own horrifying end.

“No’ to say that they are good or pleasant,” he went on quickly. “But mayhap they are warnings. Ye could use them to help people.”

He watched as a storm of emotion swept Helena’s eyes. Sadness, hope, worry, and at last resolve flickered in their green depths. Slowly, she straightened her spine. When her gaze locked with his, her eyes shone with determination.

“I have to go back.”

“What?”

“I have to go back,” she repeated. “To Craigmoor.”

“Helena, nay,” he sputtered. Where had this come from? A moment before she’d been near tears with fright at the mere memories of Geoffrey and what he’d threatened her with.

“You are right, Logan,” she said. “The visions aren’t written in stone—they must not be, or else how was I able to save Mairin? When I tried to help my mother, no one would listen to me. And when I told my brother that I’d seen his death, he’d said it was in God’s hands. I have never truly tried to change what I saw in a vision—until Mairin. The fact that she did not die as I saw in the vision means that I can change the fate I saw for myself as well.”

“Ye did change it, lass,” Logan said. “Ye fled Geoffrey. Ye made it to the Highlands. And now ye have a life here—free from his threats.”

She shook her head slowly, some of the fear coming back into her eyes. “But I am not truly free of him—not when I think of the innocent people at Craigmoor.”

“I dinnae understand,” he replied, searching her face. “I ken that ye are worried for them, and that ye feel guilty for leaving them under Geoffrey’s control. But going back there willnae help any of that—it will only put ye in danger.”

“But I can help them,” she said softly. “I have to stop Geoffrey.”

“Helena.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, then placed her palm over his heart. “I love ye. I ken ye want to help—ye have a good heart. I also ken that ye are still scared of Geoffrey. He cannae hurt ye here, but ye would risk too much if ye went back to Craigmoor. The castle will be a battleground now, love.”

An idea began to sprout in his heart—more a feeling of rightness than a plan, so he spoke without hesitating.

“I’ve promised my protection to ye. I’ll never let de Neville or anyone else hurt ye—ever. But I would understand if the promise of a man like me, a man with shadows in his past and honor as black as soot, doesnae give ye much to put yer faith in. So…what if we were to marry?”

Helena’s mouth fell open and a little puff of air escaped her lips. “What?”

“Hear me out. I love ye. I want to share my life with ye. And if it is protection ye need, marriage will give ye that. Ye’ll always have the strength of my sword to defend ye from danger, but if we marry, ye’ll also have protection in the eyes of the law and the church. There is naught Geoffrey could do to ye then. Even if he managed to find ye here in the Highlands, his word claiming ye are a witch wouldnae stand against mine if I were yer husband.”

From the look of pain and regret in her eyes, he’d said something terribly wrong.

His heart twisted. Mayhap he shouldn’t have emphasized her fear so much as a reason to wed him. Mayhap he should have said more about what was in his heart. He’d never let himself dream of marriage before. His life had been a series of battles. They’d blurred into one long war that always ended with him leaving, sometimes looking for the next fight, and sometimes running from the last one.

But for the first time, he allowed himself to hope for something better—because of Helena. Because of her goodness, her strength, her bravery, and her kindness. He didn’t want to run anymore. He only wanted her.

“I love ye,” he said again, squeezing her hand against his chest once more. “I want to build a life with ye.”

“I love you too,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “But I can’t marry you.”

Logan’s chest contracted painfully. “Why?”

“Because…” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself on. “Because I am already engaged. To Geoffrey.”