“Lucas?” He frowned thoughtfully, then remembered the small boy who’d taken refuge in his castle after his mother and sister had been stoned and burned. “Ailis’s brother.” He exhaled heavily. “I suppose he shall live at Strathwick for now. Why?”
She toyed with her bread, picking hunks out of it and tossing it into the water. Fish darted up, snatching at it. “Lucas told me Allister is to blame for everything. He seems to think the villagers would forget if not for Allister rubbing salt in the wounds.” She hesitated, sending him a quick, sidelong look. “So I think you must deal with Allister.”
He laughed incredulously. “You mean punish him? Make a martyr out of him? Wouldn’t he love that! No, I think not.”
She shook her head vigorously, leaning in closer. “No, no. Not death. He must be discredited somehow. Such as you did to Pol. Heal him publicly. That will take the wind from his sails, methinks.”
William shook his head dismissively. “Unfortunately he is hale as a horse. The man nearly severed his own arm once and it didn’t even fester.”
Rose’s shoulders slouched, and she frowned down at her food, picking at it again and worrying her bottom lip. He was amused by her effort to aid him and thought her idea a clever one—he’d thought of it himself. Unfortunately, Allister and he were too much alike. He knew he must do something about Allister and Pol and Tadhg—the instigators of all his trouble. He just hadn’t decided what yet.
“There’s a reason for that, you ken?”
His statement startled her from her thoughts. She blinked at him. “For what?”
“A reason Allister never ails.” He slid her a speculative look, gauging her reaction.
“What is that?”
“He’s our brother—Drake’s and mine. Born on the wrong side of the sheets, of course.” He smiled at the irony of it—it never failed to amuse him.
Her mouth dropped open in shock.“Your brother?Is he a witch?”
“I believe so.”
She let out an incredulous breath. “Does he know it?”
William snorted. “Nay—he doesn’t even know we share blood. His mum never told him.”
Rose shook her head at him. “You find this humorous.”
“Somewhat.” He leaned toward her. “Think of it—heiswhat he seeks to destroy.”
“Then you should tell him and let him destroy himself.”
“I doubt he’d believe me.”
She leaned closer, brows arched. “Make him.”
The intensity of her expression riveted him, put him in mind of other, more salacious things. His gaze swept over her, noting the blush that stained her neck and cheeks as she gazed back. A strand of copper had come loose from her plait, and it lay against her cheek. He longed to brush it back, to twine it around his fingers, to…
She looked away abruptly, her breathing disturbed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he asked innocently.
“Youknow.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
She shot him a furious look. “Aye, you do. Looking at me like that—like a hungry wolf. It’s notfriendlyat all.”
He felt like a wolf—ravenous, feral. And he didn’t want to be her friend, regardless of what he’d said before. He gave her a hard smile. “Sorry. No more looks. I vow it.”
The tight set of her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good, because there is something I’ve thought long on, and until now I haven’t had a single person with whom to discuss it.”
“Aye?”
“The colors we see when we heal…what do you think they are?”
