Free The Witch and The Warrior by Karyn Monk Page B

surely was entitled to live a much longer life than that. But David had been blessed with his mother’s bonny features, and plagued with her frailty. Although Alex had done everything he could to shelter his son from the rigors of life in the Highlands, he had failed to protect the lad from the feebleness of his own body. That curse, it seemed, was beyond Alex’s earthly control.
    But not, perhaps, beyond the control of the darker forces.
    He glanced over at Gwendolyn, who lay huddled on the ground shivering beneath Brodick’s extra plaid. His last hope, faint as it was, was that this witch would be able to save his son. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. She was a condemned murderess, who looked as if a strong gust of wind might blow her away. Yet this was the woman he would entrust David’s life to. He had brought in healers for the lad, who had solemnly purged and prodded and bled him, but David only grew weaker. Since neither God nor science seemed able to help him, Alex decided to turn to witchcraft. If Gwendolyn MacSween could not heal David with her sorcery, then he did not know what more to do.
    The thought filled him with despair.
    It was Morag who had convinced him to seek out Gwendolyn. There had been stories drifting through these mountains of the MacSween witch for years, bizarre tales of magic and devil worship, which had never particularly interested Alex. But suddenly David’s condition deteriorated, and Alex feared he was dying. He went to Morag and begged her to tell him if anything more could be done for his son. And Morag had told him to find the MacSween witch and bring her to his castle.
    At first he had thought he would simply offer to pay the witch for her services. But when he arrived to find she had murdered her father and was sentenced to death, he attempted to buy her, thinking that spineless fool, Laird MacSween, would be only too happy to make a profit from someone else’s misery. What he had not anticipated was her clan’s almost gleeful determination to see her burned. And so he resolved to rescue her, even though he had just four men to fight an entire clan of several hundred.
    No wonder people thought he was mad.
    He could not forget his shock when she first emerged from the bowels of the MacSween castle. How could this beautiful young woman be the murdering witch of whom her clan spoke with such dread? When they fell upon her with their battering fists, he had been ready to kill every bloody one of them. And then Gwendolyn rose and continued to walk toward her death with solemn, unwavering dignity. In that moment he had forgotten the crimes of which she stood accused, had forgotten even that she was his only hope of seeing his son well again. All he knew was, whatever the cost, he would not permit them to hurt her.
    And he had felt the same powerful sensation today.
    The terror that had gripped him when he saw that boar charging her was not so peculiar, he assured himself. After all, she was his last hope to cure his son. That was why he had barely been able to breathe as he thundered toward her on his horse. And surely it was blinding rage, not passion, that had caused him to crush her in his arms and kiss her. He had imprisoned her against him and roamed his hands over her delectable body because he wanted to punish her for trying to escape him. And more, he needed her to fear him. With fear, he would be able to control her.
    â€œMacDunn.”
    He looked at her through the darkness, surprised that she was awake. She was shivering with cold, which concerned him. “Yes?” he replied, rising to build up the fire.
    â€œHow many more days’ journey is it to your lands?”
    â€œWhy? Are you planning your next attempt to escape me?”
    Gwendolyn shook her head. She had not relinquished the possibility of escape, but she knew MacDunn and his warriors would prevent any opportunity of that. She would have to wait awhile. “I was