Chapter Eighteen

“Is your sister still abed?” Ian asked Juliana and Lorelei the next morning as he entered the dining room to break his fast. Normally, he’d take the morning meal in the Great Hall with the rest of the clansmen, but he’d overslept, having been awake most of the night thinking about the conversation he’d had with his brothers and uncles. Emily was usually an early riser, so he’d expected to find her here.

Juliana shook her head. “I have not seen her this morning.”

“She is probably with Fiona on the battlements,” Lorelei said. “They both like to watch the sun rise.”

Juliana frowned. “I saw Fiona a few minutes ago walking toward the stables. Emily was not with her.”

“Besides, the sun has been up for well over an hour.” Ian felt some apprehension. “Mayhap one of ye should go and check on her.”

Lorelei’s eyes widened. “You think something may have happened to her?”

He didn’t want to alarm the ladies, but an increasing sense of uneasiness was nagging at him. “She is probably just tired and still sleeping but, since she said she didna need a maid to wake her, we should check.”

Juliana stared at him for a moment, then put her napkin down and stood. “Come along, Lorelei.”

“But I have not finished eating…”

“You can finish later.” She gave Ian a measured look, then tugged at her sister’s chair. “How many times have we been chastised for sleeping late? We will have something to hold over her now.”

Lorelei grinned at that. “True.”

Ian fidgeted in his chair as the two left the room, then decided to follow them. He was halfway to the door when he heard a blood-curdling scream. He bolted down the hallway and up the stairs as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Lorelei was slumped on the floor outside Emily’s bedchamber, holding her head in her hands. “I think she is dead!”

Terror struck him. He flung open the door so hard it banged against the wall and nearly hit him in the face on its rebound. He paid it no mind, his focus on the bed. Emily lay pale and still, a crimson stain spread across the white sheets.

“Is she—”

“She breathes,” Juliana said, holding her sister’s hand. “Barely.”

Ian hurried to Emily’s other side, noticing for the first time the empty wine glass half hidden in the folds of the sheet. He picked it up and sniffed, detecting a musty odor that he couldn’t identify.

“Laird?”

He turned, seeing Maggie at the door, Hamish behind her. “Send for Old Gwendolyn. Quickly!”

Hamish nodded. “Aye, laird.”

“What has happened?” Maggie asked, stepping inside the room, then she stopped upon seeing the stain. “Dear God! Do we need the physician, too?”

Ian shook his head. If Emily had been poisoned, the healer would know what to do. He looked at the plate of half-eaten marzipan and narrowed his eyes. “I want every servant who was in the castle last night to assemble in the Great Hall. And make sure everyone is accounted for.”

Her eyes grew round, but she didn’t ask any questions.

Ian turned back to Emily and put a hand to her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy. He took hold of her shoulders and shook gently.

“Wake up, mo cridhe! Wake up!”

“Let me.”

Juliana brushed his hands away and then slapped her sister sharply on both cheeks. Ian started to grab her, but Emily’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she looked confused, then her face twisted into a grimace and she rolled suddenly, retching over the side of the bed. Instinctively, Ian wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her from the bed and dangling her in front of him.

“I doona ken what ye drank or ate, but ye need to get it out of ye.”

She retched again, the foul odor wafting upward. He paid no heed.

“Please…” Emily managed to get the word out before spewing again.

“Air do shocair… Hush, now.”

“Leave…me…”

“Nae, I canna.”

“You are embarrassing her by witnessing this.” Juliana put a hand on his arm. “I can hold her until she is through.” She motioned with her head toward the door. “Please leave.”

“Please…”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Emily sounded suspiciously like she was crying. He couldn’t tell for sure, since she was still hanging half upside down. She made a choking sound, and Juliana all but knocked him over with the force of her push. “You are not helping!”

Ian backed off, realizing how mortified he would be if the situation were reversed. Besides, it would only make matters worse if she started to cry while she was casting up the dregs of her stomach. He frowned at Juliana. “I will be right outside that door.”

“Fine. Just go. And close the door.”

He stepped outside, contemplating whether to follow Juliana’s order, then decided privacy was probably best.

“Is she going to be all right?” Lorelei was still sitting on the floor and looking like she might become ill herself.

“I doona ken. I pray so.”

It seemed like an eternity before Old Gwendolyn arrived, although in truth, her cottage was only a ten minute walk at most. Quickly, he started to tell her what had taken place, but she didn’t wait for him to finish.

“Wait here,” she said and stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

He was tempted to ignore her order. When had women suddenly started telling him what to do in his own castle? He’d taken only a step forward, when Lorelei grabbed his ankle, causing him to lurch sideways against the wall. He frowned at her. “Are ye trying to kill me, lass?”

“No.” She rose slowly, leaning against the opposite wall. “But from the sounds I heard out here, Emily would not want you in the room.”

That was the second time he’d been admonished. His frown deepened. Then he finally nodded. It did sound like the upheaval was still going on. After what seemed like yet a second eternity—and the sounds quieted—the door opened and Gwendolyn stepped out, her face grim. She put down her bag and handed him the glass.

“Hemlock.”

He stared at her. “Are ye sure?”

She gave him a look that instantly reduced him to a lad in knee breeches. “I recognize hemlock when I smell it.”

“I dinna mean—”

“Nae matter.” She waved off his apology. “Ye did the best thing possible, making her purge her insides.”

He breathed a silent prayer of thanks. “She will be all right then?”

“She should be. I gave her mashed mandrake root to make sure her belly was empty. I left another dose to clean her insides.” She eyed Lorelei. “Ye and your sister need to make sure she drinks warm water with salt every hour as well… ’Twill make her retch again, but ’tis the only way to make sure all the poison is gone.” She picked up her bag. “I will come by tomorrow.”

He turned to the door after the healer left, but Lorelei stopped him once more. “You cannot think Emily wants to see you in her condition?” She ignored his glower and instead patted his cheek as though he were a bairn. “Juliana and I will take care of her. That is what sisters are for.”

With that, she slipped through the door, leaving him standing in the hallway. He sighed and turned away. Emily’s sisters stuck together like his brothers did. That made his thoughts turn to Devon. He hoped his brother had nothing to do with this, but he could not deny that Devon hated the English…and he’d resented Isobel as well.

The vivid dream that Emily had about the man with a knife might have just been a nightmare based on Fiona’s stories. The alcohol in the tea could have been a coincidence. It was possible the board on the steps had accidently come loose. But he couldn’t deny this fourth incident. Someone was trying to kill Emily.

“I suppose ye are going to blame me for the poison.” Devon made the statement without much inflection as he looked at his brothers gathered in the library once more, late that afternoon. “I mean, who else is there?”

The question definitely held a note of sarcasm. Ian winced. The last thing he wanted to do was think Devon actually capable of murdering a woman. From the looks on the faces of his other brothers—and Fiona’s—he knew they felt the same. Their very silence spoke volumes. Evidently, Devon sensed it, too. He slumped in his chair.

“Go ahead and call the magistrate then.”

“We’ll nae be calling the magistrate,” Ian replied. “And we are nae accusing ye.”

Devon raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer.

“We aren’t,” Carr said quietly, “but we need to get to the bottom of this.”

“True,” Alasdair said. “Ian’s questioned the servants—”

“Aye,” Ian interrupted. “Effie said she turned down the covers on the bed about half past eight o’clock, but she did nae leave wine or marzipan. The other maids were busy in the kitchen and Hall. They all vouched for one another.”

Rory gave him a skeptical glance. “Of course they would.”

“But would they lie?” Carr asked. “Especially to Ian?”

“That is a point,” Alasdair said. “Any MacGregor kens lying to the laird would mean banishment.”

“Once upon a time, it would have,” Rory retorted. “But ye do remember the English took away a laird’s power?”

“But nae loyalty,” Alasdair said. “The English may assert their laws, but it doesna stop any clan from keeping to our old ways.”

Fiona spoke up. “What if it was nae a maid?”

“Hamish said the men were all accounted for,” Ian replied.

“It might nae have been a servant, though. The Great Hall was full.”

Rory smirked. “I doubt one of our clansmen would have sneaked upstairs with wine and marzipan.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes at him. “Doona act like I’m daft. The maids stay on the top floor. Would anyone question a man walking out with wine and sweets to tryst with one of them?”

“Hmmm.” Carr turned to Ian. “Mayhap we should question Maggie as to whether one of the maids has a lover?”

“She would probably box my ears.” Ian gave him a grim look. “Besides, Emily said she arrived at her chamber just past nine o’clock. The maids would still have been busy cleaning up for at least another hour. The wine had to have been left in the thirty minutes after Effie was in the room and Emily got there.” He shook his head. “Any supposed swain leaving that early for a tumble—carrying wine and a plate—would have been noticed.”

Devon stirred. “So it comes back to me then.”

Ian frowned at him. “Nae one is saying that.”

“Ye doona have to. My feelings about Sassenachs are well known to all.” Devon shrugged. “Nae one would question one of us carrying a glass of wine and a plate of marzipan away. And…” He grimaced slightly. “Nae one can account for my whereabouts.”

“Ye always go straight to your bedchamber.” His brother liked to read, a fact Ian had discovered one night when he’d barged in without knocking. Devon’s interest was the classics, no less, which was why he tended to keep his hobby a secret. Ian also suspected it was a form of escape. He’d never shared the information. And now, Devon was giving him a knowing look.

“I canna prove it.”

“Well, ye doona have to,” Rory said. “At least, nae to us. We are family.”

And they were, Ian thought. But so were Emily and her sisters. He didn’t want to have to make a choice between them. It was his responsibility, now, to protect both.

But could he?

…

Emily startled at the knock on her door, praying that it would not be Ian. Even though the room had been cleaned, the floor scrubbed and fresh sheets put on the bed, she wasn’t ready to face him. She’d spent most of the afternoon forcing herself to swallow the mashed mandrake and drink that horrible concoction of warm, salty water. Consequently, she’d also spent much of her time hovering over the chamber pot.

“I will see who it is.” Lorelei rose from her chair.

Juliana gave Emily a quick look, evidently reading her thoughts. “Do not let any man in.”

But it was Fiona at the door, holding a cup of broth. “Gwendolyn said ye are nae to eat anything for twenty-four hours, but I thought ye could use this.”

Emily accepted the warm cup eagerly. She felt weak as a kitten after her ordeal, to say nothing of the purging. She started to take a sip, but Juliana stayed her hand.

“Did you pour this yourself?” she asked Fiona.

“Aye. There is mutton stew for tonight. I stirred the pot and scooped the liquid out myself.” She drew her lips into a tight line. “If there is poison in that, we will all be eating it.”

Juliana relaxed her hold. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I doona blame ye,” Fiona answered. “Ian has given orders anything Emily eats has to be tasted by someone else first.”

Emily stared at her. “Does he think that is really necessary?”

“I just came from a meeting with my brothers,” she answered. “Until we find out who the culprit is, Ian is nae taking any chances.”

Juliana studied her, then opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She furrowed her brows.

“I think I ken what ye want to ask.” Fiona looked from her to Emily, then back. “Ye are thinking Devon may be a suspect.”

“May be?”

“Juliana!” Emily exclaimed, nearly spilling her broth. “Fiona is his sister!”

“I know, but…” Juliana hesitated, then lifted her chin. “I am sorry, but we all know Devon hates us. Who else—”

“Devon said the same thing himself,” Fiona broke in. “And he has nae excuse for his whereabouts.” She looked at each of them. “I canna believe my brother would stoop to murder.”

“Of course you cannot,” Lorelei said. “I would not believe anyone who accused my sisters of a crime, either.”

“’Tis nae just family loyalty,” Fiona said. “Devon has always been honorable. ’Tis unmanly to kill a woman.”

“Especially with poison,” Emily said thoughtfully. “That is a method women have used for eons.”

“Aye,” Fiona agreed, “and Devon is also very smart. Do ye nae think he would make sure he had an excuse of some sort to cover such a deed? Instead…” She gave each of them a deliberate look. “He was alone in his bedchamber during the time Ian figured out this happened.”

“That would make sense, I suppose,” Juliana admitted.

“What about Glenda?” Lorelei asked. “If she heard about Ian kissing Emily—”

Emily felt her cheeks warm. “Let’s not go into that right now.”

“Glenda always acts jealous of you. She might have done it,” Lorelei went on. “And you said poison is a woman’s choice of weapon.”

“I did not mean—”

“’Tis possible,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “Glenda is nae a servant, so she wouldna have been questioned. I will speak to Ian about it.”

“I wish you would not…”

“She must.” Juliana squeezed Emily’s hand. “This person must be caught.”

Emily put her cup down, her hand trembling as reality finally set in. She’d made excuses for the other incidents, because she hadn’t wanted to admit someone actually hated her. And she’d been too weak and tired today to consider much of anything, but the broth had revived her somewhat.

Someone truly wanted her dead.