The Witch and The Warrior (36 page)

“I don't give a damn what she wants,” Robert snarled. “She must be returned to me so she can be burned.”

“Good Lord,” said Alex, sounding startled, “that's a bit harsh, don't you think?”

“That is her punishment.”

“Well, I can't say I approve of that,” mused Alex, clicking his tongue. “I mean, if we all went around burning every young girl who rejected her suitor—”

“I'm not talking about Isabella!” snapped Robert.

Alex regarded him in bewilderment. “You're not?”

“Give the witch to me, MacDunn, or I shall not rest until every man, woman, and child in your clan is reduced to a hot stew of flesh and blood.”

Alex frowned. “Does this mean you don't want Isabella?”

“Forget Isabella!” he thundered.

“Well, that is a feat easier said than done, I'm afraid,” Alex told him. “Perhaps you haven't noticed, but the lass loves to be the center of attention—which I suspect she gets from you—”

“Hear me, MacDunns!” shouted Robert, deciding to appeal directly to the clan. “Your mad laird has placed you in terrible danger by bringing an evil witch and murderer into your midst…”

“Nonsense!” shouted Owen, wagging a gnarled finger in the air. “The lass would never harm a soul!”

“…who viciously murdered her own father,” continued Robert, “by casting a hideous spell over him that sucked out his spirit and delivered it straight to the devil.”

“Did she, now?” snorted Reginald. “Then maybe we should ask her to do the same to you!”

Robert stared up at the jeering elder in confusion. Why the hell weren't these ignorant louts afraid of Gwendolyn, as her own clan had been?

“The witch has cast a horrible pestilence on my people and lands,” he told them dramatically, “to punish us for trying to put an end to her wickedness. From the day your feebleminded laird stole her, scores of MacSweens have died in the most horrendous agony, their flesh consumed by fetid black sores. Our crops have rotted in violent storms, in which unearthly winds have uprooted house, tree, and animal alike, smashing them against the ground as she tries to destroy us—”

“Liar!”
shouted an enraged woman's voice. “How can you stand there and tell such vile falsehoods?”

Surprised, both the MacDunns and the MacSweens turned to gaze at Isabella, who was leaning out of one of the castle windows.

“Isabella!” yelled Brodick, “get back inside at once!”

“No,” returned Isabella defiantly. “Not when my uncle sits down there telling such ridiculous fabrications!” She leaned out even farther to ensure that everyone could see her. “Shall I tell them the truth, dear uncle?”

“Go and haul her back inside, Brodick,” Alex ordered between clenched teeth, “before she falls and breaks her bloody neck.”

“When I get her, I may break it for her,” muttered Brodick, moving swiftly away.

“Isabella, my child,” said Robert smoothly, “I am deeply relieved to see that you are well. Your dear father has been overcome with worry. Come to me, my sweet, and I shall take you home.”

“You would take me to a place where the starving MacSweens are dying from some ghastly scourge, and unearthly winds are destroying forests and homes?” Isabella asked sarcastically. “Your concern for my welfare is truly touching.”

“That does seem a wee bit odd,” observed Owen, knitting his white brows together.

“There was no pestilence after Gwendolyn left,” Isabella shouted, “nor were there storms, or winds, or uncommon occurrences of any kind! He only says this to make you think she is evil, when in fact the only evil one here is the man you see befo—”

Her tirade ended abruptly as Brodick grabbed her by the waist and yanked her back through the window.

         

“What are you doing?” Isabella shrieked, struggling to escape his grasp. “I'm not finished!”

“Yes, you are,” Brodick assured her. “And if I ever find you doing such a dangerously foolish thing again, Isabella, I swear to you I will make certain you cannot sit for a month!”

“How dare you!” she raged, trying to break free. “I'm trying to help Gwendolyn! Robert is filling their heads with lies!”

“You have already helped her. You have exposed Robert's charges against her for the falsehoods they are. You needn't put yourself in any further danger by falling out the window or getting shot by one of Robert's men.”

“No!” she cried, struggling violently against him. “I must help her more!”

“Isabella, stop!” He gave her a hard shake.
“Enough!”

Startled by the anger in his voice, she suddenly stopped and gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“Forgive me, Bella,” he apologized, instantly easing his grip on her. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Isabella swallowed thickly and shook her head. “You didn't,” she said, her voice small and forlorn. “It's not that.”

“Then what is it?”

She hesitated a moment, then inhaled a ragged breath and whispered brokenly, “I didn't know.”

“Didn't know what?” asked Brodick, gently capturing the silver drop trickling down her cheek. “Tell me.”

“They were so cruel to her,” she said, the words choked with misery. “Everyone was, because they—we—thought she was evil. 'Twas common knowledge, so none of us ever thought to question it. And whenever anyone grew sick, or died, or a crop failed, or milk soured, or bread wouldn't rise, we blamed Gwendolyn.”

Brodick regarded her grimly and said nothing.

“But when they said that she had killed her father…I knew that couldn't be right.” She bit her trembling lip. “I'd seen them, you see, walking together on the hill. I used to go sometimes and hide in the deep grasses when I wanted to be alone. And they would be walking—just the two of them, because no one else would go near her—and they'd be holding hands, and he'd be telling her the most marvelous stories about a great warrior called the mighty Torvald. Then they would sit on the ground, and he would tell her things that he thought she should know, about birds and clouds, or the world that lives under a rock when you turn it over….” Her voice began to break. “And Gwendolyn would look at him with such
love….
” The words disintegrated into tears.

“Shhh, Bella,” soothed Brodick, wrapping her in his arms. “It's all right.”

“No, it isn't. Because I knew there was something wrong when Robert said she had murdered her father—but I didn't do anything. I just let them find her guilty. But how could Gwendolyn have killed the only person in the world she really loved?”

“She couldn't have,” Brodick agreed quietly.

“I believed she was a witch, and told myself it didn't matter,” she confessed, her voice sodden with contempt. “I thought that even if she didn't kill him, she was responsible for all kinds of other terrible things, so she deserved to die. And then I just put it from my mind. I chose a pretty gown to wear, and I laughed and flirted with you while they tied her to that awful stake—and set her afire—” She began to sob.

“Hush, Bella,” crooned Brodick, tenderly stroking her hair. “You couldn't have saved her. Your people had feared her for years and were determined to burn her. There was nothing you could have done to change that.”

“But I should have tried. I should have said something in her defense. But instead I remained silent.” She buried her face in the warm mantle of his plaid and wept uncontrollably.

“And yet tonight you leaned out of a tower in the midst of a battle and challenged Robert's false allegations against Gwendolyn.” Brodick grasped her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes. “Do you realize Robert could have had you shot just to silence you?”

“I don't care,” she told him fiercely. “At least the MacDunns would know the truth about Gwendolyn.”

Brodick stared at her a moment, overwhelmed by her unexpected courage.

And then he bent his head and crushed his lips against hers.

         

“…and therefore I shall be forced to destroy this holding and everyone in it,” finished Robert menacingly.

A long silence followed.

“Do you hear me, MacDunn?” he thundered.

Alex peered over the parapet, politely stifling a yawn. “Forgive me, Robert,” he apologized, stretching, “but you were talking for so long I found my mind wandering a bit. What were you saying?”

Robert's face contorted with fury. “Shoot them!”

A volley of burning arrows vaulted into the air, making a graceful arc of flame against the velvet sky before they dipped and rained upon the battlements.

“Sweet Jesus!” shouted Munro, grabbing his blazing shoulder. “I'm hit!”

Cameron quickly whipped off his plaid and threw it over Munro's shoulder, extinguishing the flames.

“By God, Cameron,” Munro said between clenched teeth, “ 'tis noble of you to bare that ivory backside of yours again just for me.”

“Be grateful it's a warm night,” joked Cameron, “or I might have thought twice about it. Steady, now,” he commanded, gently easing Munro against the stone floor. “Breathe deep. If it's not in too far we can take the arrow out straightaway.”

“Are you going to give her to me, MacDunn?” demanded Robert.

Alex gripped the hilt of his sword, focusing on the cold steel pressing against his heated palm. “Never,” he swore.
Instead I'm going to kill you, you bastard.

“Then prepare to die!” Robert raised his sword to signal the next volley of arrows.

“Stop!”
cried a high, desperate voice.

Alex irritably shifted his gaze from Robert, wondering why Brodick still hadn't brought Isabella under control.

His heart froze.

It was Gwendolyn, struggling to balance herself on one of the tower merlons as a group of MacDunns rushed anxiously toward her.

“Stay back!” she warned. “Come one step closer and I'll jump.”

“No one move!” commanded Alex, terrified that she might slip and fall if they startled her. “Gwendolyn,” he began, affecting a nonchalance that completely belied his anxiety, “just what, exactly, do you think you are doing?”

“I cannot bear this,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I cannot bear the thought that some of your clan may die because of me.”

“We're happy to do it, lass!” said Owen grandly. “These MacSween scoundrels need to be taught a lesson, just as the mighty Torvald would do to them!”

“I'm going to whip up another batch of that potion,” Lachlan added, “only this time I'll make it so strong they'll be spewing their bowels out their eye sockets!”

“And then we're going to feed them to the frogs!” finished Reginald enthusiastically.

“Come down, Gwendolyn,” interjected Alex. “We can discuss this better if you are over here.”

“You don't understand,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He will never give up.”

“Perhaps not.” Alex slowly moved along the parapet toward the tower. “But I don't intend to let him have you.”

“And how much blood will be shed because of me?” She gazed at him sadly, her eyes two silver pools against the paleness of her face. “How much death will I have brought to your people?”

“I knew the risks when I took you, Gwendolyn.”

“No, MacDunn,” she said, her voice laced with pain. “You didn't.”

She turned away from him suddenly, and his heart constricted with terror.

“Shoot me, Robert!” she commanded, opening her arms wide in invitation. “Let us bring this to an end!”

“Hold!”
roared Robert as his warriors instantly took aim at her. “The first man to release an arrow is dead!”

Their arrows taut against the strings of their bows, his warriors regarded him in amazement.

“What in bloody hell is the matter with you?” demanded Derek. “Are we here to kill the witch or not?”