My Shadow Warrior

by Jen Holling

  “I’m sorry, Da! I’m sorry!” she cried, clutching him, burying her face in his bloodied plaid.

  William was unable to speak. He put a hand on his daughter’s head before his eyes closed.

  “Is he dead?” Jamie asked, staring down at William with narrowed eyes.

  Rose feared the same, and her fingers sought the pulse in his neck. “No,” she said, relieved. She smoothed the silvered black hair from his forehead and pressed her lips to his fevered skin.

  Jamie stood, his hand still gripping his neck. He looked at the wolves. They’d left the cottage and were nosing through a nearby midden pile. He turned his troubled gaze on Deidra, then back to William. He gingerly fingered his nose. He seemed bewildered and afraid. Finally his gaze met Rose’s.

  After a long moment he nodded, as if in some internal conversation with himself, and turned away. He mounted his horse, gestured to his men, and rode out of the village.

  Rose heard footsteps beside her and looked up to see the witchpricker. He frowned down at William for a long time, then crouched suddenly, his tattered black robes pooling on the ground around him. He studied William’s face closely.

  “There is no evil in what he does,” Rose said softly, holding him tighter to her breast. “He is a healer.”

  “But the child—”

  “Is a child.”

  His thin gray brows arched. “She nearly killed a man. He would be dead if not for Lord Strathwick.”

  “I did not see her do anything,” Lord Kincreag said. “You had a knife to her throat. I know the king doesn’t allow such tactics in the questioning of children.”

  The witchpricker glanced up at the earl, unimpressed but seeing the truth in his words. He had violated the king’s edict. He rubbed a thin-fingered hand over his mouth, eyeing Deidra, who still lay on her father’s chest. Under the witchpricker’s intense stare, she turned her head away and hunched her shoulders.

  The witchpricker stood. “Let us hope our paths do not cross again.” He strode into the cottage and shut the door.

  Rose let out the breath she’d been holding. She looked up at Drake and the earl. “Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.”

  Roderick MacDonell passed from life two days later. He never regained his power of speech, but unfortunately for Gillian, in death he was exceedingly vocal. He pursued her through corridors and into her bed at night. The earl lamented that she refused to even kiss her own husband with her dead uncle looking on.

  Rose stood on the quay, embracing her sister warmly as she and the earl prepared to leave. “Forgive me, Rose,” Gillian said, “but I cannot stay. He is so angry. Forebye, Father is doing so well, I feel no guilt.”

  “But what about us?”

  Gillian lifted her shoulders helplessly. “He’s a ghost—and a new one. He can do nothing. No one has even seen him but me. We will return in a month or so, and by then mayhap he’ll tire of haunting this place and be ready to move on.”

  The earl took his wife’s hand to lead her down the steps. “We’ll send word if we cannot return within the month,” he said. “I have great hope that the king will consider my counsel.”

  Rose did, too. He and Gillian were traveling to Edinburgh to petition the king to rescind his witch-hunting commission and return the jurisdiction for trying witches to the king and privy council only. He planned to use the near lynching of William and Deidra as evidence that the commission had been grossly abused.

  Rose said her good-byes and returned to her father’s chambers. It had been nearly a fortnight since Roderick had attempted to murder him, and his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. But, of course, it wasn’t sufficient for him.

  Rose found Hagan fighting to get him back in bed.

  “Da!” she cried, rushing to Hagan’s aid. “I told you, you must take it slowly.”

  “I feel fine,” he said, brows drawn together crossly. “I will never regain my strength if I must lay in bed eating broth.”

  Though Rose pressed on his shoulder, urging him to sit, he resisted—with considerable strength. He was eating a great deal more than broth, and she was pleased to see his face filling out again. The graying beard had been trimmed, and his green eyes were clear and lively.

  Conan barked and ran in circles, excited to see his master out of bed. With Roderick’s death, his spells had lost their power. Conan was free of the dark magic that had bound him, and he was no longer content to lie around. Isobel had been spending a great deal of time in Roderick’s chambers, trying to discover more about their uncle and what he’d done. She’d managed to unravel the spell he’d used on the wax effigies, and they were destroyed, much to everyone’s relief. Sir Philip had returned with news that Sir Donnan had passed away nearly a year prior.

  Rose and her father were still debating the benefits of bed rest when Deidra and William arrived with Liam and his nurse. William bounced the solemn wean while Deidra made faces and noises, causing Liam to emit strange moans that seemed to signal pleasure. Alan’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nephew. Despite the pain of his brother’s deception, he held none of it against the baby. He was overjoyed to finally have an heir to raise and train.

  While Rose was distracted at the sight of William, Alan slipped out of bed and took the baby, thus making it impossible for Rose to force him back into the bed.

  She sighed. “Very well. But you are not to overexert yourself.”

  He ignored her, gently bobbling his nephew while Deidra showed Alan the little gowns and hats the wet nurse had made for him. Rose’s father exclaimed over each item as if it were a priceless treasure. Though Rose and William had not yet wed, Alan was already enjoying his role as Deidra’s grandfather. He asked her to bring him a different animal every day to converse with, and Deidra was happy to oblige.

  Rose turned her attention back to William and found him gazing at her oddly, a slightly bemused look on his face. She’d caught him looking at her so several times over the past few days. When she questioned him about it, he only shook his head, refusing to reveal his thoughts. She raised impatient brows at him, and this time he inclined his head. She followed, leaving her father with Hagan and Deidra.

  She led him to her chambers, where they could have some privacy. They had not made love again since the first time, and every touch and look from him set her body aflame in anticipation of their impending wedding night. The banns had been posted the past two Sundays and would be announced the third and final time tomorrow. They were to be married immediately afterward.

  Inside her chambers, with the door closed, he pulled her close and kissed her. She sank into the warmth of his mouth, twining her arms around his neck. He pulled away too soon, his fingers threading through the hair at her temple, pulling it free of her braid and rubbing it between his fingers. It was streaked with dozens of snowy white strands.

  “You’ve been healing,” he said reproachfully.

  Rose shrugged. “Nothing much. Just some burns in the kitchen, and Cook cut himself.” Rose curled her hand into a fist at the memory of that. It had been a most horrific wound. Cook would have been forced to retire his ladle if she had not mended him.

  “Prithee return to conventional healing if that suffices—and surely kitchen burns and cuts aren’t a matter of life and death.”

  Rose made a face at him. “You find me ugly with white hair?”

  He slid his hand over her head, cupping her neck. “Never. I just…fash for you.”

  “Why?”

  He took a deep breath. “Because I don’t know what it means, how it works. I sometimes wonder if every time I heal someone it…subtracts time from my life. And the gray hair…maybe I lost a day for every gray hair.” He touched her white hairs again, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Before…it didn’t matter. The sooner, the better. But now…now everything has changed.”

  Rose pressed herself against his chest. His arms came around her, and he lay his cheek atop her head.

  When she coul
d speak again, she said, “Then I must needs heal more, so I can catch up to you, aye?” She reached up, sifting her fingers through black and silver silk. “For you have lost many more days than I have.”

  “Do not speak so. No more healing for you—at least for another year or so.”

  Rose pulled back to frown at him. “Why?”

  He looked down, his gaze resting on her belly. “Because our child needs all of your strength.”

  Rose gasped, mouth agape. “How can you tell? I’ve barely missed my courses. How do you know?”

  His mouth curved into a bemused smile. “Because I see him. His color is different from yours.”

  Rose’s hand went to her belly, joy filling her. She had never been able to see her own color—but of course he could, and if there was life inside her, he would see that.

  “What color is he?”

  “Green, like sage.”

  She arched a brow at him. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t.” He covered her hand with his, pressing it into her belly. He kissed her again, his mouth warm and urgent, and Rose thought it impossible to love someone more. Just a month ago she’d never expected to be so happy. But she knew it wasn’t over. They still had Strathwick to return to, and life was different there.

  Later that night, after Deidra had fallen asleep, they stood on the battlements together, gazing across the water to the flickering lights of the village. William’s arms were warm and heavy around her shoulders. She pressed closer, her hand on the hard muscles of his belly, thinking still of how to make peace with the people of Strathwick. She pulled away suddenly and fixed William with a determined stare.

  He raised a brow at her sudden animation.

  “You must tell Allister that he is your brother.”

  Both brows raised. “That’s not a good idea, methinks.”

  “It is. It’s perfect.”

  He laughed without humor. “If you think he hates me now, just wait and see how he reacts to discovering we’re brothers—if he even believes me.” He shook his head firmly. “Nay. That is not the answer.”

  “It is. How can he condemn you when he shares your blood?”

  He shook his head again, grim. “That won’t matter to him.”

  “It would if he, too, was a witch.”

  William narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I don’t know for certain that he is.”

  “You said he never sickens and healed miraculously from a serious wound. I didn’t know I could heal until you showed me. Mayhap he doesn’t either. Wouldn’t it be better to make an enemy into an ally? To at least try?”

  He raised a shoulder, still dubious. “It’s a good thought, but I doubt he’ll volunteer for lessons.”

  Rose arched a brow at him. “Make him. Hold him prisoner.” When he opened his mouth incredulously, she placed a finger against it. “It will keep him out of trouble, aye?”

  He gazed down at her for a long moment, sapphire eyes slowly turning molten. Rose recognized the look, and her body answered eagerly, a melting warmth spreading through her limbs. He pushed her back against the wall, insinuating his knee between her thighs. “Perhaps. What if he still refuses?”

  Rose smiled up at him, sliding her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. Recall you that we have Betty? His wife. Methinks that’s what the fuss is really about.”

  He looked at her in astonishment and pleasure. “God’s bones, but you’re a schemer. How did I ever manage without you?”

  “I know not,” she murmured, pulling his mouth to hers and making it clear he would never be forced to blunder along without her again.

  Epilogue

  To my loving father, Alan MacDonell,

  It is with great regret that I write to inform you we are unable to join you in the festivities at Lochlaire this Christmas. As you know I am expecting a child in the spring, and this prohibits travel. William wishes me to inform you that all is well with the child, so you have naught to fash on. Deidra sends her love and informs me that Conan does as well. He understands your sudden aversion to dogs. He wishes you to know he has found a comfortable home with new friends. I have some happy news and an exciting tale to share when we are finally together again. But for now I will say Drake has finally married! It was a surprise to us as well, but the lady took his heart by storm. It was a rather troublesome affair, as she was betrothed to someone else, and it involved kidnapping—but rest assured, all is well now! Her name is Ceara, and we are indeed blessed to have her join our family.

  Your last letter brought such welcome tidings! Isobel and Sir Philip have been blessed with a son, and Lord Kincreag was successful in his petition to the king. No news is more welcome in Strathwick than this! Let us hope this is cause for Mr. Forsyth to retire from the witchpricking business! We are well pleased to hear Liam is already walking. He is surely agift to be praised and a most amazing lad. Methinks he is a MacDonell indeed.

  Please accept our humble thanks for your generous gifts. We pray God gives you health and preserves you many more Christmases and that soon we will all be together again. Please accept the gift we send with goodwill. You know we at Strathwick are not as wealthy, but William thought it meet to ask his brother, Allister, to make you this chair. His skill in woodworking is exceptional, I’m sure you’ll agree, and with the pillow Betty (Allister’s wife) and I embroidered, it will be a splendid place to take your rest before the fire in the evenings.

  With the remembrance of my humble duty unto you, I humbly take my leave and rest,

  Your dutiful and obedient daughter,

  Rose MacDonell, Lady Strathwick

  From the House of Strathwick xx December

  The year of our Lord 1597