The witchpricker gasped, his gaze darting to William’s other hand, as if this might be a trick and he’d find theother the mangled mess. William held them both up for his inspection.
“How is this possible? Your hand was ruined.”
“Aye, I know. Do you understand, Mr. Forsyth, what you’re dealing with? Let the child go or you will not leave here alive.”
The witchpricker’s thin throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I will not stop my fight against the enemy, againstGod’s enemies, until there is no more breath in my body. Satan will not prevail so long as I live!”
Splendid. Perhaps it was better if the man was dead. Then he couldn’t run to the king or regroup the villagers to lynch them all.
William felt someone beside him and looked down. Rose had joined him, leaning heavily against the doorframe.
She touched his arm and gazed up at him with worried eyes. “Jamie MacPherson is coming.”
William stepped away from the door to look. MacPherson rode up the street with a handful of men, looking about him with the same bewilderment William had felt. When he saw Kincreag, then Drake, his gaze cut to William and Rose. His nose was a swollen, misshapen mess, the skin around it mottled purple and black.
He pulled his dag out and trained it on William. “Who did you kill, aye?” The gun barrel stabbed the air at Drake before leveling on William again. “Who did you kill to save him?” His voice was thick and nasal.
“Put the gun away, MacPherson,” Lord Kincreag said, annoyed.
“Stay out of this, my lord—”
The earl stepped forward, his black eyes narrowed with anger. “I’m in it, MacPherson. Now put the gun away before I make you verra sorry.”
MacPherson pointed the dag at Kincreag. “No! The bastard killed my father and dammit, he will pay!” He dismounted, gun aimed at William again. “You will fight me, Wizard, just like we agreed.”
William held out his hands, placating. “I don’t want to fight you, MacPherson.” He had other worries right now—his daughter in the hands of a zealous witchpricker was primary.
“Not your decision.” MacPherson closed the distance between them until the barrel of his dag nearly touched William’s forehead. His lips pulled back from his teeth, his eyes wild. “I wonder, if I shot you here, could you heal yourself?”
William said nothing. His heart beat swiftly and his muscles tensed, waiting for MacPherson to make a move.
MacPherson pressed the barrel into William’s forehead. “I’ll make certain you’re dead, Wizard. I’ll cut off your head and burn it.”
“Leave off!” Rose cried, pushing away from the doorframe and coming to stand between them. She put her hands on MacPherson’s arm, trying to force it down. “You were a child when your father was killed and William was acting on his chief’s orders—”
MacPherson’s hand shot out, striking Rose across the face and sending her reeling back into the stones of the cottage. Black fury surged through William. He grabbed Jamie’s arm, wrenching it down. The dag discharged harmlessly into the dirt.
MacPherson pulled a dirk from his boot and slashed. William moved back but not soon enough. It slashed across his belly, slicing through plaid and shirt and into his skin. Before he could react, the wolves from the cottage flew out the door and attacked MacPherson, snarling and ripping. He screamed, trying to beat them off, but there were too many.
“No, Deidra!” William bellowed. “Make them stop!”
“I can’t!” she cried. “They don’t want to!”
He whirled toward his daughter. “Make them!”
Tears streaked her face, and the witchpricker was such a shade of white that William thought that soon they would have no worries about him—he would faint.
Deidra’s brow furrowed, as if she were in deep concentration. Abruptly, the wolves left MacPherson and docilely returned to the cottage, resuming their place before Deidra and the witchpricker, muzzles glistening with fresh blood.
Rose knelt beside MacPherson, who lay motionless on the ground. William dropped down beside her. The lad was covered with blood, his throat ravaged, but he was still alive, his eyes wide and staring, the breath laboring out of him. Blood pulsed from his throat and foamed at his lips as he tried to speak.
Rose met William’s eyes and shook her head slightly. “You cannot. He wants you dead. He’ll kill you as soon as you heal him.”
“I must. Iowehim.” Besides, Deidra was responsible, and William had to set things right before he taught his daughter control.
With great reluctance, he set his hands on the dying man.
Rose watched, her heart in her throat, as William healed Jamie MacPherson. When he fell back, his hand to his throat, Rose rushed to his side, pulling his head into her lap and shielding him with her body. Her own shoulder ached with a deep pain from healing Drake, but she was functional. Though seriously wounded, Drake had not been near death when they’d found him on the mountainside.
