Page 34 of The Hawk Laird
“Isobel,” he said, his voice hushed. “What happened?” He wondered if she had been injured when the horse ran off. Head wounds could cause odd effects. “Did you hit your head yesterday?”
She tilted her head slightly as she listened to him. Her eyes stared, their dull gaze aimed somewhere beyond his shoulder. “Nay. The blindess comes over me whenever I have a vision. ’Twill pass.”
“When you fell to your knees and cried out, and spoke aloud, you saw a vision?” he asked.
She nodded. “And the blindness always follows.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to piece together cogent understanding amid his alarm and astonishment. “Blind?” he repeated.
“The blindness will pass,” she said calmly. She reached out and found his arm, rested her hand there. He gripped her elbow. “I have learned to expect this,” she said.
“How long does it last?”
She shrugged. “An hour, an afternoon, sometimes through a full day. It passes each time. I pray ’twill always be so.”
“Is there aught wrong with your vision otherwise?”
“Only a little blurring of distances, but that is common enough. My father once had a physician examine my eyes, and he said they looked healthy. This only happens during and after the prophecies, and then goes away. Father Hugh says ’tis my burden to bear for the gift of the prophecies.”
“Mother of God,” James said softly. “I did not know.”
“Few do,” she answered.
He watched her, thinking. “What vision did you see?”
Her brow furrowed. “I saw you.”
“Me.” He felt wary.
“And a goshawk, beside a hawthorn tree. I am trying to remember. I forget them so quickly. There was another man—a knight—who spoke to me.” She shook her head as if confused. “The rest is gone. ’Tis like forgetting a dream upon waking.” She bit her lip, looking intensely frustrated. “I am sorry. I try to recall them.” She shrugged, shook her head, her blue eyes blank and innocent.
He felt a curious softening of his heart. Logic told him to doubt this, but he could not, watching her. He was greatly concerned and wholly shocked.
“You remember only a little?”
“Aye. After a vision, I barely remember anything of it. My father or the priest would sit with me to write down what I say, and question me about what I see and hear, and I answer them. Father Hugh has recorded my prophecies. He understands them better than I do. I remember little and they are often puzzles to me, full of symbols.” She sighed. “I try to make myself recall, but—” She shook her head.
“Perhaps the shock of the blindness drives all else away,” James said.
“That could be. The blindness used to frighten me, but I am used to it now. It will pass.”
She did not look used to it, James thought. She looked like a frightened child pretending to be brave. Her fingers flexed on his arm. He pressed her elbow to reassure her with touch.
“How long has this been happening?”
“Since I was thirteen winters. I have learned to call the prophecies forth by gazing into a bowl of water or into fire. But just now, it came upon me strangely—suddenly. That has not happened since I was young. Do you recall what I said? Sometimes it comes back to me if I hear what I said.”
He rubbed his brow. “You said ‘peace and forgiveness,’ and something about a friend.”
“Ah. I saw a knight. He said he was a friend.”
“Who was he?”
“I do not know. A large man, tall. What else?”
“You called out ‘Father!’ and I thought you were calling for a priest.”
She gasped. “I saw my father!” Her fingers tightened on his forearm. “He was in a dungeon. He was…ill, weakened.” She bowed her head. “What if he is hurt, or dead?”
