CHAPTER 14

Brilliant strips of silver cracked the velvety darkness, briefly illuminating the mysterious assembly of carefully arranged rocks standing tall before them. The enormous stones had an austere, almost menacing quality; they stretched across the charcoal ground like a powerful army lying in wait, guarding their ancient secrets in hallowed silence.

It was, thought Gwendolyn, a fitting place for Robert to die.

“Is this it?” he demanded, his impatience eclipsing the bone-numbing weariness from which Gwendolyn and his men had suffered for several days.

She nodded.

“Get it, then. Now.”

“You’re an even bigger fool than I realized,” she observed, casting him a scornful look. “No man is able to look upon the jewel’s extraordinary beauty without wanting it. I shall barely be able to pass it to you before your own men fall prey to its allure. You will be dead long before you have the chance to curl your greedy fingers around it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Your concern for my welfare is moving, Gwendolyn.” He reached out and grabbed her by her hair, nearly wrenching her off her horse as he forced her to look at him. “You think that if we are alone you will have a chance to kill me, don’t you?”

“I don’t need to kill you,” Gwendolyn retorted in a cold, hard voice. “I have seen your death, Robert, and it is far more painful and hideous than anything I could manage on my own.”

He slapped her hard across the face, holding her head steady so she could not evade the full impact of his hand. “You cannot see the future, Gwendolyn,” he scoffed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “If you could, you would have been able to save your father.”

Gwendolyn regarded him steadily, refusing to betray any emotion other than hatred.

And then, sensing it would unnerve him, she smiled.

Robert abruptly released her. “Derek, come here.”

An oily ripple of light from the black-haired warrior’s torch pulsed across his face as he rode forward, illuminating the ugly, jagged scar beneath his left eye.

“A parting gift from you on the day you escaped, witch,” Derek said as she stared at it. “Rest assured, I intend to repay you in full.”

“Give me your torch,” ordered Robert, “and take the men just beyond the crest of that hill. I will signal when I am ready for you to return.”

The warrior scowled. “I thought we were going to take her back to the castle to burn her.”

“I have some unfinished business I wish to settle with her first,” Robert replied.

“If you’re going to rape her, you should at least let us watch,” grumbled Hamish. “After all, we never got to pillage MacDunn’s castle and use his women.”

“He’s right, Robert,” Derek decided. “And since it seems I’m not getting Isabella, I deserve to have this one when you’re finished with her.” His mouth split into a rotting smile.

“Silence!” roared Robert, withdrawing his sword. “Move to the crest of the hill now, before I hack your insolent tongues out!”

Derek reluctantly tossed his torch to Robert. He cast one last dark look at Gwendolyn, then angrily wheeled his horse about and rode toward the lightning streaking over the hill. The other warriors quickly followed him.

“And so we are alone,” observed Robert, sheathing his sword. “Satisfied?”

Gwendolyn slid off her horse and adjusted her cloak as she moved toward the forbidding spires of rock, ignoring him. She slowly approached a tall, craggy slab in the center of the stone army and laid her hand against it, drawing strength from its rough coolness. This one had been her father’s favorite, she reflected, skimming her fingers tenderly across its pocked surface. The edges of its irregular shape had been smoothed by time and wind and rain, and silvery green lichen was creeping across its hard skin. Her father had told her that this rock had been placed here by the mighty Torvald after he successfully battled the evil MacRory. Each time she and her father came here, they would sit before a different boulder and he would tell her the glorious tale that resulted in the stone being added to the mighty Torvald’s secret garden.

“What are you doing?” demanded Robert. “Is the jewel here or isn’t it?”

“I’m not certain which of these standing rocks I buried it under,” she lied. “I believe it is this one.”

He swung off his horse and moved toward her, carrying the torch. “Then dig it up.”

She obediently sank to her knees and began to scratch at the ground with her fingers.

“Use that,” he ordered, tossing his dirk onto the ground. “But try to cut anything beyond the earth, Gwendolyn, and I’ll splay you with my sword like a fish for the fire.”

She stabbed the blade into the ground and began to crudely dig up the packed earth at the base of the standing rock. For an instant she imagined that she was the mighty Torvald and that she had the strength to turn and bury the dirk deep within Robert’s chest. But she would not need the strength of the mighty Torvald to kill Robert, she reminded herself coldly. Once she held the stone in her hand, she would simply use its power to slay him. His death would not be quick, she vowed, for Robert did not deserve the dignity of a swift demise. No, she would wish for something hideously slow and painful. Perhaps she would have him consumed by fire, in retaliation for the death he tried to give her. She lingered over the image of his flesh blackening on his bones as he screamed in agony. Robert’s warriors would thunder down from that hill and slay her when they discovered their master was dead, but it did not matter. MacDunn and David and the rest of their clan would be safe. As for the stone, the instant she made her wish she would return it to its shallow grave, so it could sleep safely beneath these forbidding rock sentries for another hundred years.

“Have you found it yet?” Robert asked, growing increasingly agitated. He lowered his torch, trying to ascertain her progress. “Is it there?”

“I’m not certain.” Gwendolyn chopped at the ground with her blade. How deeply had she buried it? “This may not be the right place.”

“Give me the dirk,” he snapped, snatching the weapon from her hand as he roughly pushed her out of his way. “I will find the bloody thing myself.”

“No!” protested Gwendolyn. If Robert touched the stone before she did, he would make his wish and all would be lost. “I’m certain I can find it faster than you.”

“And no doubt you plan to use it against me once you have found it,” he surmised astutely. “No, Gwendolyn, I have not come this far to have you cheat me at the last moment. Hold this,” he ordered, shoving the torch at her. “And keep the flame low so I can see.”

He hacked at the ground like a man possessed, cutting a huge trough beneath the dark rock watching over him. Another moment and he would reach the stone, Gwendolyn realized helplessly. Robert would make himself the cruelest, most vicious tyrant Scotland had ever known, and MacDunn and his clan would be ruthlessly crushed.

And then the mighty Torvald brought his sword crashing down, her father’s voice rumbled from some distant memory, smashing it against his enemy’s back….

Summoning every shred of her strength, she smashed the torch against Robert’s shoulders. A shower of fiery sparks exploded into the air as Robert fell face first into the shallow pit he had dug.

“By God, I’ll kill you!” he roared, spitting dirt from his mouth. He scrambled to his feet and stalked toward her. Gwendolyn cautiously retreated, holding the flaming club in front of her.

“Goddamn bitch,” he swore, his earth-crusted mouth twisted with rage. “I’m going to make you feel pain unlike anything you’ve ever imagined, and I’m going to enjoy every min—”

His tirade was cut short by another shocked bellow. Gwendolyn raced around him as he wildly beat himself about the head, trying to smother the flames now dancing up his hair. She dropped the torch and fell to her knees before the standing rock, clawing desperately at the ground.

Please God, let it be here.

Nothing but earth churned beneath her fingers. She let out a desperate sob. Where are you? Suddenly her nail caught on a damp fold of fabric. Tearing it up with her hands, she unraveled the grubby, limp cloth and grabbed the dark jewel lying within, closing her fingers around it as its chain spilled from her fist.

“Stay back!” she hissed, brandishing the stone like a holy relic. “One more step and I’ll kill you!”

Robert hesitated.

And then a hard smile oozed across his dirt-streaked face. “Do it, then,” he invited, slowly moving toward her. “Let us finally see if that precious pebble actually works.”

“I will use it, Robert,” Gwendolyn warned him. “Stay where you are!”

“We have come too far, you and I,” he mused, still advancing, “not to see this thing to the end.”

“Don’t make me do it.” She was almost pleading as she began to back away. “Don’t.”

“Do you know why I first went to visit your cottage?” he asked, his voice dropping to a gentle croon. “Why I risked my reputation to visit your father, when everyone in the clan believed the devil himself dwelled within those walls? It was because of you, Gwendolyn. Despite the vile things everyone said of you, I wanted to know you.”

“You knew they were lies,” Gwendolyn retorted. “You were the only one in the clan who knew I wasn’t a witch. That is why you weren’t afraid of me.”

“I could not believe you could be evil,” he said wistfully. “You were far too beautiful, and far too sad, to be capable of inflicting suffering on others.”

“Don’t pretend you cared about my unhappiness,” she hissed, clutching the stone tighter. “You murdered my father!”

“That was an accident.” His voice was filled with regret. “I never meant to harm him. He had been drinking too much that night and he fell.”

“Liar!” she spat, still backing away. “You wanted him to give you the stone, and when he refused, you fought with him and killed him. And then you blamed the murder on me, knowing full well that no one in the clan would rise to my defense.”

“No, Gwendolyn, you’re wrong. I tried to tell the clan it had been an accident, but they wouldn’t listen—I even argued with my brother over it. But everyone in the clan wanted you dead, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.”

She shook her head. “You told me when I was imprisoned that you could make the clan spare my life if I would only tell you where this stone was hidden. When I refused, you left me to die!”

“I had fallen victim to the stone’s legendary power,” he explained, apologetic. “That is what made me act in such an unfathomable way. But I never wanted to see you come to harm, Gwendolyn,” he insisted, still easing toward her. “You must believe me.”

“Stay away from me, Robert, or I’ll tell the stone to burn you to death!”

“Could you really do such a hideous thing, Gwendolyn?” he asked quietly. “Could you really stand there and watch me burn?”

“It is no more than you deserve!” she said, feeling her resolve eroding. “You were going to slaughter MacDunn’s entire clan, and cut off his head and give it to his son!”

“How can you believe I am capable of such a heinous act?” he asked, sounding wounded. “I said that because I wanted you to come to me. It was an idle threat, Gwendolyn, nothing more. Look at me.” Once again he was closing the distance between them. “Can you honestly believe I am this terrible monster you have painted?”

Tears blurred her eyes, softening his appearance. He looked utterly defeated, with his burned hair curling in ragged wisps around his dirt-smudged face, and a solemn expression that was filled with remorse. She almost believed he was telling the truth, or at least some portion of what he believed the truth to be. If she didn’t kill him he would kill her, she reminded herself desperately, taking another step backward. She had to do it. And yet she hesitated, profoundly torn by the thought of bringing this man’s life to an end when he was pleading with her for compassion. She stepped back again, colliding abruptly with a standing stone.

Robert instantly leaped forward and wrenched the jewel from her.

“At last,” he breathed, staring lasciviously at the glittering gem, “you are finally mine.”

“No!” Gwendolyn gasped, trying to grab it from him.

Robert struck her hard against the face with the back of his hand. She cried out as she went flying to the ground.

Swirls of pain clouded her head, and a warm, metallic taste seeped onto her tongue. Gwendolyn touched the corner of her mouth, then stared numbly at the blood wetting her fingers. Slowly she raised her eyes to him. Gone was the soulful remorse that she had imagined seeing in him but a moment earlier. The man who glared down at her now was the Robert she knew: cruel, avaricious, and utterly ruthless.

“Surprised?” he drawled. “Poor Gwendolyn. Did you actually think I could be the simpering idiot I was pretending to be?”

“I thought even you might have some fragment of morality buried deep within your blackened soul,” she replied, shaken. “I was wrong.”

“So you were,” he agreed, amused. “But do not despair. In another moment I shall be king of Scotland, and then I will put you out of your misery.” He braced his legs apart and lifted the stone reverently toward the roiling sky. “I, Robert of Clan MacSween, command you to make me the most powerful king and mightiest ruler of Scotland, invincible to all!”

A blinding sheet of lightning painted the sky white, followed by a deafening explosion of thunder.

Gwendolyn slowly rose and stared at Robert. He stood with his arms outstretched and his eyes closed, the jewel gripped tightly in one hand as he waited for his transformation to finish. It was over, she realized, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her failure. Not only was Robert king, but he had wished for invincibility as well. No one could stop him now. A sob rose from the back of her throat.

“Good Lord, such a blast!” sang out a cheerful voice through the darkness. “That was truly marvelous, I tell you. I expect my ears will be ringing for days.”

No, thought Gwendolyn as horror surged through her. Please God, don’t let him be here.

A lone rider was casually weaving his way through the standing stones, moving at such a leisurely pace one might think he was out for a pleasure ride. His ghostly silhouette was tall and broad, and the powerful horse he rode moved with a deliberately controlled stride, as if the beast were in no greater hurry than his master. A bright shaft of moonlight pierced the darkness as the warrior drew forward, turning his hair to gold and lighting every magnificent detail of him, from the insouciant expression on his handsome face to the relaxed stature of his enormous body. MacDunn had come here alone, Gwendolyn realized, no doubt believing he would fight Robert on fair and equal terms. It was of no consequence whether madness or foolish naïveté had caused him to behave in such a reckless manner. The conclusion was inevitable.

MacDunn was about to die.

“Good evening, m’lady,” Alex said, offering her a courtly bow from his mount. “It is an absolutely splendid night, is it not? I must say, ever since that last storm of yours, I have grown inordinately fond of thunder.”

Gwendolyn stared at him, speechless, her eyes filled with tears. No warning could protect him from Robert’s newly acquired invincibility. Nor could she tell him in these final moments that she loved him, for fear that Robert might take pleasure in torturing MacDunn to further torment her.

“What a pleasant surprise, MacDunn,” sneered Robert. “For a moment I actually feared I was going to have to ride all the way back to your holding to kill you. This is far more convenient—although rest assured, I do intend to return and slaughter everyone in your clan, down to the last squalling babe.”

“Good Lord, Robert,” Alex sputtered, “whatever have you done to your hair?”

Robert’s hand self-conciously flew to the ludicrously charred ends. “The witch did it,” he snarled, glaring at Gwendolyn. “And she will pay for it handsomely.”

Alex blinked. “But why would she cast a spell to make you look so thoroughly absurd?”

“She didn’t do it with a spell!” snapped Robert. “She did it with a torch. Now if we could proceed with the matter at hand—”

“You burned his hair off with a torch?” interrupted Alex, looking incredulously at Gwendolyn.

She nodded.

“Next time, try a pair of scissors,” he advised amiably. “I think you’ll find the results are far more even.”

“You may be interested to know, MacDunn, that I am now ruler of Scotland,” Robert announced grandly.

Alex raised his brows. “How fascinating. Does King William know about this?”

“I expect he does,” replied Robert, not sounding overly certain.

“Well, if you have become king, surely you must have defeated him in some great battle. I can’t see how he would fail to notice a thing like that.”

Robert’s mouth curved in a thin smile. “All I did was use this stone.” He held the precious gem between his thumb and forefinger. “It has made me the mightiest ruler in the land.”

Alex cocked his head to one side. “Your pardon, Robert, but you don’t look very mighty,” he observed candidly. “If that stone can grant wishes, perhaps you should wish for your hair to grow back—and maybe for your face to be cleaned up a bit—”

“Enough!” Robert snarled, exasperated.

Alex shrugged. “Well, then, now that you’re king, what are you going to do?”

Robert smiled and drew his sword from its sheath. “The first thing I’m going to do, you mad idiot, is kill you.”

“No!” cried Gwendolyn. “Please, Robert, I beg you, do not do this. I will do whatever you say—just let him live!”

“You will do whatever I say regardless of what happens to him,” he said harshly. “And now that the stone has given me this power, you are of no further use to me anyway.” He waved his sword at Alex. “Come down off your horse, Mad MacDunn, and meet your death.”

“Don’t do it, MacDunn!” Gwendolyn cried, rushing toward him. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she clung to his heavily muscled leg, trying to hold him to his mount. “Ride away!” she pleaded softly. “You still have a chance if you just turn and ride away!”

Alex’s expression remained a cross between amusement and bewilderment. “Really, m’lady, your lack of faith in me is almost insulting.”

“You don’t understand,” said Gwendolyn desperately. “Robert cannot be defeated—the stone has given him that power! No matter how bravely you fight, you will die. You have a son who needs you and a clan who must have your protection.” She pressed her forehead against his thigh and finished in a ragged whisper, “I beg you, Alex, do not sacrifice yourself for nothing.”

Alex gently tipped her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. No hint of madness clouded the piercing blue of his eyes, and even the insouciance he had affected but an instant earlier had vanished. “You are not nothing to me, Gwendolyn,” he said, his voice achingly low and reverent. He tenderly caressed her tear-streaked cheek as he finished roughly, “You are everything.”

Gwendolyn stared at him in wonder as she slowly absorbed the meaning of his words, his touch, the solemn, powerful intensity of his gaze. And then she shook her head and glared at him, fighting her emotions, knowing that if she opened her heart to him, they would both surely die.

“I cannot be everything to you,” she informed him coldly. She shoved his hand away and stepped back. “I am a witch, and I need no one. Do you understand? Now stop being such a fool and ride away, before Robert hacks your mad head from your body!”

Alex regarded her a long moment. She was pretending indifference, but her gray eyes were glittering with fear and her hands were gripping her cloak so tightly her knuckles looked like tiny bleached pebbles beneath the taut skin.

“Come, MacDunn,” Robert called out gleefully, waving his sword in the air. “I haven’t got all night, you know.”

A brilliant flash of lightning creased the sky.

“Trust me, Gwendolyn,” Alex urged softly, ignoring Robert. “I vowed to protect you, and I will. Not because you belong to me,” he added, seeing her about to protest. “But because without you, I am lost.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. “If you care at all about me, then you will turn and ride away before he kills you.”

Alex swung himself down from his horse. “Just try to keep the rain off awhile longer,” he said, unsheathing his sword. “I do dislike fighting in the rain.” He winked at her, then turned and walked toward Robert.

“At last.” Robert held his sword out before him.

“Really, Robert, I never knew you were so fond of fighting,” said Alex, leaning casually against his own weapon. “Did you not receive enough attention as a lad?”

“Try to distract me if you wish,” retorted Robert, slowly circling him. “It will not affect the outcome of this battle.”

“Ah, yes, Gwendolyn has told me that you are now invincible. Seems to me that takes some of the amusement out of swordplay.”

“Believe me, MacDunn, the fact that I know you are about to die does not mar the perfection of this moment in the slightest,” Robert assured him, moving closer.

Alex meticulously adjusted one of the pleats in his plaid. “I’m delighted that you’re enjoying yourself. Just let me know when you are ready to begin.”

“We have already begun, you mad fool!” Robert snapped. “Prepare to die!” He charged toward him.

Alex made a final, minor modification to the drape of his mantle, then raised his sword just in time to deflect Robert’s powerful blow.

The crash of steel filled the night, with silver sparks exploding into the air each time the sharp edges of their blades met. The two warriors were more than equally matched, for Alex met Robert’s thrusts blow for blow, driving him back a few steps before Robert forced Alex to relinquish some ground. Lightning webbed the black cloak of sky around them, punctuating the clang of metal with a deafening crash and drowning the hard grunts the warriors made as each struggled to gain the advantage.

“You cannot win, MacDunn,” Robert ground out, trying to wrest Alex’s sword from him. “You might as well surrender and let me finish you off quickly.”

“That’s exceptionally gallant of you, Robert,” observed Alex. “Forgive me if I seem ungrateful, but I do enjoy a good fight now and again.”

“As you wish.” Robert sliced down suddenly, raking the edge of his sword across Alex’s chest.

Hot blood leaked down his torso and seeped into his shirt.

“You see?” said Robert, smiling as he surveyed the damage. “You cannot best me, MacDunn. I am unconquerable.”

“So you keep saying,” returned Alex, clenching his jaw as the pain burned through his chest. “But if that is so, Robert, why are you taking so long to kill me? Surely as ruler of Scotland you have far more urgent matters to attend to.” He frowned. “Could it be that stone you’re clutching is nothing but a pretty pendant?”

Robert roared with rage and charged toward him. Alex held his sword low, then raised it in a powerful arc at the last moment, propelling Robert’s weapon to the side as Alex swiftly slashed at his upper arm. Robert howled with pain and staggered back, staring in confusion at the scarlet stream racing down toward his wrist.

“If you wish, we can stop and have Gwendolyn take a look at that for you,” Alex offered graciously. “I think you’ll find she’s exceptionally handy with a needle and a few strands of hair.”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“As you wish,” said Alex, shrugging. “Let us continue.”

Gwendolyn watched in mute horror as the two men raised their swords and began again, each hacking at the other with savage determination. Despite Alex’s affected bravado, she could see that he was not impervious to the wound in his chest, for each time he lifted his sword he winced, and his shirt grew dark and heavy with blood. Still he crashed his sword against Robert’s blade again and again, forcing his opponent to dance backward. Moonlight spilled in a pale aura over the two warriors, etching them in a ghostly light as they battled amid the ancient stones.

“You have fought well, MacDunn,” Robert admitted, breathing heavily. “However, as you have pointed out, I have more important matters to attend to. The time has come for you to die.”

Alex immediately lowered his sword and stepped back. “Very well, then, Robert. Do what you will.”

Gripping his sword in both hands, Robert let out a triumphant roar and charged forward, his eyes afire with victory.

Please God, pleaded Gwendolyn, her heart shattering, please God, don’t let him die.

Alex held his ground, waiting until the last second.

And then he suddenly spun aside and drove his own sword deep into Robert’s gut.

“No,” said Robert, staring in astonishment at the cold strip of silver disappearing into his belly. He raised his eyes to Alex. “It cannot be. I—I cannot be defeated. I am invincible.”

“Forgive me, Robert,” said Alex, “but you must have been mistaken about that.” He yanked his sword from Robert’s stomach, releasing a gush of scarlet onto the ground.

“You have not won, MacDunn,” Robert said through gritted teeth. He raised his blood-drenched fingers to his mouth and managed a shrill whistle. “My men will enjoy hacking both of you to pieces,” he spat, clutching his bleeding belly as he sank to his knees. “But first they will use you like a whore,” he finished, casting a vicious smile at Gwendolyn.

She glanced fearfully at the crest of the hill, waiting for Robert’s warriors to thunder into sight.

No one appeared.

Alex sighed. “Unfortunately, I believe your men are otherwise engaged,” he said apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked my men to keep them entertained while I visited with you.”

Undiluted rage contorted Robert’s pain-clenched face. He gripped the jewel in his fist, as if trying to squeeze some last drop of strength from it.

Alex sheathed his bloodied sword and turned to face Gwendolyn.

“Come, Gwendolyn,” he said gently, holding his hand out to her. “It is time to—”

“No!” she screamed, her eyes wide with terror.

Alex turned just in time to see Robert on his feet, slicing his raised sword toward Alex’s head. He instinctively reached for his own weapon, knowing he could never liberate it before Robert cleaved his skull.

Fly, commanded Gwendolyn, locking her gaze on Robert’s discarded dirk. Fly into his back and kill him.

Lightning lashed across the sky, and for one agonizing moment everything froze.

“My God,” Robert murmured, his sword locked in midair. He stared at Gwendolyn a long moment, as if he had never really seen her before.

And then he collapsed onto the ground, the hilt of his dirk protruding from his back.

Gwendolyn raised her hand to her mouth as she stared in horror at Robert’s lifeless body. She searched the darkness beyond, looking for the warrior who had found the dirk and hurled it through the air.

There was no one.

Horrified, she dropped her gaze to Robert once more. A dark stain was rapidly soaking the fabric of his shirt.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered.

“I know,” Alex said quietly. He stooped and retrieved the stone from Robert’s grasp.

She shook her head, struggling to understand what she had done. “He was going to kill you and…I couldn’t bear it. I had to stop him.” She began to tremble. “It was just a thought. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”

“You saved my life. And you needed to call upon your powers to do it.”

“I don’t have any powers, MacDunn!” she objected desperately. “I never have. I let you believe that I did because I was afraid you would send me back to the MacSweens if you knew the truth, but…I am not really a witch.”

Alex wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, heedless of the bloody wound in his chest. “You’re wrong, my love,” he murmured, grazing his fingers against her tearstained cheek. “You have powers that you have inherited through the women of your line. Your mother did not have them, but you do. And that is why your mother entrusted you with this stone,” he explained, placing the chain around her neck. “It does not grant wishes, as you and Robert believed. It is to keep the gifted girls of your line safe, until their powers have matured.”

“No,” she protested, shivering. “You’re wrong.”

“Think, Gwendolyn,” he urged, gently stroking her hair. “You conjured up a storm the night I asked you to demonstrate your abilities to me…”

“That was just a coincidence—”

“…and then you made it pour rain when Robert set the cottages afire…”

“That storm was coming anyway—I didn’t start it—”

“Then how do you explain that dirk in Robert’s back?” he demanded quietly.

“I don’t know!” she cried, burying her head against his shoulder. “It just happened!”

“Hush, now,” he soothed, tightening his hold on her as he caressed her back. “It’s all right, my love. You’re safe now.”

Gwendolyn wept against him as he held her. All her life she had been accused of being a witch, but there had been a modicum of solace in knowing that these allegations were false, even if she was the only one who knew it. Yet she could not deny the powerful sensation that had swept through her as she commanded Robert’s dirk to kill him.

She had made that dirk fly through the air with nothing but the force of her will.

MacDunn stiffened suddenly.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling away.

“We have company.”

The ground began to rumble from the pounding of hooves. Gwendolyn looked up the hill to see a wave of riders pouring down the slope, many carrying torches. As they drew near, she could see that the MacDunn warriors were being led by Cameron, Brodick, and Ned.

“Good evening, Gwendolyn,” Cameron called out jovially, reigning in his horse beside her. He raised his sword and drew a silvery circle in the air, signaling for the warriors to form a ring around Alex and Gwendolyn.

“We thought we would join you because you’re about to have some visitors,” Brodick explained, tilting his head toward the woods. He glanced at Robert’s lifeless body. “I see you finally killed the bastard.”

“Actually, Gwendolyn killed him,” Alex said.

“MacSween won’t like that,” Ned predicted, moving protectively closer to her.

At that moment some fifty riders burst from the surrounding woods. They halted when they saw the MacDunn warriors positioned in a circle of fire around Alex and Gwendolyn, but their swords remained drawn and glinting in the torchlight.

“Good evening, MacDunn,” said Laird MacSween, riding to the front of his men. His gaze swept over Gwendolyn, then fell to the limp, bleeding form of his brother. Regret shadowed his features.

“He had to die, MacSween,” Alex said grimly. “He murdered Gwendolyn’s father for his own selfish gain, then falsely accused her of the murder. And he further poisoned his accusations with lies about witchcraft and evil, so that instead of listening to Gwendolyn as you should have, you wrongly convicted her.” His tone was heavy with condemnation.

MacSween’s expression grew even more desolate. “I have long known that my brother was avaricious,” he confessed quietly, “but I did not believe he would ever bring harm to a member of his own clan.”

“She is of your clan no longer, MacSween,” Alex said in a hard voice. “She is a MacDunn now. If you or any of your clan ever try to harm her again, I will kill you.”

“And so will I,” added Cameron, raising his sword. “Even if it should cost me my life.”

“And I,” said Brodick, also lifting his weapon.

“And I,” vowed Ned.

“And I,” added Munro.

Gwendolyn stared at the MacDunns in astonishment. The pledge spilled around the circle of warriors in a slow ripple as each man solemnly vowed to protect her. Every warrior lifted his sword or his torch as he made his pledge, until a magnificent ring of silver and gold gleamed against the roiling sky.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Gwendolyn blinked and looked away, unable to comprehend why these brave men would be willing to sacrifice themselves for her.

“The men Robert brought with him to attack my holding are bound and waiting just over the crest of that hill,” Alex told Laird MacSween. “If I have your assurance that you will let us return to our home in peace, MacSween, you may retrieve them. And you are also welcome to take Robert’s body with you,” he added, “so that he may have a decent burial.”

MacSween nodded and gave the command for two of his men to fetch Robert’s body and his horse. Once they had done so, he hesitated.

“Forgive me, MacDunn, but I must know—how does my Isabella fare?” The roughness of his tone suggested that he had suffered greatly in his concern for her.

His fatherly anguish prompted Gwendolyn to find her voice. “She is well, MacSween,” she replied, anxious to put him at ease. “The MacDunns have treated her with honor and kindness, and no man has ever dishonored her.”

His eyes lit with hope. “Do you think she will come home, then?”

“No,” interjected Brodick, before Alex could tell MacSween that he would happily have her delivered back to her home within the week.

Everyone stared at him in surprise.

“Isabella is to be my wife,” Brodick stated flatly. His voice was gruff as he added, “I’m certain it would please her, MacSween, if you were to give us your blessing.”

MacSween studied him a moment, his expression puzzled. “Are you not the warrior who held a dirk to her throat and threatened to kill her while a guest at my home?”

“I am. My name is Brodick.”

“My daughter had much to say about you. I’m surprised to see you are still alive and of sound body. Since you are, I commend you on your fortitude, and give you my blessing.”

Brodick smiled. “I will bring Isabella to you for a visit, MacSween, once we are wed.”

“I shall look forward to it,” the laird assured him. “I bid you and your men a safe journey, MacDunn.” He nodded a final time to Alex, then turned his horse and led his men up the hill to retrieve Robert’s warriors.

“We’d best take to the woods and make camp for the night,” said Cameron, studying the sky. “This storm is likely to break any moment.”

“Maybe Gwendolyn could stop it from coming,” suggested Brodick.

“She has had enough to deal with tonight without having to change the weather just to please you,” objected Ned. “She just killed Robert, for God’s sake.”

“Aye, that’s true,” agreed Cameron. “The lass is tired.”

“We don’t mind a good storm, lass,” added Munro cheerfully, “so don’t ye worry about it.”

“I’ve grown rather fond of them, actually,” remarked Ewan, “ever since you conjured up that beast of a gale when Robert attacked.”

“Now, that was a storm,” reminisced Garrick enthusiastically. “Remember how she stood on the parapet with the wind blowing around her—”

“ ’Twas almost as if she was floating in the air,” interjected Quentin, “like something not of this world….”

The warriors swiftly disappeared into the woods, still discussing the wonder of Gwendolyn’s storm.

Gwendolyn stared after them a long moment. And when their voices had died and the last flicker of golden flames had faded amid the trees, she slowly raised her gaze to MacDunn.

He stood tall and powerful before her, etched against the darkness in a filmy veil of moonlight. His shirt was torn and drenched in blood, but he seemed utterly impervious to his injury as he gazed back at her. No hint of madness clouded the penetrating blue of his gaze, nor was the desire she had come to know so well heating his tender study of her.

“Why did you come after me?” she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper.

Alex reached out and gently traced the contour of her jaw. “For years now, I have waged a battle with myself I feared I could never win,” he confessed quietly. “My battle raged the hardest in the first year after my wife died. I wanted to die as well, so I didn’t give a damn about the instability of my mind. Eventually, however, I remembered that I had a son and a clan who needed me, and so I forced myself to control my fancies and rages, until I could generally appear sound in front of others. But it was a lie. I was drowning, and I lived in constant fear that one day I would no longer be able to fight the waves crashing over me.” His voice grew rough with emotion as he added, “When David fell ill, I knew that day had come.”

“But David is well now, MacDunn,” Gwendolyn assured him. “For whatever reason, his body began to reject certain foods. But if he refrains from ever eating them, I believe he will continue to grow strong and well.”

“I know. And as he healed, so did I, until I felt as if I were in control of myself again. But then you left,” he said hoarsely, “and it was as if I had been torn apart.” He grasped her hand and reverently kissed her palm, then pressed it firmly against his bleeding chest. “Marry me, Gwendolyn,” he pleaded, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Marry me, and I swear I will love you and keep you safe until my dying breath. Not because you belong to me,” he added, capturing with his finger the silver drop that was trickling down her cheek, “but because without you, I am lost.”

“But I am a witch,” Gwendolyn protested, her voice small and quivering.

“And I am a mad laird,” he countered irreverently, shrugging. “We are a perfect match.”

Gwendolyn swallowed and shook her head. “When your people learn of my powers, they will want to drive me away—”

“My people have always believed you had great powers,” Alex interrupted, “including my son, who absolutely adores you. The only person for whom this is a revelation is you. As for your being driven away, it was Robena who tried so relentlessly to make you leave, and her motives were far more mundane than any noble desire to protect the clan. She will not touch you again.”

His heart beat strong and steady against her palm as the blood from his wound wet her fingers. In that moment she could feel his love pouring into her, through flesh and muscle and bone, penetrating her being as it filled her with warmth and courage—the courage she needed to love, and to be loved in return. MacDunn had said that without her he was lost. He was wrong, she realized, feeling a wobbly, guarded joy begin to flood through her.

It was she who was lost without him.

With a tiny cry, she raised herself on her toes and wrapped her arms tightly around his massive shoulders. “Yes,” she murmured, her lips barely a breath from his. “I will marry you, Mad MacDunn.”

Alex hauled her up against him and crushed his mouth to hers. Something small and hard bit into his chest. Wincing slightly, he relaxed his hold on her.

“What is it?” asked Gwendolyn worriedly. “Does your wound pain you? Shall I stitch it now?”

“It is not the wound,” he assured her. He grasped the pendant nestled at her breasts and raised it to the moonlight, enabling him to better study the glittering stone in its gold setting. Suddenly he began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about what a time I am in for,” he mused, pulling her close once more, “if we should have a daughter.”

“Oh, no!” gasped Gwendolyn. “You don’t think my powers—”

“I am hoping, Gwendolyn,” he told her, tenderly caressing the pale silk of her cheek. “When I think of the happiness just one witch has brought me, I find myself utterly enchanted by the possibility of having two.”

He bent his head and kissed her deeply, sharing the healing power of his love. And then he tightened his embrace and laughed again, his mind whole and his heart sure as he led his beloved witch out of the garden of ancient stones and into the wonder of their new life.