She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Maybe he was right, but she didn’t know if she could. She tried to imagine telling her father what she’d just told William, and her mind shied away, afraid.
“I will think about it,” she said carefully.
That seemed to satisfy him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should go,” he murmured against her skin, “before someone discovers us.” But he made no move to leave. He continued to cradle her, his lips pressed to her temple.
“No.” Rose slid her arms around his neck and held him fast. “I don’t care. Stay with me tonight.”
He hesitated a moment, then sank back into the mattress beside her. She turned into his arms, snuggling deeper, content as she’d never been before and feeling a bit guilty for her happiness. With her father still so ill, it seemed wrong for her to be lying here, lazing in her lover’s arms. But what else could they do but wait for Sir Philip to return with Sir Donnan? As she was drifting to sleep, Conan crept up between them, as close as he could get, and settled between their knees.
Jamie MacPherson slumped against the table in his chambers, his head thick and sluggish with whisky. Someone tapped at the door, and Jamie’s man opened it. There was some murmuring, then the scrape of a stool.
With great effort, he raised his head, squinting at his guest. It was the uncle.
“What do you want?” Jamie’s speech was slurred. He cleared his throat and made himself sit up straighter, though he still felt himself swaying gently.
The usually jovial uncle was very grave. “I want to make amends afore you leave in the morn. Your quarrel is with Rose and Strathwick, not with me. I will soon be chieftain of the Glen Laire MacKays, and I want no feud with the MacPhersons.”
“Too late.”
“Is it?”
Jamie tried to fasten his gaze on him, but the red-haired man swam in and out of focus. “What mean you?”
Roderick considered him. “What if I can give you your revenge?”
Jamie’s brows drew together in confusion.
“The wizard and his family. I want him dead, too—”
“Why do you want him dead?”
“Because he killed my wife.”
Jamie scratched at his head. This conversation wasn’t making sense. “I thought she died in childbirth.”
Roderick leaned forward, blue eyes fierce. “Rose told me she was alive after Liam’s birth, so Strathwick must have killed her. I have been to the next village, right outside the glen. There is a witchpricker there. I have told him a witch has come to Glen Laire. The villagers had suspected something of the sort, as their oats were struck with a plague, so hearing a traveling witchpricker was near, they asked him to root out the witch. I hinted to the elders that if they take care of the witch, we will make sure they are well supplied with oats through the winter.”
Jamie felt as if he were underwater, the uncle’s words not quite penetrating his mind, his body swaying in the thick current.
“You want me to give them oats?”
The uncle’s jaw hardened, and he looked skyward for a moment. “Try to follow. You will have your revenge on Strathwick. He is with Rose now, in her bed.”
Black fury shot through Jamie, and he tried to stand, stumbling and falling against the table. “That blackguard! The whore!”
The uncle was beside him, his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, urging him back down on his stool.
“Save it. Save the hate. Use it. He will have to leave her sometime. Your task is to make certain he and his daughter make it to the next village and into the hands of the witchpricker.”
Jamie nodded, his fury clearing away some of the drunken fog. “Witchpricker. Next village.”
“Good. Rest now. I have someone watching her chambers. I will alert you when he leaves.”
William woke with a start, gasping for air. Something sat on his chest, crushing him. He could not move at first, but with a great effort he thrust his arm out. Nothing was there. He found himself swiping frantically at naught but air. He propped himself up on his arm, panting. A nightmare. Nothing more.
When his heart slowed, he put his hand on the woman sleeping beside him. In the gray predawn light he could make out the curve of her cheek, the sweep of lashes. He was not sorry about what they’d done. He wanted her with him always. He only hoped she wouldn’t find more unhappiness at Strathwick.
He yawned so wide that his jaw cracked. He was surprised by how tired he was. His limbs felt leaden. Hestarted to sink back into the bed when he thought of his daughter. He should be in his chambers when she woke. He dragged himself from the bed, dislodging the dog sleeping between them. It resettled itself against Rose’s belly. He found his clothes and dressed slowly, lethargically, finally pulling his shirt over his head and looping his sword belt over his shoulder, too tired to actually buckle it on.
