CHAPTER 8 #3
“Accompany me to my chamber,” he commanded Gwendolyn, moving toward the door. Without looking to see if she followed, he disappeared into the hall.
“Don’t think you have won, witch,” Elspeth sneered, her face taut with loathing.
“MacDunn has seen through your deception, and he has returned his son to my care. Now you will be punished for the evil you have wrought. Then MacDunn will send whatever is left of you back to your clan, where you will finally be committed to the fires of hell. And I will purge your evil from this lad’s tiny soul,” she swore, “so he can enter heaven with a pure spirit.”
Cameron, Brodick, and Ned stood waiting in the corridor as she fled the chamber, their expressions grim.
They were no doubt present to assist in punishing her, Gwendolyn realized.
Although she understood that their loyalty to MacDunn demanded they obey his commands, their presence nevertheless wounded her.
She held her head high as she followed MacDunn, unwilling to let them see her desolation.
“A word, Alex,” Cameron said, stepping forward. “I should like to explain—”
“Later,” Alex snapped. “After I have dealt with Gwendolyn.”
Cameron blocked his passage. “But I am responsible for taking David from the castle. I carried the lad myself. It is I who must be punished.”
“Without Cameron’s assistance, Gwendolyn could never have removed him,” added Brodick, moving to Cameron’s side. “She cannot be held responsible for what happened.”
Ned joined Brodick. “You must punish Cameron instead.”
Alex stared at his three warriors in shock. Were they actually trying to defend her?
“If you are so anxious to be punished, Cameron, I am sure I can accommodate you,” he said dryly. “But your actions do not absolve Gwendolyn of the risk she took with my son today. Now stand aside.”
All three cast an anxious look at Gwendolyn, then reluctantly moved out of their laird’s way. Despite her agitation, she was moved by their unexpected support.
“I will be all right,” she whispered, trying to reassure them. “You needn’t worry.”
Their somber expressions did little to ease her fear.
Alex heaved the door to his chamber open and hurled the stained dirk across the room. It struck the wall with such force it chipped a block of stone before clattering loudly onto the floor.
“Close the door,” he ordered tautly as Gwendolyn entered behind him.
He went to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He drank all of it, filled the cup once more, then quickly drained it again. Marginally in control of his reeling emotions, he filled the vessel a final time, then gripped the goblet tightly between his fingers and studied Gwendolyn.
“Why in the name of God did you take my dying son beyond the castle walls?” His voice lashed at her like a whip.
“I—I thought it would be good for him,” Gwendolyn stammered. “He looked quite well this morning. I thought a little fresh air and exertion might make him stronger.”
“You are well aware of how extraordinarily frail the lad is—how he may appear almost stable one minute and is vomiting and gasping for air the next. How could you possibly risk his life by exposing him to the outside?”
“He complained that he was weary of lying in his chamber all the time,” Gwendolyn explained, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush.
“Having been forced to stay within these dark walls myself these past few days, I know how awful it feels to be deprived of the touch of sunlight against your cheek and the scent of earth and grass and flowers. You have these things every day, so you do not know what it is like to be denied them. And David truly did seem to be faring well—he only got sick after we ate.”
The realization made her pause. Had David’s illness been instigated by consuming tainted food?
She frowned, trying to recall what she had packed in her basket.
As she went through the items, she realized that she and Cameron had eaten everything David had, and neither of them had become ill.
Even so, the possibility of a connection between what David ate and the severe reaction he’d had was a troubling one.
“However innocent your intentions may have been, I cannot ignore the fact that my son came perilously close to dying today,” stated Alex bitterly.
“My son, should he survive, is the next laird of this clan. I cannot permit you to endanger him again. You are hereby relieved of your duties as his healer.” He tilted his head back and drained his goblet.
He was sending her back, Gwendolyn realized helplessly.
She had failed in her attempt to heal David, so MacDunn was returning her to the MacSweens.
That she would be burned the moment she arrived did not trouble her nearly as much as the fact that she was abandoning David to Elspeth’s care.
I will purge your evil from this lad’s tiny soul, so he can enter heaven with a pure spirit.
With Gwendolyn gone, Elspeth would be free to leech David’s life away in her misguided attempt to cleanse the child of evil.
David would be entombed in a dark, stifling chamber once again, where he would be constantly purged, and bled, and suffocated with foul air and unbearable heat.
And he would die.
“You cannot do this,” she said desperately. “You must not turn David over to the care of that horrible woman.”
Alex narrowed his gaze. “Do you dare tell me what I can do with my own son?” His tone was dangerously low.
“Elspeth is so determined to purify his soul, she doesn’t care if she kills him in the process!
” Gwendolyn retorted. “I will not permit you to subject him to such cruelty. I don’t care what you do to me, MacDunn.
Punish me for what happened today however you see fit.
But if you try to return me to my clan, I will escape and come back here. David needs me.”
Alex regarded her in bemused silence. He had no intention of sending her back to her clan.
He was stripping her of the responsibility of healing his son, but that was all.
He had not actually considered the matter much past that, but it had certainly not occurred to him that she should leave.
The moment she stepped beyond his lands, she would be captured by Robert and his warriors, returned to her clan, and burned.
Alex was devastated that she had not been able to cure David, but he was not about to sentence her to death.
A remarkable strength emanated from her as she stood before him, her face pale but determined, her small hands fisted tightly on her hips.
It was a strength that completely bewildered him.
Gwendolyn was far slighter and more delicate than Flora had ever been, at least before that ghastly illness.
The pallor of Gwendolyn’s skin clearly indicated a thinness of blood and a weak constitution.
And yet this tiny witch had endured being arrested, imprisoned, and nearly burned.
She had ridden long and hard for three days to reach his castle without once complaining or asking for rest. She had even cracked her head open and bled all over his stairs, and then been up a short while later, cheerfully relaying the episode to his son.
How could this impossibly frail slip of a girl have such incredible resilience?
She was staring at him with grim defiance, awaiting his response.
Her ebony hair had all but slipped free of its ribbon and was falling in loose waves across her shoulders.
The sleeves of her emerald gown had been carelessly shoved up to her elbows, and the garment itself was stained and wrinkled.
Strangely, Alex found her disheveled appearance immensely pleasing.
It was clear Gwendolyn gave no thought whatsoever to herself as she cared for his son—unlike Robena, who always emerged from David’s chamber looking as immaculately arranged as when she first entered.
The light woolen fabric of Gwendolyn’s gown was cascading over her in liquid ripples, creating an enticing swell at the small curve of her breasts.
Alex found himself remembering their exquisite softness when he cupped them with his palm, and the salty-sweet tang of her skin as he dragged his tongue languidly across her.
Desire shot through him.
Appalled, he struggled to suppress it. He would not be controlled by base physical hunger.
He had brought the witch here to punish her, he reminded himself harshly.
But instead of crying and begging for forgiveness as he might have expected, Gwendolyn had confounded him by coolly declaring that she had no intention of obeying him, and inviting him to do what he would with her.
Her apparent lack of fear was incomprehensible.
Women had always been intimidated by his very presence.
Aside from his formidable physical bearing, Alex was laird of the powerful MacDunn clan and was therefore accustomed to a degree of deference from both men and women alike.
Any reasonable woman would be quivering right now in the face of his anger.
Yet this witch seemed completely unconcerned as she gazed up at him, boldly refusing to obey his commands.
Had his descent into madness so destroyed his bearing that even diminutive girls no longer feared him? The thought infuriated him.
In that moment he was overwhelmed by a need to make her fear him—just a little.