His gaze strayed again to the stand of bushes through which Rose and Deidra had disappeared earlier, and he wondered what detained Rose. He thought about her more than was wise. Pretty lasses were one thing, but she was a bit more. He found the woman a great deal like the letter he’d kept and read countless times. Compelling. Beautiful.Known. He’d sensed a similarity in her letter, that was why he’d kept it, he understood that now. He’d finally stumbled upon someone who saw what he was and understood it. But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
She finally emerged from the bushes and sat near him, taking the food Wallace offered. She seemed troubled; her face was unnaturally pale in the moonlight and her auburn brows drawn together, forming a line of concentration between them. William wondered what troubled her. Her father? Or was it something he’d said to her when they’d ridden together earlier? She had withdrawn from him rather abruptly, relieved when Drake and Wallace had returned.
He pondered this in silence as he ate, annoyed at his preoccupation. Their modest meal was punctuated with conversation about the journey on the morrow, whose lands they would be passing through, some broken men they’d sighted, where they might be heading and how best to avoid them. Rose contributed nothing to the conversation, though her gaze strayed repeatedly to Deidra or across the fire to Drake.
William found her silence vexing, especially when he could not draw her into conversation—a singular experience since he’d met her. She always seemed eager to share her opinion.
“You came all this way alone, Mistress MacDonell?” William asked.
She nodded, eyes fixed on her meal.
“And you encountered no broken men? No trouble along the way?”
“I disguised myself as a lad and hid at night.” Her reply was distracted, her gaze on Deidra, who nodded off against William’s knee. “Are you tired, Dede?” she asked.
Deidra sat up straight and shook her head vigorously, then rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“Good.” Rose held out a hand. “Come here and I’ll show you something.”
Deidra scrambled up, taking Rose’s hand eagerly. Rose settled Deidra between her legs, then set her wooden box between Deidra’s. William watched, puzzled, as Rose painstakingly showed Deidra everything in the box—herbs, needles, probes, and many other interesting little things. He didn’t know what to make of Rose’s sudden interest in his daughter. On the one hand, he was pleased—Deidra clearly enjoyed it. She examined the items in the box as if it were a treasure chest, asking questions, eyes widening with awe over some unfamiliar instrument. But eventually her lids grew too heavy, and she fell asleep against her new friend’s chest.
Rose then lay down, pulling Deidra down beside her and covering them both with a plaid. William watched all this with a sort of painful uneasiness. Rose was a woman, after all, and it made sense she wanted to take care of Deidra. Besides, she seemed so very comfortable with it, and Deidra obviously liked Rose. Yet it bothered William inexplicably. He felt he should not allow it. What if Deidra became attached? Grew accustomed to Rose? But he hadn’t a clue what to do about it, or even if he should do anything.
William doused the fire and took the first watch. As the moon rose, he sat back against a stone and, for the first time that day, let himself think about Ailis and her mother. Somehow he’d known such a day would come. He’d done too many terrible things, and no amount of good could take it all back. Was it God’s voice screaming at him in the dirt? Throwing pitch on the stoned bodiesof the child he’d touched and the woman who’d allowed it? Was it God’s judgement on him? For it couldn’t be judgement on Ailis. She was but a child. He lowered his head to his hands but quickly straightened. He could not indulge in melancholy when he had a watch to keep.
He gazed at his companions sleeping around him, at his daughter nestled safely against Rose. A shadow seemed to pass over him, a responsibility unwanted, and yet darkly alluring. What was Rose? She could not heal as he could, but she saw the colors. He’d seen the colors for years before he’d healed anyone, and he’d discovered that accidentally when he was thirteen. Could it be she hadn’t discovered her true magic yet?
He rubbed his eyes wearily with a self-deprecating groan. And would he be the one to show her? Open a whole world of misery to her? Of course he would not. This was his hell, to suffer alone. He would condemn no one else to it.
A soft moan made him straighten. Rose thrashed about beneath the plaid. William quickly crossed the short distance between them, shaking her gently awake before she disturbed Deidra.
Her eyes opened, wide and terrified.
“Quiet—you’ll wake the others,” William whispered.
She swallowed several times, then nodded, fear fading to confusion then to embarrassment.
William sat on his heels, staring down at her charmingly mussed state. Wisps of hair had come loose from her braid to float about her head on the breeze. The right side of her face was flushed and lined from sleeping on her hand. His gaze seemed to disconcert her. She pattedat her hair, then sat up, adjusting her bodice and kirtle, and glancing at him warily.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said.
“I wasn’t asleep. I was keeping watch.”
“Oh. Well, I’m awake now, I’ll keep watch so you can sleep.”
He waved the offer away. Considering the hour, it seemed inappropriate for him to remain beside her, but he was reluctant to return to his stone. “You had a nightmare?”
She grew still, gazing back at him, then gave a curt nod.
“Do you want to tell me?”
Her brows shot upward. “Surely you can’t be interested.”
“Iaminterested. I have very strange dreams. I even write them down sometimes, so I don’t forget.”
She blinked at him, her mouth softening slightly in surprise. “Really? I don’t want to remember mine.”
He lifted a shoulder and sighed. “Then don’t tell me.”
