The Witch and The Warrior (5 page)

“There,” Gwendolyn breathed, knotting the last stitch, “I believe that will hold if you are careful not to move too much. Now we need to bandage it.”

“I have only my shirt,” said Alex, vaguely disappointed that she had finished so quickly.

“That won't do,” Gwendolyn decided, critically eyeing the discarded garment. “It is soaked with blood.” She considered a moment, then grasped the fabric of her gown where it met her shoulder and yanked down, tearing off the sleeve. She quickly did the same with the other side.

“Did you sew that gown?” asked Alex as she reduced the sleeves to narrow strips of fabric and knotted them together.

“Yes—why?”

“I was just considering how easily the stitches gave way.”

She glanced at him, uncertain whether or not he was teasing. His expression was contained, but she thought she detected a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Your stitches will hold well enough if you are careful,” she informed him defensively as she wrapped the bandage around his chest. “But I think you will have to refrain from wielding your sword for a few days.”

“Then let us hope no one else comes after you for a while.”

“Robert came for Isabella as well,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “If you do not release her, Laird MacSween is certain to send more men to retrieve her. She is his only daughter.”

“Isabella will be released unharmed,” Alex replied. “I gave MacSween my word. Besides, she is of no use to me. Come here, Brodick,” he called, before Gwendolyn could ask what possible use he thought she was going to be. “Let the witch close that arm of yours.”

Brodick eyed her nervously. “It is fine, MacDunn. It can wait.”

“If you leave it, it may fester,” countered Alex. “Let her see to it.”

“It is not nearly as bad as I thought,” Brodick assured him, adjusting his sleeve to conceal the wound. “It does not bother me at all.”

“By God, she's frightened him with that business about casting a spell on his manhood!” burst out Cameron, roaring with laughter.

Alex gave Gwendolyn a warning look. “You will do nothing but fix his arm, is that clear?”

She nodded.

“Get over here, Brodick,” Alex commanded.

Reluctantly, Brodick approached Gwendolyn.

“Careful you don't make her angry,” Cameron teased. “There'll be many a lass left sorely disappointed.”

“You're next, Cameron,” announced Alex. “That cut in your scalp is turning your hair even redder, if that's possible.”

Cameron's face fell. “ 'Tis barely a scratch, MacDunn. There's no need for the witch to—”

“Worried about disappointing your wife, Cameron?” Brodick drawled as Gwendolyn examined his arm.

Cameron scowled.

“Why don't you heal his wound with witchcraft?” Alex asked, watching as Gwendolyn carefully bathed Brodick's gash.

She raised her eyes in confusion.

“You have special powers,” he reflected. “Let me see you use them.”

His scrutiny was unsettling. There was a powerful emotion smoldering within the depths of his blue eyes, a sentiment he was struggling to mask, which she could not immediately identify.

“If it's all the same to you, MacDunn,” began Brodick nervously, “I would prefer she not go to any trouble on my account.”

“Do you have these powers or don't you?” Alex persisted.

There it was. That lightning flash of emotion, so fleeting she nearly missed it. Yet in that brief glimpse, there was no mistaking what it was.

Yearning.

So this was why MacDunn had rescued her. He did not know of the stone, but apparently he believed she was a witch with unnatural powers. When his attempt to buy her failed, he developed a plan to rescue her, so determined was he to have control of her and her abilities.

He was no better than Robert, she realized bitterly.

“Of course I have great powers,” she lied. It was clear now that her very existence depended on this fabrication. If MacDunn believed she had no powers, he might well decide to either kill her himself, or send her back to her clan. “I am, after all, a witch.”

He nodded with satisfaction. “Good. I would hate to think I had just killed over a dozen men and invited war with the MacSweens for a woman who is of no earthly use to me.”

“The fact that I was about to be consumed by flames did not trouble you?”

“You were found guilty of serious crimes,” he replied. “It is not my way to interfere with another clan's justice. To do so is to risk war over matters that do not concern me. I have the welfare of my own people to consider.”

“That is most prudent of you,” observed Gwendolyn. “I am surprised you took such enormous risks today.”

“I plan to benefit from your powers,” he assured her. “The rewards you will bring me will far exceed the risks.”

Somehow she managed to refrain from striking him across the face. He intended to use her, just as Robert had hoped to do. No doubt he wanted her to bring him victory in war, render him invincible, and then fill his coffers with unimaginable riches. Why had she thought, even for an instant, that this mad warrior was beyond such selfish, shallow cravings?

“Can you use your powers to heal?” he demanded impatiently.

“I can, but only to a certain extent,” she lied, realizing the need for caution as she wove her claims. “I cannot cast a spell to close these wounds, or else I would have done so already for you.” She pulled several more strands of hair from her scalp and threaded her needle. “I can, however, call upon my powers to control the pain once the injuries are stitched.”

“Really?” MacDunn was obviously intrigued.

“That won't be necessary,” announced Brodick. “I don't believe I'll be feeling any pain. In fact,” he continued, rising, “my arm is already much—”

“You will demonstrate this on my men,” MacDunn interrupted, firmly pushing him down again.

“What about you?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I prefer to watch you cast your spell.”

“It may not be possible,” she warned, searching for a tangible excuse in case her “spell” failed. “There are many things I need, and I have brought nothing with me.”

“Tell Ned what you require so he can fetch these things while you stitch Brodick and Cameron.”

Gwendolyn considered a moment. “I will require five smooth, unblemished stones no larger than the palm of my hand,” she began. “I will also need a single, perfect feather from the wing of a sparrow hawk, a fistful of fresh, very green moss, a strip of bark from a pine tree, twelve crushed pine needles, six drops of blood, a freshly caught fish, a scoop of earth—”

“For God's sake, it's the middle of the night,” Alex complained. “How the hell is he supposed to catch a fish?”

“These are the things I require, MacDunn,” she informed him flatly. “If you cannot provide them, I cannot cast the spell.” She calmly began to stitch Brodick's arm.

“Fine,” he growled. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” she replied. “That is all.”

“See if you can find these things, Ned.”

The small warrior looped his bow over his shoulder and disappeared into the woods.

Brodick's arm was far simpler to close than MacDunn's chest had been. By the time Gwendolyn was mending the tear in Cameron's scalp, she was feeling somewhat confident in her stitching abilities.

“There, now,” she said, tying off the last of the thread. “Keep this clean, and it will heal very nicely.”

“Thank you, m'lady,” said Cameron, rising. “My wife would have been most upset to have me return with a gaping hole in my head. The lass is prone to rather unseemly fits of temper when it comes to my injuries.” His voice was gruff, but Gwendolyn sensed the warrior's fondness for his wife.

“I don't think Ned is going to find everything I need for my spell tonight,” she mused, relieved. “Perhaps we should just—”

At that moment Ned emerged through the trees. He went straight to Gwendolyn and deposited a knotted, squirming bundle at her feet.

“You'd better hurry,” he advised. “That fish won't last much longer.”

Reluctantly, Gwendolyn unknotted the bundle and unpacked the items. She examined each one carefully, searching for some flaw.

“What about the six drops of blood?” she demanded, seizing upon the missing item.

Ned held up his hand. “You will cut me when you need it.” “Actually, I don't believe I will need any blood for this spell,” she quickly corrected, sickened by the idea of cutting Ned's hand for her little ruse. “I can manage without it.”

She made a great show of arranging the five stones in a circle around the fire, occasionally staring at the moon and stars to give the impression that she was positioning the rocks in accordance with some complex celestial relationship. Once the stones were in place, she tore off a piece of moss and concealed it under each, then sprinkled a little earth over them. That done, she took her place by one of the stones, lay the now expired fish at her feet, and placed the feather and the strip of bark beside it in the shape of a cross.

“Now, each of you warriors must pick up exactly four pine needles and take your place by the remaining rocks,” she instructed, her voice low and solemn.

Brodick, Cameron, and Ned glanced at each other uneasily.

“But I'm not wounded,” Ned protested.

“Nevertheless, I need all of you to participate,” Gwendolyn said. “Only MacDunn can watch.”

The three warriors reluctantly took their positions.

“You have one rock too many,” pointed out Brodick, stooping to pick it up.

“That one is left for the spirits,” Gwendolyn quickly improvised. “Now slowly crush the needles between your thumb and forefinger to release the ancient essence of the woods, then raise them to your nostrils, close your eyes, and inhale deeply.”

The three warriors regarded her skeptically.

“You must do as I say,” Gwendolyn insisted, “or the spell won't work.”

Feeling foolish, they followed her instructions.

“Good. Now we must wait,” she said, closing her eyes and spreading her bare arms wide over the fire, “for the howling of the spirits.”

At that precise moment, Isabella stirred from her swoon. She took one look at them and screamed so loud she sent a flock of bats screeching in a furious cloud over their heads. Then she collapsed in a dead faint once more.

“Christ!” swore Cameron, swatting at a bat, “what the hell is wrong with that lass?”

“The spirits have howled,” Gwendolyn pronounced gravely, her eyes still closed. “They are with us.”

Brodick cracked open an eye.

“Close your eyes, Brodick,” Gwendolyn scolded.

He obeyed, uncertain how she had known, since her own eyes appeared tightly shut.

“Oh, great spirits of the darkness,” Gwendolyn moaned, swaying her arms over the fire, “I call upon you to relieve the suffering of these weak, foolish, ignorant, puny mortals.”

“Did the lass call us puny?” asked Cameron, baffled by her description.

“She must mean Ned,” Brodick decided.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Ned, opening his eyes.

“You can't think she is referring to me, Neddie,” Cameron scoffed. “That's plain enough, I think.”

“Or me,” added Brodick.

“Maybe you're the foolish, ignorant mortals,” Ned suggested testily.

Gwendolyn opened her eyes and planted her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Do you want me to cast this spell or don't you?”

The warriors exchanged sullen glances, then closed their eyes once more.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let's just hope the spirits didn't get annoyed with you and leave.” She closed her eyes and slowly circled her hands over the fire. “Oh, great spirits, I ask that you drain the feeble bodies of these warriors of poisons, illness, and pain, and fill them with strength.” Her voice began to crescendo as she continued. “Peel away the layers of their pathetic mortal suffering, that they may rest well tonight and feel better with the rising of the sun!”

A deafening crack of thunder shattered the stillness, immediately followed by a silvery streak of lightning. Dark, ominous clouds suddenly choked the clear cape of night, and a powerful wind blasted through the forest.

“By God, lassie,” Cameron marveled, his red hair blowing crazily around him, “I think you woke those spirits up!”

Brodick warily eyed the roiling sky. “Do you think she's made them angry?”

“Maybe they always react like this,” suggested Ned.

Another ribbon of lightning split the sky, followed by an explosion of thunder.

“Is this normal, lass?” Cameron shouted, his words muffled by the wind.

Gwendolyn regarded the sky in bewilderment. She had never witnessed such an abrupt change in the weather.

“Everything is fine,” she assured them loudly. “The spirits have heard my plea.”

They remained in their circle, watching the sky pitch and flash as a cool gale whipped their hair and clothes. And then, just as suddenly as it had burst upon them, the storm died. The wind gasped and was gone, and the clouds melted into the darkness, unveiling the silent, tranquil glow of the moon and stars once again.

“By God, that was something!” Cameron roared, slapping Brodick heartily on the back. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

“Did you see that, Alex?” asked Brodick, looking uneasy.

“Aye,” Alex said. “I saw.”

Brodick raised his arm and cautiously flexed it at the elbow. “I think my arm feels better.” He sounded more troubled than pleased.

“I
know
my head feels better!” Cameron said happily. “What about you, Neddie?”

“I have no wounds for the witch to heal.” Ned frowned. “That's odd,” he remarked, slowly turning his head from side to side. “My neck has been stiff and aching for a week, and suddenly it feels fine.”