Catrìona Robertson has what 18th
century Scottish Highlanders call Second Sight. It’s not all that rare, but in her family it’s been fatal. After
having a vision of her brother’s life-changing accident at the Games at Blair Castle, then watching in horror as it
comes true, her family starts believing in her powers.
As her mother’s debilitating disease worsens, Cat must find
a way to harness her “gift” and heal the chronic affliction, but fate seems to have something else in store.
When
the Pretender to the Scottish throne, the Jacobite Prince Charles, decides to seize his rightful place from the Hanoverian
King George, Cat’s powers are put to the ultimate test. She becomes an unwilling liaison between her clan Chief and
the Prince, foretelling the outcome of each battle of the Rising of 1745.
Though warned of the outcome of their participation
in the fight, her father and brothers are drawn into it, as if by malevolent forces. Unwilling to let her visions of death
come to fruition, Cat does everything in her power to keep them out of harm’s way, finding herself thrust into the very
heart of what she fears the most.
Eyes of Garnet ©Mary Duncan 2006
Even playing with the new lambs behind the barn didn’t quell he nauseous feeling that
ravaged Catrìona Robertson’s stomach this morning. The nightmare she experienced last night had far greater detail
than usual. She dreamt of holding an egg-shaped crystal that, when hit by the sunlight, splashed miniature prisms everywhere.
The stone itself held a force of power that brought about death, or gave life, seemingly at its whim. As the stone warmed
in her hand, its power flowed into her — she could foretell the future.
Trying to shake off the mood, Catrìona sat on the fence and lifted her face to the sun, noting the curious
milky-blue sky of a warmer season. The odd warmth of this early April day was like an omen of strange things to come. A voice
in her head kept whispering “see.” She had no idea what it meant.
Her eyes went to the woods; her favorite place. She had spent many hours under those huge oaks watching the
ravens do their aerial acrobatics, feeling a deep connection to the place. These things she could not explain to her brothers
when they found her out there. She knew they didn’t share her awareness.
As her eyes scanned further, she saw a doe and fawn crossing the glen in the distance, mesmerizing her.
Suddenly the doe spooked, and with a flash of light, Cat got a sense of dread so acute it made her dizzy. She slid down from
the fence and sat on the ground, propping herself up on the railing hoping to regain her balance. The world spun wildly, so
she lay back on the ground and closed her eyes. Her whole body vibrated. She broke out in a cold sweat, her fingers tingled,
and her lips went dry. Incredible colors undulated behind her eyelids, and she breathed so hard her heart felt as though it
would burst from her chest. The world went black, and she perceived that she had become something else, something not human.
She had a different posture, a different sense of smell and hearing. Fear overtook her, ruling her entire life, and she felt
no reason behind her thoughts — only instinct.
As quickly as the phenomenon began, it was over, and normalcy returned to her body. Cat actually felt like she had become
the doe for a brief instant, and it scared her. The sun was warm on her face as she lay on the cool ground. When she opened
her eyes, Lachlan was standing over her.
“Cat,
Cat, what’s wrong wi’ ye? Did ye fall?” Lachlan shouted in a panicky voice, looking her over to see if she
was hurt.
She sat up on her own, noting the fear
in his eyes. He knelt down to cradle her, ready to listen to her explanation.
“I had such a strange thing happen to me, Lachlan. I was sittin’ on the fence one minute, recountin’
my nightmare o’ last night; about a crystal that I used to tell the future wi’, all the while a voice in
my heid kept tellin’ me to ‘see,’ then in the next minute, I was lyin’ on the ground all froze
up, and I was that doe in the glen wi’ her fawn, scairt to death,” she said, watching the doe trot out of sight.
“What do ye think is wrong wi’ me?"
She could tell he had an idea of her malady from the look in his eyes, but he wasn’t ready to share it with her yet.
He said, instead, “I canna be certain,
Cat. Let’s go into the house, maybe Mam can tell ye,” helping her to her feet.
“Och, I’m all right,” she waved him off, “Besides, I’ve
probably spent too much time out here anyway.”
Wiping straw from her dress, she left her brother by the barn.
“Damn it, where
is that lass?” Angus Robertson ranted to his wife, Isobel, for the sixth time. “She’s supposed to be in
here helpin’ ye, no’ out playin’ wi’ the wee lambs!” Continuing with some choice words in Gaelic.
The tall, one-armed, barrel-chested leader of the Robertson clan of Aulich
had little patience, especially with his youngest child. He was the laird of Slios Mìn
aig Aulich, which meant Smooth Slope at Aulich, six thousand acres that bordered the north-central shore of Loch Rannoch.
Because of Catrìona, he was late getting to the high shieling to
tend the cattle. His large herd of prime beef was a temptation to any cattle thief for miles around. Rumors were spreading
of another raid by the Campbells, and he loathed leaving any of the beasts unattended.
Pacing in front of the window, he spied Catrìona coming out from behind the barn.
He was right, she had been playing with the lambs. He walked over to the door, his wide shoulders filling the frame, and let
out all of his frustration on her.
“If I hae
to be tellin’ ye anymore about helpin’ yer Mam, I’ll hae to be takin’ the strap to yer backside,
understood?” he growled as she got within earshot.
“Sorry, Da,” she said, rubbing her stomach.
Whenever he was angry with her — which seemed to be quite often these days — an anxious feeling rumbled in her
belly. She knew why, but was helpless to do anything about it. In her usual peace-keeping way, she tried to lighten the situation
by saying in her best cheery voice, “A wee lamb needed me.”
“Hmmm! No more about it, now get in here and help yer Mam,” he said, then grabbed her arm and whispered
in her ear, “She’s no’ feelin’ well again today, so be sure to mind and fetch me quick if ye need
to.”
Angus caught Cat’s concerned expression,
gave her a quick squeeze, then looked her over. She would be a tall one, he thought, her head already fitting just under his
chin. Her oval face, framed by long, dark auburn hair, and her mother’s big eyes, but in a rare shade of violet-gray,
made even more striking because they were surrounded by nearly black lashes. She was also the only one of his children who
had Isobel’s dimples.
Now that the household
was back in order, his mood became more amicable and it was time for him to leave. He walked over to Isobel, pressed a kiss
on her cheek, then patted her bottom lovingly.
“I’m off to the upper shieling to check on the kine, and I’ll be takin’ the laddies wi’
me.” Kissing her again, he walked towards the door, stopped, and gave one last set of instructions to his frail wife.
“And I want ye to let Cat do the work for ye today. She’s plenty capable enough.”
He ambled his
way out towards the barn with a wrapped bundle of bannocks and cheese under his arm. In his big hand, he carried four stone
bottles of ale; lunch for him and the lads.
“Mam,
tell me again how Da lost his arm in the war,” Cat asked, as she watched him walk away.
“Why Cat? Hae ye no’ heard it more times than I can recollect?”
Isobel asked wearily, but gave in when she saw Cat watching her retreating
father through the doorway. She walked over to stand next to her daughter and draped an arm over her shoulder.
“It was durin’ the last Risin’ of 1715. Some of the Jacobite
clans rallied together to regain the throne of Scotland for King James VIII,” she said. “It was on the first day
of the battle in Prestonpans when he was hit in the arm with grapeshot, takin’ it off just below the elbow. Thank Brighid
the clan surgeon was there — he was a good one too — for many died from fever from less wounds. Being only 16
at the time, he had no business bein’ there, but ye ken yer Da, there’s no keepin’ him from a fight, even
today. Many good, brave men died in that battle,” she concluded. For a moment, she wore a far-away look on her face,
seeing the battle in her mind’s eye. Then the look was gone, replaced with one of fatigue.
Isobel closed the door and leaned on it, exhausted. Today would not be a good day. She
wasn’t well, but tried to conceal it from her family, even though they all knew it. Some days — like today —
it was impossible to hide. Angus got mad at Catrìona for not being in the house all the time to help her, but she refused
to confine her daughter like a prisoner. Catrìona had a special purpose; Isobel only hoped she would see it come to
fruition.
Isobel wished her mother had taught her
the healing ways, but Catherine Macinroy was not around long enough to pass on what she knew. Being a Seeress was a dangerous
business, and Catherine was very good at it. Unfortunately, being honest about what was seen was not always the best policy
for a long life.
“Mam?” Cat asked quietly,
twirling a thick strand of hair around her finger.
“Aye?”
“I had a verra strange
thing happen to me while I was outside.”
Isobel
looked hard at Cat, feeling this was something more than playing with the lambs.
“Let’s hear it, then.”
Isobel listened to the details of her daughter’s episode, knowing exactly what had happened, but trying to tell Catrìona
why and what would be happening to her from now on was not going to be easy.
“Yer Grandmam was the same as ye are, lass. She had the dà shealladh;
Second Sight. The Clan Chief called upon her many times to tell him the outcome of a battle, or anything else he needed to
ken,” she said.
But how could she explain Second
Sight to her daughter when she herself didn’t understand how it worked? She didn’t know what triggered the start
of the Sight, but had heard it was when a lass started her monthly courses. First blood signalled big changes in a lasses
life, and thought perhaps Catrìona had started hers, or was
very close to it.
With that idea, Isobel asked, “Hae ye started ye courses then, lass?”
Cat was sitting at the table staring at her hands. At this question, she
jolted upright and looked at her mother with soft violet eyes full of expectancy, clueless to a reply.
“I heard tell that’s when lasses get their Sight; hae ye started
then?” she pressed.
Finding her voice, Cat
said, “No, Mam, but I hae been feelin’ verra strange today. Do ye think it will happen today then?”
Before Isobel could answer the thousand questions she knew Cat had, the
door flew partially open, hitting Isobel on the back, making her nearly jump out of her skin. With her hand over her heart,
making sure it was still beating, she turned to find Lachlan poking his head in.
“What is it, man! Ye nearly killed me!” she blasted, the color drained from her face.
“Mam, I must catch up to Da or he’ll hae my head, but I need
to ken if Cat was feelin’ okay, and Da wanted me to make sure ye didna need anythin’ before I left, that’s
why I’m here,” he said all in one breath.
“Och, aye, she’s fine lad,” waving the episode off. “And tell yer Da that Mrs. Stark will be o’er
shortly to help me wi’ the chores.”
She
was just about to close the door, when she added, “Oh, and dinna tell yer Da of what went on wi’ Cat, mind me
now.” With that she closed the door on him and walked over to sit with Catrìona at the table, ready to be barraged
by questions she knew Cat wanted to ask.
