The Witch and The Warrior (42 page)

“No, Robena,” he replied, fighting to control his dismay, “I did not.”

She stared at him a long moment, her blue eyes suddenly wide and frozen, like a trapped animal. He wanted to be furious with her, but instead he felt hopelessly sick and hollow. When Flora had fallen ill, Robena had been a steadfast source of strength and encouragement, and during the nightmare of madness that followed, she never once wavered in either her devotion to him or the conviction that he would eventually be well again. As she stood there staring at him, her lips trembling and her eyes shimmering with desperation, he suddenly understood why she had been so relentlessly faithful to him for all those years.

She loved him.

“Was the note really from Robert?” Alex asked quietly. “Or did you script it yourself?”

She shook her head. “I don't know anything about the—”

“Robena,” Alex interrupted, “I would have the truth from you.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground. “It was from Robert.” Her voice was small and quivering. “I knew he was going to burn our homes to the ground and starve us to death. And so I slipped beyond the gate while you were inspecting the wall, and sought him out in the woods. I asked him what it would cost for him to leave us in peace. And he told me if he had the witch, he would leave. So I agreed to deliver the note for him.” She regarded Alex with large, pleading eyes. “She would have killed you, Alex, and I could not bear that,” she said vehemently. “That witch had cast a spell over you, making you unable to see the terrible destruction she was bringing to the clan. And every day the spell grew stronger, and more of the clan fell under it. I had to make her leave, before she destroyed all of us.”

Alex considered this, wanting to believe her. Finally he shook his head. “You have been trying to get rid of her from the moment she arrived, Robena,” he said, somehow unable to summon any rage. “You threaded a string across the stairs knowing she would trip and injure herself. When that didn't work, you trapped her in her room and set fire to it, hoping to either kill her or at least scare her away. Was this also an attempt to protect the clan?”

“She was a witch,” Robena insisted desperately. “She came here to practice her evil ways. She wanted to enslave us to the devil!”

“No, Robena. She came here because I forced her to. And she stayed because she wanted to heal my son. That is all.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes. “She cast a spell over you, Alex,” she said, her voice breaking as he slowly approached her. “She changed you. You are still under that spell, so you cannot see it. But one day you will be better, and then you will know I did the right thing. Now that she is gone, it will be as it was before.”

Alex reached out and laid his hand against her cheek. “I'm sorry, Robena,” he murmured, his voice gentle, “but we were not meant to be together.”

Robena shook her head. “You don't know that. You are angry with me, and you cannot see it. But with time—”

“No, Robena. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand me? It will not happen.”

Robena stared at him as if he had slapped her.

And then she turned and fled the hall, filling the uneasy silence with the sound of her weeping.

“Dear me,” said Owen, scratching his white head. “Do forgive, MacDunn, but I believe that lass is rather taken with you.”

Alex closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. The pain in his head had worsened. “Cameron and Brodick, take the men outside and divide them into two forces,” he ordered tautly. “One will remain here to defend the castle and the other will ride with me. We leave in ten minutes.”

“Excellent,” said Lachlan, rubbing his hands together. “That gives me just enough time to whip up another batch of my potion.”

“I'm ready to leave anytime,” declared Reginald, cheerfully patting his sword. “I'll just fetch some of that elixir Gwendolyn made to settle my belly. Marvelous stuff, really. You might want to try some of it for that pain in your head, MacDunn.”

“I cannot see how a belly potion could possibly cure the lad's head,” scoffed Owen. “He should use the liniment she made for my hands,” he decided, holding his palms up and proudly flexing his fingers to demonstrate their newfound dexterity. “I'll bring some along for you, Alex, so you can try rubbing it into your scalp.”

“That's a fool notion if ever I heard one,” snorted Lachlan. “How is he supposed to face Robert with that stinking liniment dripping from his head? When you first put the ghastly stuff on, I can barely tolerate being in the same room with you.”

Owen's white brows snapped together. “Do forgive, Lachlan, but I hardly think you're in any position to comment on the issue of aroma.”

“He's right, you know,” added Reginald. “Have you any inkling how much you reek after making that revolting potion of yours?”

Lachlan gasped with outrage. “That potion is a deadly military weapon….”

Alex regarded the three bickering elders in complete bewilderment. Owen, Lachlan, and Reginald rarely ventured outside, and he certainly could not remember the last time they went beyond the safety of the castle walls. “Do you think you're coming with me?” he asked, confused.

The three elders ceased their arguing and looked at him.

“Of course we're coming, lad,” Owen assured him. “We have to help you save our witch.”

“Those MacSweens really have no right to her, you know,” added Reginald. “We have to make them see that.”

“The lass belongs with us,” finished Lachlan. “I've said so from the beginning.”

Alex blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. How had Gwendolyn managed to bewitch these three old men to the point that they were willing to abandon the safety of their castle and fight to bring her back?

The same way she had bewitched him, he reflected soberly. By being strong, and honest, and caring. By bringing the healing power of her presence to those whom she sensed needed it. She had taken a dying lad and brought him back to life, not with bleedings and purgings and other foul tortures, but with gentleness and patience, and perhaps even a little magic. Gwendolyn had thrown open the shutters and flooded their world with light, banishing the darkness and misery that had clung to the castle like a dark shroud since Flora's death. And by doing so, she had inadvertently won a battle of her own, he realized. She had finally overcome the fear and suspicion of others, and made them see her for what she really was.

A woman of immense courage and compassion, who would risk anything for those she cared for.

He had told her she belonged to him, but he had been wrong, he realized humbly. Gwendolyn was far too fine and rare to ever belong to anyone. She belonged
with
him, and with these people who were ready to die for her. Once he saved her from Robert, he would do everything within his power to make her understand that.

However, he had no intention of setting out to rescue her with these three squabbling old men in tow.

“Your desire to make such a long and arduous journey to bring Gwendolyn home pleases me,” he said. “Even the youngest and fittest of my warriors will scarcely be able to endure the grueling hours astride a horse, the scant moments of rest upon the damp, hard ground, and the savagery of the battle that is to follow…”

The council members blinked.

“…and so I look forward to having you on this punishing mission, even though I had hoped one of you might remain here to help protect the clan from further attack—”

“I'm happy to stay and look after things here,” Owen offered. “Only because you insist,” he added.

“I'll stay as well,” decided Reginald. “Not that your younger chaps aren't fine soldiers, but you need a warrior here who knows what he's about in battle.”

“Perhaps I'll just give you some of my potion to take with you,” suggested Lachlan. “You don't really need me there to show you how to use it. Just hurl it at them and run.”

Alex regarded them in feigned surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, lad,” said Owen. “Just make certain you tell Gwendolyn we would have been there if we weren't needed so desperately here.”

“Aye,” said Reginald. “I'd hate for her to think we'd abandoned her to that scoundrel.”

“I'll be sure to tell her,” Alex said, heading toward the door.

“And tell that Robert chap that Gwendolyn is most certainly not an object, and should not be referred to as such,” added Lachlan crossly. “ ‘It will be mine,' indeed. What is the matter with young warriors today? Have they no manners whatsoever?”

The comment barely registered with Alex until he reached the door. And then he frowned. “What did you say, Lachlan?”

“I said, tell that ill-mannered brute that he is not to—”

“After that,” interrupted Alex. “How did Robert refer to Gwendolyn?”

“As an it,” Lachlan replied. “I heard him very clearly, just before he and his men retreated into the storm.
‘It will be mine!'
he shouted, as if she were a plate or a stool. I never heard anything so shamelessly rude in my life.”

And then Alex remembered Robert's final words.

Damn you, MacDunn. It will be mine.

At the time Alex had been far too overwhelmed with fear for Gwendolyn to heed Robert's choice of words. But suddenly it disturbed him. Gwendolyn had made herself a perfect target when she stood upon the parapet and invited the MacSweens to shoot her with a burning arrow. Yet Robert had ordered his men to hold. If his sole aspiration was to see the witch burned, why would he scorn such an opportunity?
It will be mine.
Just what the hell did Robert mean by that?

Determined to find out, he went to seek out the one person who might know.

         

“I've been expecting you.” Morag did not look up as she carefully poured a dark red liquid into a simmering pot. A gasp of steam rose into the air, making the sickly sweet odor choking the room even more cloying.

“Gwendolyn has surrendered herself to Robert,” Alex informed her grimly.

Morag nodded as she stirred the pot with a heavy iron ladle. “It was time.”

“The hell it was,” he roared, infuriated by her calm demeanor. “She belongs here.”

Morag looked up from her stirring and regarded him curiously. “How do you know?”

Alex shook his pounding head in frustration. “I have no time for games, Morag. I need to know why Robert is so determined to have her. It is clear from his actions the other night that he wants her alive, not dead. The bastard wants to force her to use her powers for his benefit, doesn't he?”

“And how does that make him any different from you?” she asked quietly.

“I did not ask her to bring me wealth or power. All I asked was that she save my son.”

“You did not ask her. You gave her no choice. You told her that if she saved David, her life would be spared, but she would remain your prisoner. Remember?”

He looked away, suddenly ashamed. He did remember telling Gwendolyn that.

And she had told him to simply kill her and be done with it, for she would not live her life as a prisoner.

“That was before,” he said, desperately wishing he had never issued such a foul ultimatum. “My son was dying and I—I was not myself. It is not the same now. You must realize that.”

Morag thoughtfully tapped her ladle against the pot and set it down by the hearth. “You are right, Alex. You are not the same. And neither is Gwendolyn. That is why she could not stay and ask you to defend her.”

“She thinks that by sacrificing herself to Robert, she is saving my life. But she is wrong.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the tremor in his voice. “She is wrong, Morag.”

“I know,” said Morag softly. Leaning on her staff, she slowly made her way across the chamber, then seated herself in a chair. “It is not easy, having powers that are not readily explained,” she reflected, her green eyes meditative. “Once people know what you are, they either want to use you or destroy you. Or, as in Robert's case with Gwendolyn, both.”

Alex fought to control his panic. “That doesn't make any sense. How can he use her for her powers if he kills her?”

“He cannot. Unfortunately, Robert does not understand the nature of Gwendolyn's powers—any more than she does. That is what puts her in grave danger.”

“Morag, please,” said Alex, struggling to understand what she was telling him, “just tell me what Robert wants of her. I have to know. What did he mean when he said, ‘It will be mine'?”

For a long moment she studied him. “Can it be true, Alex?” she finally asked, her voice threaded with wonder. “Have you really lost your heart to one other than Flora?”

Alex said nothing. He didn't have to.

Morag closed her eyes. “There is a stone,” she finally began, “a brilliant red jewel of magnificent size and clarity that fills nearly all who look upon it with the overwhelming desire to possess it. This has been passed down from mother to daughter in Gwendolyn's family for over three hundred years.”