Chapter 15 #2
Something twisted hard in Rose’s chest, and when she spoke, her voice was brittle. “You don’t understand.”
“I do, Rose.” He looked up at her from beneath thick black lashes. “I think you should tell your father instead of letting it fester.”
She shook her head. “No, no, no. He’s dying. I cannot let him die thinking I hate him.”
“So you seek to heal him at any cost.” Again his voice was rife with sudden comprehension that she found distressing. He couldn’t understand. He thought he did, but no one truly understood.
“Aye! But you don’t understand. I should have told him—it’s my fault! If I’d told him long ago, it wouldn’t have gone on. If I hadn’t been so stupid and scared. I have to tell him or—or—”
“Or what?” He watched her intently.
She put her hands to the sides of her head, fingers curling into her hair. “I know not.”
“It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.
You’re a woman now, a strong, clever one.
” He climbed a step so they were nearly eye to eye.
He took her hands and pulled them away from her face.
“If the man who did this to you were still alive, I would kill him—after breaking every bone in his body—then maybe healing him so I could do it again. Then I’d kill him. ”
Rose put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
His arms came around her waist, holding her close.
She loved him. It rose inside her, sweet and piercing.
She hugged him tighter. She’d thought that maybe she’d fallen in love with him the first time she’d met him, when he’d pretended to be a groom, but she was certain of it now.
She wanted to tell him how she felt but couldn’t place that burden on him.
He’d made his position clear. If she carried their relationship any further, she’d suffer the consequences in silence.
She thought that perhaps she was willing, just to be with him.
Heart pounding madly, she pulled back, looking into his eyes, letting him see that she wanted him.
She slid her fingers into the soft hair at his nape, memorizing the silken slide of his hair, the lambent sapphire of his eyes, the austere line of his mouth, the mouth that could be so soft and warm… .
She knew the moment he understood what she was about.
His breathing grew uneven, his gaze falling to her mouth as his throat worked.
His fingers flexed into her waist. She leaned forward, holding his face, the scrape of whiskers against her palms, and she kissed him.
His mouth opened beneath hers, warm and sweet and full of promise.
Approaching footsteps echoed in the stairwell. Rose pulled away from him. His fingers clung to her arisaid for a moment, his expression thunderous with frustration, then he let her go. His mouth curved into a sardonic smile and he gestured for her to precede him.
Rose hurried up the stairs again, her heart still racing, her body flushed with anticipation, the sensation of his fingers on her waist still burning. When she reached the landing, she turned to find a frowning Jamie appear behind them.
His suspicious gaze darted from Rose to William as the three of them stood on the landing. “I didn’t hear you on the stairs until just a second ago.”
William arched a brow. “Well, obviously we were there.”
“Aye, but the countess said you’d left a few moments before I arrived at your chambers—not seconds before. Besides…I would have seen you leaving. What were you doing on the stairs?”
Rose’s heart beat furiously against her ribs, now with fear of discovery.
She had no intention of marrying Jamie, but neither would she be marrying William.
Jamie hated him enough without adding cuckold to the list of crimes.
And if she did indulge in an indiscretion with the Wizard of the North, she had every intention of keeping it discreet.
“I’m coming to see my uncle and nephew. What do you think I was doing?”
He again looked from William to Rose, his expression skeptical, then he moved forward, taking Rose’s elbow and pulling her to the door, his body a barrier between her and William. As he pounded on the door, Rose said, “I’m feeling much better now, thank you for asking.”
The look he sent her was part irritation, part embarrassment. “Forgive…I’m pleased your ailment has passed.” The door opened as he glanced at William over his shoulder. “So it was not the wizard’s curse that struck you down?”
Rose’s laugh was tinged with contempt. “How absurd! Who said such a thing?”
Roderick stood in the doorway. “Rose!” He seemed surprised to see her there. His gaze darted to Jamie, then behind them to William. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“I’m fine.” Rose peered around him into the room. It was strangely empty, at least what she could see of it; the furnishings and rugs were gone. Tira’s carved and padded chair was usually evident from the doorway. The small table that held her silver bell and embroidery basket was gone, too.
“Can we come in?”
Her uncle hesitated. He’d not opened the door all the way, and now he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Not now. Liam is sleeping.”
“Liam?” Rose said. “Is that what you named him?”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye, Liam Roderick.”
She touched her uncle’s arm. “I’m so sorry about Aunt Tira.”
Roderick took her hand and squeezed it. “Fash not, lass. I ken you did all you could. She’s in a better place now.”
“What happened?” she asked. “After the birth? I thought Tira was fine. She even spoke to me. What happened?”
He shook his head sadly. “Same thing that killed my other wives, it seems. All the bleeding. Hilda told me what a difficult birth it was. She went on and on about what a fine midwife you are, Rose, saving Liam’s life. She said I could’ve lost them both, but you—”
“Uncle Roderick?” Rose interrupted, perturbed by the way truth kept twisting. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I didn’t save Liam. He was not breathing when I finally delivered him. Lord Strathwick healed him…that’s why he collapsed afterward. Healing is…traumatic.”
Roderick went very still. Though he didn’t move a muscle, his gaze lifted to look at the man standing behind Jamie and Rose.
“He healed the wean, you say?” Jamie said, his voice rife with skepticism.
She slanted Jamie an irritated look. “Aye—I was there. I saw it. So was Hilda. Ask her.”
Roderick’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he brought one hand up to rub over his copper-stubbled mouth. “No, Hilda saw nothing. She thinks you did all.”
“Then why would William collapse?”
“You collapsed, too,” Roderick pointed out.
“Did you just address him familiar?” Jamie cried, his square jaw bulging. “William, it is now? What were you doing on the stairs, aye?”
“Nothing,” Rose said, exasperated. “We are friends.”
“Friends,” he sneered. “I will not take your seconds, Wizard—and you, wench, will not speak to me in that tone.”
William had him against the wall, forearm to his throat, eyes narrowed threateningly. “You are the one whose tone begs explanation.”
Jamie tried to shrug him off, his teeth bared. “Un-hand me!”
William shoved his arm harder into Jamie’s throat until he made a choking noise.
William’s voice was calm when he spoke. “Rose has been patient with you, and you’ve been naught but rude.
There is great friendship between Rose and me.
Nothing more. You doubt her honor again and we shall meet somewhere dark and alone. ”
He released Jamie and stepped back. The younger man’s face reddened with fury, and his hand gripped his dirk hilt.
Rose looked between the two glowering men, wide-eyed and stunned from what had just happened.
Jamie looked at Roderick, then his scornful gaze fell on Rose before returning to William. “This isn’t over, Wizard—not by far.”
He stalked to the stairs. At the top step he turned, fixing Rose with a hateful glare. “The betrothal is off!”
Rose resisted the urge to cry Good riddance at his retreating back. She turned back to her uncle with a heavy sigh.
He leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest and copper brows hiked to his hairline. “Well!”
William sighed. “If he wasn’t my enemy before—”
“Oh, aye,” Roderick said. “He is now. The MacKays and the MacPhersons will be feuding in earnest after this, I’ll wager.”
“Will you talk to him?” Rose asked her uncle. “He promised me he would not fight with William at Lochlaire, but I think all promises are off now. Make him leave?”
Roderick nodded. “I’ll do what I can…but you never did say why you collapsed, if he’s the one doing the healing.” He nodded to William with his chin.
Rose placed a hand on her uncle’s arm. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.
I’m like William. He sees the colors, too—only he can use them to heal.
And I discovered…or thought I discovered”—disappointment constricted her throat again—“that I could, too. Aunt Tira was dying. I did as William showed me and took it into myself. I suffered with her pain. And I heard her, Uncle Roderick. She spoke to me…I was so sure I succeeded.” Her shoulders slumped.
Her uncle stared at her, plucking at his bottom lip with his fingers, the whites of his eyes showing.
“Forgive me,” Rose said, realizing her clumsiness. “You’re mourning her, and I stand here twisting a knife in the wound.”
“It’s…fine.” He turned partially away, his gaze darting from William to Rose. “I…need to rest, I think.” He disappeared into his chambers and latched the door.
Rose turned to stare dejectedly up at William. “I should have stayed in bed.”
William stared at the door, his brow furrowed. “Your uncle wasn’t very happy to discover you can heal.”