My Shadow Warrior (26 page)

Rose’s heart beat furiously against her ribs, now with fear of discovery. She had no intention of marrying Jamie, but neither would she be marrying William. Jamie hated him enough without adding cuckold to the list of crimes. And if she did indulge in an indiscretion with the Wizard of the North, she had every intention of keeping it discreet.

“I’m coming to see my uncle and nephew. What do you think I was doing?”

He again looked from William to Rose, his expression skeptical, then he moved forward, taking Rose’s elbow and pulling her to the door, his body a barrier between her and William. As he pounded on the door, Rose said, “I’m feeling much better now, thank you for asking.”

The look he sent her was part irritation, part embarrassment. “Forgive…I’m pleased your ailment has passed.” The door opened as he glanced at William over his shoulder. “So it was not the wizard’s curse that struck you down?”

Rose’s laugh was tinged with contempt. “How absurd! Who said such a thing?”

Roderick stood in the doorway. “Rose!” He seemed surprised to see her there. His gaze darted to Jamie, then behind them to William. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I’m fine.” Rose peered around him into the room. It was strangely empty, at least what she could see of it; the furnishings and rugs were gone. Tira’s carved and padded chair was usually evident from the doorway. The small table that held her silver bell and embroidery basket was gone, too.

“Can we come in?”

Her uncle hesitated. He’d not opened the door all the way, and now he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Not now. Liam is sleeping.”

“Liam?” Rose said. “Is that what you named him?”

He nodded solemnly. “Aye, Liam Roderick.”

She touched her uncle’s arm. “I’m so sorry about Aunt Tira.”

Roderick took her hand and squeezed it. “Fash not, lass. I ken you did all you could. She’s in a better place now.”

“What happened?” she asked. “After the birth? I thought Tira was fine. She even spoke to me. What happened?”

He shook his head sadly. “Same thing that killed my other wives, it seems. All the bleeding. Hilda told me what a difficult birth it was. She went on and on about what a fine midwife you are, Rose, saving Liam’s life. She said I could’ve lost them both, but you—”

“Uncle Roderick?” Rose interrupted, perturbed by the way truth kept twisting. “There’s been a misunderstanding.
I
didn’t save Liam. He was not breathing when I finally delivered him. Lord Strathwick healed him…that’s why he collapsed afterward. Healing is…traumatic.”

Roderick went very still. Though he didn’t move a muscle, his gaze lifted to look at the man standing behind Jamie and Rose.

“He healed the wean, you say?” Jamie said, his voice rife with skepticism.

She slanted Jamie an irritated look. “Aye—I was there. I saw it. So was Hilda. Ask her.”

Roderick’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he brought one hand up to rub over his copper-stubbled mouth. “No, Hilda saw nothing. She thinks you did all.”

“Then why would William collapse?”

“You collapsed, too,” Roderick pointed out.

“Did you just address him familiar?” Jamie cried, his square jaw bulging. “William, it is now? What
were
you doing on the stairs, aye?”

“Nothing,” Rose said, exasperated. “We are friends.”

“Friends,” he sneered. “I will not take your seconds, Wizard—and you, wench, will not speak to me in that tone.”

William had him against the wall, forearm to his throat, eyes narrowed threateningly. “You are the one whose tone begs explanation.”

Jamie tried to shrug him off, his teeth bared. “Un-hand me!”

William shoved his arm harder into Jamie’s throat until he made a choking noise. William’s voice was calm when he spoke. “Rose has been patient with you, and you’ve been naught but rude. There is great friendship between Rose and me. Nothing more. You doubt her honor again and we shall meet somewhere dark and alone.”

He released Jamie and stepped back. The younger man’s face reddened with fury, and his hand gripped his dirk hilt. Rose looked between the two glowering men, wide-eyed and stunned from what had just happened. Jamie looked at Roderick, then his scornful gaze fell on Rose before returning to William. “This isn’t over, Wizard—not by far.”

He stalked to the stairs. At the top step he turned, fixing Rose with a hateful glare. “The betrothal is off!”

Rose resisted the urge to cry
Good riddance
at his retreating back. She turned back to her uncle with a heavy sigh.

He leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest and copper brows hiked to his hairline. “Well!”

William sighed. “If he wasn’t my enemy before—”

“Oh, aye,” Roderick said. “He is now. The MacKays and the MacPhersons will be feuding in earnest after this, I’ll wager.”

“Will you talk to him?” Rose asked her uncle. “He promised me he would not fight with William at Lochlaire, but I think all promises are off now. Make him leave?”

Roderick nodded. “I’ll do what I can…but you never did say why you collapsed, if he’s the one doing the healing.” He nodded to William with his chin.

Rose placed a hand on her uncle’s arm. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m like William. He sees the colors, too—only he can use them to heal. And I discovered…or
thought
I discovered”—disappointment constricted her throat again—“that I could, too. Aunt Tira
was
dying. I did as William showed me and took it into myself. I suffered with her pain. And I heard her, Uncle Roderick. She spoke to me…I was so sure I succeeded.” Her shoulders slumped.

Her uncle stared at her, plucking at his bottom lip with his fingers, the whites of his eyes showing.

“Forgive me,” Rose said, realizing her clumsiness. “You’re mourning her, and I stand here twisting a knife in the wound.”

“It’s…fine.” He turned partially away, his gaze darting from William to Rose. “I…need to rest, I think.” He disappeared into his chambers and latched the door.

Rose turned to stare dejectedly up at William. “I should have stayed in bed.”

William stared at the door, his brow furrowed. “Your uncle wasn’t very happy to discover you can heal.”

“Why should he be? He probably doesn’t even believe me. Tira’s dead, after all. I’m the only one who believes she survived.” Rose shook her head, confusion warring with all she’d heard. “But I vow, William, I heard her and she was well, not dying, her voice strong. What could have happened?”

“
I
believe you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, his gaze earnest. “And I know not what happened, but you
must
stop addressing me familiar.”

“You asked me to.”

He smiled wryly. “I know. It was unwise of me.”

“I don’t care. You’re leaving anyway, aren’t you? I will call you William until you leave, if it pleases you.”

“It doesn’t please me for you to make an enemy of MacPherson.”

Rose gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to marry him anyway.”

He did not reply to that; he only stared down into her eyes, his mouth a hard line. He did not appear pleased by her revelation.

She took a step closer to him so that mere inches separated their bodies. “Did you mean what you said before? That there was nothing more than friendship between us?”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. “A pathetic lie, and you know it.”

She walked around him, her arm and hand brushing his, her little finger twining with his as she passed. He lifted his hand to extend the tingling contact of their skin. At the stairs she turned and looked back at him over her shoulder. He still stood before the door, staring after her. The darkness in his eyes was unmistakable. Lust.

She smiled. “Come to my chambers, tonight—after midnight.”

And she left, before he could refuse.

In her father’s chambers, Rose was pleased to see that Conan was not on the bed. But as she crossed the room, she spotted the small dog on the rug beside the bed. She gave Hagan a cross look.

“What did I tell you?”

The Irishman shrugged. “Fash not. Alan cannot get him to jump on the bed. We’ve been trying, but the dog has developed a sudden aversion to it or his master.”

Rose harrumphed, still displeased the guard continued to disobey her. “I’ll be taking Conan with me when I leave this time.”

Her father was awake and seemed well. His color was good, and he sat propped against pillows, rather than sunk down and barely able to hold up his head. They talked some about Roderick’s son and Tira’s death, then Rose told him what had happened with Jamie.

“He said the betrothal is off.”

Alan considered her silently. “You don’t seem terribly upset.”

Rose shrugged. “I’m not, though I worry he will seek revenge.”

“I thought you loved him.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I never said I
loved
him. I had fond memories and his letters were sweet. In truth, I cannot believe he wrote them now, at least not with me in mind. He finds me repulsive.”

“Oh, leave off!” her father said, incredulous. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, it’s true. He came down to the village when I was healing and bocked after I drained an abscess. Then he acted as if I had the plague and wouldn’t touch me. The only reason he wanted me at all was because of Lord Strathwick.”

Alan stroked his thick gray beard. “Because he thinks the wizard fancies you?”

“Aye. He didn’t want Strathwick to have anything that was
his.”

Alan studied her, his expression guarded.

“Why do you look at me so?” she asked.

“Is there any basis to MacPherson’s jealousy?”

Rose blinked serenely at her father. “No.”

He didn’t look convinced; his eyes narrowed slightly, then he sighed. Rose continued to be impressed by the improvement in him and hoped it was due to the protective spell she and her sisters had placed on him. If it was witchcraft that ailed him, the spell would protect him until they discovered the culprit.

“Did you have nightmares last night?” she asked, passing her hands over him. His color was still weak but stronger than it had been the last time she’d checked.

He shook his head, then reached his hand out to her, palm up. Rose placed her hand in his.

“I wish you wouldn’t take so much on yourself. I’m an old man—”

“You’re not—”

“And old men have to die sometime. Let it go, love. You’ve done all you can. What more can you do? Move on. Marry a man of your choosing. What about this Strathwick fellow?”

“I just told you there was nothing between us but friendship. And you’re not going to die. Look how long you’ve hung on. Soon Sir Philip will be back with Sir Donnan, and he will remove the curse. All will be well.”

“Will it? Is that all that troubles you, love? My illness? Or is it something more that shadows your eyes when you look at me?”

Rose averted her gaze, fixing it on the silver terrier curled on the rug and staring unblinkingly at her. Sometimes Alan MacDonell saw too much.

“Talk to me, Rose.”

And suddenly she wanted to. It pressed at her chest, wanting out, but she bit back the words, refusing to burden a sick man, knowing that telling him now and seeing the pain it caused him would only make her feel worse.

“There is nothing, Da…except…would it make you terribly angry if I never wed?”

He blinked at her, surprised. “But I thought you wanted to.”

“I did…maybe I still do. But let’s not do it this way—rushing a wedding because you think you’re dying.”

“But I want you looked after when I’m gone.”

“I will be. I have two wonderful brothers-in-law who will let no harm befall me. And there is always Hagan.”

“I’ll protect her,” the Irishman promised. He was a constant, silent presence in the room. Often Rose forgot he was there.

“I know you will,” Alan said. He sighed unhappily. “But I’d like to see her with a family.” His troubled gaze turned back to Rose. “You work so hard, Rose. You seem so unhappy.”

“I’m not,” she assured him emphatically. “I vow it. I love healing…and Jamie told me he didn’t want me to do it anymore once we were wed. I don’t want a husband like that.”

Alan sighed again, still squeezing her hand. “We’ll talk more on this later, aye? Let me think about it.”

They spoke of other things until his eyelids began to droop. Then Rose gathered Conan under her arm and left, closing the door softly behind her.

William paced restlessly around the small chamber, his gaze continuously straying to the hour candle. Not yet midnight. Drake sprawled on the bed watching William with a knowing smile, a goblet of wine in his hand. Deidra slept at the foot of the bed.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” William asked irritably.

“I’m not tired.” When William shot him a narrow gaze, Drake added, “I thought I might visit that bonny scullery maid—”

“Nay, you must stay here tonight.”

Drake propped himself up on an elbow, black brows raised. “Really? Why? Do you mean to say that
you
won’t be here? Have you an assignation?”

“It’s not an assignation…not really.”

“Then what is it?” William did not respond, so Drake pressed, “Is your ‘not really an assignation’ with Rose?”

William went to the window and stared out at the moon. “I should not go.”

“Jesus God. Aye, you should! Go! I pray you.”

William glowered at his brother for a moment over his shoulder before returning his attention to the open window. He shouldn’t go. He knew what would happen, and it was wrong. She might not marry MacPherson, but she would eventually marry someone. He couldn’t ruin her. But God, did he want to. He would go to her but to tell her that they should not. He closed his eyes and rubbed his lids with thumb and forefinger. An unlikelier scenario he could not imagine. If he went to her chambers, he would bed her.

Behind him he heard Drake leave the bed. “She told me she could heal, just like you.”

“Aye, I thought she could. But the woman is dead.”

“Why then was she so ill? It’s just like you.”

William shrugged. “I know. It makes little sense.”

“Perhaps she just needs more tutelage. You’re the only one who can teach her—but you can’t do that at Strathwick unless she’s there, too.”

William gritted his teeth. “I’ve told you—”

“Aye, you have, but that was before, and though I didn’t like it, at least I understood it. There’s no sense to this. She’s like you, Will…it’s as if the two of you were somehow meant to meet and be together.”

William turned to give his brother a mocking look. “How very sentimental of you.”

“I know!” Drake drained his wine goblet. “You’re making me soft, so I pray you, stop being an ass and go to the woman. You’ve been in a foul humor since MacPherson arrived. You say you can’t have her but you won’t leave her be—and worse, you act like a baited bear, growling at everyone.”

William grunted. “I haven’t been growling.”

Drake made a rude noise. “Aye, you have, and I’m damn sick of it. Go to her. There’s two of you now—no more choices, aye?”

Wasn’t that what she’d said to him?
There is no need for choices anymore. There’s two of us now.
Though her words gave him hope, Tira was still dead, and that scared the hell out of him. But he found, as he stared out the window, that returning to Strathwick and resuming his empty life frightened him more.

“If I lose her…like Amber…I don’t think I can bear it.” His jaw hardened. He stared down at his hand fisted on the stone sill. “I love her.”

“If you love her, you have to go.”

William glanced back at the hour candle. It was time. Drake looked at the candle, too, then back at William expectantly.
“Go,
man—get out of here!”

William left, trying to ignore his brother’s gloating. He paused outside the door. The corridor was deserted, and most of the torches had been extinguished. He passed no one on his way, and when he finally arrived, he did not waste time knocking. He let himself in and latched the door behind him.

He scanned the room. Rose was nowhere in sight, though a small terrier sat in the middle of the bed, a pink ribbon in its long, silvery hair. Then he saw her. She appeared in the doorway of an adjoining room.

“You came,” she said.

“Aye.” His blood quickened just to look at her. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, a gleaming curtain of auburn satin. She wore only a night rail, elaborately embroidered at the neck and hem, the sleeves heavy with lace.

At the sight of her, all the things he’d wanted to say dissolved into lust. Later, he would remember, but for now…He crossed the room to where she stood. The fragrance of herbs wafted around her, coming from the dark room behind her.

Rose had been afraid he wouldn’t come, but now that he was here, she could not think of what to do or say. She’d been so bold on the stairs, when it had just been an idea. The reality of his presence in her room held her immobile. She gazed up into his eyes, her throat tight with anticipation.

Then he touched her hair, his fingers twining in it, pushing it over her shoulder.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

She nodded.

His gaze burned through her, made her knees weak. “I don’t think you do. I’m here because I didn’t have any other choice.”

She blinked up at him. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want.”

“It’s not about wanting anymore. Before, I was afraid of having to choose…but it’s out of my hands now. I choose you.”

What was he saying? She was afraid to ask. Her hands came up, curling into the snowy linen of his shirt. She whispered his name, pulling him down to kiss her. His mouth met hers in a searing kiss that deepened immediately, his tongue exploring, then demanding. He tasted rich and forbidding. Instant fire raced across her senses, leaving her breathless with want. She twined her arms around his neck, savoring his mouth, eager to finish what they’d begun on the battlements. He pressed her back, but there was nothing there but the open door. They stumbled backward, into the dark and fragrant room. The small of her back bumped into the table. His hands slid to her waist and lifted her, setting her on the table. Rose carelessly pushed her instruments and books aside, and some of them fell to the ground.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice rough as he moved between her welcoming thighs. He was so warm and big. She pulled him into her, hooking her calf behind his leg as he set his mouth on hers again. Her heart beat thick and painful, her body alive everywhere he touched her. She felt faint from his mouth, kissing and kissing her until all will and thought dissipated into sweet sensation.

He touched her through her shift, his palms sliding sensuously over ribs and breasts before fumbling with the ties and finally ripping them. The shift slipped from her shoulders. She pulled at the ties on his shirt until he shrugged out of it and his chest was bared to her. She brushed the warm curve of muscle and smooth skin with her fingertips. He made a soft, rough sound and drove her head back in another kiss, long and hot, as he pressed himself hard between her thighs. He pushed her night rail up, stroking her thighs, so all that separated them was the wool of his trews, sparking a melting, urgent pain at her center. Her breath caught and her hips rolled hard into him, wanting more.

He murmured her name as he rained fervent kisses over her eyes and nose and cheeks. His hands roved over the bare skin of her shoulders and back. She shuddered against him, trying to press closer, to reclaim his mouth on hers, but he’d moved lower, licking and sucking at her neck as his hands slid around to her breasts.

Her head fell back, her hands threading through his hair as the tip of his tongue played with her nipple. Her breath hitched, the heat swirling through her, urgent now. She pressed his head closer. He complied with her silent request and drew deep on her nipple. Pleasure speared to her core. She arched into him with a breathless cry. He lavished more attention on her breasts, until she moaned her need, her hands working at his belt until it fell to the floor with a thump.

He caught her wrists when she tried to unlace his trews. Thwarted at her task, she gazed up at him hungrily. His eyes blazed his desire. So why did he stop her? She pulled her hand away and stroked her palm against the hard bulge. He groaned and pressed his forehead against hers, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“Not here,” he said. His hands spanned her waist to lift her off the table.

“Aye, right here,” she whispered, and when she pulled at the ties again, he let her, his chest straining, sweat gleaming on the hard, tense muscles of his shoulders. It was perfect here, a longed-for moment with the man she loved, imprinted forever in this dark, fragrant room, surrounded by the comforting scents of bittersweet and mallow, horehound and lavender.

She rubbed her hand over him until his body shuddered and he made a raw, wordless sound in his chest. His mouth sought hers again, hands sliding beneath her shift, touching the damp curls between her thighs. She jerked at the sudden contact, the bliss of it nearly blinding her. His wicked fingers stroked and probed until she thought she’d die from the desperate throbbing. Her breath came in little pants. She wanted him inside her. She pressed her palm hard against his erection and he grew wild, pulling her hard against his chest. Rose’s thighs gripped him as she moved her hips against him, urging him to take her, to fill her, to complete her.

The head of him pushed against her damp curls and her breath caught, exquisite need spiraling through her, the promise of sweet oblivion, and she wanted more. She moved again so the tip of him pressed against her entrance. But he held back, the muscles all along his arms and shoulders bunched with strain.

“God, Rose…”

“Please,” she whispered. Then she took his earlobe between her teeth. He tasted good, salt and spice, and she wanted all of him. He shuddered violently but still didn’t move—his hands braced against the table’s edge, as if holding himself back, ready to push away, but arrested in the moment.

“Our first time shouldn’t be like this.” His breath blew hot against her neck.

“Aye, it should be just like this,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m no innocent, William—I know what I want and I want this.”

He made a harsh sound behind his gritted teeth, then the fine thread of his control snapped and he pressed into her.

She cried his name on an exhalation as he entered her, the sweetness of it already pulsing through her. His hands moved beneath her knees, lifting them higher over his hips before sliding under her buttocks so she could take him deeper.

He kissed her hard as he drove into her again and again, touching something deep, sending pleasure beating through her, swelling tighter. She thought her heart would burst from it as she moved with him, her breath burning her throat. She tore her mouth away as her crisis was wrenched from her, wave after wave flowing over her.

“Oh God, Rose…” His voice was raw. He ground his hips into hers, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of her neck as deep tremors racked him. Rose held him tightly to her until the desperate passion began to fade.

His forehead pressed into her shoulder and his hands still gripped her thighs. Their sweat mingled where their bodies touched. The sound of his breathing was loud in her ear, and then his hands tightened on her. He swore—a vile word that caused her to wince.

He swore again, pulling gingerly away from her and yanking his trews closed. He ran a hand through his damp hair.

She felt exposed suddenly and pushed her night rail down, sliding off the table. The top hung around her waist and she pulled it up, holding it closed with her hand to hide her nakedness. She felt cold and weak and uncertain. She could feel the remnants of their passion between her thighs, and her stomach took a sharp dip at the knowledge it could result in a child. She shouldn’t hope for it, but she did.

He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders rising and falling heavily. Finally he turned to her, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m sorry, Rose…Jesus God, I know not what I was thinking…I wasn’t thinking…ruled by my god damned cock.”

Rose stared at him, her bafflement growing. “What do you mean? It’s what I wanted. It’s why I asked you to come to me.”

He waved a hand at her, his face tight with remorse. “I should have been gentle…after…well,
after
. God damn it.” He stalked from the little room, full of self-recrimination again, and Rose understood. Immediately her eyes burned and her throat tightened. She hurried after him.

“William! It’s not what you think.”

When he turned to stare at her, hands on hips, she raised her brows and sighed. “I’d not meant to tell you this way. I meant to tell you before to fash not on ruining me—that I’d already been ruined.”

He rubbed a hard hand over his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “Aye, I know. The MacLeans.”

“Well, aye, but not how you’re thinking. Fagan MacLean…did things to me, aye, things that make me sick and angry still…but not
that
. It was his son, Donald, and I was a willing party. It was three years ago…I was seventeen.” He stared at her now, and it was she who had to look away, sick with shame. “I don’t know why I did it…I suppose I thought I loved him at the time…and I wanted him to love me back.”

He touched her chin, lifting her face so she looked at him. “That is not why a man loves a woman.” Her neck and cheeks burned, and she tried to pull her chin away. He held her firm. “It’s not why I love you.”

Her gaze caught in his. She was so surprised to hear the words from him. Her heart swelled with happiness. She had hoped he felt as she did, but she hadn’t believed he’d ever admit it—to her or himself.