Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides)

by Lynsay Sands

  Running his hands through his hair now, he muttered, “I gather ye have no idea who poisoned her?”

  “Nay,” Aulay admitted with a scowl. “Everyone was entering the great hall then, and there were a lot of servants coming out with drinks. No one noticed the mug being set beside Dwyn.” He was silent for a minute, and then added, “We have been thinking perhaps we should put the wedding and feast off at least until tomorrow night.”

  “Dwyn will no doubt sleep through the day,” Jetta pointed out gently when Geordie opened his mouth to protest. “She will be in no shape for a wedding, let alone a wedding feast and the bedding tonight.”

  Geordie closed his mouth in defeat. In truth, he doubted he’d be in shape for a wedding, feast and bedding himself at this point. He was so exhausted his vision was blurring. Nodding, he stood abruptly.

  “Where are ye going?” Aulay asked with concern.

  “Back to watch over Dwyn,” he said, stepping over the bench.

  “But you have not eaten,” Jetta pointed out with concern.

  Geordie paused briefly, but then shrugged indifferently. “I’m too tired to be hungry.”

  He didn’t wait for further protests, but walked away and headed for the stairs.

  As he’d expected, Una and Aileen had changed and made themselves more presentable while he was gone. The two stayed long enough to assure him that Dwyn hadn’t stirred at all while he was gone, and then slipped from the room.

  The moment the door closed behind them, Geordie climbed into bed with Dwyn, shifted himself onto his side behind her so that he was spooning her and then wrapped an arm around her and quickly drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Dwyn woke up feeling like something had crawled into her mouth and died there while she slept. On top of that her head was pounding, and her stomach muscles ached with every breath she took. But she had no immediate need to retch. That was something anyway, she thought grimly as she opened her eyes and peered around what she could see of the room. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the open shutters, falling on the gowns and shifts discarded in a pile in the corner, and the empty mugs on the bedside table.

  A grimace claimed her lips when Dwyn spotted the mugs. One was the remaining half of the sleeping potion Rory had mixed for her after Geordie had first brought her back to the room she and her sisters were using. The other was a half-full mug of cider that she’d tried to drink in the middle of the night after going a half hour without retching. It was as much as she’d managed to drink before her stomach had rebelled.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly, and then frowned slightly as she became aware of a heavy weight along her side to her hip, and something warm against her back. Opening her eyes again, Dwyn shifted her head slightly on the pillow to stare blankly at the arm resting along her side that ended in a sun-darkened hand that was curved over her hip. She recognized that hand. She’d watched it twirl flowers between thumb and finger, hold reins before her, tug up the neckline of her gown and close over her breasts. The hand was Geordie’s. She was in bed with Geordie.

  Dwyn knew she should be shocked at that, but couldn’t find the energy to stir the emotion let alone sustain it. Besides, he’d been there the whole time she’d been sick, holding her with care and concern while she’d retched, murmuring soft soothing words after and cradling her in his arms in the short intervals in between.

  Geordie Buchanan was a saint, Dwyn decided with a weary smile. Her own father had never even visited her when she was ill as a child, staying far away from her at times like that lest he get sick himself, yet this man had tended her like a loving nursemaid. Of course, she’d been poisoned, which wasn’t something he could have caught. Still, he had taken care of her, and that was what was important.

  Reaching down, she covered his hand gently with hers, startled when his hand suddenly turned under hers and his large fingers slid between her smaller ones and clasped gently.

  “Ye’re awake.” It was a sleepy growl by her ear, and Dwyn closed her eyes briefly at the shiver it sent through her.

  “Aye,” she whispered after a moment, frowning when her voice came out husky and broken. Her throat hurt to speak.

  “How is yer stomach?” Geordie asked, concern entering his voice. “Do ye think ye could keep cider down?”

  Dwyn grimaced at the mention of cider. She’d spent quite a while retching up the last bit of cider she’d tried to drink, and the memory made the drink completely unpalatable to her just then.

  “Mead instead?”

  Dwyn turned her head to see that he had rested his elbow on the pillow behind her and propped his head on his hand. It put his face above hers so that he could look down on her. He’d seen her grimace, she realized, and quickly turned her head away so that he couldn’t look on the horror she must be at that moment.

  “Mayhap mead,” she whispered, unable to speak with full volume until she had something to drink. At least, she hoped liquid would soothe her sore throat and allow her to speak again.

  Dwyn stilled with surprise when Geordie suddenly bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. When he followed that by rolling away from her, she turned onto her back, and watched silently as he strode to the door and slipped out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, she sat up and swung her feet off the bed, but paused when her wrapped feet hit the floor and she recalled that she was not supposed to walk on them.

  Scowling, Dwyn glanced down at herself and then around the room. She wanted to wash her face and brush her hair. She’d like to change out of her wrinkled dress too before he returned, but she couldn’t get out of bed and nothing was close enough to be useful. Breathing out an exasperated breath, she tugged up her neckline, and tried to brush out the worst of the wrinkles in her skirts, then she began running her fingers through her hair, trying to restore some order to it. She was still working on it when she heard the door open. Turning swiftly, she peered over her shoulder and saw her sisters entering.

  “Geordie sent us to sit with ye while he arranges fer food and a bath fer ye,” Aileen said with a bright smile as she hurried to the bed.

  “How do ye feel?” Una asked, following their younger sister.

  “Like horse dung,” Dwyn admitted with a grimace, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Oh.” Aileen’s smile faded a bit, but then she rallied and hurried away. “Well, you will probably feel better if ye wash yer face and brush yer hair.”

  “Aye,” Dwyn agreed with relief, glad she didn’t have to ask for a brush and the basin of water her sister was collecting and bringing back to her. Her throat was really sore and her voice broken. The less she talked, the better, until she had something to drink.

  “Here.” Aileen set the bowl of water on the bedside table and handed the hairbrush to Una, then turned away to rush back for a strip of linen and the soap that were on the same table the ewer and basin had sat on.

  “I’ll brush yer hair,” Una offered, and climbed onto the bed to sit behind her.

  “Geordie was most gentle and caring with ye last night,” Aileen announced as she moved back with the other items.

  “Aye,” Dwyn whispered as Una began to draw the brush through her hair. “I remember.”

  “He’s such a wonderful man, sister,” Aileen said with awe as she dipped the linen in the room temperature water and then rubbed the soft soap on it. “I am ever so glad we came here.”

  Dwyn didn’t respond to that; she didn’t get the chance. Aileen had finished soaping the linen and was now washing her face for her. Did she speak, she was like to end up with a mouthful of suds. Feeling like a child, Dwyn tried to reach up to take the cloth from her and take over the job, but it was gone before she could.

  “They delayed the feast and dancing until tomorrow so ye can attend,” Aileen added as she turned to rinse out the linen in the water, and Dwyn’s eyes popped open with dismay.

  “Oh, but—” Her voice died there and she moved her tongue around inside her
mouth, trying to build up enough saliva to swallow and wet her throat. Aside from painful, her throat felt dry and scaly, and she was sure if she could just moisten it, she would be better able to talk.

  “Oh, stop,” Una said from behind her as she continued to drag the brush through the tangles in her hair. “I ken ye want to protest that they should no’ delay it on yer account and so on. But they have and that’s that. Besides, ye deserve to enjoy a nice feast and dancing after all ye’ve been through here.” She made a sound of exasperation and then pointed out, “First, someone got yer feet all cut up, and now ye’ve been made sick—”

  “No one got me feet cut up,” Dwyn managed in a raspy whisper. “That, unlike the poison, was an accident.”

  “Nay,” Una assured her. “It was no’ an accident. The Buchanans think someone deliberately put the glass there after ye went into the garderobe so ye’d get yer feet all cut up.”

  “It’s true,” Aileen said solemnly when Dwyn started to shake her head. “They have been talking about it all day, trying to sort out who could be behind that and poisoning ye.”

  Dwyn’s mouth curved down unhappily at this news. She’d heard Rory saying that something had been put in her drink and that was why she was sick, but she hadn’t realized that they thought the glass on the floor had been deliberate too. It seemed she’d really angered someone here, and the only people she could think of who disliked her enough to perhaps do something like this were—

  “Laird Buchanan sent Lady Catriona and Lady Sasha and their families away,” Una said with grim satisfaction, speaking the names she’d just been thinking.

  Dwyn turned to glance at her. “They—?” She left the rest unsaid, mostly because she had no voice and it hurt to talk.

  But Una understood what she wanted to ask and grimaced. “They canno’ prove it, but suspect they were behind both attacks though.”

  “Aye, but that’s no’ the only reason he sent them away. In fact, he said without proof he would no’ have sent them away, but Rory and Alick were no’ interested in the lasses and they needed their rooms.”

  When Dwyn’s eyebrows rose at that, Aileen explained, “They needed one o’ the rooms fer a new lass and her family who arrived today, and Una and I are moving to the other room so ye and—”

  “So ye can rest and recover more quickly,” Una interrupted firmly.

  “Oh,” Aileen said with dismay. “Aye, so ye can rest.”

  Dwyn narrowed her gaze on the lass. Her sister’s eyes were wide, as if she’d just realized she’d nearly said something she shouldn’t have. Aileen never had been able to lie worth beans, but before Dwyn could question her about what she’d really been going to say, a soft knock on the door drew their attention.

  “That’ll be Geordie. He said he would fetch back food fer ye,” Aileen said with relief, and rushed to the door.

  Dwyn frowned, and stared after her sister, watching as she opened the door for Geordie to come in. He entered with a tray in hand that held a pitcher, goblets and a large platter of food. His eyes found her sitting up on the bed and a smile softened the grim expression he’d initially had on his face, and then he carried the tray to a small table and two chairs to the side of the hearth and set it down.

  “They have brought out sweet pasties for the guests below, Una and Aileen,” Geordie announced as he picked up the pitcher and poured the liquid it held into the goblets. “Yer father asked me to tell ye that and send ye down.”

  “I have no’ finished brushing her hair,” Una said, but was climbing off the bed as she did.

  “I shall finish fer ye,” Geordie announced, turning with both goblets in hand.

  Much to Dwyn’s amazement, her sisters nodded and immediately hurried out of the room, leaving her alone with Geordie. They even closed the door behind them, which really wasn’t proper at all. She should not be alone in a room with a male with the door closed. It was just—Come to think of it, she’d been alone with him and him in bed with her when she’d woken up, Dwyn realized now, and began to frown. That definitely hadn’t been proper.

  “Here, Dwyn, drink.”

  Blinking, she turned from looking at the door to find Geordie in front of her now, holding out one of the goblets. She stared at it blankly, and then lifted her gaze to his face, still trying to sort out why she was being left alone in a room with him with the door closed. Her sisters knew better than that, as did their father, but he’d apparently wanted them below . . .

  “Can ye hold it?” he asked with concern when she hesitated.

  Dwyn reached for the glass with one hand, but then quickly added her other hand to help hold it when she found she was indeed weak. The retching had apparently taken more out of her than she’d realized, Dwyn thought with disgust as she raised the goblet to her lips and sipped tentatively. It was mead, as she expected, and delicious, but she was almost afraid to drink too much and start retching again, so she started with the sip, and then lowered the glass to wait a moment as she swished it around in her mouth and swallowed.

  “Mavis is arranging for a bath to be brought up once the water warms,” he announced, setting his own goblet down on the table. “It may take some time though.”

  Dwyn murmured in response to that, and then stiffened in surprise when he crawled onto the bed beside her. When he continued to move around behind her, Dwyn glanced around to see him pick up the brush Una had apparently left there. Eyes wide, she quickly turned forward as he began to run it slowly through her hair.

  For a moment, she just sat there, feeling odd and a little uncomfortable with everything, but when he murmured, “How is yer stomach? Is the mead bothering it?” she glanced down at the goblet she’d lowered to her lap, and took a moment to pay attention to her stomach. It seemed to have accepted the mead well, she acknowledged, and said with relief, “It seems fine with the mead.”

  Her voice was still raspy and broken, and she wasn’t surprised when he urged, “Try some more.”

  Nodding, she raised the goblet and took a larger sip this time, and again swished it around her mouth before swallowing. But when that stayed down and her stomach didn’t rebel, she took a proper drink, and then another as Geordie continued to brush her hair.

  “I love yer hair,” he murmured after a moment, and she felt him lift it away from her neck and raise it out behind her. “’Tis so soft and fine. Lovely.”

  Dwyn stilled, her fingers tightening on her goblet, and then he let it fall back into place and asked, “Ye must be hungry. Would ye like to try a little food?”

  “Aye,” she said, relieved when her voice was a little less raspy this time and it didn’t pain her as much to speak. The liquid was helping, Dwyn thought, and then glanced around with surprise when Geordie was suddenly shifting past her to stand. When he took the goblet and set it on the table, then bent toward her, she automatically raised her arms to wrap them around his neck as he picked her up.

  “I think we’ll start with something light and then move from there,” he said as he carried her to the table. “Cook sent up broth to start with, as well as meat, cheese and fruit. But why do we no’ see how the broth settles ere we try anything else?”

  Dwyn nodded, but her hungry eyes were on the tray with the food on it and her mouth was watering at the thought of eating. The mead had eased her mouth and throat, but it had also made her aware of how empty her stomach was and the hunger gnawing at it.

  Geordie set her in the nearer chair, and lifted a small wooden bowl of broth from the tray to set it before her, but then turned to head back to the bed to get her empty goblet and his full one. He was back quickly though, and took the opposite chair.

  “Did yer sisters tell ye Jetta delayed the feast until tomorrow so ye could attend?” he asked as he poured more mead into her goblet.

  Dwyn swallowed the broth and nodded. “Aye. ’Twas very kind o’ her, but I feel bad that she did. I’m sure everyone else was disappointed, and ’tis no’ as if I could have danced at the feast anyway,” she poin
ted out.

  “Ye might be able to. Rory is going to come up with the bath, and check yer feet while they prepare it. He’s hoping they’ve healed enough ye can put weight on them again and can walk and dance. If no’ tonight, then by tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Dwyn breathed, smiling at the thought. While she loved the excuse of needing to be carried to be in Geordie’s arms, it could also be embarrassing when it came to things like using the garderobe. Fortunately, her sisters had helped her in the garderobe, but he’d still had to carry her there and set her on the wooden bench, and then carry her away after. Most embarrassing, she thought with a grimace, and hoped she wouldn’t have to go again now that she was eating. At least, not until Rory had seen her feet, and hopefully said she could put weight on them again.

  “How is yer stomach faring now?” Geordie asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Is the broth bothering it?”

  “Nay,” Dwyn said, relieved to be able to say so.

  “Would ye like to try some meat, cheese and bread?” he suggested.

  Dwyn looked at the food. Her mind was very aware she’d missed several meals and wanted the food, but her stomach was telling her it was starting to feel full from just the drink and broth. Sighing, she said, “Perhaps just a little bread and fruit. I’m almost full already.”

  “What about a pastie, then?” he suggested, drawing her attention to the fruit-filled pastries she hadn’t noticed until he now pointed them out.

  “Oh, aye,” she said with a smile. “That would be perfect.”