It had all seemed so simple before she’d actually met him. The Wizard of the North was to be the answer to her prayers. She’d imagined that if she could just bring him here, all of her problems would disappear, unhappiness would dissolve, and she could finally marry her Jamie and live a happy, fruitful life, the past finally behind her.
What a simpleton she’d been. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since then. Her father was still dying, and her reunion with Jamie had been nothing like she’d envisioned. She could no longer see the future she’d once imagined even if her father was somehow miraculously healed, an event she no longer had any faith would occur.
She thought of sleeping, as she was very tired and it was late, but thoughts and memories swirled through her head. She didn’t want to think or feel anymore. She was raw from all that had happened. She needed distraction.
She crossed to the small connecting closet that she’d converted into a place to dry and store herbs. She’d had shelves installed from floor to ceiling along two walls; they were filled with racks of drying herbs, bottles, jars,and small sacks of the same. Several of the top shelves were full of books and manuscripts she’d acquired over the years. A sense of calm and comfort descended on her.Thiswas her calling. The villagers of Glen Laire needed her. She would spend the next few days in the village tending the sick, so she must prepare.
After lighting candles, she checked on the drying herbs, then brought a selection to the table to grind into a fine powder. The industry of it soothed her. She recited the uses for each herb in her mind. There was no room for other thoughts beyond healing. Her eye caught on a glittering bottle that had tipped over on a nearby shelf. Sapphire dust. She set it upright, her fingers lingering, watching the way it sparkled in the candlelight, snagging something in her memory, something she’d once read. She turned to the books on the shelf behind her, running her finger over them until she found her mother’s.
She took it back to the table with the sapphire dust. Her mother had not been a healer, so though Rose had occasionally perused her mother’s diary, she’d never spent as much time studying it as she had the other healers’ texts she’d accumulated. But she did remember something her mother had written down, a spell of protection against evil using the sapphire dust.
The sapphire dust had been Crisdean Beaton’s. When he’d died, he’d left her all of his instruments and books and obscure ingredients. Though she’d made good use of most, she’d never had use for the sapphire dust, had never even opened the bottle. She pulled the cork free and sniffed, but it had no odor.
She set it aside and returned to the diary. It was full ofentries about her mother’s visions. Rose carefully turned the sewn together vellum pages until she reached the back of the book.Charm to hold back evil. It involved reciting a lengthy spell over the person to be protected while sprinkling a powder made from sapphire dust and other ingredients over and around them. Rose found a sheet of paper, quill, and ink, and copied the charm. She’d attempted spellcraft several times with no success. That was not where her talents lay. Perhaps with the help of her sisters this spell would succeed.
She was closing the diary when a jagged piece of vellum caught her attention. It dangled from the stitching down the center of the book, as if a page had been cut out. The remaining pages were blank. She stared at the protective charm, written in her mother’s flowing hand, for a long time. This was the last thing her mother had written…or was it? Had she written something else on the following page? Perhaps an explanation of why she’d needed a protective charm? How it had worked? Whatever it was, someone had removed it so no one else could read it.
The gray shadows of predawn lit the sky by the time she finished preparing the powder. She fetched Gillian, and together they crept through the castle, careful not to wake up the scores of men now sleeping in the hall, retinues of the earl of Kincreag, Sir Philip, and her betrothed. She knocked softly on her father’s door, then pushed it open.
Hagan sat in her father’s chair beside the bed, and Isobel slept in a chair near the fire. The dog was on the bed again. Rose gave Hagan a cross look, and he obligingly removed the dog from the room. Isobel was somuch like their late mother, Lillian—they had the same gift of visions, and Isobel even looked like her, with her silver-green eyes and curly red-gold hair. Surely if anyone could make the spell a success, it was Isobel. Rose woke her sister, and together the three of them placed the protective charm on their slumbering father.
Afterward the sisters gathered in Rose’s chambers. Rose flopped onto the bed while her sisters sat in chairs nearby. Rose knew why they’d followed her, what they wanted to talk about. She’d seen their speculative looks, but they waited for her to broach the subject. Rose didn’t know what to say. She felt miserable and foolish. Surely her sisters had never been so stupid in love as she had. They wouldn’t understand.
They spoke about trivialities until finally Isobel fixed her with a penetrating green stare and asked, “What are you going to do about Lord Strathwick?”
Rose kicked her shoes off and rubbed her aching feet. “Do? What do you mean?”
Gillian answered for Isobel. “The way he looks at you…the way you are with him. There is something more between you than you’ve told us.”
Rose looked down at her hands, her jaw and throat tight. “I have a betrothed, remember?”
“Aye,” Isobel said. “I had one, too, but then I met Philip. The heart doesn’t read betrothal contracts, Rose. The heart wants without logic…and I think your heart is wanting.”
Isobel saw too much. She always had. Rose rubbed her forehead with her fingers before meeting her sisters’eyes. “Aye, there is something more between us, but it matters not. He will never marry me—”
“You don’t know that,” Gillian said.
“Aye, I do. He told me.” Rose closed her eyes and swallowed, her heart sinking at the memory, the freezing wretchedness washing over her afresh. “I…I practically propositioned him just before Jamie arrived. He was eager enough to lay with me but made it clear he wanted nothing more past that.”
Gillian and Isobel exchanged dismayed looks. Gillian reached for Rose’s hand and gripped it tightly. Rose squeezed her fingers back, comforted by the gesture and their concern.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Gillian said softly. “What of Lord MacPherson? Do you fancy him still? It’s been so long since you’ve seen him.”
When Rose didn’t respond, Isobel said, “He’s a very comely man.”
Rose nodded. “Aye, he is.” She wished that were enough.
“You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want,” Gillian reminded her.
“I know that. I don’t know what I want right now. I can’t have William, and I don’t know Jamie anymore.” She shook her head firmly. “I don’t want to call off the betrothal. I should at least try to get to know him. He’s angry now, and who wouldn’t be, considering what he believes of William. He’s not himself. He deserves more from me.”
Isobel searched Rose’s face. “Can Strathwick do what MacPherson claims? Kill a person with a touch?”
“Aye. I didn’t want to believe it, but it must be true.”
Gillian’s dark brows drew together with worry. “He’s dangerous. What if he gets angry—”
Rose shook her head. “No, it’s not that simple. When he heals someone, he takes their ailment inside himself. I’ve seen him do it. He can give that ailment to someone else. But if he has not healed, he’s no different from you or me. And if the ailment is minor, it will not kill anyone.”
