Chapter 9 #2
Deidra remained leeched onto William’s hand, and Rose stayed close to William, for his protection or her own from her uncle, he didn’t know but found it endearing.
They could only walk two abreast up the stone steps leading into the castle, so Rose fell behind. William heard Roderick say to her in a low voice, “Your betrothed wrote.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, then Rose hissed, “Wrote who? Have you been reading my correspondence?”
“No. He wrote your father, worried because he hadn’t received a letter from you in some time. So I wrote to him and told him what you’d done.”
Rose let out a long, angry breath. Dread sunk like a stone in William’s gut. He knew what was coming next.
“He wrote back immediately,” Roderick said. “He should be here any day now.”
They entered the great hall, but Rose did not return to William’s side, hanging back to walk with her uncle. “Why? You knew where I was. There was no reason to send for him.”
Wallace separated from their party, heading for the kitchen, and William took that opportunity to glance over his shoulder at Rose and her uncle. Roderick shrugged innocently. “I didn’t tell him to come. His reply was verra short. Methinks you’ve angered him.”
Rose’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth a thin, angry line. “No, you’ve angered him. He didn’t need to know.”
“He’s to be your husband. Methinks he needs to know the trouble he’s buying.”
They gathered before a door, and Roderick left off haranguing Rose. Her face had drained of color, but when she caught William’s look, she smiled encouragingly. He was no more pleased to hear of MacPherson’s impending arrival than she was, but for vastly different reasons.
Before the earl could knock on the door, William touched Rose’s arm. “Will you see to Deidra? I don’t want her to watch.”
“Gillian?” Rose said, trying to take Deidra’s hand. “Will you take Miss Deidra to her chambers?”
“No, Da,” Deidra said under her breath, hugging his arm and shaking her head vigorously at Rose, curls bobbling.
William knelt before her and put his hands on her arms. “It’s been a long trip,” he said gently. “The countess will see that you’re washed, fed, and given a nap. Rose and Drake will come to see you soon.”
Deidra’s eyes widened with panic, and she threw her arms around his neck. “No, Da, no! There are bad things here! Please—the animals are afraid, they say there is a bad man here.”
William looked quickly at the earl and Roderick, his heart skipping a fearful beat. The earl merely raised a curious brow at Deidra’s ravings, but Roderick’s brows lowered in irritation. “What is this rubbish? Bad men?”
“It’s nothing.” William took his daughter by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Remember what we spoke of, Squirrel?”
She swallowed and nodded, her eyes swimming with tears.
The countess knelt beside them, touching Deidra’s curls gently. “What bonny hair you have! I have a poppet with curls like yours. Would you like to see it?”
Deidra looked from William to the strange woman, then nodded.
She took possession of Deidra’s clammy hand and gave William a reassuring smile. “She’ll be fine.”
When they were gone, the earl pushed the door open.
They all filed in, William and Drake last. Thick Turkish carpets covered the floor of the large room.
Fires blazed in both fireplaces, and candles were lit all over the room, making it brighter and warmer than the hall they’d just left.
The smell of sickness was strong beneath the masking fragrance of lavender.
A fur-covered bed was central to it all, set on a raised dais.
William studied the room’s occupants. Another woman and three men.
One of the men was enormous, black-haired, heavy-browed and burly.
Rose introduced him as Hagan Irish. The woman was Rose’s eldest sister, Isobel—another lovely woman, this one with a mass of red-gold curls secured at her nape.
She inspected him with narrowed pale-green eyes.
Her husband was Sir Philip Kilpatrick, another large man who was cordial enough, if a bit suspicious.
And last was a young blond man, Stephen Ross.
He limped over, using a shiny black cane to aid him, and pumped William’s hand enthusiastically.
“It’s pleased I am to meet you, my lord! Been praying Rose would be bringing you back.”
William was sure he was—and that he no doubt expected William to heal whatever ailed him. William gave the lad a grim nod and turned his attention to the bed.
Rose leaned over the bed’s occupant, giving her father a kiss and murmuring something to him.
William could not understand the MacDonell’s reply, but it sounded gently reproving: No doubt he chastised her for running off like a little fool and frightening everyone.
She straightened and beckoned for William to join her.
The man on the bed was painfully thin, enveloped in a mass of furs and plaids.
His long gray beard flowed around him, freshly brushed, and his gray-streaked auburn hair was secured at his nape.
Dull green eyes sunk deep in the sockets stared back at William above hollowed cheeks. He looked close to death.
Rose leaned close to her father. “Da, this is the man I told you about, William MacKay of Strathwick. He is a great healer. I’ve seen him perform miracles with my own eyes.” She smiled up at William with watery midnight eyes. “Lord Strathwick, this is my father, Alan MacDonell.”
William inclined his head in greeting. Alan said nothing at first, scrutinizing William as he absently stroked a silver Skye terrier sprawled on the bed beside him. The door shut loudly, and when William quickly scanned the room, he noted that Roderick had left.
“So, you think you can fix whatever ails me, aye?” Alan said, his voice weak and rough.
“If you permit me, we’ll see, shall we?” William replied mildly.
Alan glanced at his daughter, then back at William. He sighed, resigned. “Aye, go on.”
The poor man was likely weary of all the poking and prodding, yet he must be of extremely strong mettle to still be alive. Rose had said the illness had disabled him for months now, and despite his decrepit appearance, he survived.
“It won’t take long,” William said, touching Rose’s shoulder.
She moved to stand on his other side, watching her father anxiously.
Drake moved closer, always near to protect William when healing debilitated him.
Isobel came to stand on the opposite side of the bed, staring at William with troubled eyes.
Rose had yet to even notice her sister’s strange expression, but Sir Philip had, and he put a protective arm around his wife as he watched William warily.
“Is something amiss, Dame Isobel?” William asked.
Rose looked up at her sister then, frowning. “What is it, Isobel?”
Isobel shook her head slowly, then turned away. “It’s naught. Forgive me.”
Rose stared after her sister, then shrugged up at William, but he could tell by the line between her eyes that she only shrugged it off for his benefit. Had she not said one of her sisters had visions? Had he not seen the light of recognition in Isobel’s eyes when she’d looked at him?
He took a deep, bracing breath and rested one knee on the bed. The Skye terrier bared its teeth and gave a nasty, warbling growl.
“Hush now, Conan,” Alan said, stroking the dog.
“Father?” Rose chided him. “I told you no more dogs.”
“Oh, this is just a wee one. Let me keep him.”
The “wee one” snarled like a feral wolf, its black lips peeled back to reveal needle-sharp teeth and a mobile, curling tongue.
“Be nice,” Alan reprimanded, feebly trying to push Conan away, but he was not strong enough to even move the small dog.
Conan got to his feet and barked hysterically at William. When Sir Philip tried to remove the dog, it snapped at him.
Alan scolded Conan, but the dog would not calm. The earl approached the bed with a plaid and threw it over the snarling beast, then swiftly wrapped it up. The bundle convulsed harmlessly in his arms.
“Shall I add a stone and toss it in the loch?” the earl asked.
“Aye,” Sir Philip said testily, examining his hand for wounds.
Alan laughed at the jest. “He’s just trying to protect me. Let him out.”
The earl left the chamber, only to return seconds later, closing the door quickly on the vicious wee beast.
William returned to the bed, Rose at his side.
He took a deep cleansing breath, calling on the healing magic and focusing it on the man on the bed.
A pale green light shimmered faintly around Alan, weak, as if something drained him.
When William saw nothing else, he used his hands, feeling his way, but could find no source to heal.
He’d seen this twice before. Once was from a slow poison, the other something he didn’t wish to contemplate.
Unfortunately he saw none of the other signs of poison—such as a brackish film over areas of the body indicating that the poison had attacked certain organs and they were dying.
William could heal that, though it was quite painful for him and took longer to recover from.
He passed his hands over Alan’s body again, frowning with deepening concentration. A sharp pounding began in his temples. The door opened, and Roderick reentered the room. Conan shot in between his legs, snarling viciously, and went straight for William.
“Uncle Roderick!” Rose cried helplessly, hands on hips. “No dogs! I told you that before.”
Drake intercepted the dog, trying to shove it back with a boot, but the dog only latched onto it. Drake yelped in surprise and tried to shake the dog off. The earl attempted to recapture it with the same plaid, but Conan had grown savvy to this ploy and darted under the bed.
“Confounded dog!” Alan said, the lines in his forehead deepening. “I’ve never seen him behave in such a manner.”