My Shadow Warrior (16 page)

A mantle of loneliness descended on William. “And in those eight years, I have not been forced to make another such choice, have I?” He shook his head firmly. “I won’t do it again.” He started to leave, but he paused before closing the door behind him. “Remember what I said. Courtesy and respect.”

“For you, brother. I do it only for you.”

William returned to his chambers, his conversation with his brother still circling his mind. He
was not
smitten. He liked Rose—and he lusted after her as well—but that was the extent of it. He was certainly not smitten.

He thought back to the night on the moor and thanked God only Wallace had been hurt, and that it had been minor. He liked Wallace but kept the man at a distance, just as he did everyone else except Drake and Deidra. Until Rose. He could not seem to keep her at arm’s length, and it was as much his fault as hers. A most vexing situation.

No, he definitely could not be smitten. He’d worked too hard to keep the circle of those dear to him small. He couldn’t risk letting her in and one day being forced to make another soul-rending choice.

Of course, all of this was speculation. She might feel something for him now, but that would be over soon enough. He’d known that the moment he looked down and recognized the pale blue eyes staring up at him from the locket. She was betrothed to Jamie MacPherson, which meant she would discover the truth about him eventually. It also meant that whatever suspicions he had about her ability to heal must never be more than that. He couldn’t guess what MacPherson would do to her, but it was guaranteed to be something ugly.

They arrived at Glen Laire around noon on the eighth day of their travel. William’s first sight of Rose’s home was of a lush green valley, surrounded by mountains and guarded to the north by a thick forest. About half of the land was cultivated, striped with oats and barley; the other half was dedicated to grazing beasts. A river twined through the valley, emptying into a large loch. Lochlaire sat in the center of it, as impenetrable a stronghold as the glen was.

Their small party gathered on the wide ledge just inside the mountain pass.

“The trail is difficult,” Rose cautioned. “Deidra should ride with someone.”

“I can do it!” Deidra cried and tapped her mare’s sides, bobbing in the saddle.

William caught her reins and swung her off her horse, plopping her onto the back of Drake’s. “Hold onto your uncle.”

She scowled at being thwarted but quickly got over it, wrapping her arms as far around Drake’s waist as she could reach and craning her neck to see in front of him.

Rose started down the trail first, effectively hiding her expression from William, but he’d noticed that the closer they got to Glen Laire, the more tense she seemed. He’d expected her to be happy or excited to finally be here, so close to healing her father, but she seemed almost reluctant. Perhaps she worried that her father had not made it, and that was very likely, considering how ill he’d been when she’d left.

All of this, however, was mere conjecture. Since they’d left the Fraser stronghold, they’d hardly spoken. And though William had resolved to keep her at arm’s length from here on out, he’d been more than a little disappointed to find that effort on his part was unnecessary. She had apparently come completely to her senses, and, excepting excessive politeness, she spoke only to Wallace and Deidra.

William brooded at the slim, auburn-haired woman carefully leading them down the mountain. He did not consider himself a happy sort of man, but he’d been content enough until Rose had come along, making him restless and unsatisfied with the life he’d made. The prospect of returning to Strathwick and the bleak, rutted track of his life held no appeal, and it was her fault, for forcing him out of a life he had not even realized was unsatisfactory.

They descended the mountain in single file without incident, though Drake’s horse became irritable halfway down from Deidra’s bobbing on its haunches, but a few sharp words from her uncle and she reluctantly sat still. As they cantered down the dirt road that led from the base of the mountain to the loch, crofters left their dwellings or stopped their work in the fields to wave at Rose. Children came out to run beside them. One boy skipped along beside Rose’s stirrup, asking if she would come tend his grandsire. She promised to visit soon.

Deidra was wide-eyed at it all. She’d never left Strathwick, so everything was a novelty to her. When she saw Lochlaire she gasped and pointed, eyes wide. “Look, Da! It floats!”

William laughed softly. “Nay, Squirrel, it’s not floating. It’s built on an island.”

She cocked her head, regarding the island castle quizzically. “How are we to go to it, then?”

“By boat, I imagine.”

They arrived at the stables near the loch, and Rose dismounted, handing her reins to a bearded man who waited for them.

“My father?” she said, her voice breathless, her dark eyes fearful.

He smiled kindly, gathering all the reins in a thick-fingered hand as the rest of them dismounted. “He’s still fighting, lass—too mean to die.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, smiling slightly. “Thank you, Gowan.”

She led them to the shore, where several boats were moored. They all clambered into one, and William and Drake took the oars. Drake looked ill at ease, surveying their surroundings with a tense, watchful eye. The MacDonells were neither enemy nor ally, and William knew nothing about the Glen Laire MacDonells past what Rose had told him.

William rowed, his gaze lingering on the woman facing him. The sun glistened on the copper strands of her hair. She still seemed troubled, in spite of the good news that her father was alive. Her mouth compressed into a thin line as she stared blankly at the approaching castle. Her hands gripped the wooden slat beneath her, white-knuckled. William’s curiosity was well and truly piqued now.

He pulled at the oars, eyeing the open portcullis ahead of them. Why the hell did he even care? It irritated him that he dwelt on it. He tried to focus on other things, but his mind circled back to her when he was unawares.

The boat slid through the water, passing through the arched gateway and into the cavernous chamber. William’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he noted the welcoming party. It consisted of two men and a woman. The woman was very pretty, with dark hair and a very shapely form. Drake sat up straighter at the sight of her. But she was spoken for, it seemed—there was a proprietary air about the tall, swarthy man beside her. He was dressed simply, but there was no mistaking the quality of his garments—all black, a black-and-red plaid mantle secured across wide, heavy shoulders with an obscenely large ruby. The second man was substantially shorter than the dark man but by no means small. He was broad-chested and muscular—the calves below his plaid bulged as he stood on the quay, stone-faced. This one was clearly a relation to Rose—the fiery copper hair told all.

Rose stiffened further as they neared the quay. They let the boat drift to the flight of stone steps descending into the water. Drake tied the boat off using one of the iron rings driven into the stone.

The red-haired man suddenly came alive, taking the stairs two at a time. William stood to help Rose from the boat, but the man beat him to it, grabbing Rose’s arm and hauling her onto the damp stone steps. He clasped her to his chest in a smothering hug.

“Jesus God, ye gave us a scare!”

He closed his eyes, overcome with emotion, but when he opened them they were a startlingly vivid blue. Rose struggled, gasping for air, so he released her from his punishing embrace but held her shoulders at arm’s length, glaring down at her.

“What were you thinking, lass?”

“I was thinking of my father—”

He gave her a shake, his expression hardening. “Were you truly? Your father was worried frantic. How could you do this to him? Did ye want to kill him?”

William was still trapped in the skiff with the others, but at the red-haired man’s sudden violence he pushed his way onto the steps, enabling Rose to escape his hold.

She glared at the man. “I am trying to save him—and besides, what I do or do not do is not for you to say. You are not my father, my laird, nor my husband. And I would think if you loved your brother at all you would understand why I had to do it.”

He looked her over with mock amazement, then his gaze tipped up to view William disdainfully. “We should be pleased you brought this…this man to Glen Laire? That you put the entire clan in danger for your caprice?”

Rose looked close to exploding. Before she could speak, William put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her closer to his side. “I understand there is a very sick man that needs my attention. This is wasting his time.”

The man looked from Rose to William distastefully. William didn’t care what he thought; he wasn’t going to let the man accost Rose for trying to do a good deed.

“Uncle Roderick,” Rose said, her voice still full of resentment, “this is William MacKay of Strathwick. Lord Strathwick, this is my uncle, Roderick MacDonell.”

Rather than exchange greetings, Roderick turned on his heel and climbed the steps. The tall, swarthy man descended the steps, giving Roderick a look of quizzical irritation as he passed him. He scanned the occupants of the boat and stopped short, his black brows raised in surprise. “Wallace, man! What happened to you?”

Wallace stood abruptly, causing the skiff to wallow precariously. William caught Deidra and pulled her onto the steps beside him before she toppled into the water.

“Well, my lord Kincreag,” Wallace said, his scar reddening, “What happened, is—”

All the conversation thus far had been carried out in Scots rather than the Gaelic William was accustomed to, so he answered in the same. “It is a verra long story, my lord, better told o’er a dram and meal.”

The dark man—apparently the earl of Kincreag, or the Devil Earl, from the stories William had heard of him—nodded and said, “Of course—aye, come out of there. It will wait.”

The earl retreated to the top of the quay where Roderick stood, arms folded hard over his chest. Rose paused, waiting for William and the others to follow. William raised his brows at Drake as his brother hopped onto the steps, and Drake nodded back, sighing. The uncle would be trouble—they’d seen it before. They each grabbed one of Deidra’s hands and swung her up the steps. She did not shriek and giggle as William had expected, and when Drake released her, she clutched William’s hand with both of hers.

At the top of the quay Rose hugged the pretty, dark-haired woman, murmuring to her, then broke away and came to stand beside William.

“My lord, this is the earl of Kincreag, and my sister, Gillian, his lady wife.” She introduced Drake and Deidra, the uncle’s thunderous expression not changing the whole time. The earl greeted William courteously enough but studied him with such an obscure intensity that William couldn’t be certain what he thought.

“Come,” the earl said, taking charge. “I’ll take you to Alan.”

Deidra remained leeched onto William’s hand, and Rose stayed close to William, for his protection or her own from her uncle, he didn’t know but found it endearing.

They could only walk two abreast up the stone steps leading into the castle, so Rose fell behind. William heard Roderick say to her in a low voice, “Your betrothed wrote.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, then Rose hissed, “Wrote who? Have you been reading my correspondence?”

“No. He wrote your father, worried because he hadn’t received a letter from you in some time. So I wrote to him and told him what you’d done.”

Rose let out a long, angry breath. Dread sunk like a stone in William’s gut. He knew what was coming next.

“He wrote back immediately,” Roderick said. “He should be here any day now.”

They entered the great hall, but Rose did not return to William’s side, hanging back to walk with her uncle. “Why? You knew where I was. There was no reason to send for him.”

Wallace separated from their party, heading for the kitchen, and William took that opportunity to glance over his shoulder at Rose and her uncle. Roderick shrugged innocently. “I didn’t tell him to come. His reply was verra short. Methinks you’ve angered him.”

Rose’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth a thin, angry line. “No,
you’ve
angered him. He didn’t need to know.”

“He’s to be your husband. Methinks he needs to know the trouble he’s buying.”

They gathered before a door, and Roderick left off haranguing Rose. Her face had drained of color, but when she caught William’s look, she smiled encouragingly. He was no more pleased to hear of MacPherson’s impending arrival than she was, but for vastly different reasons.

Before the earl could knock on the door, William touched Rose’s arm. “Will you see to Deidra? I don’t want her to watch.”

“Gillian?” Rose said, trying to take Deidra’s hand. “Will you take Miss Deidra to her chambers?”

“No, Da,” Deidra said under her breath, hugging his arm and shaking her head vigorously at Rose, curls bobbling.

William knelt before her and put his hands on her arms. “It’s been a long trip,” he said gently. “The countess will see that you’re washed, fed, and given a nap. Rose and Drake will come to see you soon.”

Deidra’s eyes widened with panic, and she threw her arms around his neck. “No, Da, no! There are bad things here! Please—the animals are afraid, they say there is a bad man here.”

William looked quickly at the earl and Roderick, his heart skipping a fearful beat. The earl merely raised a curious brow at Deidra’s ravings, but Roderick’s brows lowered in irritation. “What is this rubbish? Bad men?”

“It’s nothing.” William took his daughter by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Remember what we spoke of, Squirrel?”

She swallowed and nodded, her eyes swimming with tears.

The countess knelt beside them, touching Deidra’s curls gently. “What bonny hair you have! I have a poppet with curls like yours. Would you like to see it?”

Deidra looked from William to the strange woman, then nodded.

She took possession of Deidra’s clammy hand and gave William a reassuring smile. “She’ll be fine.”

When they were gone, the earl pushed the door open. They all filed in, William and Drake last. Thick Turkish carpets covered the floor of the large room. Fires blazed in both fireplaces, and candles were lit all over the room, making it brighter and warmer than the hall they’d just left. The smell of sickness was strong beneath the masking fragrance of lavender.

A fur-covered bed was central to it all, set on a raised dais. William studied the room’s occupants. Another woman and three men. One of the men was enormous, black-haired, heavy-browed and burly. Rose introduced him as Hagan Irish. The woman was Rose’s eldest sister, Isobel—another lovely woman, this one with a mass of red-gold curls secured at her nape. She inspected him with narrowed pale-green eyes. Her husband was Sir Philip Kilpatrick, another large man who was cordial enough, if a bit suspicious. And last was a young blond man, Stephen Ross. He limped over, using a shiny black cane to aid him, and pumped William’s hand enthusiastically.