Strathwick steepled his hands beneath his chin and smiled with malicious glee at the groom. “He did! And here I thought he was busy with other matters.”
Rose’s unease increased as she watched this bizarre byplay between the chief and his groom. “I pray you not to punish him, my lord.”
“Punish him?” Strathwick said, then laughed. “That’s an idea!”
Rose groaned inwardly. Was she giving him ideas? This was not going as she’d hoped. “My lord,” she said firmly, bringing his attention back to her. “I beg you, come to Lochlaire and heal my father.”
He stood decisively. “No. There was a reason I didn’t answer your letters, Mistress MacDonell. I receive so many requests that I haven’t time to read them all, and I certainly cannot go hieing off to heal strangers when people I know are in need. You may rest here if you wish, but I expect you to leave on the morrow—as you vowed you would. Wallace will show you a place where you can rest. I do not wish to be bothered with this anymore. No more letters. No more visits. And the next time you threaten someone under my protection I will not be so merciful.”
He started to walk away, then stopped, pinning Dumhnull with a dark stare. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“Aye, and I’ll be doing it soon enough, don’t you fash.”
Strathwick glanced at Rose again, then turned away with a small shake of his head.
Rose stared blankly at the fire, the bright orange flames blurring and running together. She didn’t understand. How could Isobel’s vision have been so wrong? Or had it? Rose closed her eyes, shoulders slumping. The man Isobel had assumed was Strathwick had been an old man. Her vision wasn’t wrong—just misinterpreted.
Someone approached. “Miss?” Wallace said, touching her arm.
“Go on,” Dumhnull said. “I’ll show her.”
“Aye, m—er…aye.”
Rose didn’t know how long she stood there. Dumhnull stayed with her, not urging her to leave nor speaking, a solid, comforting presence. Her chest felt hollowed out, her mind empty. She didn’t know what to do now.Her father would die.Everyone died. Rose knew that, but she needed her father alive and well. There were things she needed to say to him but could not when he was so ill, could not in good conscience tell him when he was so close to death. And now it appeared she might never have the chance.
“I must go,” she said numbly, handing the tankard to Dumhnull and turning away from the fire. “My father needs me.”
“You should rest before undertaking another such journey so soon after the last. I cannot believe you came here alone.” He exhaled loudly. “Wallace will return with you.”
Rose swiped a hand across her eyes and gave a strangled laugh. “Aren’t you in enough trouble over me? I’ll be fine.”
He stared down at her, brow creased with intense concern, as if she’d somehow become his responsibility and he was in a conundrum as to what to do with her.
“You tried to warn me,” she reassured him. “I didn’t listen. Thank you for your kindness, but you’ve done enough. I can take care of myself.”
This did nothing to alleviate his disquiet. He looked so troubled that she forced a quavery smile.
“You worry too much.” She raised a hand and touched his hair, threaded liberally with silver. “You have too much gray for one so young.”
He grew very still. When she met his gaze, it had changed. His face was taut, his brilliant eyes intense as they stared into hers. She was momentarily frozen, held breathless by his eyes. She dropped her hand abruptly. Why would she touch a man she barely knew in such a familiar manner? She turned away, shaken by the way he still stared at her and her own urge to lay hands on him.
“I must go. Thank you.” She turned and hurried toward the end of the hall.
She was crossing the courtyard when she heard his swift steps behind her. “Where are you going? The gatehouse is that way.”
“I know, but I left my things outside the postern door.”
He did not reply to that but stayed beside her, so she could only conclude he meant to make certain she did leave. But once outside the door, a guard closed andbolted it behind them both. Rose held her bundle in her arms and frowned up at Dumhnull.
“You are unlike any groom I’ve ever known.”
“Have you known a great many?”
“I’m a healer, remember? Grooms have a nasty habit of getting kicked and stepped on and sometimes even bitten by their charges.”
“Ah,” he said, and she thought she detected a hint of a smile. He took her bundle from her and began to walk. The berm was wide enough for two, so Rose fell into step beside him.
“I suppose I don’t seem like a groom because…I’m not really one.”
