“Then I will send someone after him, to fetch him back to us so he can marry you!”
Rose shook her head. “He knows I love him. He won’t marry me. He can’t.”
“What?” Her father’s thick gray brows drew together with indignantion. “Is he already married?”
“No…he lost his first wife in childbirth…but he saved his daughter. He’s afraid to go through that again, to be forced to choose, so he pushes people away. In the end, he pushed me away, too. I thought he’d changed his mind…but I suppose it just frightened him more.” She dashed away her tears and gave her father a tremulous smile. “It’s fine…I’ll always love him, but I understand him, too. Better now than I ever did before.”
Her father gazed at her sadly, obviously wanting to give her what she desired. But only William could do that. Perhaps she would write him a letter, tell him how she’d healed her father. Maybe then he would truly believe that he wasn’t alone.
The door opened, and a servant bustled in with a tray topped with a steaming bowl of stew and a slab of bread. She set it on the table beside the bed and at a gesture from Alan, left discreetly.
“Here, eat something.” He waved to the tray.
Rose’s belly rumbled in response to the rich fragrances of beef and rosemary, and she took the stew gratefully.
“I hope you will use this gift wisely,” her father said, watching her steadily as she ate.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned forward and reached out his thin, bony hand as if he wanted to touch her. He slumped back and instead touched his own hair, near his forehead. “Your hair…it’s turning white.”
Rose set the stew aside and fingered her hair, pulling a hank of it in front of her. A large quantity of silvery white sprinkled the lock in her hand. She clasped it in both hands, her heart swelling, as if it were some connection to William.
“This healing,” her father continued, “is a great effort for you…and appears to age you. You cannot heal everyone. Do not try. You are a fine healer without the magic. Only use it when absolutely necessary and for those truly worthy.”
Rose nodded, still staring down at the hair in her hand. Her mind turned back to William and the night they’d spent together. Thinking of him was like a hole in her heart, hollow and aching. But he’d said he loved her, and she’d believed him. She still believed him. She remembered what else he’d said to her.I think you should tell your father. You will be angry with him until you do—and if he dies, you may never stop being angry. Tell him.
“Da?” she said uncertainly, plaiting the hair in her fingers, eyes focused on her mindless task, not seeing it. “There is something I wish to ask you.”
“Aye?” He sounded tired.
She should let him rest, not burden him with more worries. He was not fully recovered. She might have saved him from the latest attack, but there was still a witch trying to murder him. She began to turn those thoughts in her mind. If Sir Donnan wasn’t here, then how—
No! Tell him!It was William’s voice in her mind, and it strengthened her.
“I know why you sent us away twelve years ago. I didn’t understand when I was young, and I was angry—”
Her father chuckled ruefully. “Don’t I remember! You would rail at me every time I came to visit at you, begging me to take you home. And then running away!” He looked skyward and shook his head. He was smiling when he looked back at her. His smile faded when she didn’t return it.
“Aye, I ran away. And you sent me back. Why?”
He blinked, seemingly at a loss, then said, “It’s what your mother wanted, for you to learn from Crisdean Beaton. And you did, did you not? He wrote me what a fine healer you’d become.”
Rose sighed, abandoning the plait and staring down at the blanket again. This was harder than she’d thought it would be. “Aye, I learned a great deal from Crisdean. It’s just…” She closed her eyes. “It’s…it’s nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”Coward.
“I don’t think I can, love. Ever since you’ve returnedfrom Skye you’ve had shadows in your eyes. I thought it was because of my illness and your inability to heal me, but I see it’s something else. Tell me what ails you, Rose, and mayhap I can make it better.”
She shook her head, eyes still closed tightly. “No, I was wrong. Nothing will make it better…except forgetting, trying to put it from my mind.”
He was silent for a long moment, then said, “You’re scaring me—and me an old sick man. Tell me. Now.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You aren’t too old to take over my knee.”
Rose gave a snort of laughter at that, and when she looked up at him, his gray brows were raised nearly to his hairline.
“Tell me. Why did you run away?”
“It was the MacLean…he made me do things—and he said if I told he would have me and my sisters burned for witchcraft. So Icouldn’ttell you. But you knew I hated it there.” Her voice shook suddenly, thick with emotion. “Youknewand still you made me stay.”
Her father did not say anything for a long time; he kept his gaze steady on her. Then it fell away, until he stared at the ground. “What things did he make you do?”
