“We were fortunate.”
“As will I be.”
Her sisters still looked uneasy, and Rose couldn’t risk them doing something foolish, like telling their husbands. That might end her journey before it began. She stared down at the rush-strewn floor for a long moment, then inhaled deeply through her nose. “I’m not a fool. I know that some of the stories about this wizard might be just that—fables. But I can’t help hoping…” Rose’s heart raced at the thought, her voice catching momentarily. “If he is real, then I’ll bring him back if I have to tie him to my horse. But if he’s not…” She didn’t want to consider that. “Ihaveto know.”
Gillian’s lips thinned, and she gazed at Rose with worried gray eyes. “But are you sure it’s wise? Nicholas’s man never returned…we don’t know what happened to him. The journey north is harsh and dangerous.”
“Aye, but they haven’t burned nearly as many witches up north. It’s far safer than what you two did a few months back, traveling into the heart of the witch hunt to save Sir Philip.”
“Aye,” Isobel conceded, “but there are other dangers in the north.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise. I lived on Skye, remember? I can’t imagine a bigger band of hempies then the MacLeans. I’m well used to such men.”
They both still looked so worried. Rose sighed and held her arm out to Isobel. “Have a look—see what happens.”
Isobel frowned uncertainly. She had visions when she touched some things. Sometimes she saw the past, sometimes the present, sometimes the future. She’d been working hard to gain greater control of the gift, and she was having some success. She removed her gloves andgripped Rose’s sleeve. After a moment she shut her eyes, her smooth brow creasing.
Rose and Gillian watched her closely. When her sage green eyes drifted open, they were empty, sightless. The troubled lines in her forehead became more pronounced, and her hand tightened on Rose’s arm. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake off something disturbing, then her shoulders relaxed and a smile spread across her face. She released Rose’s arm.
“What is it?” Rose asked impatiently.
“Oh, you’ll be back—and in time to deliver Tira of a large son.”
“You saw this?” Gillian asked, eyes wide.
“Aye, I did. It will be a difficult birth—you’ll nearly lose both mother and child. There is a strange man there I don’t recognize. He has gray hair. I think he’s your wizard. He helps with the birth.”
A surge of excitement and determined hope shot through Rose. Isobel’s visions weren’t always accurate, but they were often enough to make Rose confident her mission would be a success. “You see? There is naught to fash on. I’ll be back with the wizard within the month.”
Isobel grew serious. She seemed to be mulling something over, then she blurted out, “I saw something else, Rose, before the birthing. Something from your past.”
Rose’s gut clenched. “Aye?”
Isobel bit her lip hesitantly. “Would you like to talk about what happened on Skye?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Rose tried to keep her face expressionless, though it felt stiff and unnatural from the effort, but she was determined to discourage further questions.
Gillian, of course, had no clue what they were talking about, and she looked between the two of them curiously. Rose was certain Isobel would fill Gillian in later, and that made resentment simmer, but not enough to discuss it. Let them think what they would. She had other things to fash on.
“What about Jamie MacPherson?” Gillian asked.
Rose’s hand went to the ribbon around her neck, drawing the locket from her bodice where it lay against her heart. Jamie MacPherson was her betrothed. He’d been writing letters to her for months now. They’d known each other as children, and she remembered him with great fondness. She longed to wed him, but she’d written him, telling him she could not in good conscience marry him so long as her father was so ill. He’d written back assuring her that he understood and would wait.
She opened the locket and gazed down into her betrothed’s cerulean eyes, his handsome face framed by golden hair. She shut the locket abruptly and tucked it back into her bodice. “He doesn’t have to know…besides, if he ever finds out, he would understand. He is a good man, like Sir Philip and Lord Kincreag.”
Her sisters had been most fortunate in their husbands—fine men both, who adored their wives.
Rose stood. “I need to have a look at Tira so Uncle Roderick doesn’t suspect anything.” She gave them both a penetrating look. “Not a word to anyone. If someone comes looking for me tomorrow, tell them I’ve the bloody flux and cannot leave my chambers.”
Isobel and Gillian stood, giving Rose swift, firm hugsand wishing her Godspeed. Filled with hope and resolve, she left to begin her preparations.
From his tower window he watched her leave under shadow of darkness and fog. She thought she was being clever—she always thought she was being clever. But in truth, she was doing exactly what he wanted. She’d interfered for the last time. The demon-raising ceremony was a lengthy one, consisting of days of fasting and prayer, and he could not do it with her present. Her sisters might cause some problems, but not nearly the delays Rose had caused him. Besides, he could charm the sisters into anything. Rose did not respond to charm or scolding or anything.
How she had become such a hard woman, he didn’t know—her time on Skye with the MacLeans, no doubt—nor did he care. Not anymore. He looked to the sky. The moon was waxing. Soon it would be full and he could finally begin.
Chapter 2
Strathwick Castle, Northern Highlands, a fortnight later.
