Chapter 17 #2
William mounted his horse and left the cave, following the narrow ledge until he reached the mountain pass.
He kept a hard hand on the reins as his fear and anger transmitted themselves to his horse.
She shook her head, trying repeatedly to dart dangerously forward.
At the pass a path led away from the glen, twining down the mountain, obscured in places by sharp boulders and scrub.
William turned into the pass, then reined in sharply.
His way was blocked, filled steep wall to steep wall with mounted men, and at the center was Jamie MacPherson. William forced himself not to look back along the cliff to where his daughter and brother hid; he did not want to give their location away.
MacPherson spurred his horse forward, reining in when he came before William. “Where’ve you been hiding, Wizard?”
William calculated his chances of getting past the men and was not comforted by the odds. “This is between you and me, MacPherson. I’ll fight you—just keep your men out of it.”
MacPherson smiled. His eyes were bloodshot, and a day’s growth of golden stubble glinted on his chin and jaw. “I’m not interested in a fight anymore, Wizard. You’ve an engagement with a witchpricker who’s verra interested in your magic.”
William pulled on his horse’s reins, turning it on its hocks to flee down the southern path.
He drove his heels into the horse’s side just as pain pierced his shoulder.
He grabbed it; an arrow haft jutted out.
White-hot agony splintered through his arm and chest, but he was still moving, his horse picking her way down the path.
He heard the others behind him, following, and wrapped the reins around his hand.
“No!” MacPherson shouted at someone behind him. “No more—I want him alive.”
William urged his horse faster, but it wasn’t fast enough.
He heard a horse closing in on him, then a fist struck out at him, to knock him from his saddle.
William grabbed it with his good arm, yanking MacPherson from his horse.
The other man snatched at him, and they both went down amid hooves and stones.
William fell hard on his wounded shoulder, breaking the arrow haft and jamming the head deeper into his shoulder.
He rolled away, blinded with pain. Hands were on him, yanking him to his feet, twisting his arms behind him.
MacPherson stood before him, grinning malevolently.
“Look what we found.” He grabbed William’s hair and forced him to look up the path.
Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision.
Several of MacPherson’s men descended the path on foot, one carrying Deidra, still unconscious, in his arms, two others shoving Drake in front of them.
William pulled at his bindings. “Let them go! They’re not witches. You have me, what need you with them?”
“Och, I’ve heard different, Wizard. I’ve heard the child is a witch. And as for your brother.” MacPherson looked away from William to Drake, who was being shoved roughly down the path. He stumbled and fell to one knee. MacPherson drew his dag from the saddle holster and aimed it at Drake’s head.
“Heal this, Wizard.”
“No!” William yelled, lurching forward. As the gun discharged, he slammed his forehead into MacPherson’s nose. There was a liquid crack. It was enough to throw off MacPherson’s aim, but the bullet took Drake in the chest. William watched his brother go down, blood staining his plaid.
“Drake!” William roared, surging forward as hands pulled him back.
MacPherson swung around, blood streaming from his nose, his mouth twisted with fury. “You’ll pay for that one, Wizard.”
He slammed the hilt of his dag into William’s head again and again until he saw nothing else.
“Da!” Rose woke abruptly, the memories of the past few days flooding her the moment she opened her eyes.
“Aye, aye, I’m here.”
She looked around, her mouth agape when she saw her father sitting in a chair beside her bed. “Da…you’re out of bed!”
“Aye, that I am, thanks to you.” He looked frail and tired, swaddled in a plaid, but he was here, in her room.
She couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened and closed, and her vision blurred, but nothing came out.
Finally she crumpled forward over her knees, face buried in her hands, and wept.
Months of despair flowed out of her, hiccuping sobs gripping her weakened body.
Her father was out of bed. He was not dead, like Tira.
Every time she thought of his lifeless body and the blackness that had overcome her, she cried harder.
Her father murmured soothing words, distressed by her tears, so after a time Rose marshaled her emotions.
She rubbed her hands across her eyes and gave her father an apologetic smile.
“Forgive…but I had lost hope…and here you are, out of bed.” Her voice caught, tears threatening to overcome her again.
“Well, don’t get too excited. Lord Kincreag and Hagan must take some of the credit, as they practically carried me.
But I’m here and it’s been months since I left that bed.
And it’s because of you.” He gazed at her, shaking his head in wonder.
“Your mum always said to me that you were the strongest of us all. It’s not that I didn’t believe, love, because I did.
I saw it in you every time I looked at you and spoke to you, the iron will.
But I didn’t understand what she meant. I do now. ”
Rose stared down at the blanket. “I would never have known what I was capable of if not for William—I mean Lord Strathwick.” She shot her father an anxious look. His expression remained gentle and understanding. “He saw it in me and taught me.”
“I don’t believe he tried to murder me,” Alan said.
“But I don’t know what happened. I was sleeping, then I couldn’t breathe.
The next thing I remember I was awake, feeling better than I have in months, and you were on the floor beside my bed.
” He shook his head, his brows drawing together in remembered grief.
“Whatever happened, Strathwick was not responsible, of that I’m certain.
Hagan wanted to send a man after him, to bring him back for questioning, but I refused. I told them to let him go.”
Rose smiled sadly. “Thank you…and you’re right. He could not have done it.”
Her father studied her silently for several moments, then he said, “You love him, aye?”
Rose nodded, another annoying tear escaping to slide down her nose. She swiped it away.
“Then I will send someone after him, to fetch him back to us so he can marry you!”
Rose shook her head. “He knows I love him. He won’t marry me. He can’t.”
“What?” Her father’s thick gray brows drew together with indignantion. “Is he already married?”
“No…he lost his first wife in childbirth…but he saved his daughter. He’s afraid to go through that again, to be forced to choose, so he pushes people away.
In the end, he pushed me away, too. I thought he’d changed his mind…
but I suppose it just frightened him more.
” She dashed away her tears and gave her father a tremulous smile.
“It’s fine…I’ll always love him, but I understand him, too. Better now than I ever did before.”
Her father gazed at her sadly, obviously wanting to give her what she desired. But only William could do that. Perhaps she would write him a letter, tell him how she’d healed her father. Maybe then he would truly believe that he wasn’t alone.
The door opened, and a servant bustled in with a tray topped with a steaming bowl of stew and a slab of bread. She set it on the table beside the bed and at a gesture from Alan, left discreetly.
“Here, eat something.” He waved to the tray.
Rose’s belly rumbled in response to the rich fragrances of beef and rosemary, and she took the stew gratefully.
“I hope you will use this gift wisely,” her father said, watching her steadily as she ate.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned forward and reached out his thin, bony hand as if he wanted to touch her. He slumped back and instead touched his own hair, near his forehead. “Your hair…it’s turning white.”
Rose set the stew aside and fingered her hair, pulling a hank of it in front of her. A large quantity of silvery white sprinkled the lock in her hand. She clasped it in both hands, her heart swelling, as if it were some connection to William.
“This healing,” her father continued, “is a great effort for you…and appears to age you. You cannot heal everyone. Do not try. You are a fine healer without the magic. Only use it when absolutely necessary and for those truly worthy.”
Rose nodded, still staring down at the hair in her hand.
Her mind turned back to William and the night they’d spent together.
Thinking of him was like a hole in her heart, hollow and aching.
But he’d said he loved her, and she’d believed him.
She still believed him. She remembered what else he’d said to her.
I think you should tell your father. You will be angry with him until you do—and if he dies, you may never stop being angry. Tell him.
“Da?” she said uncertainly, plaiting the hair in her fingers, eyes focused on her mindless task, not seeing it. “There is something I wish to ask you.”
“Aye?” He sounded tired.
She should let him rest, not burden him with more worries. He was not fully recovered. She might have saved him from the latest attack, but there was still a witch trying to murder him. She began to turn those thoughts in her mind. If Sir Donnan wasn’t here, then how—
No! Tell him! It was William’s voice in her mind, and it strengthened her.
“I know why you sent us away twelve years ago. I didn’t understand when I was young, and I was angry—”