William paused, his hand gripping the door latch. The question caused a strange leaping sensation in his chest. “Who?”
“Grainne—after you murder Comyn and hide the body. Who do you think, neephead? Rose MacDonell!”
“I’ll not marry again. You know that.”
“You need an heir.”
“I have an heir,” William said grandly and made a sweeping gesture, encompassing Drake, who was standing barelegged in his shirt.
“I told you, I’ll not wed until you do.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. Surely you have a bastard or two running around we could leave Strathwick to.”
Drake didn’t rise to the bait. He raised his brows. “It’s been eight years, Will.Eight years. Don’t you think it’s time?”
A mantle of loneliness descended on William. “And in those eight years, I have not been forced to make another such choice, have I?” He shook his head firmly. “I won’t do it again.” He started to leave, but he paused before closing the door behind him. “Remember what I said. Courtesy and respect.”
“For you, brother. I do it only for you.”
William returned to his chambers, his conversation with his brother still circling his mind. Hewas notsmitten. He liked Rose—and he lusted after her as well—but that was the extent of it. He was certainly not smitten.
He thought back to the night on the moor and thanked God only Wallace had been hurt, and that it had been minor. He liked Wallace but kept the man at a distance, just as he did everyone else except Drake and Deidra. Until Rose. He could not seem to keep her at arm’s length, and it was as much his fault as hers. A most vexing situation.
No, he definitely could not be smitten. He’d worked too hard to keep the circle of those dear to him small. Hecouldn’t risk letting her in and one day being forced to make another soul-rending choice.
Of course, all of this was speculation. She might feel something for him now, but that would be over soon enough. He’d known that the moment he looked down and recognized the pale blue eyes staring up at him from the locket. She was betrothed to Jamie MacPherson, which meant she would discover the truth about him eventually. It also meant that whatever suspicions he had about her ability to heal must never be more than that. He couldn’t guess what MacPherson would do to her, but it was guaranteed to be something ugly.
Chapter 9
They arrived at Glen Laire around noon on the eighth day of their travel. William’s first sight of Rose’s home was of a lush green valley, surrounded by mountains and guarded to the north by a thick forest. About half of the land was cultivated, striped with oats and barley; the other half was dedicated to grazing beasts. A river twined through the valley, emptying into a large loch. Lochlaire sat in the center of it, as impenetrable a stronghold as the glen was.
Their small party gathered on the wide ledge just inside the mountain pass.
“The trail is difficult,” Rose cautioned. “Deidra should ride with someone.”
“I can do it!” Deidra cried and tapped her mare’s sides, bobbing in the saddle.
William caught her reins and swung her off her horse, plopping her onto the back of Drake’s. “Hold onto your uncle.”
She scowled at being thwarted but quickly got over it, wrapping her arms as far around Drake’s waist as she could reach and craning her neck to see in front of him.
Rose started down the trail first, effectively hiding herexpression from William, but he’d noticed that the closer they got to Glen Laire, the more tense she seemed. He’d expected her to be happy or excited to finally be here, so close to healing her father, but she seemed almost reluctant. Perhaps she worried that her father had not made it, and that was very likely, considering how ill he’d been when she’d left.
All of this, however, was mere conjecture. Since they’d left the Fraser stronghold, they’d hardly spoken. And though William had resolved to keep her at arm’s length from here on out, he’d been more than a little disappointed to find that effort on his part was unnecessary. She had apparently come completely to her senses, and, excepting excessive politeness, she spoke only to Wallace and Deidra.
William brooded at the slim, auburn-haired woman carefully leading them down the mountain. He did not consider himself a happy sort of man, but he’d been content enough until Rose had come along, making him restless and unsatisfied with the life he’d made. The prospect of returning to Strathwick and the bleak, rutted track of his life held no appeal, and it was her fault, for forcing him out of a life he had not even realized was unsatisfactory.
They descended the mountain in single file without incident, though Drake’s horse became irritable halfway down from Deidra’s bobbing on its haunches, but a few sharp words from her uncle and she reluctantly sat still. As they cantered down the dirt road that led from the base of the mountain to the loch, crofters left their dwellings or stopped their work in the fields to wave atRose. Children came out to run beside them. One boy skipped along beside Rose’s stirrup, asking if she would come tend his grandsire. She promised to visit soon.
Deidra was wide-eyed at it all. She’d never left Strathwick, so everything was a novelty to her. When she saw Lochlaire she gasped and pointed, eyes wide. “Look, Da! It floats!”
William laughed softly. “Nay, Squirrel, it’s not floating. It’s built on an island.”
She cocked her head, regarding the island castle quizzically. “How are we to go to it, then?”
“By boat, I imagine.”
They arrived at the stables near the loch, and Rose dismounted, handing her reins to a bearded man who waited for them.
