“It’s a dark blue,” Strathwick said softly. “And it pulses with life. See it as such, a throbbing cloud in your chest.”
Rose imagined it, a pulsing, shimmering ball of midnight blue.
“It’s all in your mind. It’s yours to command if you wish. Now shift it, send it up, to your shoulders, down your arms—”
Rose gasped. She’d done just as he said and feltsomething warm and tingling rush down her arms. Her eyes sprang open, and she gazed at Strathwick warily.
He stared back at her, his face grim. “You feel it, don’t you?”
She nodded, speechless with disbelief and wonder. He was teaching her, yet he didn’t seem pleased.
“Now don’t lose it.” He nodded to Wallace’s wound again. “Tell me what you feel.”
“Very well.” The magic inside her pulsed in her breast, stronger now than it had ever been before, twisting and turning on itself, eager for an outlet.
“Send it to your hands,” Strathwick said, as if he could see it in her mind.
Again, Rose imagined it moving down her arms, and she felt the corresponding tingle and warm rush down to her fingers.
“Now feel it.”
Rose placed her hands just over Wallace’s wound. She saw the sharp black and burgundy streaks again.
“Stop looking and start feeling,” Strathwick urged.
Rose bit her lip and willed her hands to feel something. She was startled by Strathwick’s hands over hers, his fingers sliding between hers and holding her lightly. His hands glowed sapphire blue all around hers. She felt a deep throb up her arms.
“Do you feel it?”
Rose nodded. Wallace’s pain radiated up through her palm like heat from a fire, washing over her in pricks and aches. Rose resisted the urge to flinch away from it. Strathwick released her hand, but when she would have drawn back, he said, “No. Place your hands over mine.”
She slid her hands over his, her fingers curling gently between his. Her hands were so pale and delicate next to his large ones.
He turned his head toward her, his face so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek. She looked at him, waiting, her breath short with the mingled excitement of what they were doing.
“Are you ready?”
“Aye.”
He turned his head away and Rose focused on their hands. He placed them over Wallace’s wound. She felt the slick blood on the backs of her fingers where she held onto Strathwick’s hands. She gasped when she saw it, so different from what she’d been imagining. The sapphire blue washed down his arms like a dam breaking, pouring over her hands. Power flowed through her fingers and palms, sending energy and warmth up her arms. His magic surrounded the dark, angry colors of Wallace’s wound. Then she felt a change in his magic, like a line being reeled in, and it washed back over her, taking the pain with it.
It was over quickly. Rose struggled to catch her breath, the strength of his power leaving her breathless and stunned. A faint blue glow lingered around their hands when Strathwick pulled away. Rose disentangled her fingers from his. Blood stained their hands and Wallace’s skin, but when Strathwick used the discarded shirt to wipe Wallace’s side, it was clear, the wound gone. Only a slight redness remained as proof anything had once been there.
Wallace moved gingerly at first, then leaned forward,gaping down at his midsection. “A saint, you are. This is twice you’ve healed me. How can I ever repay you?”
Strathwick stood, grimacing as he did, his hand over his ribs. “You repay me tenfold with your loyalty and friendship.” He walked stiffly to the cottage wall and sank down against it. Wallace fussed around him, bringing a plaid and food, wanting to know what else he could do.
“A fire,” Strathwick said, and Wallace was gone, off to gather what kindling could be found on the moor.
Rose knelt beside Strathwick. “When the fire is built, I’ll make you a physik for the pain and to help you sleep.”
“That would be fine.”
Rose stayed with him, unable to make herself move. He had shown her something wondrous on this night, something only she could see because of her magic. She felt bound to him somehow and was confused by it, wondering if he felt this new connection or if it was just her. The wind blew across them and she shivered, then noticed his hair. He kept it short and neat, like a warrior’s. She’d just been admiring it the night before, and so she noticed the change. She touched a lock at his temple. He drew back slightly, but when her fingers followed, he let her touch him.
“This wasn’t all gray yesterday. And now it is.” She fingered it a moment more, perhaps longer than necessary. She dropped her hand and gazed at him. He returned her look, solemn and silent. She whispered, “Youarea saint.”
He shook his head. “No.”
