Rose climbed onto the bed beside Liam. She wanted to be certain her uncle would have to get close to her to retrieve his son after she healed him. “Tell me now, before I do it. Where is William?”
“No. I’ll tell you after.”
She slammed her fist into the bed. “Damn it! That’s not fair.”
“Not fair? My only child is dying. I have waited and planned and taught myself magic for years. Everythingrolled along smoothly. Alan wasted away. You latched onto the idea of the Wizard of the North like a dog to a bone, refusing to give it up. The more I warned against it, the more determined you became. He was just what I’d hoped for, a charlatan—the kind whose remedies do more harm than good. He was perfect. But now you’ve ruined everything. I’d never guessed you could do more than see colors. I’d never thought such a thing possible.”
Rose’s pulse raced as she grew afraid again. He would not be saying these things to her if he didn’t mean to kill her. And he knew she was no fool. They were both playing games, and they both knew it. Rose feared she couldn’t win this one. Roderick was clever enough to have hidden the fact that he was a wizard for years.
“Tell me where William is or I won’t do it.” Her voice shook with fear and determination.
He apparently saw that she meant it, because he sighed. “Very well. I’ll tell you. He’s in the village south of Glen Laire, the same one that lynched and burned your mother a dozen years ago. I happened to meet up with a witch-finder I’d met once in Edinburgh. He travels the country now, offering his services to communities in need. I sent them Strathwick—with the aid of your betrothed, of course. I doubt he’s actually been burned yet. Mr. Forsyth is a thorough man. No doubt he’s torturing the truth out of your beloved.”
Rose’s limbs went weak with fear. She put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “He harmed no one. How could you?”
“How could I not? He was the perfect person onwhom to place the blame of Alan’s death. But that is ruined now, too, as Alan is still very much alive.” His face hardened in sudden fury. “Everything is ruined, and now my son is dying.”
Rose didn’t think she could carry this charade out to the end. They both knew he would kill her—and yet if she didn’t heal Liam, she didn’t stand a chance. He could easily overpower her. Using her witchcraft was her only hope. William’s only hope.
She put her hands on Liam and called on her magic. It swirled up inside her, warm and pulsing. She sent it down her arms to her hands. It embraced the blackness around Liam’s heart, only this time the ailment didn’t leave as readily as her father’s and Tira’s had. It struggled to keep its hold on the heart. Her mouth opened in shock and pain. She redoubled her effort, commanding it to return. With the sudden force of a door unjamming, it rushed into her, slamming into her chest and stealing her breath.
Liam let out a lusty scream, balled fists raised to the heavens. His color strengthened until he nearly glowed a rich copper-orange. Rose collapsed onto the bed. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and every heartbeat ripped through her, excruciating to breathe. She could not move or speak; she could only stare mutely at the carved wooden canopy above, fighting for her next breath. And then the next. And the next.
Her uncle picked up Liam from where he screamed beside her. Her vision shimmered red with pain. She willed her arms to move, to grab him, but she had nocommand of her own limbs. He murmured to the child and moved away. Rose did not know how long she lay there, or where her uncle went, but suddenly he was beside her again, staring down at her.
“Youarea great healer,” he said, his voice soft with awe. “Like Finian the leper. That’s why it grieves me so to have to do this.”
“You promised,” she said, her voice a breathy croak. A vise crushed her chest. Speaking made her head swim. Pinpoints of light danced at the edges of her vision.
“I know,” he said, sounding disappointed. “But we both knew I was lying. You played the game and you lost. I will tell Alan that you followed your wizard lover and were attacked by broken men. We will all mourn you.Iwill mourn you.” He placed a fatherly hand on her hair, looking down at her with sadness and regret.
Rose closed her eyes, wishing she could smite him somehow through her head, but it didn’t work that way. She tried to lift her arms to grab him, but they were leaden.
“You were my favorite, you know. It was my idea to send you and your sisters away all those years ago. You were right, before. Iwasthe one who set the villagers on your mother. I feared what I did to Lillian would have consequences I didn’t anticipate or want, so I urged Alan to send you to safety. I cursed Lillian’s ring and gave it to Gillian. I feared your mother’s spirit would attempt to contact her. And you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to, removing items or placing shielding spells on objects so Isobel remains ignorant. I couldn’t bear to hurt any of you, but I needed you here, back at Lochlaire.I’d long meant for Alan to die of a wasting illness, and I needed witnesses, others to vouch that no poison or other foul means had been involved. I thought my lovely nieces would never suspect me, that they loved me as I loved them.” He took Rose’s face between his hands and stared at her, begging her to understand. “I never wanted to harm any of you. Do you understand? I loved you all as if you were mine.”
Rose wished she could spit in his face. As it was she could only stare at him with all the loathing in her heart. He had killed their mother, cursed Gillian, was slowly murdering their father, had given William to a witch-crazed mob, and now he planned to murder her. He loved no one but himself.
He disappeared from her line of vision. Rose’s breath came in small, painful gasps. Tears wet her hair at her temples. She was going to die, and Roderick would win. William would burn.William.
He was back, a large pillow between his hands. “I am sorry, Rose,” he said, as the pillow came down, blocking his face from her vision. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe as the linen pressed into her mouth and nose, stealing away what little breath she’d been capable of.
Grab him! Do it!She forced her arms to move. Pain tore through her, but she had him. She clutched the arms pressing the pillow over her face, and felt the blackness rush eagerly out of her. He tried to throw her hands off, but she clung to him as her strength returned. He cried out. She bucked frantically, throwing her uncle and the pillow off.
She slid onto the floor but quickly regained her feet, turning in a stance of readiness. There was no need to fight. Her uncle lay across the bed, motionless except for his eyes, blinking as he stared at the wooden canopy, occasionally twitching his fingers. She knew what he felt. The crushing pain made it impossible to move or speak. She stared down at him, devoid of even pity.
“I’m not sorry,” she said and left him there.
Chapter 19
William sat in the cellar alone. He did not know where his daughter was. He did not know what would happen when they came for him again. He opened and closed his hand—mangled the day before, now mended and whole. This would not go well for him. He kept it wrapped in the bloodstained bandage, hoping no one decided to check on it.
He tensed as the racket started up again—screaming, strange animal noises. He stared at the narrow slats of sunlight streaming between the boards covering his hole. What was happening up there? He was afraid to contemplate it. Something odd had been going on since sometime in the night. It had started with food being dropped into his hole. Two loaves of fresh crusty bread, a large chunk of meat, five apples, a bag of nuts, a sausage, a hot cooked eel, and an onion. Much better fare than any prisoner deserved—and all of it strangely damp but edible after William brushed the dirt off.
Then the screaming had started. At first it had been some far-off screams he’d paid no mind to, but soon they’d drawn closer, punctuated with squawking ducks, bleating sheep, and, near his hole, a savagely growlingdog that had soon been silenced by someone beating it. It had whimpered in pain for some time near his hole before it had either died or been removed. Then later there had been a pounding above him that had set the earth shaking. Dirt had crumbled from the walls and ceiling of his hole, and he’d feared he would be buried alive. A stampede.
Whatever was happening in the world above, it kept the villagers sufficiently occupied to forget about him for a very long time. He’d had plenty of time to think and worry. He’d given the witchpricker one name. Roderick MacDonell. He’d vowed he knew of no other MacDonell witches, and the witchpricker had seemed to believe him. He’d taken Deidra and sent William back to the cellar, presumably so they could verify his story, or take Roderick into custody…. Who knew? William couldn’t fathom what might happen. His only hope was that if he had to burn, Roderick would burn with him.
The hole in the ceiling opened. “Will? Are you down there?”
