The Witch and The Warrior (45 page)

Undiluted rage contorted Robert's pain-clenched face. He gripped the jewel in his fist, as if trying to squeeze some last drop of strength from it.

Alex sheathed his bloodied sword and turned to face Gwendolyn.

“Come, Gwendolyn,” he said gently, holding his hand out to her. “It is time to—”

“No!”
she screamed, her eyes wide with terror.

Alex turned just in time to see Robert on his feet, slicing his raised sword toward Alex's head. He instinctively reached for his own weapon, knowing he could never liberate it before Robert cleaved his skull.

Fly,
commanded Gwendolyn, locking her gaze on Robert's discarded dirk.
Fly into his back and kill him.

Lightning lashed across the sky, and for one agonizing moment everything froze.

“My God,” Robert murmured, his sword locked in midair. He stared at Gwendolyn a long moment, as if he had never really seen her before.

And then he collapsed onto the ground, the hilt of his dirk protruding from his back.

Gwendolyn raised her hand to her mouth as she stared in horror at Robert's lifeless body. She searched the darkness beyond, looking for the warrior who had found the dirk and hurled it through the air.

There was no one.

Horrified, she dropped her gaze to Robert once more. A dark stain was rapidly soaking the fabric of his shirt.

“I—I didn't mean to,” she stammered.

“I know,” Alex said quietly. He stooped and retrieved the stone from Robert's grasp.

She shook her head, struggling to understand what she had done. “He was going to kill you and…I couldn't bear it. I had to stop him.” She began to tremble. “It was just a thought. I didn't think it would actually happen.”

“You saved my life. And you needed to call upon your powers to do it.”

“I don't have any powers, MacDunn!” she objected desperately. “I never have. I let you believe that I did because I was afraid you would send me back to the MacSweens if you knew the truth, but…I am not really a witch.”

Alex wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, heedless of the bloody wound in his chest. “You're wrong, my love,” he murmured, grazing his fingers against her tearstained cheek. “You have powers that you have inherited through the women of your line. Your mother did not have them, but you do. And that is why your mother entrusted you with this stone,” he explained, placing the chain around her neck. “It does not grant wishes, as you and Robert believed. It is to keep the gifted girls of your line safe, until their powers have matured.”

“No,” she protested, shivering. “You're wrong.”

“Think, Gwendolyn,” he urged, gently stroking her hair. “You conjured up a storm the night I asked you to demonstrate your abilities to me…”

“That was just a coincidence—”

“…and then you made it pour rain when Robert set the cottages afire…”

“That storm was coming anyway—I didn't start it—”

“Then how do you explain that dirk in Robert's back?” he demanded quietly.

“I don't know!” she cried, burying her head against his shoulder. “It just happened!”

“Hush, now,” he soothed, tightening his hold on her as he caressed her back. “It's all right, my love. You're safe now.”

Gwendolyn wept against him as he held her. All her life she had been accused of being a witch, but there had been a modicum of solace in knowing that these allegations were false, even if she was the only one who knew it. Yet she could not deny the powerful sensation that had swept through her as she commanded Robert's dirk to kill him.

She had made that dirk fly through the air with nothing but the force of her will.

MacDunn stiffened suddenly.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling away.

“We have company.”

The ground began to rumble from the pounding of hooves. Gwendolyn looked up the hill to see a wave of riders pouring down the slope, many carrying torches. As they drew near, she could see that the MacDunn warriors were being led by Cameron, Brodick, and Ned.

“Good evening, Gwendolyn,” Cameron called out jovially, reigning in his horse beside her. He raised his sword and drew a silvery circle in the air, signaling for the warriors to form a ring around Alex and Gwendolyn.

“We thought we would join you because you're about to have some visitors,” Brodick explained, tilting his head toward the woods. He glanced at Robert's lifeless body. “I see you finally killed the bastard.”

“Actually, Gwendolyn killed him,” Alex said.

“MacSween won't like that,” Ned predicted, moving protectively closer to her.

At that moment some fifty riders burst from the surrounding woods. They halted when they saw the MacDunn warriors positioned in a circle of fire around Alex and Gwendolyn, but their swords remained drawn and glinting in the torchlight.

“Good evening, MacDunn,” said Laird MacSween, riding to the front of his men. His gaze swept over Gwendolyn, then fell to the limp, bleeding form of his brother. Regret shadowed his features.

“He had to die, MacSween,” Alex said grimly. “He murdered Gwendolyn's father for his own selfish gain, then falsely accused her of the murder. And he further poisoned his accusations with lies about witchcraft and evil, so that instead of listening to Gwendolyn as you should have, you wrongly convicted her.” His tone was heavy with condemnation.

MacSween's expression grew even more desolate. “I have long known that my brother was avaricious,” he confessed quietly, “but I did not believe he would ever bring harm to a member of his own clan.”

“She is of your clan no longer, MacSween,” Alex said in a hard voice. “She is a MacDunn now. If you or any of your clan ever try to harm her again, I will kill you.”

“And so will I,” added Cameron, raising his sword. “Even if it should cost me my life.”

“And I,” said Brodick, also lifting his weapon.

“And I,” vowed Ned.

“And I,” added Munro.

Gwendolyn stared at the MacDunns in astonishment. The pledge spilled around the circle of warriors in a slow ripple as each man solemnly vowed to protect her. Every warrior lifted his sword or his torch as he made his pledge, until a magnificent ring of silver and gold gleamed against the roiling sky.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Gwendolyn blinked and looked away, unable to comprehend why these brave men would be willing to sacrifice themselves for her.

“The men Robert brought with him to attack my holding are bound and waiting just over the crest of that hill,” Alex told Laird MacSween. “If I have your assurance that you will let us return to our home in peace, MacSween, you may retrieve them. And you are also welcome to take Robert's body with you,” he added, “so that he may have a decent burial.”

MacSween nodded and gave the command for two of his men to fetch Robert's body and his horse. Once they had done so, he hesitated.

“Forgive me, MacDunn, but I must know—how does my Isabella fare?” The roughness of his tone suggested that he had suffered greatly in his concern for her.

His fatherly anguish prompted Gwendolyn to find her voice. “She is well, MacSween,” she replied, anxious to put him at ease. “The MacDunns have treated her with honor and kindness, and no man has ever dishonored her.”

His eyes lit with hope. “Do you think she will come home, then?”

“No,” interjected Brodick, before Alex could tell MacSween that he would happily have her delivered back to her home within the week.

Everyone stared at him in surprise.

“Isabella is to be my wife,” Brodick stated flatly. His voice was gruff as he added, “I'm certain it would please her, MacSween, if you were to give us your blessing.”

MacSween studied him a moment, his expression puzzled. “Are you not the warrior who held a dirk to her throat and threatened to kill her while a guest at my home?”

“I am. My name is Brodick.”

“My daughter had much to say about you. I'm surprised to see you are still alive and of sound body. Since you are, I commend you on your fortitude, and give you my blessing.”

Brodick smiled. “I will bring Isabella to you for a visit, MacSween, once we are wed.”

“I shall look forward to it,” the laird assured him. “I bid you and your men a safe journey, MacDunn.” He nodded a final time to Alex, then turned his horse and led his men up the hill to retrieve Robert's warriors.

“We'd best take to the woods and make camp for the night,” said Cameron, studying the sky. “This storm is likely to break any moment.”

“Maybe Gwendolyn could stop it from coming,” suggested Brodick.

“She has had enough to deal with tonight without having to change the weather just to please you,” objected Ned. “She just killed Robert, for God's sake.”

“Aye, that's true,” agreed Cameron. “The lass is tired.”

“We don't mind a good storm, lass,” added Munro cheerfully, “so don't ye worry about it.”

“I've grown rather fond of them, actually,” remarked Ewan, “ever since you conjured up that beast of a gale when Robert attacked.”

“Now,
that
was a storm,” reminisced Garrick enthusiastically. “Remember how she stood on the parapet with the wind blowing around her—”

“ 'Twas almost as if she was floating in the air,” interjected Quentin, “like something not of this world….”

The warriors swiftly disappeared into the woods, still discussing the wonder of Gwendolyn's storm.

Gwendolyn stared after them a long moment. And when their voices had died and the last flicker of golden flames had faded amid the trees, she slowly raised her gaze to MacDunn.

He stood tall and powerful before her, etched against the darkness in a filmy veil of moonlight. His shirt was torn and drenched in blood, but he seemed utterly impervious to his injury as he gazed back at her. No hint of madness clouded the penetrating blue of his gaze, nor was the desire she had come to know so well heating his tender study of her.

“Why did you come after me?” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper.

Alex reached out and gently traced the contour of her jaw. “For years now, I have waged a battle with myself I feared I could never win,” he confessed quietly. “My battle raged the hardest in the first year after my wife died. I wanted to die as well, so I didn't give a damn about the instability of my mind. Eventually, however, I remembered that I had a son and a clan who needed me, and so I forced myself to control my fancies and rages, until I could generally appear sound in front of others. But it was a lie. I was drowning, and I lived in constant fear that one day I would no longer be able to fight the waves crashing over me.” His voice grew rough with emotion as he added, “When David fell ill, I knew that day had come.”

“But David is well now, MacDunn,” Gwendolyn assured him. “For whatever reason, his body began to reject certain foods. But if he refrains from ever eating them, I believe he will continue to grow strong and well.”

“I know. And as he healed, so did I, until I felt as if I were in control of myself again. But then you left,” he said hoarsely, “and it was as if I had been torn apart.” He grasped her hand and reverently kissed her palm, then pressed it firmly against his bleeding chest. “Marry me, Gwendolyn,” he pleaded, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Marry me, and I swear I will love you and keep you safe until my dying breath. Not because you belong to me,” he added, capturing with his finger the silver drop that was trickling down her cheek, “but because without you, I am lost.”

“But I am a witch,” Gwendolyn protested, her voice small and quivering.

“And I am a mad laird,” he countered irreverently, shrugging. “We are a perfect match.”

Gwendolyn swallowed and shook her head. “When your people learn of my powers, they will want to drive me away—”

“My people have always believed you had great powers,” Alex interrupted, “including my son, who absolutely adores you. The only person for whom this is a revelation is you. As for your being driven away, it was Robena who tried so relentlessly to make you leave, and her motives were far more mundane than any noble desire to protect the clan. She will not touch you again.”

His heart beat strong and steady against her palm as the blood from his wound wet her fingers. In that moment she could feel his love pouring into her, through flesh and muscle and bone, penetrating her being as it filled her with warmth and courage—the courage she needed to love, and to be loved in return. MacDunn had said that without her he was lost. He was wrong, she realized, feeling a wobbly, guarded joy begin to flood through her.

It was she who was lost without him.

With a tiny cry, she raised herself on her toes and wrapped her arms tightly around his massive shoulders. “Yes,” she murmured, her lips barely a breath from his. “I will marry you, Mad MacDunn.”

Alex hauled her up against him and crushed his mouth to hers. Something small and hard bit into his chest. Wincing slightly, he relaxed his hold on her.

“What is it?” asked Gwendolyn worriedly. “Does your wound pain you? Shall I stitch it now?”

“It is not the wound,” he assured her. He grasped the pendant nestled at her breasts and raised it to the moonlight, enabling him to better study the glittering stone in its gold setting. Suddenly he began to laugh.

“What's so funny?”

“I was just thinking about what a time I am in for,” he mused, pulling her close once more, “if we should have a daughter.”

“Oh, no!” gasped Gwendolyn. “You don't think my powers—”

“I am hoping, Gwendolyn,” he told her, tenderly caressing the pale silk of her cheek. “When I think of the happiness just one witch has brought me, I find myself utterly enchanted by the possibility of having two.”

He bent his head and kissed her deeply, sharing the healing power of his love. And then he tightened his embrace and laughed again, his mind whole and his heart sure as he led his beloved witch out of the garden of ancient stones and into the wonder of their new life.