Chapter Nineteen

Emily still felt a bit wobbly the next evening when she went down to the dining room. Ian had made her promise to stay in her room that day while he finished up with the harvest. Her first inclination had been to resist, but by the time she finished her ablutions and donned a fresh gown, she realized how weak she still felt. Fiona had brought breakfast and lunch to her, and her sisters had stayed with her throughout the day. She suspected that if she lurched into the hall unexpectedly, she’d probably find a guard lurking there, too.

But she couldn’t hide in her bedchamber forever. As far as she knew, the clansmen had not been told what had transpired, but she would have preferred taking the meal in the Great Hall where Ian’s people could see she was alive and well as a warning to the…culprit. She still had trouble believing someone would deliberately put hemlock in her wine. However, Fiona said Ian had requested they all meet in the smaller dining room tonight. She suspected he was going to make some kind of announcement to his family about what had happened.

Now she took a deep breath to steady herself and walked through the door, Juliana and Lorelei trailing behind her. The room was crowded with Ian’s brothers and uncles and a new “guest.” Glenda was sitting next to Fiona. Generally, she ate in the Great Hall with the others, so her presence tonight must mean that Fiona had relayed her concerns to Ian after all. The girl looked pleased, though, so he probably hadn’t told her exactly why she was here.

Ian rose and pulled a chair for her. He nodded to Hamish who’d been standing at the door. The castellan disappeared only to return a moment later with Maggie and two young lads carrying platters of food. The housekeeper did not look particularly happy, and Emily had never seen the two boys before. Normally, women worked in the kitchen and served the meals. She glanced at Ian. Had he taken to heart that poison was usually a woman’s weapon and dismissed the maids from the kitchen? That would certainly account for Maggie’s demeanor. Emily just hoped he hadn’t dismissed the cook, too.

“Set everything down in the middle of the table,” Ian said.

The lads’ eyes widened, but they moved quickly, one spilling some of the soup from the tureen and the other nearly causing a leg of lamb to slide off its server. Maggie scowled at both of them and they skittered out.

Hamish placed two bottles of wine on the table. “I uncorked them myself.”

Ian nodded. “If ye and Maggie will wait, I want ye to hear what I have to say.”

Devon looked wary, the other brothers resigned.

“Has something happened?” Broderick asked.

“Aye. Someone tried to kill Lady Woodhaven the night before last.”

His uncle frowned. “Kill her? What do ye mean?”

“I mean, someone put a glass of wine along with some marzipan on Em…Lady Woodhaven’s nightstand.” He looked around the room. “The wine had been laced with hemlock.”

Emily watched the group through lowered lashes. Donovan looked shocked, Devon sullen, and Glenda’s face had gone white. Which could have been from Ian’s brusque tone or the seriousness of the proclamation, Emily reminded herself. It didn’t mean the young girl was guilty.

Broderick raised an eyebrow. “Are ye certain? We harbor no witches here.”

“Old Gwendolyn confirmed it was hemlock,” Ian said grimly.

“I suppose she would ken, since she probably has some medical use for it,” Donovan said.

“Oh, she does!” Glenda burst out. All eyes turned to her and she flushed.

“What would that be?” Fiona asked.

The girl’s face reddened further. “I’ve heard some of the maids say they ask her for a potion to…” She hesitated, the color growing to the shade of a beet. “To stave off men’s attentions… So they would not get with child.” When everyone stared at her, she stammered on. “Sometimes the maids pick it themselves and take it to Old Gwendolyn to fix.”

Ian’s face looked like a thundercloud. “And how many maids ken where to find it?”

Glenda looked at him wide-eyed. “I doona ken, but it grows in the fields. ’Tis nae hard to find.”

Emily tried to keep her expression impassive. If the plant was that common, it meant nearly anyone could have picked it and made a tincture to put drops in the wine. She looked directly at Glenda. The girl wouldn’t meet her gaze. Had she done it?

If Ian suspected as much, Emily couldn’t tell. His face had become a rigid mask, hiding whatever he was feeling. “I will look into that. Meanwhile…” He looked around the table. “Until I can get to the bottom of this, we will all be eating from the same platters and drinking from the same bottles.”

Broderick’s brow rose again. “Do ye suspect one of us?”

“I accuse nae one.” Ian glanced at Devon. “Nae one. And, for now, I want to keep this attempt within these walls. But we also have to make a point. We will be taking our meals in the Great Hall after tonight. If we are seen taking food from the same platters, whoever is responsible for this will have to think twice.”

Carr nodded slowly. “’Tis a good idea. I canna think of a single MacGregor who would want to kill one of their own.”

As opposed to killing a Sassenach, Emily thought.

Ian’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “To make sure that doesna happen, either Maggie and Cook will supervise the food preparation and Hamish will keep an eye out for whoever enters the kitchen.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I will not have another murder take place at Strae Castle.”

Emily felt a chill slide down her spine. He meant her murder. Bless him, he was doing everything he could to protect her. She prayed that it would be enough.

…

Ian wished he hadn’t been so blunt, since no one seemed to have an appetite now. He hoped it was because of his harsh words and not because they feared the food in front of them was tainted.

“We will nae insult Cook by leaving the food untouched.” He ladled soup into a bowl for Emily and placed it in front of her before handing off the huge spoon to Fiona. Then he broke one of the loaves of bread Maggie had carried in and handed half to Emily, keeping the other half for himself. Tomorrow night he planned to do the same thing in the Great Hall to show one and all that Emily was under his personal protection.

He was aware of Glenda watching his solicitous movements from beneath her lashes, mouth drawn down. Her expression gave him cause to reflect on his earlier conversation with Fiona. Poison was a female’s preferred weapon, since most didn’t know how to handle a knife or shoot a musket. It would have been easy enough to put whisky into the tea after Emily fell and hit her head, but would a slight girl, barely four and ten, have had the strength to loosen a board on the steps?

Ian knew his ward was somewhat infatuated with him, that she saw him as a hero when he’d done only what any other man would have done, given the same circumstances. She was at a vulnerable age, just coming into womanhood, so he’d walked a fine line between not completely squelching her awkward flirtations and keeping a distance. Mayhap he should have been firmer, but even if Glenda were jealous, would she actually try to murder Emily? The idea seemed as preposterous as Devon trying to kill her.

And yet, someone at Strae Castle had tried.

“Do ye nae agree?”

Ian blinked, suddenly aware that Donovan had asked him a question and that everyone, especially the ladies, was watching him. “I doona ken—”

“Ye have nae heard a word I said, have ye?”

“Sorry. I was pondering.”

“Understandable,” Carr said, “but I think we should consider changing our plans.”

“No!”

The plaintive wail came from Lorelei, Fiona, and Glenda at the same time. Ian blinked again. “Plans?”

Donovan sighed. “I suggested that we doona take the women with us to Campbell’s ball.”

Ian frowned. “We already discussed this.”

“Aye, but that was before the…incident…happened,” his uncle answered. “Ye canna oversee the serving of food or drink at Kilchurn Castle. Whoever put the tincture into the wine may have more left. If that person were to put a few drops into the wrong drink at the ball and someone took ill, the result might very well be clan war. We doona need to be at odds with the Campbells this close to Parliament starting up and Lord Mount Stuart’s petition considered.”

“But that is exactly why we should go! All of us, nae just ye men,” Fiona said.

“Nobody is going to try to poison one of us,” Alasdair pointed out.

“We are MacGregors,” Rory added.

“So is Fiona,” Juliana retorted, “and Glenda as well.”

He glowered at her. “Fine. We will take them with us then.”

“If the Sassenachs stay away, our sister and Glenda should be safe,” Devon said.

“Aye.” Broderick nodded. “Nae a soul would harm them.”

Fiona gave each of them an annoyed look. “Are ye all daft? Have ye nae considered that if Emily and her sisters stay behind, it will be a clear insult to the Campbells?” She looked at Ian. “I doubt we would have been invited at all had it nae been that Emily is an English countess. I am sure Gavin Campbell will be expecting her and her sisters to attend.”

Ian didn’t need to be reminded about Gavin. He remembered all too well the interested look in the man’s eyes and his remarks about coming to call. Thank God he hadn’t made a habit of it. Yet. But his sister was right. Not bringing them would be seen as an offense. Even worse, speculation might start rumors about the attempted murder. Rumors had a vicious way of escalating. Someone else might try to do the same. Instead of having one traitor to flush out, he would have more.

“If I might interject?” Emily asked. “Fiona is quite right on two counts. First, if I do not attend, your clansmen will wonder why. If we hope to keep the attempt to…harm me a secret, then they will assume that I consider myself above them. I will not have that. Secondly, if Lord Bute is in attendance, or the Duke of Argyll himself, either will wonder why I am not present.” She looked at Ian’s brothers. “And, unfortunately, in aristocratic circles, that would indeed be an insult.”

Ian held up a hand before anyone could argue. What Emily said made sense. They couldn’t afford to insult either the earl or the duke. “We are all going,” he said, “and I expect each of ye”—he looked around the room slowly, making sure each one understood his meaning—“to protect our lady.”

“She is nae our lady,” Devon muttered. “Nae a MacGregor—”

“Enough!” Ian glared at him. Must his brother always make a point of that? He didn’t want to be forced into a position where he had to make a choice between Emily and his family. And yet, he felt he was being pushed into doing just that.

…

After Emily finished breakfast the next morning—she’d managed to get from her chamber to the small dining room without a guard, or at least not one whom she saw, although she thought she’d heard footsteps behind her—Ian escorted her, her sisters, and Fiona to the solar.

“At least two of ye need to stay with Em—the countess—at all times,” he said, the tone of his voice brooking no argument. “Do ye understand?”

Fiona looked heavenward. “We are nae daft, brother.”

He nodded curtly. “I will depend on ye, sister.”

She shook her head after he left. “I wonder why he thinks he needs to call ye “countess” or “Lady Woodhaven” when we all ken he kissed ye.”

Lorelei giggled and Emily felt her face heat as though she’d just gotten too close to the hearth. Ian had not mentioned the kiss since, nor had he attempted to find a bit of privacy for them to indulge again. She was beginning to think she actually was a ninny. Men were always willing to steal a kiss, especially if the lady was willing. And she had been willing. Her cheeks warmed further. She had even encouraged him, but she didn’t regret it. Even now, she could recall every minute detail. How soft, yet firm, his lips were and how warm. How strong, yet gentle, his hands had been as they’d cradled her head. How he had tasted slightly of buttery toast and how the faint, fresh scent of soap clung to him. Still, the kiss had probably meant much more to her. Given her hapless marriage and lack of prior experience, Ian’s kiss had been the first to arouse her. He was probably quite used to that effect on women. She frowned. That idea was not appealing at all.

“Doona fash.” Fiona apparently misread her grumpy expression. “My brother will get to the bottom of this.”

“I am sure he will.”

Fiona went to the door, opened it a crack, then closed it again. “Just as I thought. He posted a guard in the hall.” She smiled at Emily. “Ye will be fine.”

For a brief, fleeting moment while she was lost in her woolgathering, she hadn’t thought about reality. Ninny, she chided herself. Ian was seeing to her safety while she was indulging in silly fantasies. Those footsteps she’d thought she heard earlier had probably been this guard. “I wonder what he told the man? We are trying to keep the news of the incident from spreading.”

“Doona fash about that, either,” Fiona said as she took her seat again. “’Tis Hamish’s younger brother, John. He’ll have been sworn to silence.”

Juliana gave her a skeptical look. “But will an armed man following Emily around not draw attention?”

“He will nae appear armed.” Fiona grinned. “But he usually carries a half-dozen knives hidden about his person.”

Juliana blinked and Lorelei stared at her wide-eyed. “Why?”

“He likes knives.” Fiona shrugged. “All Highlanders carry at least one, if nae more.”

Emily immediately began to wonder where Ian might have stashed his on his person and then felt her face warm once more. What had gotten into her thinking this morning? Was she feeling some odd, long-lasting effect of the hemlock?

Juliana persisted with her train of thought. “But having a man follow Emily around will still cause suspicion.”

“Nae so much,” Fiona answered. “Some years back, the Duke and Duchess of York passed through on their way to Kilchurn. John was smitten with the lady’s maid and followed them back to England. The duchess took pity on him and made him her personal footman.” She shrugged again. “So it will nae seem so odd to have him assigned to Emily.”

“What made him return?” she asked.

A bleak expression flitted across Fiona’s face. “His wife—he married the maid—died in childbirth six months ago. The bairn didna survive, so John came back.”

“I am sorry,” Emily said. “Has he been living here at the castle?”

She shook her head. “In Dalmally. Hamish must have sent for him.”

“Hmmm,” Juliana said. “If John married an English maid, perhaps he does not hate us.”

“We doona hate ye.”

Juliana gave her an arched look. “Obviously, someone does.”

“Ian will find out who that is.” Fiona looked earnestly at each of them. “I would wager one of the reasons he brought John in was so he could accompany us to the ball. He kens how to blend in and nae be noticed.”

Emily nodded. “People do tend to talk in front of servants as though they have no ears.”

“Aye. And he’ll be able to talk with the Campbells’ servants to see the way the wind blows there.”

“Well, I am just glad we are going to the ball,” Lorelei said.

“I am, too,” Fiona answered. “With the Duke of Argyll spending so much time in England, it will feel almost like a London ball.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Lorelei nearly bounced in her seat. “I cannot wait!”

Emily smiled at her sister, wondering if she had ever felt so young. She hadn’t had a Season and, given her lack of dowry, no serious suitors. She’d married the Earl of Woodhaven out of necessity and had simply endured.

And now, someone here wanted her gone. She could leave, but that would mean Lorelei would not have her Season nor would she be able to help Juliana. Emily lifted her chin. Her sisters were not going to be put in the same predicament she had been.

She would survive this. Attending the ball would be the first step in flushing out the villain. So be it.