But then William had moved—she’d felt it, her body and mind, as always aware of him wherever he was—and Jamie had turned to gape at him. Who wouldn’t? The tallest man in the room, the finest-looking man in the room—and the only one currently leaving.
They stared at one another for a long moment. Jamie looked as if he’d been kicked in the gut. William arched a black brow, and a thin, bitter smile curved his lips in greeting.
Rose’s heart took a sickening plunge. She’d never asked him, never even wondered:How did they know each other?
Chapter 12
“You.”The word exploded out of Jamie like a cannon blast, and he barreled across the room, hand on sword hilt, as if he’d been fired from one.
Drake drew his sword and moved to his brother’s side, but William put out a staying hand. Rose lifted her skirts and ran, reaching them as Jamie’s sword arced down.
“You bloody murderer!” Jamie raged, his handsome face distorted with hatred. “I’ll kill you!”
“No!” Rose screamed.
William had already moved aside, his sword still sheathed, though his hand rested loosely on the hilt. Jamie’s blade cut through empty air, clattering noisily against the wall.
“Not in front of your betrothed, surely,” William said. He did not appear surprised or troubled by this attack. His fingers tapped the leather-wrapped sword hilt; his brow was cocked slightly in question.
Jamie straightened, his gaze flicking to Rose, then back to William, with murderous intent. But after a long, silent moment in which he breathed loudly through his nose and took in the horrified faces around him, he finally sheathed his sword.
His gaze narrowed on William. With both hands, he pushed back the golden hair that had come loose from his lovelock. “You and me. At dawn. In the courtyard.”
Rose’s heart thundered in her chest as William inclined his head in agreement to this.
She forced her way between the two men, pushing at their chests. Jamie took a step back, but William was granite, staring over her head, his eyes dark and inscrutable as he stared at Jamie.
Rose turned to glare up at Jamie. He was a stranger, a violent, angry stranger. “This man is a guest of the MacDonells. How dare you attack him in our hall.”
Jamie didn’t even look at her, still glowering over her head at William. “I would have killed him long ago if he wasn’t such a crawdoun.”
Rose inhaled sharply, insulted for William, though she heard not a word of protest behind her.
“Explain yourself,” she demanded. Lord Kincreag had joined her, as well as several MacDonell men-at-arms.
Jamie’s furious gaze finally moved to her and stuck. “This—thiswizardmurdered my father.”
“Aye?” the earl of Kincreag said, raising a black brow skeptically. “Was it murder then, or just another petty blood feud? And how did it happen? During a raid? During a battle?”
“Witchcraft.”
No. Rose didn’t want to hear this. There was a slow sinking in her belly as she stared at her betrothed, shaking her head slowly. “How?”
“Ask him.” Jamie jerked his chin at William. “Ask him how.”
Rose was afraid to face William. Afraid to ask. His silence seemed to confirm the accusation.
Gillian, always the peacemaker, said, “Let us talk this over, friends. Mayhap it’s just a misunderstanding—”
“There is no misunderstanding,” William said. “But I do think Rose deserves to hear the truth in a different manner.”
Roderick had been observing the conflict from a distance. He stepped forward now, his blue eyes creased with concern. “Come, come—let’s take this somewhere private, aye?” He glanced meaningfully around the room at the curious faces of servants and various men-at-arms, then led the combatants from the hall.
Rose trailed behind, clutching Gillian’s hand. Jamie seemed to have forgotten her presence. He stalked ahead of her, his gaze boring into the back of William’s head.You and me. At dawn. In the courtyard.He meant to fight it out, to kill William. Her chest constricted with sick fear.
Roderick led them to a parlor her father had used for guests before his illness. Animal skins covered the floor, antlers and axes adorned the walls. The large fireplace was cold. Isobel summoned servants, and in no time a fire blazed, the candelabras were lit, and ale was served. But these pleasantries did nothing to dispel the chill atmosphere of the room.
Jamie stood near the carved fireplace, glowering across the room at William, who leaned negligently against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, returning his stare with little emotion. Drake took up position beside William, hand on sword hilt, staring belligerently at the enemy. Between William and Jamie stood Roderick,the earl, Rose, and her sisters—a barrier against further physical conflict.
