As she spoke, she heard the soft tapping of toenails, and Conan’s black nose appeared from behind Roderick’s legs. Rose’s free hand went to her shoulder, remembering the marks that had been there, bruises, just like her father’s, present after a night spent with Conan in her bed. And now that she thought back, one of the dogs Roderick had given his brother had always been present when her father had had the nightmares. And when the bruises had appeared, Alan had always felt worse, weaker, more feeble. Just as Rose had been nearly overcome with lethargy. The incubus.
Rose gripped the stiletto hilt tighter, her heart fluttering madly with fear. She knew too much, and she was fairly certain her uncle was aware of it. Tira and Hilda likely had known too much, too—and one was dead, the other had disappeared. And what of William? She had been upset and hurt at his abrupt departure, but she’d refused to examine it, like so many other things in her life, putting her mind to other tasks instead. But had he departed voluntarily? Whom did the other wax lump represent?
“Why did Lord Strathwick leave?”
Roderick shook his head slowly. “I know not.”
“I think you do.” Rose crossed the room until she stood in front of her uncle. She looked down at Liam. He seemed shrunken, smaller than he’d been when she’d delivered him. His pinched face had a bluish cast. He squalled suddenly, an odd, quavering cry.
Rose called on her magic, passing her hand over the infant. His color was a pale, wavering orange, like fading sunlight. The area around his chest was black and twisted,writhing like serpents. Rose glanced up at her uncle. WhatwasLiam? A product of dark magic? Had Tira’s ravings been more than labor pain?
“I can heal this,” she said.
Roderick’s copper brows raised with hope, and he held the child out to her. Rose did not take him.
“I will heal him. But not unless you tell me why Strathwick left and where he is now. Then you will take Liam and leave Lochlaire. Forever.”
He stared at her for a long moment, a mask falling down over his face. He moved away from her, crossing to the bed and laying Liam in the center of it. Rose clenched her fist around the stiletto, certain she would soon be forced to use it.
He turned away from the bed and faced her. “Why would you be wanting me to leave, lass?” He came toward her, hands unencumbered, his pace unhurried.
Rose backed away, toward the door leading to the privy chamber. “Don’t come any closer.” She brought the knife out in front of her, brandishing it at him.
His pace did not let up. “You’ve been meddling about.” He tapped his foot on the rug where she’d found his magic paraphernalia. “And you think you understand things, but you do not.”
Rose continued backing away, clutching the blade with both hands. “I understand you’re a murderer! You had my mother murdered because she knew what you are. You’re trying to murder my father. You murdered Tira and probably Hilda. You disposed of all their things so Isobel cannot discover the truth.”
His eyes widened. “Youareclever. Too clever.”
He came at her fast. Rose stabbed at him, but he caught her wrist, twisting it and swiping her legs from beneath her. She fell hard onto one hip and knee, her arm wrenching awkwardly in his grasp. Her fingers sprang open, and the stiletto clattered to the floor.
“There,” he said pleasantly, pulling her to her feet. “I dislike talking to someone who is threatening me.” He shoved her back into the bedchamber. “I will bargain with you but not at knifepoint. You heal my son, and I will tell you where Strathwick is.”
Rose looked to the bed, where Liam made soft whimpering noises. Healing the child would incapacitate her, leave her at her uncle’s mercy. He knew this, of course.
“I won’t heal him here. I must have someone present.”
He gave her a patronizing smile. “I don’t think so. You agree to heal him now, and I will give you my word that you will recover in safety. I will also tell you about Strathwick.”
Rose’s palms sweat. Her heart hammered in her ears. She would not leave this room alive, whether she healed his son or not. He would not tell her all of these things if he planned to let her live.
“I suggest you accept my offer. Strathwick’s time is running out.”
Rose’s heart leapt.William. What had Roderick done to him? Suddenly nothing else mattered.
“Very well.” Rose’s heart calmed as a course of action opened to her, one that she would never have considered before but was vital now. One her uncle would never suspect her of considering, or being capable of.
Rose crossed to the bed and stared down at the frail child. “What is he?”
“He’s a wean, of course.” Roderick sounded mildly offended. “You speak of the nonsense Tira spouted? He’s no monster. I used spells to help her conceive and ensure it was a son—but nothing more.”
Rose arched a brow. “Spells? No one guessed you were witch. Have you always been? Plotting and hiding?”
“Not always. My mother had a gift for spellcraft and taught me. I was not much interested until she died, until I watched Alan inherit what should be mine. My mother was noble—his was a common chieftain’s daughter. My mother’s dowry enriched the MacDonells.” His lips curled in a sneer. “It all should have been mine. Lillian should have been mine.”
Rose shook with fury. He had deceived them all for so long. She’d trusted him, never once suspected. And if she died here, no one else would suspect him and he would eventually succeed in murdering her father.
Roderick raised his brows expectantly. “Shall we get on with it? Even now your beloved Strathwick could be dying.”
