My Shadow Warrior

by Jen Holling

  “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.

  Chapter 16

  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 l
eft, 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.