Chapter Twenty-Five
He’d just proposed marriage—for the first time in his life—and he’d been turned down. Ian was still smarting a bit over that when he joined his brothers, uncles, and the ladies the next morning to break their fasts. If any of his brothers found out, he’d be the butt of their jokes for months.
Emily was already seated at the round table, looking fully recovered from her fall. She glanced at him and he thought he saw a faint blush steal across her cheeks before she turned to speak to one of her sisters. Since none of the women were gawking at him, he assumed she hadn’t told them about his proposal.
Not that he had given up on the idea. MacGregors hadn’t survived as outlaws for nearly two centuries to simply accept rejections of any sort. And, damn it, Emily needed protection, whether she thought so or not. What Jamie had wanted to talk to him about yesterday was that the cinch on Muirne’s saddle had been replaced with an old one from a pile of discards. Which meant someone had deliberately changed it. And someone may have opened the gate that let the mares out so Jamie and the experienced grooms would not be around to saddle the horse.
He tried not to let those worrisome thoughts show as he helped himself to eggs, ham, and potatoes from the sideboard and took a seat, then turned to Emily. “How are ye feeling this morning?”
“A bit sore from the fall,” she answered, “but otherwise, I’m fine.”
He wanted to say more but held his peace. All of the incidents could have been committed to scare Emily away rather than actually murder her, but he hated thinking one of his kin, or even another clan member, was responsible.
But that was wishful thinking. He looked around the group.
“What are the plans for today?”
“Donovan and I are bringing the last of the barley sheaves in,” Broderick replied.
“We’ll be cutting peat,” Rory said, “if the bog’s dry enough.”
“It ought to be,” Devon added, “since the sun was out most of yesterday.”
“What about ye?” Carr asked.
“I’ll be taking the wagon over to Taynuilt to get some supplies.” Ian glanced at Fiona. “What will ye ladies be doing?”
His sister tucked her chin subtly in a semblance of a nod to acknowledge she understood his concern to stay near Emily. “We—all four of us—are going to Gwendolyn’s cottage to help pack herbs. She’s getting ready to take them around to the crofters, since cold weather will soon settle in.”
“And Glenda?”
“I have nae seen her this morning, but I will ask.”
Ian nodded. “’Twould be good if she went along.”
Fiona’s eyes widened fractionally, an indication that she realized the girl might be a suspect. “Aye. It would.”
He finished his food while covertly watching the others. Nobody seemed to be upset that Emily had recovered from the “accident.” Devon didn’t even appear angry after yesterday’s outburst when he’d stomped from the room. But then, Emily seemed to be convinced Devon was not the culprit. With all his heart, Ian hoped she was right. That his volatile brother was not involved in any of this. But if not him, who?
He sighed as he stood to leave. When he returned home this evening, he would have a long talk with Carr and decide on how to proceed. At least everyone’s whereabouts were accounted for today, and Emily would be safe with Fiona at the cottage.
For now, it was all he could do.
…
It was late afternoon when Emily and her sisters returned with Fiona from the healer’s cottage. She’d spent an enjoyable day helping pack the herbs into little packages that would be used for various ailments and winter fevers for the folks who lived around the area.
Glenda had arrived shortly after they did, and Emily had been impressed by how much the girl knew about the various plants and concoctions. She briefly wondered if Glenda had actually put the hemlock into the wine, but the more Emily listened to the interaction of Old Gwendolyn with the younger girl, the more she realized that the healer was training her to perhaps take her place.
That assumption was validated when Gwendolyn announced Glenda would be accompanying her on her trip this time, stopping overnight at one crofter’s hut or another. They’d both set off on the healer’s horse with Cedric, the wolfhound, bounding beside them.
Ian’s brothers and uncles had also returned to the castle, although there was at least two hours until sunset. Most of them were in the Great Hall, drinking ale. She met Broderick on the stairs as she made her way to the solar. He smiled quite genially as they passed and she smiled back, wondering if, perhaps, Ian had said something to his kin about their conversation after all.
When Emily entered the room, Lorelei was twirling a sprig of heather. She held it up to her nose.
“This would make a nice perfume.”
“We use it in some of our soap-making, but I doona think anyone has ever thought to press the flowers into perfume.” Fiona shrugged. “We are nae London Society here.”
“Still.” Lorelei looked at Emily. “Do you not think one of the shops on Bond Street would be interested in a new scent?”
“It would be a welcome relief,” Juliana said. “Some of those French perfumes are terribly flowery.”
Emily took the sprig from Lorelei and held it to her nose. The scent was light and not too sweet. “It might be worth looking into.”
“You sold whisky to White’s,” Juliana said.
“Yes, but the whisky is already distilled and more is being made. We would have to set up a perfumery and start from scratch.”
“At least the process would not take as long.”
“That is true.” Emily turned to Fiona. “Do you think Glenda might be interested in helping with this?”
“I doona ken, but we can ask when she returns.”
Emily nodded. Perhaps this would be a way to involve Glenda and get to know her better. Sitting down, she picked up a gown she’d left in the solar that had a small tear in the skirt. She hated asking the servants to do mending for her, since they already had their own families to take care of, and the last thing she wanted anyone in the clan thinking was that she thought herself superior. Besides, there was enough light left to fix the small rend.
Thirty minutes later, she bit off the thread and smoothed the stitches she’d made. Although she was not an accomplished seamstress, she thought her work was quite acceptable. Standing, she stretched and yawned.
“I think I will take a short nap before the evening meal.”
“Aye,” Fiona answered absently, engrossed in a game of checkers with Lorelei. Juliana just waved a hand and didn’t look up from the book she was reading.
Emily walked the short distance to her bedchamber and opened the door. The coals in the brazier had not yet been lit, leaving the room cool now that dusk was approaching. With a sigh, she took the oil lamp hanging from a sconce and turned the wick up to illuminate the room. Making her way to the tinderbox, she noticed a folded piece of paper propped up against it. She set the lamp down and picked it up.
Emily folded the note and laid it down, her hand trembling with excitement. They’d been interrupted last night. He had said this room was neither the time nor the place so he must have planned this and left the note this morning before he left. Her hand flew to her mouth. When had he expected her to find this? They’d spent most of the day at the cottage and she hadn’t come to her room before going to the solar. Had he been expecting her earlier? Was he waiting for her now? Thinking maybe she wouldn’t come, since it was already near dark?
She hastily scribbled a note to Maggie that she wasn’t feeling well and was taking to her bed and didn’t wish to be disturbed. Then she hurried to the wardrobe and took out her sturdy walking boots. Ian was right that taking Muirne out this time of day would only create questions or, worse, one of the grooms would insist on coming along. He had said the bog was dry and his brothers had been working it most of the day. Grabbing her woolen cloak from a peg near the door, she swung it over her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.
All was quiet. Her sisters and Fiona were still in the solar, the men were gathered in the Great Hall, and the maids would be preparing the evening meal. Emily used the servants’ stairs and left the note on the housekeeper’s desk near the back door and let herself out.
The gloaming had settled as she made her way around the corner of the castle and to the postern gate. Once outside the walls, she took a deep breath of cool, crisp air and started walking.
She passed the healer’s cottage, silent and still now that Gwendolyn was making her autumn rounds. By the time she reached the bog, darkness had fallen, lit only by a sliver of new moon.
Emily took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. She remembered what Ian had told her about the boards sinking below the surface where the bog was treacherous. In the distance, she could see moonlight reflecting off them. If they were visible, the ground should be safe to that point.
She started to cross the upturned rows of peat, stumbling a bit at the unevenness of the earth. The soil felt damp but not wet. Still, it was just a matter of minutes before the leather soles of her boots were soaked through. The ground seemed to be more uneven as she walked and she nearly turned her ankle several times as she navigated the heavy clumps, her legs beginning to ache with the effort. At least she could see a cluster of rocks not too far away on her right, so she must be nearing the other edge of the bog.
Perhaps she would rest a minute when she got there. She turned and headed for the boulders. Her foot slipped and she stumbled slightly, balancing by pushing her other foot down.
When she tried to lift it, it stuck. So did the first foot. And then she heard a sickening, sucking sound as mud and water oozed over her boots.