Highland Storm Read Online Free

of her skin. Crow’s feet they called them, although after so many years, her wrinkles were nearly as deep as Lilidbrugh’swell—that long forsaken place whose visage now loomed from the depths of her crystal. It was there, in that cradle of their clan, that the younger dún Scoti would meet his destiny.
    Any day now…
    Distracted and weary, the old woman turned from the alchemy table, barely in time to spy Sorcha’s long limbs descending into the grotto from the chamber above—searching for Una, little doubt, for Lìli had sent her up the hill long hours before to fetch a poultice for little Ria. Unexpectedly, she’d been waylaid by the crystal.
    “Una!” The girl shouted, never bothering to look around.
    The fox moth hoisted itself up into the air and flew away.
    “I am here, child, please! Save my ears,” Una complained, and her gruff voice held a note of defeat.
    Hopping down from the ladder, into the grotto, Sorcha furrowed her brow. At twenty-three, the youngest dún Scoti lass was hardly a child anymore, despite what Una liked to believe. Her violet eyes, so like her sister’s, were canny and far older than her years. She appraised her young charge through a weepy eye.
    “Oh! Am I interrupting?” Sorcha asked, her eyes drawn to the crystal glowing beneath the tartan.
    “Nay.”
    “We thought ye might need help…”
    Una lifted a wiry brow. “To carry a poultice down the mount? D’ ye think me lame, child?”
    Sorcha responded with a crooked smile and Una’s staff itched to fly at her, though she stayed her hand. At these moments, she missed Keane all the more. The dún Scoti lassies were all quite hale and sharp of wit, but Una was never inclined to give them a wallop on the head. More’s the pity that Kellen was not about, for he made a fitting substitute. Alas, though Lìli’s sixteen-year old son would rise up into manhood far quicker than he should, and Lìli would be angered by the decisions her husband had made whilst away at Chreagach Mhor . She blew a sigh, and her despair reared itself in the form of a cold draft that swept into the grotto from the caves above, billowing through Sorcha’s blue skirts and fluttering the torchlight so that its flame gave a long obeisant bow. Casting a dubious eye toward the keek stane, Una confessed, “I was waylaid, if ye must know.”
    Despite an overabundance of curiosity, Sorcha knew better than to ask about the lump beneath the tartan, but Una decided that now was as good a time as any to discover what she must know. Leaning on her staff for support, she made her way to the nearest chair and sat down to study her pupil. “How is Ria’s rash?” she asked.
    “Better, Lìli says, though she is prickly.”
    “Lìli or Ria?”
    Sorcha laughed softly. “Both, if ye must know.”
    Reaching up for one long plait of hair—a nervous gesture meant to occupy her hands— Sorcha wandered closer to Una’s worktable, driven by her insatiable curiosity for the crystal. It called to her now, for she too was a taibshear —a seer. But it was one thing to possess the knowing , quite another to be conscious of it and wish to use it. There were folk who had the natural disposition, but who did not trust their intuition, nor did they keep an open mind and heart…
    Even now, seated across the room, Una felt the crystal’s energy and knew it longed to be seen by different eyes. The question was, did Sorcha feel the pull as well? Was the lass strong enough to embrace her inner magik ?
    She watched the girl she’d raised from a wee bairn and after a moment her eyes were drawn to a high shelf. “Sorcha, dearling, do ye recall the book we used to read together?”
    Made of sheepskin and bound with leather, the volume was painted with ancient symbols that were drawn in blood. It was quite old and delicate, impossible to read, unless ye had the sight. To anyone who did not have da shealladh , the pages would simply appear blank. But Sorcha knew them… nearly from the