by Nicole Locke
Mary’s brows rose. ‘Yet. I just lost the spoon.’
Ailsa pushed away from Rory and grabbed the spoon. It smelled of water, but the handle...
‘It was you.’
She couldn’t believe it. She trusted Hannah and Mary. They’d held conversations on scheduling Hamish’s care, ensuring that they were all well rested. It was rare that Ailsa actually saw Mary. Their schedules didn’t usually meet, except it happened recently when Rory arrived.
‘I thought you wanted me to give constant doses of water to keep him hydrated.’ Mary glanced to Rory, then back, her face calm, but something flickered in her eyes.
Fear? Most likely.
‘Water, yes. Rosemary, no.’ Ailsa brandished the crumpled parchment, handing it to the servant, who blanched, but quickly handed it back.
‘It’s only rosemary,’ Mary said. ‘Do you want me to administer—?’
‘Stop. Did you give him rosemary today? I need to know.’
‘You want to talk about herbs?’ Mary clenched and twisted her fingers.
‘Rosemary wouldn’t harm anyone,’ Rory said.
‘High doses of it will,’ Ailsa answered. ‘Concentrated and continuous and a person might not wake up.’
She charged around to Paiden’s bed. Smelled his breath, his hand, his clothes, the bed linen. ‘It’s all over him.’
The door slammed open. Frederick stormed in with Hannah carrying a steaming bucket which she placed on the floor.
‘Rory, you’ve got to change his clothing and the linens. I won’t be able to move him. Hannah, can you gather fresh ones, but smell them first. There can be no rosemary, do you understand?’
Hannah’s wide eyes glanced to Paiden, then Mary. ‘I’ll go now.’
Ailsa pointed. ‘Father, bolt the door and stand by it.’
Mary’s eyes darted towards the exit, but her father didn’t question her request. Once Hannah left, they were all locked in a room that suddenly was as silent as a tomb and just as ominous.
‘What is the concern, Ailsa?’ her father asked. ‘Hannah found me; brought me here.’
‘I need you,’ Ailsa said. ‘As Tanist you need to listen to this, doesn’t he, Mary?’
The servant’s eyes were suddenly frantic. ‘I didn’t. I am—’
‘You made an undiluted oil from rosemary,’ Ailsa interrupted. Right now they had relative privacy. The parties that must hear the confession were here, but whatever information was coming needed to be divulged quickly. Other clansmen would have been alerted with Hannah running around the grounds and her father’s charging up here.
‘Did you give any to Paiden today?’ she said.
Rory swept the linens off Paiden and placed them both on the floor. His attention seemed to be on his friend, but Ailsa knew he was aware of every nuance given by Mary and her father.
He was aware of everything. The moment she exchanged words with Mary, she felt the tension in him. Her warrior was bracing for a battle, but this wasn’t something that could be solved with a sword, or with swift retribution. His priority was his friend and so she made Paiden’s hers as well.
‘Mary, he can’t die.’ Ailsa stepped closer to her. ‘Right now he lives, but I need to know, so I know how to proceed.’
A gasping choked sound. ‘N-no.’
‘What is going on here?’ Frederick demanded. ‘What has Mary to do with this Lochmore?’
Ailsa glanced to her father, picked up the bucket, smelled the contents, and the metal spoon. ‘We won’t use the salt then.’
Rory knelt and lifted his friend. ‘You trust her.’
‘I believe she is speaking the truth.’ Ailsa administered the tiny drops of fresh water to Paiden’s lips.
Mary’s choked sounds turned to sobs.
‘Why not give him the salt as you did before?’ Rory said.
‘There are other complications that could occur from forced sickness. He is weak. For now, we clean his clothes, linen and anything he comes in contact with. We clean him and then we give him fresh water and food to digest.
‘Was any other herb used?’ Ailsa raised her voice, but kept her eyes on Paiden. Right now she needed to coax as much information as she could from the frightened girl.
‘Clove,’ Mary whispered after a heartbeat.
‘You talk of herbs, of oils. Am I understanding this?’ Frederick said, his voice booming against the stones of the room. ‘Mary, you’ve given this man poison?’
Paiden groaned.
‘There you are.’ Ailsa handed the spoon to Rory.
Rory jostled him closer. ‘Friend!’
‘You meant to kill a guest of Clan McCrieff!’ Frederick roared.
Stumbling, crashing, Mary fled to the corner of the room.
‘Tanist!’ Rory said. ‘You make it no better.’
Ailsa met her father’s eyes, put a finger to her lips to beseech him to remain quiet while she crouched near Mary.
Sentences and punishment, if need be, could be announced in front of the clan. But if what she suspected was true, then the information might need to stay locked in the room with them.
‘You made the quantities of rosemary potent enough to poison to cause sleep. You had access to the kitchens that day, knew what was to be served for the meal. There was rosemary lacing many of the dishes. So all you needed to add was the oil to one particular goblet. The chances of it being enough to cause distress heightened by what was already served.’
Mary’s eyes were downcast, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was at least five years younger, but she looked as fragile as a child when she nodded.
Aware of Rory’s and her father’s eyes on her, Ailsa knew that no matter how innocent Mary looked she wasn’t. But to find the truth, she needed to force it from girl, who would have run away if she could. Now was the time for confrontation.
Sinking in as much venom as she could, she asked. ‘How easy was it to rub that oil around the goblet, Mary? Did it take so little of you to commit murder?’
Mary’s head snapped back, her eyes wide with fear and agony. ‘No, never that. Never!’
That’s what she thought. Mary’s family was deeply loyal to Hamish. Ailsa knew this. Her age and her loyalty made her a good caretaker for the Chief. But it didn’t bode well for any Lochmores.
Still, she couldn’t understand why Mary had committed such an act. Even with loyalty or her family’s dogmatic urgings, she was a gentle soul.
Keeping her voice accusing, she continued, ‘Why would you want to murder a Lochmore clansman?’
‘It wasn’t meant—’ Mary blurted, her eyes darting from one person to another.
‘You wanted to murder me,’ Rory said.
Pressing her lips together, Mary slammed her head on her clenched knees.
Ailsa felt as though she was missing an important fact. Mary had access to the rosemary. Ailsa, herself, taught her much of healing, but Mary was too young and hadn’t the inclination that Rhona had required of a healer. So she hadn’t taught her of the more complicated tinctures or any of the poisons. Ailsa had always thought to teach Hannah and so she had gone into—
A gentle knock on the door. Frederick slowly opened it, allowing Hannah, with her arms full, to emerge into the room.
‘Did you and Mary talk of remedies?’ Ailsa said.
‘Did she do it?’ Hannah said, clutching the linens to her.
‘Did you?’ Ailsa demanded.
‘I said nothing!’ Hannah cried out. ‘All these years, you taught me, told me... I said nothing to her.’
Frederick gently pried the linens and clothes from Hannah and carried them to Rory.
Three men, one about to be naked, and three women in this room. It was large, but not that large. There was no privacy for Paiden who hadn’t made a sound or movement since that one exhausted groan,
but there was no time to waste.
‘He’ll need to be cleaned, Rory. Rub the salt on his skin until it shines red, then rinse.’ Ailsa said. ‘Use the water in the bucket.’
Hannah glanced that way, then returned her gaze to Ailsa and Mary. Mary’s eyes were clenched tight. Ailsa shifted so her back was to the men. It would have to do.
How had Mary known how to make the undiluted rosemary in the correct concentration? The answer was obvious.
‘You had access to the journals,’ Ailsa said to Mary’s bowed head, but her feet went up on their toes and her heels slammed once.
She’d take that as a confirmation. ‘You were in that room the day the Lochmores came. You talked to Hamish and he gave you his keys.’
‘Hamish!’ Rory growled. ‘He’s bedridden, ill, barely alive.’
Ailsa shook her head. ‘He was ill, but aware until the day you arrived. He—’
‘So Hamish caused this,’ Rory interrupted. ‘He harms Lochmores, he poisoned Paiden. My father was right not to trust McCrieffs.’
‘Careful, Lochmore’s son,’ Frederick said. ‘You are married to my daughter.’
‘All the worse,’ Rory said. ‘You’ll allow this, Tanist? You, who invited us to dine at McCrieff’s table. I married your daughter and therefore all treachery is forgiven?’
‘Never, but... Ailsa, how long does it take to make the oil?’ Frederick said.
‘Hours,’ Ailsa said. ‘Days if done right, which means she had it ready when they arrived.’
‘Hamish knew of the King’s demand. He may have known that Lochmores arrived on McCrieff land that day, but as for the rest...’ Frederick stood, his feet heavy against the wood floor, his body towering over her, over Mary.
‘It was meant for me,’ Frederick concluded.
Mary howled.
As the cold truth of it swept over her, Ailsa lost the ability to kneel and sat heavily on the ground.
‘Ailsa?’ Rory asked, concern sweeping away all anger from his voice.
‘I’ll be well,’ Ailsa said, still averting her eyes from Rory and his friend, who would appreciate knowing he had some privacy when he woke. ‘Care for Paiden.’
‘The bastard’s heavy. He’ll hear of this later.’
Ailsa welcomed the relief in Rory’s voice. Despite what occurred in the room, if all went well, Rory would have Paiden well again.
Still... ‘My father. You meant injury to my father?’
‘Hamish meant ill to your father,’ Frederick corrected. He placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder. She startled.
‘Talk to me,’ he demanded. ‘As Ailsa’s father, tell me what happened.’
Mary raised her head. ‘Hamish. He ordered me to.’
‘How much did he tell you?’
‘He knows what you wanted from Lochmores.’ She gulped, rubbed her nose on her sleeve. ‘He knew that when they came, you would not oust them from McCrieff land. That you...intended to grant them the land.’
‘Were you angry about my decision?’
‘My father wouldn’t like it.’
‘Did your father know?’
‘Hamish told me to be quiet.’ She wiped her face, glanced at Ailsa and then back to Frederick. ‘He didn’t mention the marriage.’
‘How did the goblet get to Paiden instead of Frederick?’ Rory asked.
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I was so specific. I couldn’t be there because I was supposed to be caring for Hamish as Ailsa told me to.’
‘You couldn’t be there because you didn’t want to watch my father collapse to the ground!’ Ailsa said, the venom in her voice not feigned this time.
Mary met her eyes. Agony. Regret. ‘Yes.’
‘What happened since then?’ Frederick said.
‘I thought Paiden would wake,’ Mary said. ‘I haven’t been giving him any more, honest. Just that once and by accident.’
‘Why isn’t he waking?’ Rory said, a grunt to his voice, a thump of a leg or arm flopping to the floor.
‘Because—’ Ailsa started, the truth of it all sinking in. ‘Because he’s been getting it from other sources. The clothes, the wash water to take care of sores. We’ve been using cloves as well to help with stomach ailments. Our curing has been harming him.’
‘And Hamish?’ Frederick stated. ‘He’s not waking either, is he? Did you give him the same oil?’
Mary raised her chin. ‘I couldn’t... I wouldn’t allow him to make any more orders.’
‘Ah...’ Frederick pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You were ordered to harm me by Hamish and you did it because of your own family, because you are loyal to the Chief.’
At Mary’s quick nod, her father continued, ‘You should be loyal to the Chief, child.’
It was true. If the Chief gave an order, it was punishable if it wasn’t followed. Ailsa felt all the hatred drain instantly. Her father didn’t seem surprised or angry that Mary had done what she had. Her father acted as if he’d expected it. From the ‘others’ he’d mentioned, perhaps?
Frederick cleared his throat. ‘But the poison accidentally went to the Lochmores and Rory married Ailsa. You care for her, don’t you?’
Mary nodded, tears pouring from her eyes. ‘I wasn’t go-going to murder Hamish, just keep him sleeping until the marriage was done, until matters were...settled. I don’t know why he isn’t waking.’
‘It’s because you haven’t been trained, Mary,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s because he is already sick!’
‘I’m sorry!’ Mary burst into tears, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She curled up even tighter in the corner.
Rory scrubbed Paiden from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, between his toes and fingers. He poured the water over him, grateful there were other buckets here for other uses. They didn’t smell of rosemary or clove, but the water was ice cold. He knew it because he’d poured almost half of it on himself.
Paiden didn’t wake through it all which Rory was grateful for. He wanted only one of them to remember this and even then he hoped enough ale and time would allow him to blur the details. He wasn’t trained to put braies on another man and Paiden would have new bruises. But the deed was done; his friend was out of harm’s way.
As for Hamish, as far as Rory was concerned, he would never be out of harm’s way. To lose Paiden would have been to lose family. Paiden...
At Mary’s apology, he tore his attention from Paiden to his wife and watched Ailsa stumble over to the sobbing woman to clasp her close.
Anger mottled her cheeks, but his wife, the healer, gave comfort where it was needed because she cared. When Mary cried harder, Hannah flew to her side. Ailsa murmured words he couldn’t hear, but Frederick’s oath was firm and resolute. ‘How far my clan has fallen. My God, I will repair this.’
Rory knew, absolutely knew they wouldn’t ferret out all the deception. Even here, Mary confessed to her intention to poison the McCrieff’s Tanist because of her father’s loyalties. Even Mary, not quite a woman full grown, was divided. The entire clan of McCrieffs was divided. With his marriage to Ailsa, he had tied his own clan to lies and deceit, murderers and traitors. He was helpless to fix any of it, to slash his sword and order executions because there were innocents here as well. Mary was both loyal and a traitor. Their future was dark.
Then Ailsa turned her head to look his way. Her eyes were green like spring grass, new and full of promise, and Rory knew, no matter the future, he’d marry her again if he could.
Chapter Fourteen
Ailsa was beyond exhausted, but so were Hannah and Mary. A fortnight had gone by since she’d made her discovery and all of them had been working, ensuring that every bit of food, clothing and linen was free of rosemary.
It had been found in everything. It was in the trunks containing folded linens. Laundry, put out to dry, had been draped
over the sturdy rounded shrubberies. According to Rory, Paiden often brushed his teeth with the fragrant herb. If that were true, it wouldn’t have taken much more to push him over the edge.
Frederick ordered everyone to keep quiet. Not much could be kept hidden, but Frederick waited because he wanted to confront his Chief first. However, though everything they’d done for Paiden had been done for Hamish as well, the Chief never woke. He still slept, his breathing laboured, his cheekbones sunken. Bone broth was given to him in tiny droplets, but most now just dribbled down his chin.
Paiden, however, had woken within hours of Mary’s confession. It had been a happy moment for all, but joyous for Rory. Once she ensured Paiden’s breathing, eyesight and memory were restored, she left them alone in the room. Right before she closed the door, Rory caught her eye and the look he gave her was full of warmth, gratefulness, and something more...something she dared not think of now.
For though Paiden was mending, Hamish still slept and looked ready for the tomb. Her work was not over with.
In the meantime, Rory and Frederick were seen together. There were no more secret meetings, only open council sessions which they both attended. Such open co-operation also brought open disgruntlement and scathing remarks. Ailsa feared there would be no resolution between the clans and no peace within the McCrieffs.
Yet in the evening, when the doors were closed, she and Rory discovered their own peace. Fragile. New, but there was now some understanding between them.
The only fissure of worry was the matter of Rory’s parentage. In the midst of it all, Ailsa could not forget. Maybe it was because, with Hamish’s illness, it brought back memories of Rhona’s dying words. Maybe...she more than cared for Rory now and wished for him to know the truth even if he didn’t know his life was false.
Was there a right answer here? With Hamish looking as though he’d never wake, maybe the answer would never come. Thus far, she’d found no records on McCrieff land that Hamish had fathered a son or that a boy had been given away. Maybe Rhona’s murmurings were just that. Dreams and imagination cloaked within her illness. Maybe it was all made up. And yet, Rory’s—
‘You’ve retired early.’