“Good morn, Mistress Deidra,” Rose said, smiling. “Are you still anxious for an adventure?”
Deidra’s mouth opened wide on a yawn. “I’m tired.”
Strathwick leaned toward his daughter and plucked her from her saddle, settling her across his lap. “Rest your eyes then, my wee squirrel.”
Rose caught the reins of Deidra’s mare and tethered them to her saddle. Deidra snuggled against her father but didn’t close her eyes, instead fixing them on Rose.
She returned the child’s solemn stare. “Why does your father call you squirrel?”
Deidra smiled, showing dark gaps on either side of her large front teeth, making her look very much like a chubby rodent. “Because I like nuts!”
Rose put a hand to her mouth and laughed, glancing up at Strathwick to see that he grinned down at his daughter.Her heart snagged. She had thought he was incomparably handsome before, but when he smiled, he was devastating. She stared until his gaze met hers, then she quickly averted her eyes. She longed to be the one coaxing forth his smiles; it bloomed inside her, the want, unnerving in its sudden, unexpected force.
They rode in silence until Deidra’s thick black lashes drifted shut. She was so very young and vulnerable. Rose had been about Deidra’s age when Alan MacDonell had sent her to Skye, away from everyone she knew and loved, to be raised by strangers. She watched the peacefully sleeping child for a long while before raising her gaze to Strathwick. He stared straight ahead, his jaw rigid and grim now, all traces of his earlier smile gone.
“Why did you bring your daughter?” Rose asked, doubting her own father would have taken her or her sisters on such a journey. “Is it because of what happened to Ailis and Iona?”
He sighed, gazing down at his daughter, his brow creased in a slight frown. “Aye. I can’t leave her at Strathwick. I can’t trust anyone to protect her but myself and Drake.”
A thread of anger twisted in Rose. Not at him, but at her own father, who’d sent his children away rather than protect them himself. Shame immediately followed the thought, sending her into the state of restless unhappiness that seemed to plague her of late. She’d thought it had to do with her inability to heal her father, but now she had the Wizard of the North and still she felt vaguely unhappy. She supposed it wouldn’t go away until her father was well and she was able to confront him.
She glanced back at William, cradling his sleeping daughter, and knew this was a great thing he did for her, uprooting his family. All for some woman he hardly knew—a woman who’d forced her way into his home and threatened one of his people, all to honor a promise he’d made in the throws of fever. She felt slightly ashamed of herself and said, “Thank you again for doing this for me.”
He lifted a shoulder slightly. “Perhaps it’s best if I leave Strathwick for a time.”
“Is it always like that?”
His throat worked as he swallowed, the firm line of his mouth flattening. “No. They’ve hunted me, and run a few people that I’ve healed out of the village, but they’ve never killed anyone before.”
“Do you have somewhere you can go? Another castle?”
“Aye, but then they’d win—driving me out like they did Betty.” A muscle bulged in his jaw. “No. Strathwick is mine and the instigators will be dealt with.” The glance he gave her was grim and rueful, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry you witnessed what happened to Ailis and her mother.”
Anger tightened Rose’s throat, making it difficult for her to speak immediately. When she could, her voice was low with suppressed passion. “It was so very wrong, what they did. It makes me ill to think on it. And if it makes me ill, I can only imagine how it makes you feel.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You must wonder what the purpose is, to put yourself through such danger and pain to save one life, and then lose two because of your trouble. I want you to know, my lord, such horrors will never occur at Lochlaire.”
One black cynical brow arched. “It sounds as if Lochlaire is a haven.”
“It was.”
His gaze sharpened, studying her. “Was?”
Rose looked away from his perceptive eyes and stared down at the reins grasped loosely in her leather-clad hands. “Things have changed a great deal. My father is dying. When he’s well, everything will be right again.”
A thoughtful silence followed, then he said, “You were not specific in your letters about this thing that tore your family apart.”
Rose scanned the road ahead, wishing now she’d kept quiet. But there was no distraction in sight. The road was empty, no sign of Drake and Wallace. When she looked back at Strathwick, he still waited for her answer.
“My mother was a witch. She was attacked by a mob and burned. To protect us, my father sent us away to foster with people he trusted, separately, so I didn’t see my sisters for twelve years.”
Strathwick’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “He sent you away?” He looked down at his daughter, his expression growing darker. “How convenient for him, relieving himself of the responsibility.”
“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Rose said defensively. “It’s what my mother wanted.”
He met her gaze, a brow slightly arched. “But you don’t agree.”
It was not a question. Rose’s gaze dropped to the child nestled in his arms, a plump hand beneath her cheek and her mouth open in innocent slumber. She was so young….
“No…. I don’t know.”
