The cursed towers 166
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At the far end of the room was a dais with an ornately carved throne piled with purple velvet cushions.
Reclining upon it was a dark-haired woman dressed in black velvet, a silver brooch in the shape of a
thistle upon her breast. Her skin was very fine and pale, her mouth colored a dark purple. As Maya
slowly approached down the length of the room, she noticed the woman's long, curving fingernails were
colored the same damson purple. Slowly and rhythmically they tapped against the dark wood of the
throne, as long and sharp as scimitars.
Maya reached the area below the dais and inclined her head. "It is a pleasure indeed to meet ye again,"
she said. "I trust ye have kept well?"
"Indeed I have," Margrit replied. "Both well and amused. It has been an interesting few years since we
last met."
"Interesting is no' quite the word I would have chosen," Maya replied, only the flaring of her nostrils
betraying her anger. "It is true a great deal has happened."
"Aye, who would have thought the rebels would have triumphed and the Coven o' Witches be restored?"
the banprionnsa said suavely. "Your husband dead, your daughter dispossessed and ye an outlaw and
fugitive."
"Hardly," Maya replied. "There are many who resent the heel o' the Pretender and wish to restore my
rule. It is only a matter o' time."
"The young MacCuinn has shown himself more able than one would have suspected," Margrit said. "The
victories o' Blairgowrie and Dun Eidean were cleverly done and my reconnaissance staff tell me
supporters have flocked to his flag ever since."
"Fair-weather friends," Maya said lightly. "They will go wherever they think their best interests lie. Once
my daughter wins back her throne, they will pledge their support to us once again."
Margrit regarded her rings. "Happen that is true," she replied. "But are they the sort o' friends one would
wish to have?"
"Och, there are many whose support o' me and my daughter has no' wavered." Maya grew tired of
standing before Margrit's throne and sat gracefully on one of the chairs set against the wall. "But I am
sure your spies have told ye that as well."
"Spies is a harsh word," Margrit replied, smiling.
Maya felt herself tensing, and smiled sweetly in response. "My pardon. Your reconnaissance staff."
For a moment their gazes locked, then Margrit glanced away, saying affably, "But I forget my manners.
Ye must be weary indeed after your journey. Let me offer ye some refreshment and a room in which ye
may rest, and then perhaps ye shall tell me why ye have done me the honor o' this unexpected—but most
delightful—visit."
"Why, I have come to be with my daughter, o' course," Maya replied urbanely. "I knew she would no' be
o' much use to ye without my endorsement and support, and so once my reconnaissance staff informed
me she had come under your protection, I naturally came to join her. I have no need to enquire after her
health, I am sure, knowing what a caring and nurturing mother ye are yourself."
Margrit's smile deepened, dimples flashing in her cheeks. "Your reconnaissance staff are efficient indeed,
my dear. Ye must tell me how ye found such capable servants. Foolishly I had thought what went on
within the mists o' Arran was impenetrable to those o' the outside world. I see I am no' so well protected
