The Witch and The Warrior by Karyn Monk

matter.”
    â€œOh, he will have to pursue it, laddie,” Owen assured him. “It’s a matter of honor. After all, you’ve stolen his witch.”
    â€œAre you sure she is a witch, Morag?” asked Lachlan, studying Gwendolyn suspiciously. “She doesn’t seem bothered by all this smoke.”
    â€œCameron, Brodick, and Ned can all attest to her powers,” Morag replied. “Can’t you?”
    â€œAye,” said Cameron, nodding. “One night during our journey here, she whipped the spirits into a fair frenzy, she did.”
    â€œI’ve never seen anything like it,” added Brodick. “One minute there was a raging storm, and the next minute the night was as still as can be.”
    â€œReally?” Owen was clearly impressed. “Can you do that for us now, lassie?”
    â€œI can’t see how that will be of any use to us,” remarked Lachlan, frowning. “Creating a storm in the middle of a perfectly adequate day.”
    â€œBut it would be amusing,” said a silky voice.
    The woman who entered the hall was smiling, but as her eyes fell upon Gwendolyn her mouth tightened slightly, as if she had unexpectedly tasted something bitter. She quickly recovered, however, and proceeded to make her way across the room. She was exceptionally attractive, with thick honey-tinted hair that spilled down her lushly curved body. Her movements gave the impression of unhurried grace, but Gwendolyn sensed her pace had more to do with the fact that all eyes were upon her, and she was very much enjoying the attention.
    â€œWelcome back, Alex,” she murmured, stopping directly in front of him. “We have missed you.” She frowned at the tattered bandage circling his otherwise naked chest. “Were you badly injured?”
    â€œNo, Robena,” he assured her. “ ’Tis barely a scratch.”
    Gwendolyn noticed the gown the woman wore was cut low and a shade too tight, so that the fabric strained over the pale swell of her breasts. But it was neither faded nor worn, suggesting that this clinging fit was intentional. For some reason this observation irritated her. She had an overwhelming desire to grab a swath of plaid and cover her.
    â€œSo this is the witch,” observed Robena, turning toward Gwendolyn. She smiled, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes. She stared at Gwendolyn’s naked arms, recognizing that the fabric of her torn gown matched MacDunn’s bandage. Now that she was closer, Gwendolyn could see a fan of fine lines under her eyes, betraying her age to be closer to thirty than she had previously thought. “You poor thing,” she cooed, taking in Gwendolyn’s disheveled appearance. “You look half starved. Alex, did you not feed this child on your journey here?”
    Her tone was playfully chastising, but Gwendolyn sensed there was something about her appearance that displeased Robena.
    â€œShe will eat well enough now that she is here,” Alex replied. “How is my son?”
    A pall fell over the room. The clan members eyed each other uncertainly, not knowing how to answer. Only Morag’s expression remained serene.
    â€œHis condition remains unchanged, Alex,” Robena volunteered, her voice soft with regret. “I managed to get him to take a little food last night, but his body quickly rejected it. Elspeth said it was the poisons in his body that caused this, and so she bled him last night, and then again this morning. He is now resting quietly in his chamber.”
    Alex absorbed this information in silence. The report was no different than what he had expected. That was why he had brought the witch here. And the news could have been far worse. They could have said his son was dead.
    â€œI will see him now,” he announced, striding toward the staircase at the far end of the hall. “The rest of you, see if you can’t do something about cleaning up this mess. I