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Haley knew he was stiff from a day seated on the hard bench, but no one would ever suspect it. He stood tall, arms outstretched steadily before him, his hazel eyes turned the color of cold stone.

“Put your gun down, man.” The woman sucked at her teeth

and spit into the fire. “I offer you help, not harm.”

The woman's nonchalance was studied. Haley thought she seemed, in fact, capable of great harm. Though she couldn't put a finger on why.

Long red hair flowed over her shoulders, marbled with a few strands of wiry gray. She was skinny, but not scrawny, her body all tendons and thin muscle. Something about her had the whiff of power.

Haley was happy to see that Rollo wasn't taking the woman's suggestion; his gun remained pointed straight at her. “The only thing you can help us with is your name,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I am called Finola.”

“I'm afraid I'll need more than that if I'm to lower this gun.”

“You aim your foolish weapon at me as if I am your  quarry.” The woman peeled her lips back in an impatient  snarl. “You are as a child who frolics in the water with no

understanding of the depths below.”

Finola spread her arms wide. Her cloak fluttered about her, and what had been a dingy gray seemed suddenly brighter, whiter  than before. She, somehow taller.

Haley's knees started to buckle, and she forced herself to stand tall.

Rollo, though, didn't waver. His words resonated as he asked, “What do you play at, woman?”

Voice pitched low, she incanted. “You seek a witch, and  so  I stand. The star road lies at
 
my
 
command. My power, greater than hers you seek. I am strong, my enemies weak.”

What the
… Haley edged back to stand a little behind Rollo.  She eyed the muscles of his back visible under the damp linen of his shirt. He was unflinching, like chiseled rock.  She had to hand it to him  - he still hadn't put the gun

down, and it gave her courage.

“How do you know who we seek?” Haley managed.

“I
 
know
, girl.”

“What is your clan?” Rollo stepped toward her. “You stand

on Cameron  lands. Are you a Cameron?”

“You ask the questions of a fool.” Finola brought her arms  down hard, dismissive. “Try my patience further and I'll  leave you to flounder.”

No.
 
The woman had said she was a witch. What if she were

the one who could help her?

“How did you know?” Haley asked, stepping out from

Rollo's shadow. “How did you know I needed to… travel?”

“Do you not listen to what I tell you?” She glared dully at

Haley. “I know of your journey. Know of your man.”

Haley's breath hitched. “But… ” Hope  and fear warred in her. “Why would you help me?”

“I don't
 
help
 
you,” the woman spat. “Pathetic creature.” Her  words came out as a hiss. The eerie green and yellow of her  irises flashed, then were subsumed by black. “I help  myself. Campbell has made me an  enemy. There is a path  whereby MacColla lives. I am merely curious to see where  that path leads.”

Finola turned. “But it seems you do not understand the boon you are offered.” She leaned to gather a small satchel laying by the fire. “And so perhaps I take my leave.”

“No,” Haley said, her voice sounding more confident than

she felt. “I understand what you offer. Please. Help me.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Night had come too quickly, bringing with it a biting chill and the miserly half glow of a crescent moon.

Haley wanted MacColla. Missed her father, her family.  What she was about to do terrified her. What if she landed

in some other strange time or place? She could get stuck

with no means to return.

She was desperate for a kind word, some protection, and

was grateful to see Rollo's usual stoicism soften

momentarily.

“I'm scared,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Haley. So like that 'Frail boat of crystal in a rocky sea.'”  Rollo tilted his head. He smiled quietly at her confusion,  his teeth an eerie white in the bl ack shadows. “Not my  words,” he said. “Drummond's. A poet.”

“Quoting poetry to me?” She tried to muster some bit of

good humor. “MacColla would be jealous.”

“You'll see him soon, lass.” Shifting his weight, Rollo  brought his cane to his other hand. Grinning, he added,  “You can tell him yourself how gallant you find me.”

She was startled, and despite the trepidation that clutched at her chest, she laughed.

“You do the right thing,” he said, growing serious. “When I  look in your eyes. I can almost sense MacColla, so bright is  his place in your heart. The man loved you more than  reason. And it's just that sort of madness that will return  you to him. I cannot imagine you landing anywhere but  back by his side.”

A sharp exhale announced Finola, her readiness, her impatience, and her annoyance most of all.

“Come now or don't;” she snapped. “We must work while

the moon is high.”

“A man is of little use when his wife's a widow, aye?” Rollo  said with another smile, ignoring the witch. “So go now,  dear friend. Go save MacColla.”

But she didn't move, and so he reached a single hesitant finger, touching her chin gently. “You are brave in your heart, Haley Fitzpatrick. Fear not the bravery of your deeds.”

It struck her that only she would remember this moment.  She  was traveling back to a time before, and she hoped she and MacColla would be walking a new path. One that didn't end with him dead and her standing beneath a watery moon, Will Rollo and a witch as her only company.

She was the only one who'd remember Finola's crackling fire. Rollo's kind words. And the realization made her feel

even more alone.

One thought came to her, amusing her and giving her strength. Rollo's bolstering smile and kind words had betrayed him as a true friend to Haley. And though chances were good the stoic would never demonstrate as much again, she'd always have memories of this thoughtfulness as proof.

She gave him a quiet smile and nodding, turned to face

Finola.

Fire danced behind the witch, the flames blazing whiter and hotter than a bonfire should. It cast Finola's face in

blackness, made her seem larger than life. Long shadows  cut along the dirt, reaching toward Haley, and their  blackness subsumed her feet, her calves. She wondered if  the chill prickling in their wake was merely  imagined.

Finola's sinewy arm stretched toward her, fingers reaching.

Haley took a deep breath. She was terrified now. But there was no other choice.

She turned her head, looking once more at Rollo. She wanted a nod, one last smile, some reassurance that this was going to be all right. But he merely locked eyes with hers, his gaze sympathetic. He'd lend her strength, but  Haley was alone now. She alone could make this choice.

Flexing her fingers, she turned back to Finola and let the witch take her hand.

With a sharp inhale, the woman's head snapped back. Her face pointed to the sky, and despite the dimness of the moon, the whites of her eyes glowed eerily bright.

Haley heard humming, so low at first, it seemed to originate from inside her own head. It  grew louder, and she realized the sound came from Finola.

The witch was in a trancelike state, muttering. The susurration gradually coalesced into words, growing louder and louder.

Her fingers seized, clawing Haley's skin. Haley gave an instinctive tug,  but the woman's grip only tightened.

She pulled Haley to the fire.

God help me.

She could stop it all now. Live her life, find her own little island and make do from that moment on. This seemed…

wrong. A dark thing, an evil thing.

MacColla.
 
Turning back now would mean good-bye forever.

Haley rolled her shoulders back.
 
The only way.

She stepped slowly, letting Finola lead her.

Stopping before the fire, the witch dropped Haley's hand suddenly. Backed up.

And then she began to dance.

Finola whirled around, the sleeves of her robes fluttering over and through the fire as she spun like a dervish around the blaze. Nonsensical staccato sounds popped from her mouth, bits of spittle landing with a hiss in the fire. The flames licked at her cloak now, but rather than catching fire, it only glowed brighter, whiter.

The woman opened her mouth wide, a black maw in the darkness. A horrific cry erupted, a sharp, steady ululation sounding her dance around the flames.

Haley clutched her skirts in her fists.
 
No choice, no choice.

The witch stopped short. Pulled something from her robes.

It was the painting. Magda's painting.

She thrust it into Haley's hands. Firelight licked the edges of the portrait, illuminating the face of Magda's dead brother. He looked up at her, so innocent, with bright red hair and a slight smile curving his mouth.

Guilt stabbed her. It seemed an abomination. As if she

were somehow sullying the memory of this boy. Peter, was

it? An image of innocence, defiled by this witch.

She grabbed Haley's hand once more. Finola's fingers were cold now, icy and dry, the skin of her fingertips thin, like an old woman's.

Finola took Haley's hand and rubbed it over the portrait.  The paint smudged with the pressure and Peter's image blurred. He was a surreal face now, still looking up at her,

the   memory   of   that   once-captured   innocence   an

indictment.

MacColla. MacColla, what am I doing?

Magda had given Haley the painting. It was her only hope.

Magda had known what this meant.
 
No guilt. No choice.

Magda would want it this way.

Tiny splinters bit into her palm. Haley's reflex was to pull back, but Finola's grip was like steel. She intoned,

Gaoth o'n rionnaig Earraich Teas o 'n rionnaig Shamhraidh,  Uisg'o'n rionnaig Fhogair,

Reothadh o'n rionnaig Gheamhraidh.
 
Wind from the Spring  Star, Heat from the Summer Star, Water from the Autumn  Star, Frost from the Winter Star.
 
Hear me.

The last resonated long and low through the night.

The witch took Haley's finger and used it like an instrument, forming strange, abstract shapes along the surface.

Gooseflesh shivered along her body like ice.
 
What the
…

She stole a backward glance at Rollo, standing in the shadows, watching. The way he stiffened, putting his hand to his sword, spoke to the terror in her eyes.

I must.
 
Haley gave him a small nod, and turned her head from him for good.

“The hero sleeps in his tomb,” Finola chanted. Her hand  dragged Haley's finger faster, mercilessly etching out  shapes along the wooden panel. “The hero chose a path to  doom.”

She felt the tackiness of her own blood on its surface.

“A hero's cairn, and fates that were. The star road, to him,

take her.”

Even though Haley knew her head was immobile, it felt as if it whipped back and forward again.
 
Vertigo.

Adrenalin kicked in, making her  hyperaware of every sensation.

“Take her, take her.” The witch's voice was low now. An  inhuman rumbling that seemed to come from the trees all  around, from the lake water, from the sky above.

“Think her on her love. Become one with stars above.”

What?
 
Was she supposed to be thinking about MacColla?  Finola hadn't given her instructions. She tried to speak, but her tongue was thick and dead in her mouth.
 
Wait.