My Brave Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  Isobel shook her head. She still couldn't figure out how Dirk could resist sweets. "It shouldn't go to waste." She grinned, knowing how much Aiden enjoyed tarts.

  "In truth, I'm already stuffed, but…" Aiden cut it in two pieces with his knife. "Half for you and half for me." He bit into his portion with much enthusiasm.

  "I thank you. By the way, how long will it take for you to learn the ballad?" she asked.

  "A couple of hours."

  "Indeed? That fast?"

  Aiden nodded.

  He amazed her with his musical ability.

  Someone across the hall called out to him. He waved a hand. "If you will excuse me, Lady Isobel, the bard wishes me to play a tune."

  "Aye, go."

  He leapt up from his chair and bounded across the great hall like a big pup.

  After finishing her tart, she eyed the half still left on Dirk's trencher. If she kept eating sweets like this, she would grow plump. But, if she now carried Dirk's babe, she would grow plump anyway.

  Glancing about to make certain no one was witnessing her gluttony, she took the half tart and bit into it. Mmm.

  Moments later, Aiden was playing a lovely but melancholy Gaelic ballad on the violin—Griogal Cridhe. Though no one was singing, she knew the words about a woman mourning the loss of her beloved Gregor of the great but maligned MacGregor Clan. That combined with the poignant and woeful tones brought tears to her eyes.

  Suddenly overwarm and thirsty, Isobel guzzled her wine then turned her attention back to Aiden.

  The music stopped and he grabbed onto the table next to him. Dropping the violin, he clutched onto his stomach and went down onto his knees.

  "Oh heavens!" She leapt to her feet. What was wrong with Aiden? Men gathered around him, trying to help.

  Isobel stepped down from the dais. She'd go fetch the healer. But it was as if a shadow passed over her vision, the candles suddenly dimming. She grabbed onto the back of a chair, turned her head and blinked her eyes, but her vision remained hazy and blurry.

  Saints! What was wrong with her? A shrill ringing assaulted her ears. She covered them trying to block out the horrid noise, but it wouldn't stop. Was the ringing inside her head? Nausea seized her stomach. She gagged, feeling as if someone had their hands around her throat, strangling her. She dropped to her knees.

  ***

  Dirk was in the dungeon, questioning and locking up three members of Haldane's group of outlaws, when one of the servant lads burst in.

  "M'laird, 'tis Lady Isobel and Master Aiden! They've fallen ill."

  What the devil? "Take care of things here," Dirk told Cyrus and Rebbie, then followed the young servant up the steps from the dungeon. "What happened?" he demanded, shouting against the icy wind that swirled through the bailey.

  "We know not, m'laird. They've both been struck with some mysterious illness, their faces red, swollen and hot. They are frantic and can't stand."

  "Saints!" The two people he loved most in the world. How could they both be sick at the same time? "Where is the healer?"

  "Inside, trying to help them."

  Dirk ran up the steps and into the keep. In the great hall, pandemonium reigned.

  He plowed through the people crowding the large, noisy room. He spotted Isobel first, on the floor near the high table. She thrashed about, her face red. Jessie and a few other women knelt over her, attempting to help her.

  "What the hell happened?" he asked, dropping to his knees and lifting Isobel into his arms. Her whole body radiated heat to an alarming degree.

  "Nannag says poison," Jessie said in a strained voice, tears in her eyes as she was near hysterical.

  Poison?

  Fear lanced through Dirk. Maighread's visage popped into his mind. Could she have poisoned them from inside the prison of her bedchamber? He glanced across the room toward the people surrounding Aiden. Would she have poisoned her own son, the person she was willing to kill for? It didn't make sense.

  "Where is Nannag?" he asked.

  "There." Jessie pointed.

  The healer approached with two more female servants carrying stoneware jugs.

  "Make her drink this," Nannag said, handing one of the jugs to Jessie, while a maid set a wooden bucket on the floor.

  "What is it?" Dirk asked.

  "Vinegar and warm water. 'Twill make her vomit and expel the poison."

  "Are you certain?" He didn't want to do anything to make her worse.

  "Aye, somehow they got ahold of deadly nightshade," Nannag said.

  Who else would use deadly nightshade but Maighread? Damn her. How had she poisoned Isobel and Aiden, of all people? Why would she poison her own son and her best friend's daughter? His cupbearer had not only tasted Dirk's food, but also Aiden's and Isobel's. Maybe he hadn't tasted the poison, or consumed enough to make him sick.

  "Give Aiden some vinegar too," Dirk ordered, glancing his way and, when the crowd parted, seeing he was in the same shape as Isobel.

  Nannag and a servant moved away as Dirk held Isobel's head up. She was talking nonsense and waving her hands about.

  "Isobel, drink this." He held the jug near her mouth, but she turned her head this way and that, clutching onto her throat. "Jessie, make her drink it while I hold her still."

  Jessie nodded, tears streaming down her face. Swiping them away, she poured some vinegar water into a mug.

  "Isobel, drink. It will help," he said, holding her arms down and her head immobile against his shoulder. Saints, he could not lose her. He had told her true—she was the most important person to him. He had never felt as close to anyone, and he wanted her by his side the whole of his life.

  She trembled all over. And though her eyes were normally dark brown, they were near completely black now, and her face scarlet. But her constricted breathing and gasping terrified him most.

  "Don't let her get choked."

  Jessie shook her head as she carefully allowed Isobel to drink the warm vinegar water from the mug.

  Isobel got one sip down, grimacing and shaking her head. "Dirk," she rasped along with other words. "Too loud." She tried to move her hands up to her ears.

  "Give her more," he told Jessie, his heart racing. Each moment the poison remained inside her, the more dangerous. "Her stomach has to be purged."

  "Aye." Jessie held the cup to Isobel's lips, but she tried to turn her head away again.

  "Damnation, Isobel, drink," he commanded in a harsh but low tone near her ear. "I can't lose you."

  She shook her head, then accepted the vinegar, showing true effort this time to get the vile liquid down.

  "Aye, drink a lot of it, lass. You have to vomit and get rid of the poison."

  He could already hear Aiden vomiting behind him. Thank God. This gave him hope.

  "We're getting married tomorrow, aye?" Dirk asked Isobel, praying they still could. His heart broke at the thought of losing her the day before she would become his wife.

  She nodded, jerkily, and whispered, "Wedding."

  "Well, then, you have to drink all this so you'll get better."

  She accepted more of the horrid drink while Jessie administered it. Isobel nearly choked and started coughing. Dirk leaned her forward, over the bucket, hoping she'd vomit any minute. He didn't want to have to stick his finger down her throat.

  She gagged and he leaned her closer to the bucket. She shook her head and started sobbing.

  "Saints, Isobel. You have to vomit, now."

  Hell, he'd never had to order anyone to vomit. But she did, finally. She retched and the vinegar water came back up along with half her meal. He and Jessie supported her while she clutched at her stomach. He held her head, the skin of her forehead still feverish.

  Another bout of retching consumed her and she vomited twice more.

  "That's good. Get all the poison out, Isobel," he said, relief helping him relax a bit.

  "What the devil happened here?" Cyrus demanded, crouching at his elbow.

  "Isobel and my brot
her were poisoned with deadly nightshade. It had to be in the food. Could you go make certain none of the kitchen servants leave the premises?"

  "Aye, of course. Will she be well?" Cyrus asked, eying Isobel with much concern.

  "I hope so, once all the poison leaves her system. Maybe you and Rebbie could question the servants."

  "Indeed." Cyrus strode away. Dirk knew how the man was. He needed something to do, to take action during a crisis.

  "How do you feel?" Dirk asked Isobel.

  Her only response was a shake of her head.

  "Get her some fresh water, Jessie, to rinse her mouth."

  "Does your stomach hurt?" he asked.

  "Nay," Isobel rasped.

  "Is the nausea gone?"

  She nodded.

  He lifted her into his arms, praying she'd emptied her stomach and that none of the poison remained. He set her on a chair and Jessie gave her water to rinse her mouth.

  Dirk turned to see how Aiden fared. His normally pale skin was just as red as Isobel's at the moment. "How is Aiden?" Dirk called to those helping him.

  "A wee bit better," Nannag said, approaching and touching Isobel's forehead.

  "Deadly nightshade, you said?" Dirk asked her.

  "Aye. I've seen the effects before, many years ago. Two children ate some of the berries. The younger one died."

  God's teeth! A renewed wave of fear crashed through him, making him realize how close he was to losing her.

  "Will Isobel and Aiden recover?" He prayed silently with all his might that they would.

  "I hope they will." Nannag gave a brief nod, her red kerch flapping over her white curls. "Since they've purged their stomachs. But their bodies absorbed some of the poison before we could get it out."

  "Is there an herb or something you can give them to help?"

  She shook her head, looking forlorn. "Nay, lad. We've done all we can."

  He glanced at Isobel sitting on the chair, leaning on Jessie. She appeared near unconscious. Aching dread clutched at his stomach.

  If Maighread had done this, he'd kill her.

  "I'll take Isobel to her room," Dirk said. "Will you come up in a few moments and examine her again?"

  "Aye," the healer said.

  "Come, Isobel." Leaning down, he lifted her into his arms, wishing they were already married so he could take her to his room.

  Her fingers clutched weakly at his collar and she pressed her face to his shoulder. Tears streamed from her closed eyes.

  "Och. Don't cry, lass," he murmured.

  Maneuvering up the narrow turnpike staircase with her wasn't easy. Once in her chamber, he laid her on the bed and covered her.

  Beitris rushed forward. "What happened to her?"

  Dirk explained the situation.

  "Oh, heavens." Beitris burst into tears and touched Isobel's face. "She's burning up."

  "Aye."

  "I'll bathe her face." She rushed away to pour water from a pitcher into a bowl.

  Dirk leaned forward and kissed Isobel's forehead.

  "I thank you," she whispered, her voice raspy.

  "You will be well, my sweet. Aye? Promise me."

  "I promise," she whispered softly.

  He wanted to lie beside her and hold her all night, whispering reassurances in her ear. Convincing her every moment that she had to recover, but Jessie entered the room along with Nannag and a female servant.

  "We'll help Beitris get her undressed and bathed," Jessie said. "So she can rest comfortably. 'Haps you could come back in a quarter hour."

  Dirk wanted to make them promise to take good care of her and notify him immediately if anything changed, but he had to remain calm. He nodded, forcing himself to leave the room to check on Aiden.

  The lad was sleeping in his room while several clansmen and servants looked on. Dirk sat on a chair by the bed and touched his brother's forehead. 'Twas feverish hot, but his breathing was strong.

  "Bathe his face in cold water," he told one of the maids.

  "Aye, m'laird."

  "We think we found who put the deadly nightshade in the tart that Isobel and Aiden shared," Cyrus said from the doorway.

  Tart? Dirk rose. "Notify me immediately if anything changes with Aiden."

  Several of those in attendance nodded.

  Dirk joined Cyrus in the corridor. "Who?" he spoke quietly.

  "A young maid named Deidre Murtagh. She won't confess."

  "Where is she? I want to question her."

  "I'll take you to her."

  Dirk followed Cyrus down two flights of stairs. So the poison had been in a tart? This was the first he'd heard of it. Maighread had to be behind it.

  In the ground floor vaulted kitchen, Keegan and others guarded the doors so none of the twenty or so men and women who made up the kitchen staff and servants could leave.

  "Is everyone here?" Dirk asked, immediately feeling too hot in the sweltering room with its ovens and massive fireplace.

  The pale servants all stared at him wide-eyed, none answering. What was wrong with them? What were they hiding?

  "This is the lass who is acting suspicious." Rebbie motioned to a girl of about twenty summers or less with red-rimmed swollen eyes.

  "Did you poison the tart?" Dirk demanded.

  She shook her head, renewed tears streaming from her eyes. "Nay, m'laird. I didn't poison it and I didn't know it was poisoned. Levina told me to take it to you and set it before you personally. No one else was to get that one because it was a special large one just for the new chief."

  "Damnation," Dirk growled. Maighread was behind this, trying to poison him. "Who is Levina and where is she?"

  "Levina Gordon," the male cook said.

  Why did that name sound familiar? A face popped into his mind. "I remember her." She was the baker who'd come to Dunnakeil with Maighread when she and his father married. Of course, she would be loyal to Maighread. They were from the same clan.

  "Where is she?" He glanced around but didn't see her.

  "I didn't see her again after she sent me to deliver the tart," the young maid said.

  "Has anyone seen her?"

  The rest of the staff shook their heads.

  "Keegan, would you take a half dozen men and search the village and elsewhere, if need be? Do you ken what she looks like?"

  "Aye. We'll find her."

  "Everyone else, stay here until we get to the bottom of this," Dirk told the servants.

  "I'm going to question Maighread now," Dirk told Rebbie and Cyrus. "Proof or not, I ken she did this."

  They, along with several other men, climbed the two sections of turnpike stairs to the bedchamber where Maighread was imprisoned.

  "Has she had contact with anyone since yesterday?" Dirk asked the two guards posted outside the door.

  "Nay. Not while I was here," one answered. The other shook his head. How in blazes had she arranged this, unless she'd set it up before her imprisonment?

  "Unlock the door," Dirk said, more than ready to confront the hag. He hoped he could control himself and that his rage didn't overpower his common sense.

  Once the guard opened the door, Dirk and the other men entered. Maighread stood before the fireplace. Her eyes widened as she surveyed him. Was she surprised to see him alive?

  "What do you want, you blackguard?" she spat.

  "You poisoned your own son," Dirk said, hoping to knock her off kilter. He wanted a confession from her.

  "What?" Blanching, she stumbled forward as if she might collapse and clutched at the back of the chair before the hearth. "Aiden or Haldane?"

  He studied her wide eyes and gaping mouth. How curious that she didn't deny being behind the poisoning.

  "Which?" she demanded.

  "Aiden."

  "Is he dead?" she gasped.

  "What do you think?" Dirk demanded. "Did you order Levina Gordon to put enough poison in my tart to kill a grown man?"

  "You bastard," Maighread snarled and charged him. The glint of a dagger
flashed in her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As Maighread charged toward Dirk, his warrior side leapt to the forefront as if he were on the battlefield, an enemy rushing him, but there was no time to unsheathe his sword.

  Seeing the dirk in her hand, he instinctively grabbed her wrist and twisted, turning the blade toward her instead. When she slammed hard into him, the dagger drove deeply into her chest. She screamed like a banshee, her dark green eyes emanating evil, staring him down as if she could kill him with her glare alone.

  Warm, slippery blood covered their hands and a moment later, she sagged against him, her breathing harsh but shallow.

  "I curse you," she rasped. "With my last breath, I curse you."

  "You cannot curse me!" He yelled into her face, determined that she hear him. "You have no power over me, witch."

  He released her and let her slide to the floor, her dagger still imbedded in her chest. Given its location, the blade had missed her heart, but it must have damaged her vitals badly for she was unconscious in mere moments… and dead within a minute.

  "Good riddance," Cyrus growled.

  Dirk was simply trying to catch his breath and calm himself after the surge of alarm combined with his battle instincts taking over and spurring him to quick action. He inhaled deeply. "Aye." He stared at her, hardly able to believe the person who had wanted to kill him for most of his life was dead. He was finally free of her evil influence. Forever.

  "She got what she deserved," Rebbie said, laying a hand on Dirk's shoulder. "She was a murderess. The only reason she didn't kill more people was because she wasn't exceedingly good at it."

  "Not for lack of trying," Dirk muttered, wishing she'd died years ago so she couldn't have poisoned Isobel and Aiden.

  Now, he simply prayed they would recover.

  ***

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dirk observed Isobel's flushed, slumbering face in the wee hours of the morning. One candle lit her chamber to a dim glow in the darkest night. Beitris snored on her pallet before the fireplace, but Dirk couldn't sleep. His whole life hung in the balance, just as Isobel's did.

  Watching her thrash about and moan during the past several hours had near ripped his heart from his chest. He wished he could take all of her pain upon himself.