Chapter 19 #2
“Leave off!” Rose cried, pushing away from the doorframe and coming to stand between them. She put her hands on MacPherson’s arm, trying to force it down. “You were a child when your father was killed and William was acting on his chief’s orders—”
MacPherson’s hand shot out, striking Rose across the face and sending her reeling back into the stones of the cottage. Black fury surged through William. He grabbed Jamie’s arm, wrenching it down. The dag discharged harmlessly into the dirt.
MacPherson pulled a dirk from his boot and slashed.
William moved back but not soon enough. It slashed across his belly, slicing through plaid and shirt and into his skin.
Before he could react, the wolves from the cottage flew out the door and attacked MacPherson, snarling and ripping.
He screamed, trying to beat them off, but there were too many.
“No, Deidra!” William bellowed. “Make them stop!”
“I can’t!” she cried. “They don’t want to!”
He whirled toward his daughter. “Make them!”
Tears streaked her face, and the witchpricker was such a shade of white that William thought that soon they would have no worries about him—he would faint.
Deidra’s brow furrowed, as if she were in deep concentration. Abruptly, the wolves left MacPherson and docilely returned to the cottage, resuming their place before Deidra and the witchpricker, muzzles glistening with fresh blood.
Rose knelt beside MacPherson, who lay motionless on the ground.
William dropped down beside her. The lad was covered with blood, his throat ravaged, but he was still alive, his eyes wide and staring, the breath laboring out of him.
Blood pulsed from his throat and foamed at his lips as he tried to speak.
Rose met William’s eyes and shook her head slightly. “You cannot. He wants you dead. He’ll kill you as soon as you heal him.”
“I must. I owe him.” Besides, Deidra was responsible, and William had to set things right before he taught his daughter control.
With great reluctance, he set his hands on the dying man.
Rose watched, her heart in her throat, as William healed Jamie MacPherson.
When he fell back, his hand to his throat, Rose rushed to his side, pulling his head into her lap and shielding him with her body.
Her own shoulder ached with a deep pain from healing Drake, but she was functional.
Though seriously wounded, Drake had not been near death when they’d found him on the mountainside.
Jamie pushed himself up, his hands to his throat, blinking in confusion. His nose was even healed, perfect and aquiline again.
“Stay away from him!” Rose yelled, clutching William closer. The earl and his men surrounded them, protecting William, but she still feared Jamie would somehow harm him.
Jamie said nothing for a long while, staring at Rose and William, his expression odd.
Then his gaze moved to the doorway of the cottage.
The witchpricker stood there, no longer holding a dirk to Deidra’s throat.
His hand was still on her shoulder, though.
The child looked up at the witchpricker.
When his eyes remained fixed on Rose and William, she broke away, throwing herself on her father’s inert form.
“I’m sorry, Da! I’m sorry!” she cried, clutching him, burying her face in his bloodied plaid.
William was unable to speak. He put a hand on his daughter’s head before his eyes closed.
“Is he dead?” Jamie asked, staring down at William with narrowed eyes.
Rose feared the same, and her fingers sought the pulse in his neck. “No,” she said, relieved. She smoothed the silvered black hair from his forehead and pressed her lips to his fevered skin.
Jamie stood, his hand still gripping his neck. He looked at the wolves. They’d left the cottage and were nosing through a nearby midden pile. He turned his troubled gaze on Deidra, then back to William. He gingerly fingered his nose. He seemed bewildered and afraid. Finally his gaze met Rose’s.
After a long moment he nodded, as if in some internal conversation with himself, and turned away. He mounted his horse, gestured to his men, and rode out of the village.
Rose heard footsteps beside her and looked up to see the witchpricker. He frowned down at William for a long time, then crouched suddenly, his tattered black robes pooling on the ground around him. He studied William’s face closely.
“There is no evil in what he does,” Rose said softly, holding him tighter to her breast. “He is a healer.”
“But the child—”
“Is a child.”
His thin gray brows arched. “She nearly killed a man. He would be dead if not for Lord Strathwick.”
“I did not see her do anything,” Lord Kincreag said. “You had a knife to her throat. I know the king doesn’t allow such tactics in the questioning of children.”
The witchpricker glanced up at the earl, unimpressed but seeing the truth in his words.
He had violated the king’s edict. He rubbed a thin-fingered hand over his mouth, eyeing Deidra, who still lay on her father’s chest. Under the witchpricker’s intense stare, she turned her head away and hunched her shoulders.
The witchpricker stood. “Let us hope our paths do not cross again.” He strode into the cottage and shut the door.
Rose let out the breath she’d been holding. She looked up at Drake and the earl. “Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.”
Roderick MacDonell passed from life two days later.
He never regained his power of speech, but unfortunately for Gillian, in death he was exceedingly vocal.
He pursued her through corridors and into her bed at night.
The earl lamented that she refused to even kiss her own husband with her dead uncle looking on.
Rose stood on the quay, embracing her sister warmly as she and the earl prepared to leave. “Forgive me, Rose,” Gillian said, “but I cannot stay. He is so angry. Forebye, Father is doing so well, I feel no guilt.”
“But what about us?”
Gillian lifted her shoulders helplessly. “He’s a ghost—and a new one. He can do nothing. No one has even seen him but me. We will return in a month or so, and by then mayhap he’ll tire of haunting this place and be ready to move on.”
The earl took his wife’s hand to lead her down the steps. “We’ll send word if we cannot return within the month,” he said. “I have great hope that the king will consider my counsel.”
Rose did, too. He and Gillian were traveling to Edinburgh to petition the king to rescind his witch-hunting commission and return the jurisdiction for trying witches to the king and privy council only.
He planned to use the near lynching of William and Deidra as evidence that the commission had been grossly abused.
Rose said her good-byes and returned to her father’s chambers. It had been nearly a fortnight since Roderick had attempted to murder him, and his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. But, of course, it wasn’t sufficient for him.
Rose found Hagan fighting to get him back in bed.
“Da!” she cried, rushing to Hagan’s aid. “I told you, you must take it slowly.”
“I feel fine,” he said, brows drawn together crossly. “I will never regain my strength if I must lay in bed eating broth.”
Though Rose pressed on his shoulder, urging him to sit, he resisted—with considerable strength. He was eating a great deal more than broth, and she was pleased to see his face filling out again. The graying beard had been trimmed, and his green eyes were clear and lively.
Conan barked and ran in circles, excited to see his master out of bed.
With Roderick’s death, his spells had lost their power.
Conan was free of the dark magic that had bound him, and he was no longer content to lie around.
Isobel had been spending a great deal of time in Roderick’s chambers, trying to discover more about their uncle and what he’d done.
She’d managed to unravel the spell he’d used on the wax effigies, and they were destroyed, much to everyone’s relief.
Sir Philip had returned with news that Sir Donnan had passed away nearly a year prior.
Rose and her father were still debating the benefits of bed rest when Deidra and William arrived with Liam and his nurse.
William bounced the solemn wean while Deidra made faces and noises, causing Liam to emit strange moans that seemed to signal pleasure.
Alan’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nephew.
Despite the pain of his brother’s deception, he held none of it against the baby.
He was overjoyed to finally have an heir to raise and train.
While Rose was distracted at the sight of William, Alan slipped out of bed and took the baby, thus making it impossible for Rose to force him back into the bed.
She sighed. “Very well. But you are not to overexert yourself.”
He ignored her, gently bobbling his nephew while Deidra showed Alan the little gowns and hats the wet nurse had made for him.
Rose’s father exclaimed over each item as if it were a priceless treasure.
Though Rose and William had not yet wed, Alan was already enjoying his role as Deidra’s grandfather.
He asked her to bring him a different animal every day to converse with, and Deidra was happy to oblige.
Rose turned her attention back to William and found him gazing at her oddly, a slightly bemused look on his face.
She’d caught him looking at her so several times over the past few days.
When she questioned him about it, he only shook his head, refusing to reveal his thoughts.
She raised impatient brows at him, and this time he inclined his head.
She followed, leaving her father with Hagan and Deidra.