The Witch and The Warrior (43 page)

“And that's all that Robert wants? This red stone?”

“It is not merely a pretty bauble. The women of Gwendolyn's lineage are occasionally gifted with special powers. Gwendolyn has been so gifted, but her mother was not, nor was her grandmother before that. The stone's purpose is to protect these special girls when they are children, before their powers are fully mature.”

Alex frowned. “What possible good is that to Robert?”

“It is not of any use to him. Unfortunately, a legend has arisen over the centuries, saying that once every hundred years, the stone has the power to grant its bearer a single wish. It is this power that Robert seeks. In his hunger to have it, he murdered Gwendolyn's father and accused her of the crime. But Gwendolyn had hidden the stone well, and Robert was unable to find it. Now only she knows where it lies, and only she can give it to him.”

“And once he has it, he will kill her,” finished Alex harshly.

Morag nodded. “Gwendolyn has long haunted Robert, as much because of her unusual beauty and strength as because of the stone. Robert is not a man who can tolerate weakness, and that is how he interprets his desire for her. Once he has secured the stone, he will seek to purge himself of his lust for her—by destroying her.”

Alex turned and strode swiftly toward the door.

“There is something more you must know, Alex,” Morag called out.

He stopped.

“Gwendolyn's mother was burned when Gwendolyn was a tender age, robbing her of the knowledge of her heritage. She does not understand her powers, nor does she comprehend the true purpose of the stone. She may think she can use the stone to destroy Robert. If she tries, she will fail, and Robert's rage will be horrendous.”

Alex jerked the door open and raced down the corridor, desperate to get to Gwendolyn before she retrieved this useless stone.

C
HAPTER
14

Brilliant strips of silver cracked the velvety darkness, briefly illuminating the mysterious assembly of carefully arranged rocks standing tall before them. The enormous stones had an austere, almost menacing quality; they stretched across the charcoal ground like a powerful army lying in wait, guarding their ancient secrets in hallowed silence.

It was, thought Gwendolyn, a fitting place for Robert to die.

“Is this it?” he demanded, his impatience eclipsing the bone-numbing weariness from which Gwendolyn and his men had suffered for several days.

She nodded.

“Get it, then. Now.”

“You're an even bigger fool than I realized,” she observed, casting him a scornful look. “No man is able to look upon the jewel's extraordinary beauty without wanting it. I shall barely be able to pass it to you before your own men fall prey to its allure. You will be dead long before you have the chance to curl your greedy fingers around it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Your concern for my welfare is moving, Gwendolyn.” He reached out and grabbed her by her hair, nearly wrenching her off her horse as he forced her to look at him. “You think that if we are alone you will have a chance to kill me, don't you?”

“I don't need to kill you,” Gwendolyn retorted in a cold, hard voice. “I have seen your death, Robert, and it is far more painful and hideous than anything I could manage on my own.”

He slapped her hard across the face, holding her head steady so she could not evade the full impact of his hand. “You cannot see the future, Gwendolyn,” he scoffed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “If you could, you would have been able to save your father.”

Gwendolyn regarded him steadily, refusing to betray any emotion other than hatred.

And then, sensing it would unnerve him, she smiled.

Robert abruptly released her. “Derek, come here.”

An oily ripple of light from the black-haired warrior's torch pulsed across his face as he rode forward, illuminating the ugly, jagged scar beneath his left eye.

“A parting gift from you on the day you escaped, witch,” Derek said as she stared at it. “Rest assured, I intend to repay you in full.”

“Give me your torch,” ordered Robert, “and take the men just beyond the crest of that hill. I will signal when I am ready for you to return.”

The warrior scowled. “I thought we were going to take her back to the castle to burn her.”

“I have some unfinished business I wish to settle with her first,” Robert replied.

“If you're going to rape her, you should at least let us watch,” grumbled Hamish. “After all, we never got to pillage MacDunn's castle and use his women.”

“He's right, Robert,” Derek decided. “And since it seems I'm not getting Isabella, I deserve to have this one when you're finished with her.” His mouth split into a rotting smile.

“Silence!” roared Robert, withdrawing his sword. “Move to the crest of the hill now, before I hack your insolent tongues out!”

Derek reluctantly tossed his torch to Robert. He cast one last dark look at Gwendolyn, then angrily wheeled his horse about and rode toward the lightning streaking over the hill. The other warriors quickly followed him.

“And so we are alone,” observed Robert, sheathing his sword. “Satisfied?”

Gwendolyn slid off her horse and adjusted her cloak as she moved toward the forbidding spires of rock, ignoring him. She slowly approached a tall, craggy slab in the center of the stone army and laid her hand against it, drawing strength from its rough coolness. This one had been her father's favorite, she reflected, skimming her fingers tenderly across its pocked surface. The edges of its irregular shape had been smoothed by time and wind and rain, and silvery green lichen was creeping across its hard skin. Her father had told her that this rock had been placed here by the mighty Torvald after he successfully battled the evil MacRory. Each time she and her father came here, they would sit before a different boulder and he would tell her the glorious tale that resulted in the stone being added to the mighty Torvald's secret garden.

“What are you doing?” demanded Robert. “Is the jewel here or isn't it?”

“I'm not certain which of these standing rocks I buried it under,” she lied. “I believe it is this one.”

He swung off his horse and moved toward her, carrying the torch. “Then dig it up.”

She obediently sank to her knees and began to scratch at the ground with her fingers.

“Use that,” he ordered, tossing his dirk onto the ground. “But try to cut anything beyond the earth, Gwendolyn, and I'll splay you with my sword like a fish for the fire.”

She stabbed the blade into the ground and began to crudely dig up the packed earth at the base of the standing rock. For an instant she imagined that she was the mighty Torvald and that she had the strength to turn and bury the dirk deep within Robert's chest. But she would not need the strength of the mighty Torvald to kill Robert, she reminded herself coldly. Once she held the stone in her hand, she would simply use its power to slay him. His death would not be quick, she vowed, for Robert did not deserve the dignity of a swift demise. No, she would wish for something hideously slow and painful. Perhaps she would have him consumed by fire, in retaliation for the death he tried to give her. She lingered over the image of his flesh blackening on his bones as he screamed in agony. Robert's warriors would thunder down from that hill and slay her when they discovered their master was dead, but it did not matter. MacDunn and David and the rest of their clan would be safe. As for the stone, the instant she made her wish she would return it to its shallow grave, so it could sleep safely beneath these forbidding rock sentries for another hundred years.

“Have you found it yet?” Robert asked, growing increasingly agitated. He lowered his torch, trying to ascertain her progress. “Is it there?”

“I'm not certain.” Gwendolyn chopped at the ground with her blade. How deeply had she buried it? “This may not be the right place.”

“Give me the dirk,” he snapped, snatching the weapon from her hand as he roughly pushed her out of his way. “I will find the bloody thing myself.”

“No!” protested Gwendolyn. If Robert touched the stone before she did, he would make his wish and all would be lost. “I'm certain I can find it faster than you.”

“And no doubt you plan to use it against me once you have found it,” he surmised astutely. “No, Gwendolyn, I have not come this far to have you cheat me at the last moment. Hold this,” he ordered, shoving the torch at her. “And keep the flame low so I can see.”

He hacked at the ground like a man possessed, cutting a huge trough beneath the dark rock watching over him. Another moment and he would reach the stone, Gwendolyn realized helplessly. Robert would make himself the cruelest, most vicious tyrant Scotland had ever known, and MacDunn and his clan would be ruthlessly crushed.

And then the mighty Torvald brought his sword crashing down,
her father's voice rumbled from some distant memory,
smashing it against his enemy's back….

Summoning every shred of her strength, she smashed the torch against Robert's shoulders. A shower of fiery sparks exploded into the air as Robert fell face first into the shallow pit he had dug.

“By God,
I'll kill you
!” he roared, spitting dirt from his mouth. He scrambled to his feet and stalked toward her. Gwendolyn cautiously retreated, holding the flaming club in front of her.

“Goddamn bitch,” he swore, his earth-crusted mouth twisted with rage. “I'm going to make you feel pain unlike anything you've ever imagined, and I'm going to enjoy every min—”

His tirade was cut short by another shocked bellow. Gwendolyn raced around him as he wildly beat himself about the head, trying to smother the flames now dancing up his hair. She dropped the torch and fell to her knees before the standing rock, clawing desperately at the ground.

Please God, let it be here.

Nothing but earth churned beneath her fingers. She let out a desperate sob.
Where are you?
Suddenly her nail caught on a damp fold of fabric. Tearing it up with her hands, she unraveled the grubby, limp cloth and grabbed the dark jewel lying within, closing her fingers around it as its chain spilled from her fist.

“Stay back!” she hissed, brandishing the stone like a holy relic. “One more step and I'll kill you!”

Robert hesitated.

And then a hard smile oozed across his dirt-streaked face. “Do it, then,” he invited, slowly moving toward her. “Let us finally see if that precious pebble actually works.”

“I will use it, Robert,” Gwendolyn warned him. “Stay where you are!”

“We have come too far, you and I,” he mused, still advancing, “not to see this thing to the end.”

“Don't make me do it.” She was almost pleading as she began to back away. “Don't.”

“Do you know why I first went to visit your cottage?” he asked, his voice dropping to a gentle croon. “Why I risked my reputation to visit your father, when everyone in the clan believed the devil himself dwelled within those walls? It was because of you, Gwendolyn. Despite the vile things everyone said of you, I wanted to know you.”

“You knew they were lies,” Gwendolyn retorted. “You were the only one in the clan who knew I wasn't a witch. That is why you weren't afraid of me.”

“I could not believe you could be evil,” he said wistfully. “You were far too beautiful, and far too sad, to be capable of inflicting suffering on others.”

“Don't pretend you cared about my unhappiness,” she hissed, clutching the stone tighter. “You murdered my father!”

“That was an accident.” His voice was filled with regret. “I never meant to harm him. He had been drinking too much that night and he fell.”

“Liar!” she spat, still backing away. “You wanted him to give you the stone, and when he refused, you fought with him and killed him. And then you blamed the murder on me, knowing full well that no one in the clan would rise to my defense.”

“No, Gwendolyn, you're wrong. I tried to tell the clan it had been an accident, but they wouldn't listen—I even argued with my brother over it. But everyone in the clan wanted you dead, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.”

She shook her head. “You told me when I was imprisoned that you could make the clan spare my life if I would only tell you where this stone was hidden. When I refused, you left me to die!”

“I had fallen victim to the stone's legendary power,” he explained, apologetic. “That is what made me act in such an unfathomable way. But I never wanted to see you come to harm, Gwendolyn,” he insisted, still easing toward her. “You must believe me.”

“Stay away from me, Robert, or I'll tell the stone to burn you to death!”

“Could you really do such a hideous thing, Gwendolyn?” he asked quietly. “Could you really stand there and watch me burn?”

“It is no more than you deserve!” she said, feeling her resolve eroding. “You were going to slaughter MacDunn's entire clan, and cut off his head and give it to his son!”

“How can you believe I am capable of such a heinous act?” he asked, sounding wounded. “I said that because I wanted you to come to me. It was an idle threat, Gwendolyn, nothing more. Look at me.” Once again he was closing the distance between them. “Can you honestly believe I am this terrible monster you have painted?”

Tears blurred her eyes, softening his appearance. He looked utterly defeated, with his burned hair curling in ragged wisps around his dirt-smudged face, and a solemn expression that was filled with remorse. She almost believed he was telling the truth, or at least some portion of what he believed the truth to be. If she didn't kill him he would kill her, she reminded herself desperately, taking another step backward. She had to do it. And yet she hesitated, profoundly torn by the thought of bringing this man's life to an end when he was pleading with her for compassion. She stepped back again, colliding abruptly with a standing stone.