“If you permit me, we’ll see, shall we?” William replied mildly.
Alan glanced at his daughter, then back at William. He sighed, resigned. “Aye, go on.”
The poor man was likely weary of all the poking and prodding, yet he must be of extremely strong mettle to still be alive. Rose had said the illness had disabled him for months now, and despite his decrepit appearance, he survived.
“It won’t take long,” William said, touching Rose’s shoulder. She moved to stand on his other side, watching her father anxiously. Drake moved closer, always near to protect William when healing debilitated him. Isobel came to stand on the opposite side of the bed, staring at William with troubled eyes. Rose had yet to even notice her sister’s strange expression, but Sir Philip had, and he put a protective arm around his wife as he watched William warily.
“Is something amiss, Dame Isobel?” William asked.
Rose looked up at her sister then, frowning. “What is it, Isobel?”
Isobel shook her head slowly, then turned away. “It’s naught. Forgive me.”
Rose stared after her sister, then shrugged up atWilliam, but he could tell by the line between her eyes that she only shrugged it off for his benefit. Had she not said one of her sisters had visions? Had he not seen the light of recognition in Isobel’s eyes when she’d looked at him?
He took a deep, bracing breath and rested one knee on the bed. The Skye terrier bared its teeth and gave a nasty, warbling growl.
“Hush now, Conan,” Alan said, stroking the dog.
“Father?” Rose chided him. “I told you no more dogs.”
“Oh, this is just a wee one. Let me keep him.”
The “wee one” snarled like a feral wolf, its black lips peeled back to reveal needle-sharp teeth and a mobile, curling tongue.
“Be nice,” Alan reprimanded, feebly trying to push Conan away, but he was not strong enough to even move the small dog.
Conan got to his feet and barked hysterically at William. When Sir Philip tried to remove the dog, it snapped at him.
Alan scolded Conan, but the dog would not calm. The earl approached the bed with a plaid and threw it over the snarling beast, then swiftly wrapped it up. The bundle convulsed harmlessly in his arms.
“Shall I add a stone and toss it in the loch?” the earl asked.
“Aye,” Sir Philip said testily, examining his hand for wounds.
Alan laughed at the jest. “He’s just trying to protect me. Let him out.”
The earl left the chamber, only to return seconds later, closing the door quickly on the vicious wee beast.
William returned to the bed, Rose at his side. He took a deep cleansing breath, calling on the healing magic and focusing it on the man on the bed. A pale green light shimmered faintly around Alan, weak, as if something drained him. When William saw nothing else, he used his hands, feeling his way, but could find no source to heal.
He’d seen this twice before. Once was from a slow poison, the other something he didn’t wish to contemplate. Unfortunately he saw none of the other signs of poison—such as a brackish film over areas of the body indicating that the poison had attacked certain organs and they were dying. William could heal that, though it was quite painful for him and took longer to recover from.
He passed his hands over Alan’s body again, frowning with deepening concentration. A sharp pounding began in his temples. The door opened, and Roderick reentered the room. Conan shot in between his legs, snarling viciously, and went straight for William.
“Uncle Roderick!” Rose cried helplessly, hands on hips. “No dogs! I told you that before.”
Drake intercepted the dog, trying to shove it back with a boot, but the dog only latched onto it. Drake yelped in surprise and tried to shake the dog off. The earl attempted to recapture it with the same plaid, but Conan had grown savvy to this ploy and darted under the bed.
“Confounded dog!” Alan said, the lines in his forehead deepening. “I’ve never seen him behave in such a manner.”
William stepped away from the bed so the otherscould attempt to recapture the dog. He rubbed his hands together, squinting slightly from the pain in his temples. He had a very bad feeling about what ailed Alan MacDonell. When he looked at Rose, she kept her gaze averted, her face and throat taut. If she hadn’t already guessed that William could not heal her father, she was beginning to suspect.
Roderick came to stand beside him. He lifted his chin at his brother. “So…is he healed?”
William looked down at the man for a long moment. “No, he’s not.”
“Canna do it, aye?”
