Chapter 12 #2
Drake stared hard at his brother, then his gaze swept the room angrily.
“Since my brother will not tell his side of the story, I’ll do it for him.
” He strode forward, his dark eyes fixed on Jamie.
“My father was a wicked man, make no mistake, but the lassies liked him. Including Jean Sinclair. You didn’t mention that Jean fancied herself in love with my father and ran away once to wed him.
Her father caught her and forced her to marry your father—a vile man who beat and raped her repeatedly.
You didn’t mention why she miscarried? Because she was already ill and refused to rut with your father, so he beat her until she lost the wean. ”
“Lies!” Jamie cried, coming at Drake while drawing his sword. Drake leapt to meet him, lusting for a fight, but Lord Kincreag and Roderick stepped between them, forcing Jamie to resheath his blade.
“My father never laid a hand on her!” Jamie bellowed over Kincreag’s restraining arm.
“My father came to rescue her,” Drake continued, shrugging off Roderick’s hold, “and brought my brother to heal her. At our father’s order, William gave her ailment to your father, who unfortunately died from it, as she would have, if not for William.”
Rose looked to William. “Who tells the truth?”
He shrugged. “Both. Neither.”
Rose shook her head, exasperated. “What does that mean?”
“My father did lust after Jean Sinclair. The wean she was pregnant with was his. I know not if she was truly ill, or if it was a ploy to bring my father to MacPherson lands. It didn’t matter.
My father wanted her and what he wanted he took, even if it meant others must die.
He could not have Jean so long as she was married to your father.
” His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked down, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“At the time I believed what my father told me, that the MacPherson beat his wife. It angered me, and so when he urged me to kill your father, I did so willingly. I was eighteen; a man, with my own mind. It is no one’s fault but my own.
I learned something later that made me believe that perhaps my father caused the miscarriage.
She had no ailment for me to give MacPherson, and so he created one. ”
Drake looked at his brother in amazement. “That’s not true.”
“It is true. Our father did far worse than that in his life, and so have I. I don’t know why you act so surprised.”
“But you didn’t know,” Drake said angrily. “So it’s not your fault.”
One corner of William’s mouth curled bitterly. “Oh, I think I did know. I fooled myself about a lot of things back then.”
“God damn it, Will, you didn’t!”
The room fell silent for several moments. Drake glowered helplessly at his brother, who stared back apologetically.
Rose was shaken from all that she’d heard.
She’d never suspected that such darkness lurked in William.
Her mind rebelled against it. It had been a long time ago.
He had been much younger then. He obviously did not do such things any longer.
Or did he? If he had cause, perhaps he did.
Just because she’d never witnessed any didn’t mean he didn’t do them. She really didn’t know him at all.
She said, “I would like to speak with my betrothed alone.”
William gave her a long, enigmatic look.
She felt he must be disappointed in her but could read nothing in his dark gaze.
She averted her eyes, unable to look at him, her throat tight.
She was confused about him, about Jamie.
But William didn’t really matter anymore, and perhaps that was for the best. Even so, she could still try to set things right with Jamie. She owed William that at least.
She breathed easier when he finally left the room, freeing her of the intensity of his gaze. She watched the others file out after him, her hands clasped in front of her. She heard her betrothed move toward her, and turned quickly.
She’d paid scant attention to him with William present, but she gave him a closer perusal now.
He was a very good-looking man. Long golden hair, deep-set cerulean eyes, tall and strong and well turned out in a fine plaid, leather doublet, and knee boots.
She should be pleased by his appearance.
Instead she thought how very young and angry he seemed compared to William.
“I am sorry our reunion was so…unpleasant,” he said, taking her hands. His were sweaty. “I am pleased to finally see you again, Rose. You are as beautiful as I remember.”
“I was beautiful at eight?” Rose said doubtfully.
He smiled. There was a dimple in his cheek. “To my ten-year-old eyes you were.”
Rose smiled back, softening toward him. “You are kind. This story you tell troubles me. I don’t believe Lord Strathwick is at fault.”
Jamie dropped her hands. “You heard him. He admitted to it.”
“Aye, I heard him. If we must all answer for our father’s sins, I fear no one will make it to heaven.”
“His father didn’t kill mine,” he growled. “He did! With his magic!”
“He did it at his father’s—his chief’s—insistence.
And though he was a man, he was a young one, as you are.
Are you never rash? Did you never believe the words of one you trusted?
He should have been able to trust his father.
We all should be able to trust the important elders in our lives.
But they are men too, full of deceit and lies, just like everyone else. ”
“You defend him, and I like it not!” Jamie paced away from her. “Someone must pay for my father’s murder. It has gone unanswered for too long.”
Rose sighed. A few words from her were clearly not going to end this feud, so she settled for the next best thing. “There will be no fighting at dawn. Your retribution will not play out at Lochlaire.”
He whirled toward her, his eyes blazing. “I will have vengeance.”
“Then I will not marry you.”
“What?” he cried incredulously. “You are bespelled.” His face distorted with rage. “I will kill him now!”
Rose caught him at the door, latching onto his arm. “No! Listen to me!”
He turned around, his jaw jutting with fury, and glared down at her.
“He is helping us. He believes someone is using witchcraft to kill my father, and he is trying to undo it.”
“He would know, the black-hearted wizard.”
Rose reined in her temper. “We need his help if my father is to live. I pray you, don’t do this to us. To me.”
He stared mutinously over her head.
“Consider it a—a wedding gift.”
His pale gaze fixed suspiciously on her. “Strathwick’s life means so much to you?”
Aye! But she didn’t dare admit such a thing. “There is nothing more important to me than healing my father.” When he still didn’t answer, she added, “I thought Alan MacDonell was your friend.”
He sighed, some of the tension relaxing from his broad shoulders. “Very well. There will be no blood spilled at Lochlaire. That is all I will promise, aye?”
Rose managed a hesitant smile. “My thanks.”
His gaze moved over her face. “I give you a man’s life. I can think of a more fitting thanks from my betrothed.”
Before Rose could ask him what he considered a more fitting thanks, he grabbed her, clasped her tightly against his chest, and kissed her.
Rose clutched at his shoulders, fighting for air as his tongue thrust into her mouth.
His teeth collided with hers with a sharp, uncomfortable click.
Then it was over, and he set her away from him.
She resisted the urge to wipe her mouth.
He gave her a self-satisfied grin.
Rose did not know what to say, so she gave him a wan smile. “Let me show you to your chambers.”
After depositing her much calmer betrothed in his chambers, she returned to her own.
A sensation of unreality had descended on her.
She needed fresh air, but the thought of the battlements made her chest tight and her belly flutter.
That the memory of William’s touch and kiss could still affect her so, after how ill he’d used her, after all she’d learned this night, did not bode well for her.
She’d gotten entangled with a scoundrel once before.
She would not do so again—especially with her betrothed under the same roof.
She leaned against the closed door for several moments, trying to gather her wits about her again.
Had William really killed Jamie’s father with witchcraft?
It was too horrible to contemplate, and yet it made sense.
If he could take sickness away, he could give it to others, too. He did not have to suffer. He chose to.
She pushed away from the door, her heart heavy. Sudden movement startled her. She turned quickly and peered into the gloom. Only the low fire in the fireplace illuminated her chamber. A figure stood in the shadows near her window.
“Who’s there?” she called.
William stepped forward, and her heart surged traitorously, angering her.
“What are you doing in my chambers?” she hissed, quickly latching the door lest someone walk in. “What can you be thinking?”
He crossed the room, bearing down on her relentlessly. “That you must have many questions and I’d rather you hear the answers from me than from someone else.”
Rose resisted the urge to flee; instead she backed away until she was flush against the door. “What care you what I think?” Her voiced dripped with bitterness.
“I care.” He stopped in front of her, staring down at her with such intensity that she could not hold his gaze.
His words inflamed her temper—and her desire. Her heart hammered. Memories of his mouth on hers, his hands beneath her skirt sent a flush over her skin, and shards of lust pierced her belly.
She slid along the wall, away from the door. “Get out.”
He followed, bracing a hand on the wall by her head to halt her escape. “No—we’re not finished, Rose.”
“We are finished—you made that clear earlier.” She tried to duck under his arm, but he blocked her with his body.