She had gained weight, it was true. And she had not felt so well in years.
“At the faery pool, I saw the children ye lost,” Una said in a hushed voice. “And they were smiling because, like me, they saw ye with a babe in your arms.”
Margaret took the handkerchief Una handed her and blew her nose.
“Even if ye don’t believe ye can have children,” Una said, resting her hand on Margaret’s arm, “ye ought to let Finn make his choice.”
“What he chooses now will be different from the choice he makes later.” Margaret turned to face Una. “I know he’s heir to the earldom. I heard Gilbert tell him.”
“He should have told Finn long ago,” Una said. “Finn is like his true father. Once Robin found the lass he wanted, he was true until death.”
Margaret refrained from pointing out that Robin Sutherland had died young and before he gained the earldom.
“You’re still afraid Finn will fail ye,” Una said.
“How do I know he won’t?” Margaret asked.
“Faith,” Una said. “Ye must decide to trust him.”
###
After wasting half the day fretting and stewing over what to do when Finn returned, Margaret decided she may as well be useful. She had not visited Gilbert as she had intended to earlier, so she picked up the same pitcher of water and headed down the stairs.
“Kind of ye to visit me,” Gilbert said as she fluffed his pillows for him. “You’re a surprise. Not at all the sort of lass any of us thought Finn would marry.”
“I suppose not,” she said, hoping he would drop the subject.
“Doesn’t follow his head, but his heart,” he said in a faraway voice. “I should have known he would.”
She did not want to hear it now. “Is there anything I can get for ye before I go?” she asked. “How about something from the kitchen?”
“My blood’s gone thin.” He pointed at the large trunk at the bottom of the bed. “I believe you’ll find an extra blanket in there.”
It was a chilly day. Margaret should have thought to ask if he was cold. The lid of the chest was so heavy that she had to kneel to lift it.
“Here it is,” she said, happy to find the blanket right on top.
“And if ye don’t mind,” he said, “I slipped an extra flask of my brother’s best whisky in the bottom before we left Dunrobin.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. This was what Gilbert had really wanted her to open the chest for. She felt uneasy about rummaging around Isabel’s gowns and stockings and tried to move them as little as possible as she reached down along the sides in search of the damned flask.
At last, her fingers touched the smooth, hard surface of the whisky flask. When she pulled it out, however, it was not a regular flask, but a wide-mouthed jar with a stoppered top.
She opened it to see if he’d poured whisky into it. Instead of a liquid, it contained the long stems of a dried plant with distinctive yellow flowers. Her blood ran cold.
Henbane. Had she found the killer? Her hand shook as she quickly replaced the jar deep inside the trunk.
“The whisky isn’t here,” she said as she smoothed the gowns back into place over the jar. “Ye must have already drunk it.”
Gilbert would not have asked her to look in the trunk if he had put the henbane there. That meant the murderer had to be…
Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard the door opening.
She dropped the lid of the trunk closed and looked up into Isabel’s piercing black eyes.
###
Finn pulled the worn cap low over his eyes, slumped his shoulders, and led his peddler’s mule and cart up to the gate of Dunrobin Castle. As he passed under the arched entry, he glanced up and wondered if his head would soon be displayed on a pike there, just like the father he never knew.
He pushed aside Gilbert’s revelations about his true parentage and his troubles with Margaret, which had plagued his thoughts all the way here, to focus on the problem at hand—and not a moment too soon.
Across the castle yard, he saw two familiar figures headed straight toward him. They were none other than George Sinclair and his daughter Barbara. What bad luck. Saying a silent prayer that a peddler would not draw their attention, he turned the cart with slow, plodding steps.
Before long, he had a line of people waiting to buy or trade. Apparently, he had given his first customers too fine a bargain. How was he supposed to know how much to ask for a spoon or a ribbon? When he recognized two lasses he had slept with in the line, he pulled his cap low and regretted his pride in insisting on bringing the message into Dunrobin himself. But whether it was the ragged clothes or the false belly he’d given himself, the two lasses barely looked at him when they paid their pennies.
The line was gone, and he’d still not caught a glimpse of Alex when a rough-looking man with a real potbelly dragged a wee dog up to his cart.
“Lost my eating knife,” the man said. “Will ye trade this dog for one? He has a good nose for hunting vermin.”
The dog was a yappy terrier with one eye and matted fur. Finn had never seen such a pathetic looking creature.
“Shut up!” the man said, and tried to kick at the dog, but the terrier was too quick.
“Kick my dog again, and I’ll flatten ye,” Finn said, grabbing the rope from the man. “Now pick out your damned knife.”
The dog attracted another customer. Finn hid his excitement as Alex approached the cart. Finn chose his moment when Alex leaned down to pat the dog and his face was hidden from anyone passing by.
“Don’t look up,” Finn said. “’Tis me, Finn.”
Alex froze a moment, but then he had the sense to rub the dog’s ears as Finn quickly told him of the danger he was in and the plan to rescue him.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Alex said in a choked voice. “I’ll leave supper early and meet ye while the others are still eating.”
“Good,” Finn said. “You’d better go now before someone gets suspicious.”
To make sure no one connected Alex visiting his cart with his departure, Finn waited another half-hour before slowly rolling his cart toward the gate with his new dog trailing beside him. As he passed under the iron portcullis at the gate, he felt a prickle at the back of his neck. When he glanced over his shoulder, sweat broke out on his brow and palms.
Barbara Sinclair was standing in the middle of the courtyard with her head cocked to the side and her cold gray gaze fixed on his back.
###
“Good day to ye, Isabel.” Margaret pasted on a pleasant smile on her face and got up from her knees holding the blanket. “Your husband was chilled and asked me to fetch this from your trunk.”
Her years of protecting herself by hiding her feelings behind a smooth mask saved her from showing how scared she was. She told herself that so long as she gave Isabel no cause to believe she had discovered the henbane, she would get out of this room.
“Just what I needed,” Gilbert said, giving her a wink as she spread the blanket over him.
Thankfully, Gilbert did not want his wife to know he’d had Margaret searching for his secret flask of whisky any more than she did.
“If there’s nothing else ye need, I’ll be on my way,” Margaret said, meeting Isabel’s icy stare with another bland smile.
Margaret’s heart pounded as she forced herself to walk in measured steps past Isabel to the open doorway. As she crossed the threshold, alarm shot through her body, urging her to run, run, run! Instead, she hummed a tune and climbed the first step as she imagined Isabel coming up behind her with a long blade.
Isabel had already brazenly murdered people close to her, so she would have no qualms about eliminating another threat. Margaret’s breathing seemed unnaturally loud as she strained to hear movement inside the chamber behind her. Now she imagined Isabel in the center of the chamber, standing as still as a stone and listening, just as Margaret was, for some sign that would reveal what the other knew.
At
last, Margaret reached Una and Ella’s door. Her pulse jumped when the latch made a soft click as she lifted it. Moving quickly, she slipped inside and drew the bar across the door.
Una dropped her stitching in her lap, and Ella stopped playing with her rag doll. Neither moved nor made a sound as they fixed their gazes on Margaret. These two, one old and one young, had acquired a keen sense for danger.
Sweat beaded on Margaret’s forehead as she leaned her ear against the door. When she heard no footsteps coming up the stairs, she picked up Ella and held her close.
“Don’t be frightened, sweetling. Everything will be all right, but can ye find your shoes and put them on for me?” Margaret said, then she lifted her gaze to meet Una’s. “We need to leave the castle now.
While Ella struggled with her shoes, Margaret quickly told Una about finding the henbane.
“I suppose the wicked woman was gathering it when we saw her that day in the wood with her basket,” Una said. “And she made that vinegary tincture for Bearach. Vinegar is used in many cures, but vinegar and mulberry leaves is for henbane poisoning.”
“I don’t think Isabel knows I saw the henbane in the trunk,” Margaret said.
“If she even suspects you’ve found her out,” Una said, “’tis not safe for ye here.”
“Then ’tis not safe for you, either,” Margaret said. “She’ll assume I told ye.”
“We’ll go to my grandson Lachlan’s cottage and wait for him and Finn there,” Una said. “It will be no easy task, but Finn will see that justice is done.”
“It will be hard for him to learn that the woman who raised him would do such a thing,” Margaret said. “And she’s probably already thrown the henbane down the privy.”
“What I meant is that it will be hard because Isabel will claim you’re the poisoner,” Una said. “Someone has already planted that seed. It hasn’t taken hold yet because the servants like ye. But I’ve heard whispers that you’re a spy for the Sinclairs.”
“Me? Why would anyone think that?”
“You’re a stranger among us,” Una said. “After no lass in Sutherland could capture Finn’s heart—and many of them tried—he comes home bewitched by a mysterious lass who claims she has no clan.”
Margaret swallowed hard. She was the perfect scapegoat.
“Of course, it will be far easier for her to blame ye if you’re dead,” Una said. “So let’s be on our way.”
“We shouldn’t go together,” Margaret said. “I want ye to take Ella first—pretend you’re taking her to pick herbs and flowers, as usual. If I’m not with ye, Isabel will have no reason to follow ye.”
Una nodded.
“I’ll wait an hour and meet ye at your grandson’s,” Margaret continued. “Don’t worry if I’m late. I’ll have to wait until I can get away without being seen.”
“Just be sure to come before dark,” Una said. “If ye wander off the trail, ye can fall into a bog and never be seen again.”
After sharing that unsettling bit of advice, Una donned her cloak and picked up the basket she used to gather herbs.
Margaret lifted Ella into her arms and kissed her on both cheeks.
“What’s wrong, a mamaidh?” Momma, Ella asked.
It was the first time Ella had called her that. Margaret was already struggling to hold back tears and nearly lost the battle, but she sniffed and managed a smile.
“I’ll be fine. Mind Una for me, and I’ll join ye soon.” She gave Ella one last hug. “I love ye with all my heart, my sweet daughter.”
She watched Una and Ella until they were out of sight down the stairs, then went to the window to wait for them to emerge into the castle yard. The elderly nursemaid and her young charge gathered herbs and flowers most days, so no one should take notice of them. All the same, Margaret bit her lip until it bled as the pair slowly made their way to the gate. She continued watching long after they left the castle and entered the wood to be sure no one followed them.
Relieved that they were well on their way to safety, Margaret left their chamber and went into hers and Finn’s to wait. When she shut the door behind her, it seemed so empty without Finn. How she wished he was here now. She always felt safe with him.
It was a chilly day and one of the servants had been thoughtful enough to pile extra peat on the brazier and start a fire. Margaret donned her boots and cloak, sat on the bed, and drummed her fingers. Perhaps she did not need to wait a full hour…
After a while, the heat made her feel so sleepy. She tossed off her cloak. Perhaps she should rest a bit while she waited…
She woke up with her head hanging over the side of the bed. On the floor beneath her, Ella’s rag doll peeked out from under the edge of the bed. Ella would be upset that she left it. When Margaret tried to get up to pick it up, she rolled off the bed and crashed onto the floor. She blinked, attempting to clear her vision. But it only grew worse.
Her body felt so heavy. Something was wrong with her. What was it? The answer was there, just outside her reach…
CHAPTER 29
Margaret saw the old rag doll beside her on the floor and clutched it in her hand. Ella. Ella was waiting for her. She had to get to her daughter. She struggled to get up, but the floor tilted, and her limbs refused to obey her.
She had to get out…had to get to Ella. She pulled herself along the floor to the door. Though she strained with all her might, she was unable to lift herself high enough to reach the latch. She collapsed with her face pressed between the floor and the base of the door.
A draft from the stairwell blew through the crack onto her face, and she drew in deep breaths of the sweet, cool air. Poison. Murder. She felt as if she was sinking into a bog as she struggled to grasp the fleeting thoughts floating through her head and put them together.
Isabel. A few more deep breaths through the crack under the door, and she remembered what Isabel had done.
Poison. That was the answer she’d been searching for. She’d been poisoned.
Death was coming for her in this chamber.
With a surge of strength, she crawled up the door and shoved the bar back. When the door fell open, she fell onto the stone floor of the stairwell. The metallic taste of blood was in her mouth and her elbow throbbed, but she forced herself to her hands and knees.
She did not know how Isabel had done this to her—but she knew she would come back to make certain her dark deed had succeeded.
Isabel is coming for me.
Margaret refused to die here. Her daughter needed her. And she needed Finn. She needed to tell him she loved him. Holding on to the wall, she fought a wave of dizziness as she stumbled to her feet. Her head and elbow throbbed from her falls, but the pain helped keep her alert as she slowly made her way down the stairs.
Somehow, she found herself at the gate with no memory of crossing the hall or the courtyard.
“Are ye all right, Mistress Margaret?” a guard asked as he peered into her face.
She nodded.
“Will be dark soon, and the weather is turning,” he said, looking off at the horizon. “Don’t be long.”
“I must hurry,” she said, her voice sounding faraway to her own ears.
Concentrating on keeping her walk steady, she made her way into the wood. She felt her senses slowly returning as she followed the path through the wood until it opened up onto the vast moorland. She shivered in the wind and realized she had left her cloak behind.
It was growing dark. Remembering Una’s advice, Margaret kept her eyes on her feet and quickened her pace. As she hurried along, she tried to figure out just how she had been poisoned. She remembered how hot it was in the chamber and the extra peat on the brazier. It would not be difficult to add a powdered poison to the peat that gave off noxious fumes when burned. If Isabel had acted quickly, she could have done it while Margaret talked with Una in the other chamber. She had already shown herself to be a decisive killer.
Margaret came to an abrupt halt when she suddenly found herself o
n the edge of a deep chasm, a giant fracture that split the earth in front of her. She must have veered off the path, and she had no notion how long ago she’d left it. How could she make such a mistake?
Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she scanned the horizon, searching for the path or a landmark of some kind. But there was barely any light left, and this land of peat and bog seemed to stretch forever in a dark, beautiful sameness.
When she heard a rustling behind her, she whirled around.
Piercing black eyes set against white skin filled Margaret’s vision for an instant before Isabel shoved her. Margaret screamed and flailed her arms as she fell backward into a black abyss.
###
Finn and Lachlan stood side by side staring up the shoreline. Alex was two hours late, and Finn was worried he would not make it.
“We’ll take him to Dornoch Castle,” Lachlan said. “He should be safe there. Even the Sinclairs would not dare to attack a bishop’s home.”
Dornoch belonged to the Bishop of Caithness, the Gordon ally who most likely procured the murder of Duffus of Sutherland as a favor to Alex’s father. It was the closest safe place to take Alex.
“We’ll have to move him from there as soon as we can,” Finn said. “A bishop isn’t good enough to protect Alex for long. He needs an earl.”
Finn did not trust the bishop to withstand pressure from both the Sinclairs and the King’s Council to return Alex to his guardian. And from what Margaret had told him, it would take another earl to challenge George Sinclair for the guardianship.
“Take him to the Earl of Moray,” Finn said. “He’ll see that Alex gets to Huntly Castle, where he’ll be safe in the midst of Gordon lands.”
“Looks like Alex won’t make it today,” Lachlan said, and clasped Finn’s shoulder. “We’ll come back and hope he makes it out tomorrow. Let’s tell the men waiting with the boat to make camp.”
“Wait, there he is!” Finn said, pointing as a figure emerged in the distance, coming toward them at a dead run.
Finn ran down the beach with his new dog yapping at his heels and lifted his cousin off his feet in a bear hug.
Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle Page 26