She fisted a hand to her forehead and pressed hard. Sweet Magda, the pain was unbearable. With her hand braced against the warm stones at the side of the hearth, she took one gasping breath, then another, fighting to ignore the agony and fragmented thoughts that seeped into her mind. Realizing her futility, she ceased her struggle and let the random emotions and feelings form as they would. She was powerless to stop them. Such was her gift. Her curse. Her breathing slowed as the turbulent storm washed over her. She saw it. No. She felt it. She felt his pain. A cold sweat engulfed her, blinding her to all but his unrelenting agony. Màiri took a steadying breath, then staggered across the floor of the one-room hut that had been her refuge for the past sennight and threw open the door. “Kenneth!” Kenneth Buchanan looked up from a small pen where he’d just thrown his saddle over a crude board that made up the fencing that enclosed their two horses, then turned toward her.
