Chapter 15 #3
“Why should he be? He probably doesn’t even believe me. Tira’s dead, after all. I’m the only one who believes she survived.” Rose shook her head, confusion warring with all she’d heard. “But I vow, William, I heard her and she was well, not dying, her voice strong. What could have happened?”
“I believe you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, his gaze earnest. “And I know not what happened, but you must stop addressing me familiar.”
“You asked me to.”
He smiled wryly. “I know. It was unwise of me.”
“I don’t care. You’re leaving anyway, aren’t you? I will call you William until you leave, if it pleases you.”
“It doesn’t please me for you to make an enemy of MacPherson.”
Rose gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to marry him anyway.”
He did not reply to that; he only stared down into her eyes, his mouth a hard line. He did not appear pleased by her revelation.
She took a step closer to him so that mere inches separated their bodies. “Did you mean what you said before? That there was nothing more than friendship between us?”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. “A pathetic lie, and you know it.”
She walked around him, her arm and hand brushing his, her little finger twining with his as she passed.
He lifted his hand to extend the tingling contact of their skin.
At the stairs she turned and looked back at him over her shoulder.
He still stood before the door, staring after her.
The darkness in his eyes was unmistakable. Lust.
She smiled. “Come to my chambers, tonight—after midnight.”
And she left, before he could refuse.
In her father’s chambers, Rose was pleased to see that Conan was not on the bed. But as she crossed the room, she spotted the small dog on the rug beside the bed. She gave Hagan a cross look.
“What did I tell you?”
The Irishman shrugged. “Fash not. Alan cannot get him to jump on the bed. We’ve been trying, but the dog has developed a sudden aversion to it or his master.”
Rose harrumphed, still displeased the guard continued to disobey her. “I’ll be taking Conan with me when I leave this time.”
Her father was awake and seemed well. His color was good, and he sat propped against pillows, rather than sunk down and barely able to hold up his head. They talked some about Roderick’s son and Tira’s death, then Rose told him what had happened with Jamie.
“He said the betrothal is off.”
Alan considered her silently. “You don’t seem terribly upset.”
Rose shrugged. “I’m not, though I worry he will seek revenge.”
“I thought you loved him.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “I never said I loved him. I had fond memories and his letters were sweet. In truth, I cannot believe he wrote them now, at least not with me in mind. He finds me repulsive.”
“Oh, leave off!” her father said, incredulous. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, it’s true. He came down to the village when I was healing and bocked after I drained an abscess. Then he acted as if I had the plague and wouldn’t touch me. The only reason he wanted me at all was because of Lord Strathwick.”
Alan stroked his thick gray beard. “Because he thinks the wizard fancies you?”
“Aye. He didn’t want Strathwick to have anything that was his.”
Alan studied her, his expression guarded.
“Why do you look at me so?” she asked.
“Is there any basis to MacPherson’s jealousy?”
Rose blinked serenely at her father. “No.”
He didn’t look convinced; his eyes narrowed slightly, then he sighed.
Rose continued to be impressed by the improvement in him and hoped it was due to the protective spell she and her sisters had placed on him.
If it was witchcraft that ailed him, the spell would protect him until they discovered the culprit.
“Did you have nightmares last night?” she asked, passing her hands over him. His color was still weak but stronger than it had been the last time she’d checked.
He shook his head, then reached his hand out to her, palm up. Rose placed her hand in his.
“I wish you wouldn’t take so much on yourself. I’m an old man—”
“You’re not—”
“And old men have to die sometime. Let it go, love. You’ve done all you can. What more can you do? Move on. Marry a man of your choosing. What about this Strathwick fellow?”
“I just told you there was nothing between us but friendship. And you’re not going to die. Look how long you’ve hung on. Soon Sir Philip will be back with Sir Donnan, and he will remove the curse. All will be well.”
“Will it? Is that all that troubles you, love? My illness? Or is it something more that shadows your eyes when you look at me?”
Rose averted her gaze, fixing it on the silver terrier curled on the rug and staring unblinkingly at her. Sometimes Alan MacDonell saw too much.
“Talk to me, Rose.”
And suddenly she wanted to. It pressed at her chest, wanting out, but she bit back the words, refusing to burden a sick man, knowing that telling him now and seeing the pain it caused him would only make her feel worse.
“There is nothing, Da…except…would it make you terribly angry if I never wed?”
He blinked at her, surprised. “But I thought you wanted to.”
“I did…maybe I still do. But let’s not do it this way—rushing a wedding because you think you’re dying.”
“But I want you looked after when I’m gone.”
“I will be. I have two wonderful brothers-in-law who will let no harm befall me. And there is always Hagan.”
“I’ll protect her,” the Irishman promised. He was a constant, silent presence in the room. Often Rose forgot he was there.
“I know you will,” Alan said. He sighed unhappily. “But I’d like to see her with a family.” His troubled gaze turned back to Rose. “You work so hard, Rose. You seem so unhappy.”
“I’m not,” she assured him emphatically. “I vow it. I love healing…and Jamie told me he didn’t want me to do it anymore once we were wed. I don’t want a husband like that.”
Alan sighed again, still squeezing her hand. “We’ll talk more on this later, aye? Let me think about it.”
They spoke of other things until his eyelids began to droop. Then Rose gathered Conan under her arm and left, closing the door softly behind her.