When the servants had finally vacated the room, Roderick moved to the center of the group. “Now, let us hear your grievance, MacPherson.”
Jamie stepped forward, his pale blue eyes burning. He was enormous and threatening, thick biceps straining against the dun leather of his jack. “Why was my betrothed permitted to travel such a distancealone?”
Roderick made a soft sound of irritation. “My lord, I told you, no onepermittedher. She just did it.”
Jamie’s pale, icy gaze cut to Rose. “Is this true? You fetched this man to heal your father? This is why you’ve delayed our marriage?”
“Aye,” Rose said, meeting his gaze unapologetically. “He is a great healer. I knew if anyone could help my father, it was him.”
“And did he heal Alan?”
Rose could tell by the look on his face that he already knew the answer, which made her belly turn again. “Nay.”
He shook his head in disappointment. “Why did you not consult me on this, Rose?”
Rose let out an incredulous breath. “Why would I? He’s my father. I don’t even know you.”
“I am to be your husband. We are betrothed. You should consult me about these matters. We’ve been writing for months—why did you never seek my counsel?”
Rose shrugged. It had never occurred to her to ask his counsel. In truth she hadn’t asked anyone’s counsel—she hadn’t needed to. She’d known exactly what she’d wanted to do.
He waited expectantly for an answer.
“I know not,” she finally said.
“I see.” He crossed his substantial arms over his thick chest and frowned reproachfully. “If you had at least told me what you planned, I could have let you know the evil you’ve invited into your home.” He turned to face the others, his gaze cutting to William, who seemed rather bored by the proceedings.
“I pray you,” Rose said, “explain this grievance to us. How did Lord Strathwick use witchcraft to murder your father?”
“We have no direct feud with the Strathwick MacKays, but our friends the Sinclairs do.” Jamie pointed to William. “This man’s father and my father both wanted the same Sinclair woman for a bride.” He dropped his arm. His gaze scanned his audience. “Since the Sinclairs would never give a woman of theirs to a MacKay, she married my father. Shortly after, she fell ill. When Strathwick got word of it, he and his wicked son disguised themselves to infiltrate our home. Once there, he killed my father and stole my stepmother.”
Rose frowned at William, who unhelpfully maintained his air of ennui. She turned back to face her betrothed. “How do you know Lord Strathwick killed your father? Maybehisfather did it.”
Jamie sneered contemptuously at her. “Isawhim. Go on—ask him if he did it.”
William lifted a shoulder. “It’s true.”
Isobel, who had been listening quietly, with wide eyes, said, “This doesn’t sound like witchcraft to me. Lord Strathwick had gone with his father to steal a woman—such things happen all the time. No doubt your father offered resistance and he died. It is the way of things. You know this.”
Rose nodded in agreement and asked Jamie, “How do you know it was witchcraft?”
“Because my father was hale as a horse then was suddenly felled with the same ailment that was killing my stepmother.” He took a threatening step toward William, but the earl of Kincreag stepped casually into his path to intercept him. Jamie spun away, hands fisted at his sides.
Rose spread her hands in front of her in a placating manner. “My lord, many ailments are highly contagious.”
He turned his irate gaze on Rose. “Including bleeding to death from a miscarriage?”
Rose’s eyes widened. One look at William’s grim expression confirmed the truth of this.
“That’s not possible,” the earl said, but he sent William a wary glance.
“Nevertheless it happened,” Jamie said. “I told you—Isawit. I saw my stepmother, on the ground bleeding, clutching her belly. I saw him touch her, and she was well. I was yelling for my father to hurry, to stop them. When he came, Strathwick thrust his son at my father. The next thing I knew, my father was on the floor and the MacKays were leaving with my stepmother.” He swallowed hard, his throat working with emotion, his eyes like blue fire. “We could find no wounds on my father, yet he suffered horribly…then he began to…bleed. From his orifices. Then he died.” His gaze scanned the silent room, daring them to counter this story.“Witchcraft.”
The earl gave William a measuring look, then asked, “How long ago was this?”
“Eleven years,” William said.
Rose felt weak—his answer was an admission. She remembered back to the moor, when he’d grabbed her wrist and told her he could hurt her with a touch. Gillian’s hands covered her mouth, her gray eyes enormous above them. Isobel sat in a nearby chair, staring at William in horror. They all looked at him as if he were a monster. But he didn’t notice them—his gaze was on Rose, and she could not hide her dismay. He saw it, and his lip curled slightly. He looked away, back to Jamie, as if he’d expected no better from her.
