The Witch and The Warrior by Karyn Monk Page B

catching cold. Instead she gently laid her hand against his hot cheek, then his brow, wondering how much of his unnatural heat was due to fever and how much was due to the ungodly warmth in this room. The lad’s eyes slowly fluttered open. He stared at her a moment, puzzled, as if he thought he should know who she was but could not remember. And then his eyes grew wide and he began to tremble, not with cold, Gwendolyn realized, but with fear.
    â€œAre you the witch?” he asked in a small, frightened voice.
    â€œMy name is Gwendolyn,” she replied gently.
    He interpreted this as an affirmation. “Elspeth says you’re evil.”
    â€œElspeth has never met me before,” returned Gwendolyn, “so I don’t see how she could know such a thing.”
    The lad appeared to consider her response a moment. And then he looked at Alex and whimpered, “I don’t want a witch near me.”
    â€œYou will tolerate her presence,” Alex ordered.
    The boy’s eyes drifted shut, as if the effort of wakening for that brief moment had completely drained him.
    Gwendolyn cast a disapproving look at MacDunn. The lad was obviously extremely ill and terribly frightened. She could well imagine what horrid tales this Elspeth woman and possibly others had told him about witches and what they did to helpless young children. MacDunn’s unnecessary gruffness would only succeed in frightening the child even more. As she frowned at him, she suddenly noticed a striking similarity between the structure of MacDunn’s face and that of his son’s. The boy’s cheeks and jaw were softer, prettier almost, and his coloring was different, for his damp hair lay dark against the pillow, and his brows were red. But his nose was a virtual copy of MacDunn’s, smaller, but perfectly straight and narrow, and his chin bore the same distinctive cleft.
    â€œYou will heal him,” Alex commanded.
    His voice was flat and emotionless, as if he were ordering her to do something simple and of little consequence. But Gwendolyn was not fooled by his dispassionate mien. The agony in his eyes a moment earlier had already revealed how deeply he cared for this child. This was why he had brought her here, she realized. Not because he wanted to use her supposed powers to bring him riches, or to render him invincible, or to destroy other clans, as she had believed. MacDunn had gone in search of her and brazenly stolen her from her executioners because he prayed she had the ability to perform a miracle and save his dying son.
    And by playing along and pretending to be a witch, she had encouraged him to believe such an impossible feat was within her grasp.
    She lowered her gaze.
    â€œYou
can
heal him,” Alex persisted, troubled by her failure to respond. “Can’t you?”
    â€œShe will destroy him,” Elspeth warned, casting a hateful glance at Gwendolyn. “She is evil and can only work the devil’s mischief. David’s soul is young and pure, and she will steal it for her own foul purposes, just as she has no doubt stolen the souls of countless other innocents—”
    â€œThat is enough, Elspeth,” commanded Alex.
    Elspeth clamped her mouth into a tight line, then moved toward the fire and began to hurl more sticks of wood on it.
    Streams of sweat were leaking down Gwendolyn’s face, making her acutely aware of the unbearable heat in the room. Her head was starting to spin, and her breath had been reduced to shallow gasps as her body rejected the foul air she breathed. She could only imagine the effect these insufferable conditions were having on MacDunn’s poor son.
    â€œWe will discuss this matter elsewhere,” MacDunn stated abruptly. He crossed the chamber, flung open the door, and left.
    A gust of marginally cooler air entered the room.
    â€œMind the draft,” ordered Robena, frowning at Gwendolyn.
    Grateful to be leaving the stifling chamber, Gwendolyn