Beth wasn’t good at waiting around anymore or at hoping for the best, as far as that was concerned. If two lifetimes had taught her anything, it was that waiting around for someone else to fix a problem and hoping divine intervention would somehow save them at the last possible moment from bad things happening was a false and cruel hope at best.
And anyway, she was no longer Bethany Ann Anderson who stuck her head in the sand so she didn’t have to see, and covered her ears so she didn’t have to hear every time something unpleasant occurred. She was a MacLeod, now, and MacLeods didn’t wait, watch, and hope for the best. They held fast to those they loved and didn’t easily let go of what or who was important to them without a fight. They did whatever was necessary to succeed in their task, no matter the cost.
Quint had taught her that, and now he was the one who needed her to put her newfound convictions into action.
Deadly nightshade? What did she have stored away in her memory about deadly nightshade other than the fact it was also called belladonna?
Being an American history teacher for as long as she had been, she must’ve run across some reference somewhere to the effects and treatment of deadly nightshade at some point. Mustn’t she have? After all, there were many different poisons that played significant roles throughout history.
And even if she couldn’t remember specifics from her studies, there were still the yearly basic and advanced CPR classes she’d taken in order to address any and all student emergencies that might arise. Surely, poisons and their antidotes had been covered during at least one of those long and boring case study lectures?
Hadn’t there?
She forced herself to calm and let the teaching professional she’d once been take over. And that professional part of her brain told her to take things one rational step at a time. She could almost hear the voice of the lecturer speaking, as if he were in the room with her.
“First, when dealing with the ingestion of an unknown and potentially poisonous substance, it is imperative to have the subject expel as much of said substance as possible.”
She hurried back toward Quint and moved the baby’s cradle well away from the bed.
“Help me get him onto his side,” she said in a voice that at least sounded calm to her own mind, even if it still held hints of hysteria to anyone else’s ears in the room.
Both the MacLeod and the Mackenzie rushed forward to do her bidding, and the moment they had him positioned the way she wanted, she pried open his jaw and shoved a finger down his throat.
Immediately, Quinton MacLeod puked all over the floor, all over Beth, and all over everyone and everything within puking distance. She continued to make him gag over and over until not a trace more of liquid came forth.
Old Annie walked into the room while Quint was still puking, and the moment he was finished, she said, “I’ll just be going and gathering the cleaning supplies then, my lady.”
Beth held up a hand. “Yes, please do. But first, there is something very important I need to know.”
The cook nodded. “Aye, my lady, anything.”
“Who’s been helping in the kitchen of late?” Beth asked. “I mean other than your little granddaughters? For it appears your laird has been poisoned.”
Annie’s eyes grew big as a look of horror crossed her face, and then she shook her head. “Nae anyone else, my lady, I swear. Just as ye asked, no other hands have touched the food I’ve prepared but my own. Though I do have ta admit, Marta has been especially kind since our guests have arrived. Though she’s nae helped with the cooking, mind ye, she’s been more than willing ta serve the ale or whatever else the men have had want ta drink.”
Beth sighed. Marta. Of course it had been Marta, for who else would it have been? It wasn’t as if Quint was the first person the odious woman had ever tried to poison, either. But as God was her witness, he’d be the last.
She couldn’t think about Marta now, though. She needed to concentrate on Quint.
Step two, step two, step two. What was it she was supposed to do after ridding the body of whatever leftover poisonous substances there might have been? She’d made him puke in glorious puking fashion, but what was next?
For a moment, Beth closed her eyes and allowed the memory of the case study on ingested poisons from her advanced CPR class to run freely through her mind.
One, induce vomiting. Check.
“Step two, transport to a medical facility so an antidote can be given. And in the case of no known antidote, treat each symptom as it arises.”
Well, this was the seventeenth frigging century, and there were no handy-dandy medical facilities to transport him to, let alone labeled vials of deadly nightshade antidote lying about anywhere. So that suggestion wasn’t of any use.
Beth could feel herself starting to lose it, and she staunchly pulled herself back from the brink. Think, think, think. So what if she didn’t have an antidote? She still had symptoms she could treat. Things she could do to help increase the odds of Quint living, not only through this night, but through the entire ordeal, hopefully.
For one thing, Bronwyn had said his heart was racing. What could she do, if anything, to slow it down?
This time, it was American history that came to her aid. There had to be a bottle of laudanum somewhere in this castle, because before there were many other medicines available to treat anything, the opium derivative had been plentiful and easy to obtain, basically worldwide. If Quint’s heart was beating too fast, then a sedative would probably slow it down. That was, if she could somehow get him to swallow it.
She turned to Bronwyn. “Is there laudanum available? Please tell me there is.”
The maid nodded. “Aye, I have some. I always carry a bottle with me in case of need. Almost gave ye a dose the other day when ye were trying ta deliver the bairn and making so much noise doing it. But it was just childbirth, and it would’ve been wasteful. Better ta save it for someone who’s really suffering.”
If Quint hadn’t been desperately ill and if Beth hadn’t needed Bronwyn’s cooperation so badly, she would’ve probably shown the maid the definition of really suffering, right upside her head with whatever was close at hand. But she did need Bronwyn, and she needed her conscious.
So, instead of becoming violent, she spoke in a completely calm and controlled voice. “Go and get it, please. I have no idea if Quint is in pain or not, but we need to decrease his heart rate. I know for a fact laudanum will do just that. I’ll try and trickle it down his throat and hope he swallows.”
She turned to Annie. “When you bring back supplies to clean up this mess, please bring a bucket of cool, clean water, and cloths. Your laird is burning hot to the touch, and if I bring his temperature down, that might help slow his heart some, too.”
Both women nodded, and without another word, left to do her bidding.
As soon as the door closed, the Mackenzie spoke. “What can I do ta be of help, Lady MacLeod?”
Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. You could undress him I suppose. It’ll be easier to cool him if he’s naked.”
Alec got right to his task
“And I, my lady? How shall I be of assistance?” the MacLeod chieftain asked.
She was so tired and already felt as if the weight of the world had been placed upon her shoulders in the last few minutes. She didn’t have the first clue as to how to answer John Iain, because she couldn’t see past the too still form of her dying husband to anything else that might be needed. But what she did know was the MacLeod was a liege lord and a laird in his own right. As a matter of fact, he was Quint’s laird.
Beth took a deep breath and looked John Iain in the eye. “Quint can’t lead his people right now, so Brochel will need someone else with a steady hand, wisdom, and the MacLeod name to do what he can’t until he once more can. Confusion and hysteria is the last thing any of us needs right now. Especially not with Lord Fredrick in residence and Marta walking around free poisoning people. We must show a united and strong fron
t if we hope to maintain any semblance of order.”
Her voice cracked, and she took another deep breath as tears threatened. She fought them back. This wasn’t the time for weakness or fear. She’d cry later if there became a true reason for it, but not now. Quint needed her to be tough and stalwart, and she’d not let him down.
“Oh,” she added, “and while you’re at it, find Marta and see she’s put under lock and key. For whether Quinton MacLeod lives or dies, that woman’s going to answer for what she’s done.”
****
Beth rested her head against her folded arms and fought to keep her eyes open and her mind sharp. If by some miracle, Quint did wake, she needed to be alert enough to see it for herself.
It’d been two full days since the poisoning, and the biggest majority of two full nights. During all of those hours, she’d been sitting beside his bed, keeping watch over her husband and talking. She’d finally told him all about Ben and Brian, the color of their eyes, the sound of their voices, their likes and dislikes, and ultimately what had happened to them, and why she had no choice but to leave when he was better and the viscount and Marta had been dealt with.
She told him about Burt and what her marriage to the monster had really been like. And over and over she told him how much she loved him, and how it was going to rip her heart right out of her chest when the time came to leave. She even shared with him every name choice she could think of for poor little Verra Hungry. And she begged him to open his eyes and come back to her.
Yes, she sat there for two very long, worry-filled days and nights imparting her words of love along with small doses of laudanum when needed to keep his heart rate slow and steady. And when she wasn’t talking to him or spooning medicine down his throat, she was giving him the occasional cool bath in order to keep his fever down. And not once, in all those hours had he opened his eyes and assured her he was still among the living, still here with her in body and soul, even if his mind was drifting elsewhere.
Not that she was complaining about the work, because she wasn’t. And not that she’d even had to do everything herself, for she hadn’t. Bronwyn and Annie had been godsends, especially with the baby, Duncan, and the various daily duties of the lady of the keep.
Poor little Verra Hungry. The only time she’d seen her son since Quint had taken ill was when he needed to be fed.
The MacLeod and the Mackenzie had pitched in, too. They’d taken over Quint’s duties, and Brochel was running almost as smoothly as if Quint himself were giving the orders. He would’ve been proud.
Though the two men had both failed miserably at the one other task she’d set before them. Marta was still out there somewhere, free to poison her next unsuspecting victim, and Lord Fredrick was rumored to be on one of the two English warships sitting in the channel. Out of their reach.
God, she wished Quint would open his eyes and talk to her. She so missed the sound of his voice.
Suddenly, he gasped and his chest rattled.
“No,” she cried. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t go, please don’t go, Quint.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I need you. Your son needs you. Duncan needs you, and Brochel needs you. Fight to stay here with us. Fight with every bit of that great strength I know you possess. No matter how hard it may be for you to do so. I’m begging you, my love. Don’t leave me here all alone. Please don’t go.”
No more than a whisper of air reached her ear, and at first she thought the sound she’d heard was her imagination. Then she heard it again, stronger this time.
“I’ll stay if ye will.”
She sat up so quickly she almost tumbled from her chair. With her heart pounding hard within her chest, she stared into the most beautiful set of stormy blues eyes she’d ever seen.
“You’re awake,” she cried. “Oh, thank God, you’re awake.”
Quint chuckled. “Aye, it appears I am. Though I’m sore thirsty.”
She held a tankard of water to his lips as she pressed kisses to his forehead, and then to both of his cheeks, his chin, and his ears. After he’d drunk his fill, she kissed his lips, too, long and thoroughly. “I was so afraid I’d lost you.”
He sobered. “I’m more afraid of losing ye than I am of ye losing me.”
She shook her head. “I’m right here.”
Quint nodded. “Aye, for the moment ye are. But for how long, my Beth?”
She could feel heat creeping up her neck. “What do you mean?”
“I heard what ye said, lass, every single word, though at times I was afeared I was dreaming.” He sighed as she shook her head. “Aye, I did. I did hear ye. For more than a sennight, I’ve wondered what ye were fighting with yeself about, and now I ken.”
She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand. “I ken about the bairns ye lost, my Beth, and I ken about the bargain ye made with Fate. I even ken why ye feel ye need ta be with them, really I do. I’ve made my share of mistakes, and I’ve said things I’ve come ta regret later. Things I cannae take back. But if what ye say is true, Ben and Brian have nae even been born yet and will nae for almost four hundred years ta come. Ye’ll still have plenty of time ta go be with them long after I’m gone. I’m nae asking for forever, my heart, I’m only asking for the here and now.”
Tears blurred her vision, and a lump formed in her throat. He loved her and wanted her to stay even after he’d heard all the horrible things she’d done in her other life, the mistakes she’d made, and what she’d endured. But could she? Would it be selfish? Would it be wrong?
He leaned up and kissed her. “Life is a precious gift ta nae be thrown away, and ye’ve been given the rarest of all gifts—two lives. Ordinary people like me only get the one, and that one will be more than enough if I can spend it with ye. Just give me forty, fifty, or sixty more years. That’s all I ask, and ye children will be there ta welcome ye into heaven when ye get there. If Ben and Brian are anything like their mother, they’d want ta see ye happy. And I’ll use every day, every morning, and every night ta make it worth ye while, I promise. And those times, when ye pain gets ta be ta hard ta bear, then ye can lean on me, my Beth, and I’ll share it with ye. Just promise me ye’ll stay.”
He pulled her down until she was snuggled in his arms and close to his heart, and she went willingly. “Do nae go, my Beth. Do nae leave me here all alone. I need ye. Ye son needs ye. Duncan needs ye, and Brochel needs ye. Fight to stay here with us,” he pleaded. “Fight with every bit of that great strength I know ye ta possess. No matter how hard it may be for ye ta do so. I’m begging ye, my love, do nae go.”
Beth smiled against his shoulder. He really had heard her, the real her. He’d heard every single word she’d said to him, and he’d come back to her just as she’d asked him to do. And yes, he was right. Ben and Brian hadn’t been born yet, technically. They would want her to be happy, and they would still be there waiting for her, if she did agree to remain in the seventeenth century and spend what was left of Elspeth’s life with Quint and their offspring. But the knowing didn’t make the decision any easier. So she closed her eyes, said a quick prayer her children would understand and made a difficult choice.
She lifted her head and looked into the face of the man she would love forever, even long after time itself no longer existed. “I’ll stay as long as you do.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun was beginning to rise as Quint held his wife in his arms and kissed the top of her head. He was happy to be alive. “I really slept for two full days without waking once, even ta piss?”
She nodded.
“That means today is Hogmanay, and we missed first-footing,” he sighed. “I truly am sorry about that, my Beth. Ye would’ve liked that tradition.”
He could feel her smile against the bare skin of his chest. “I don’t mind,” she said. “There’s always next year, and right now I’d rather be snuggling with you.”
Quint chuckled. “Aye, ye are a bonny lass ta be passing the morning with, that’s for sure. But trust m
e, first-footing is a tradition nae ta be missed if ye can help it. After the Yule log is lit and the midnight hour has come and gone, the visiting and gifting begins. And since I’m a dark haired man—” He laughed. “—’tis especially lucky for whoever’s threshold I step across first. So even if I weren’t laird, I’d still be in great demand. And there’s the singing and dancing, and eating and giving of gifts, especially salt for good luck. ’Tis a grand time for sure, and the only proper way ta welcome in the New Year.”
He stroked her cheek. “What of when ye came from, my Beth? How did ye start the New Year?”
She shook her head. “You’d be disappointed in New Year’s traditions in America, in my time, I’m afraid. For the most part, people get drunk, watch a big ball drop in Times Square, and then kiss whoever they’re dancing with.”
“What’s a Time Square?” he asked. “And watching a big ball fall? That sounds boring. I swear, the more I hear about ye time, the more I appreciate me own, and the more I’m grateful ye’ve decided ta share it with me.”
He heard her gulp, and for a moment feared she’d changed her mind. But then she laughed. “Times Square is a huge park in one of the biggest cities in America, and actually it’s kind of fun to watch that stupid ball drop. But I don’t blame you one bit for appreciating your time period more than mine. I’m beginning to like yours a lot, too.” She poked him in the chest. “Except for the food, that is. Holiday food in my time is amazing. There’s turkey and dressing, prime rib roasts, leg of lamb, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce.” She licked her lips. “And pies and cakes. Oh yeah, food in my time is much better.”
His stomach suddenly rumbled, reminding him they’d probably missed yet another meal whiling the hours away talking. “Ye have nae had Annie’s holiday feast then. Every dish all but melts in ye mouth. But food of any kind sounds good right about now. I’m near ta starving this morning.”
Beth quickly sat up. “I bet you are. What a horrible wife you are saddled with, husband. You haven’t eaten a bite of anything for more than two days, and here I lie, snuggling instead of seeing to your needs.”
Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts) Page 24