The Witch and The Warrior (13 page)

“That's a story for girls,” interrupted David, rolling his eyes in disgust.

“You can't be certain of that,” Gwendolyn chided, feigning offense. “Maybe the princess gets swallowed up by a giant rat who chews her into little bloody pieces.”

That idea seemed to please him. “Does she?”

“Of course not. Princesses are never killed. That's the rule.”

“And that's why it's a story for girls,” grumbled David. “Or babies.”

“I can see you are not going to be easy to please,” Gwendolyn observed, sighing. “What kind of story would you like?”

“Tell me a story with a monster in it,” he suggested.

“Very well.” She thought for a moment. “My father used to tell me a really terrifying one about a great, black monster who was bigger than this castle. His teeth were long and sharp, like a thousand jagged swords—”

“What are you trying to do,” demanded an infuriated voice,
“kill the lad?”

Startled, Gwendolyn looked up to see Elspeth standing in the doorway holding a tray, her face twisted in outrage.

“How dare you open these windows—don't you realize a draft could kill him? Close them at once!”

Gwendolyn remained seated, regarding Elspeth coolly. “Laird MacDunn has entrusted me with his son's care, Elspeth,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Thank you for bringing up his tray. You may leave it on the table.”

Elspeth stared at her a moment, speechless with disbelief. She recovered her tongue quickly enough, however. “I will not let you do this,” she snapped, banging the tray down on the table and stalking over to the windows. “You have been told the boy must be kept warm—”

“Your methods have not cured him, Elspeth,” Gwendolyn pointed out, rising to face her. Although she had no direct experience with healing, she had studied her mother's notes extensively. Her mother had been a skilled healer, and she never advocated entombing someone in a hot, foul-smelling room as a cure for illness. “From now on, David's room is to have light and fresh air,” Gwendolyn instructed. “And there will be no more jars of burning herbs left in here.”

If she had suggested David be dropped stark naked into an icy well, she did not think Elspeth could have looked more appalled.

“I will speak to MacDunn about this, witch,” Elspeth vowed. “I will not stand by and let you kill the lad for your own evil purposes—”

“Go ahead and speak to MacDunn,” Gwendolyn interrupted. “And he will tell you that I am in charge of David's care and that you must heed my instructions.”

In truth she was not entirely certain about that. MacDunn might find her methods questionable and decide to side with Elspeth. But this was not a moment to show doubt or weakness.

Elspeth's small, dark eyes narrowed. “We shall see,” she declared ominously, then hurried from the room.

Gwendolyn forced a smile to her lips and turned to David, who was staring at her in awe.

“I've never seen Elspeth so angry,” he murmured.

“She won't stay angry for long,” Gwendolyn replied dismissively, trying to alleviate his concern. She was accustomed to the contempt of others and did not let Elspeth's animosity trouble her.

“Now, let's see if we can't get some of this food into you while I finish my story,” she said, picking up the tray.

David shook his head. “I'm not hungry.” He closed his eyes.

Gwendolyn set the tray down and went over to him. The boy still looked pale and ill, but he seemed more comfortable now that he was no longer sweating beneath his coverings or choking on foul air. She reached out and gently brushed a damp lock of hair off his brow. He was warm, but he did not seem as feverish as he had been when she touched his face yesterday.

Encouraged by that, she sat in the chair and prepared to watch over him as he slept, feeling strangely protective of her helpless charge.

         

“She is going to kill him!”

“She is the devil's spawn!”

“You must stop her, MacDunn, before it is too late!”

Alex pressed his fingers hard against his pounding temple and sighed.

He had spent most of the day training his men and inspecting the defenses of the castle. The MacSweens could attack at any time, and it was his duty to ensure that his clan and holding were secure. The MacSweens were a formidable enemy, but like any attacking army, they were finite and tangible. Unlike sickness and disease, they could be anticipated and, with adequate preparation and training, ultimately vanquished. It had felt good to focus his attention on the complex logistics of battle and defense. The fortification of his home had demanded his full concentration, and therefore freed his mind, however fleetingly, from the anguish of contemplating his dying son.

After leading his men in a grueling session of training, Alex had ridden hard across his lands for several hours, trying to escape all thoughts of David, especially the unbearable helplessness he felt each time he laid eyes upon the suffering lad. He had ridden high into the heather-caped mountain that had been Flora's favorite. When he reached the crest, he flung himself down from his horse and fell onto his knees, his breathing ragged and his despair almost overwhelming. Once he had mastered his emotions, he stretched out on his back and stared at the sky, taking some comfort from the knowledge that Flora was watching him. He talked to her awhile, and although she did not answer him, he found her silent company soothing. When the blue sky above him turned smoky orange, he mounted his horse and thundered toward the black fortress of his home. He sensed his calm was brittle, and so he rode hard, trying to exhaust himself so that when he returned to the castle he could simply retire to his chamber and escape into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Instead he entered his home to find this wildly agitated gathering of clan members, eagerly waiting to tell him that Gwendolyn was in the process of murdering his son.

“She waved her arms and the windows flew open, filling the chamber with freezing air,” continued Elspeth, flailing her fleshless arms around as she re-created the scene for her deliciously horrified audience. “Then she blew softly into the hearth, like so…” she puckered her thin lips into a tiny, dark hole, “and the enormous fire roaring in it was instantly extinguished, just like that.” She snapped her fingers for effect, startling everyone.

“Dear God,” murmured Robena, glancing anxiously at Alex.

“I fell on my knees and begged her to stop,” Elspeth went on, her voice rising to a wail. She refrained from actually falling to her knees as she said this, but did clap her bony hands together to demonstrate how she had pleaded. “I told her the poor lad would surely die from the bitter cold, and asked how could she not take pity on such an innocent soul? And the witch just laughed a terrible, wicked laugh, and told me to get out or she would kill me, too!” She made a quick slicing motion across her throat.

Alex leaned back in his chair and continued to massage his temple, idly wondering how much worse his headache could become. Already it felt like someone was hacking at his skull with an ax.

“Don't forget about how she stripped poor David of all his blankets, leaving him to lie naked and shivering on the bed,” prodded Robena.

“And how she cast a spell causing the containers of burning herbs to fly out the windows, so that nothing could keep her from doing the devil's work!” added Marjorie.

Alex raised a skeptical brow.

“After hearing about her devilish ways, I went upstairs to confront the witch myself,” began Lachlan, assuming control of the narrative. “But as I stood outside the chamber door, I could hear a dreadful moaning sound, like a thousand tortured souls screaming in agony.”

Owen frowned. “Do forgive, Lachlan, but you never mentioned that to me,” he objected. “You just said you could hear something, but you weren't sure what it was.”

“That's because I didn't want to frighten you,” snapped Lachlan, irritated at having his account contested. “Had I told you everything, you would have run screaming from this castle, never to return.”

“I most certainly would not!” huffed Owen, indignant. “It takes more than a few ghostly cries to frighten an old warrior like me! Why, I'd have fetched my sword and told the witch to cease her nonsense at once or I would be forced to slice her to pieces.”

“You can't slice a witch to pieces,” Reginald objected. “Their bodies are like iron.”

“If you prick them with a needle, they don't bleed,” supplied Marjorie. “And they don't feel any pain.”

“That's only if you prick them where the devil has left his mark,” qualified Garrick, who was one of Alex's younger warriors. “But sometimes that mark is invisible,” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “so you have to prick them all over.”

“The only way to destroy them is to burn them,” said Ewan, another of Alex's men.

“It seems a shame to burn the lass,” Owen reflected sadly. “She's very comely.”

“Perhaps we should just send her back to the MacSweens and let them burn her,” suggested Reginald.

“I haven't finished telling my story,” complained Lachlan.

Alex sighed.

“Let's see, now—there was the moaning of a thousand tortured souls…” Lachlan muttered, trying to remember where he was, “oh, yes, and then the witch began to chant, in a low, ghastly voice that sounded nothing like her own. And that's when I knew Satan himself possessed her and I had best get away before he decided to come after me as well!”

The clan members nodded sympathetically, clearly thinking Lachlan had done all he could.

“Is that everything?” inquired Alex blandly, wondering just how much of this nonsense he was expected to believe.

“Not quite,” said Robena, anxiously twisting the linen square she held. “A short while ago Gwendolyn came down and ordered that a bathing tub be carried into David's room and filled with water. Garrick and Ewan were afraid to disobey her, so they saw to it.”

Alex straightened, suddenly concerned. “Does she not understand how dangerous a bath could be for him?”

“I told her that plunging the lad into freezing water would kill him,” said Elspeth. “But she just laughed and said you had given her the power to do as she wished with him.”

Alex stormed across the hall, the pounding in his head all but forgotten as he went to see just what the hell this witch was doing to his son.

         

“…Oh, great ruler of the darkness, I offer as a sacrifice this innocent soul, if you will in turn reward me with your unearthly powers—”

Alex roared with rage and charged into the chamber, flashing his sword menacingly before him.

Gwendolyn and David regarded him in startled bewilderment.

“Good evening, MacDunn,” Gwendolyn managed, trying to steady the terrified pounding of her heart. “Is something wrong?”

Alex regarded her blankly.

She was kneeling on the floor beside a metal tub, her hands buried in a whipped froth of lather as she gently washed David's hair. His son's thin cheeks were rosy from the heat of the steaming water, and the lad's gaze was remarkably bright and alert. Warm summer air gusted through the open windows, but the tub had been carefully positioned before a crackling fire in the hearth, ensuring that David was in no danger of getting chilled. Silver puddles of water sparkled against the stone floor, and Gwendolyn's black hair and ragged gown were damp, suggesting that there had been some playful splashing before Alex entered. No hint of sickness or misery fouled the air, instead the room smelled wonderfully clean and fresh, like soap and flowers. Every surface had been scrubbed, and small vases bearing colorful blossoms had been arranged throughout the room. The bed had been moved from the far corner of the chamber over to the windows, where David could study the stars at night and feel sunlight graze his face in the morning.