The Laird was thrashing in his guard’s hands and the veins were bulging in his neck and arms. He went stiff while every limb of his body was rigid, before his knees buckled under him and he went slack. The man had collapsed.
Leith’s face was tormented and grief-stricken. He pressed both of the heels of his palms to his eye and a low groan of pain left him. Mary stood but lingered back. Leith staggered a little but he caught himself, took his hands away from his face and said, hollowly, “Take him to his room, tie him to the bed. Dugald, stay inside with him and Finlay, outside. No one goes in unless it is me and the healer, understood?”
“Aye,” Dugald grunted as he and Finlay heaved the man into their arms and carried him out and back to his room.
The steel in Leith’s spine gave out and his shoulders sagged, “Mary, stay with me mother for a while. I have to go and track down that healer. I cannae understand why this has happened. He was well, I kent he was well. He was back to himself. All this week he was well. I saw him last night…he slept like a babe.”
Mary nodded. Leith called for the servants to come in and clean up the place while he accompanied Mary and his mother up his mother’s room. He hugged and kissed his mother the cheek and then did the same to Mary. “Stay with her, and pray I find the healer quickly, mo gràidh.”
Before she could say a word, he was gone. She turned to the woman and smiled but the lady was looking down at her skirts. Swallowing in nervousness, Mary hesitated on speaking even though she knew they all knew she was not mute.
“My Lady, may I get you something?”
Lady Lenichton’s head snapped up and Mary grimaced, she knew her English accent had shocked the woman. “Ye…yer an Englisher!”
“I am,” Mary said quietly, hoping the woman was not as averse to her nationality as Mr. Cooper.
Standing, Lady Lenichton looked at her and her voice was tight and scornful. Instantly, Mary knew she was wrong with hoping there would not be any prejudice against her, “Are ye sleeping with me son, Sassenach?”
Mary stepped back, confused and shocked at the word. She did not know what it meant but it sounded like an insult, something Fiona would have spat at her.
“D…Does it matter?”
“It does to me,” Lady Lenichton said tightly as she came closer. “Ye want the lairdship, ye want the luxury that comes with the title. Ye want to steal me wealth from under me and give it over to yer vile race. I trusted ye to help me husband with his meals. He was getting better and ye kent it right to put him back, worse than he had been just because of yer greed. Ye poisoned him!”
Now, Mary was outright terrified. She stumbled back and her hands were up in a gesture of surrender, “N…no, no! I have done no such thing!”
“Aye, ye have!” Lady Lenichton rushed to the door and yanked it open. “Finlay! Get here! Seize this Sassenach!”
Mary’s head was spinning and before she could set a thought straight and run, the door was yanked open and the guard came in. He looked at the two women with askance looks. “Mary, Me Lady? Seize Mary?”
“Aye,” the woman snarled. “Take her, she is a traitor, a liar, and a murderer. She tried to kill me husband!”
27
Finlay was gentle in taking her to a prison in the castle’s keep but when she tripped over her feet and slammed her hands and knees on the rough, gritty floor, pain ran through her body in fierce jabs. The room smelled musty and dank with a rancid tinge to it that burned her nose.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “I ken ye’ve done nothing like what Me Lady says, but I still have to obey her.”
She managed to get to her feet and hobbled over to a corner. Her hand was on the wall and she felt her way along in the darkness. Before she could ease herself down, beady black eyes of a rat met hers before it scattered away. The sound of its nails on the ground was tinny.
Mary sank down to the corner and hugged her knees to her chest. How could this happy night have gone so wrong? And how could Lady Lenichton just turn on her so quickly? She had believed they had forged a bond of trust, but clearly, she was wrong. The woman seemed to hate English people too…or was it that she was both English and sleeping with her son?
Am I going to die here before Leith comes? He’s given me what I never thought I‘d ever have…love. If I do die, I pray I get to see him at least once more. To be held in his arms, to kiss him…to tell him I love him again, that’s all I ask.
Huddling into herself, Mary covered her head with her arms and she began to sob. Her eyes burned but no tears fell. Just as thing were looking up, they had spun on their head and now she was in a worse position than the one she had left. Marrying the Viscount of Blackmore might have killed her spirit but being charged for planning to kill a Scottish Laird would cost her life entirely.
Leith had left to find the healer and it was only God who knew how long it would take. She lifted her head up and, with her eyes now adjusted to the darkness, could spot a bare square of rock opened so air could come in. This time, tears did come and she cried until her head was pounding and her chest heaving.
Leaning her temple on the cold stone, Mary stared at the dull rock with hopelessness. Leith was gone, she was in jail, Rinalda might be at her wit's end, Fiona was probably celebrating and she was sure that Lady Lenichton was going to try and get rid of her as soon as possible, before Leith could come back and save her.
Where was she going to be shipped off to? Mary said a prayer and then allowed herself to drift off, fear still gripping her heart tightly.
It was torrential outside but Leith could not care if he got wet. He needed to find the healer. He had to find Magrath, and he had little time to do it. He would not rest or eat or drink until he found the man and had him come back to get his father back on track.
This was the third inn he had checked only to find that Magrath was not there. Without wasting a moment, he ran back to his horse and sped off, his eyes squinted to slits as he shielded his vision from the pounding rain.
Hellfire and damnation, I should have carried some men with me.
He had searched three-quarters of the town and had found no sign of him. He was not going to give up, he had stood by his vow to help his father months ago and this was no different. He was riding to the last inn in the village and his hope was teetering on the edge over a cliff of despair.
The last inn was nothing but a row of squat cottages turned into one. Flickering lights came from two of them and he reined his horse in. He vaulted off the horse and ran to the first one, banging on the door until it was yanked in.
“May—”
“Is Luag Magrath here?” he overrode the woman who had answered the door.
“Magrath? I dinnae ken—”
Leith was off to the other cottage and banged on it. The shadows were heavy and the rain had already soaked through his clothes and down to his skin. The chill was setting in but his body was vibrating for another reason. He needed to have the healer there or he’d have to track him down and that would lose time for him and his father.
“What is—Young Lenichton?” a man huffed while tightening his plaid. “What is it? How can I help?”
“If Luag Magrath isnae here, ye cannea help me,” Leith said as he turned away.
“Magrath?” the man called, his voice a solid tug dragging Leith back. “A man named Magrath was here before me. He left to the town of Denwen a day ago. I’m sure ye’ll find him there, Sir.”
It was not what he wanted but it was the best thing he had heard. Magrath was not too far and if he rode hard and quick enough, he would get there by dawn, find the man and them come back.
“Thank ye,” he said.
“Sir!” the man called. “ ‘Tis a storm yer heading into, please stay here and ye can move out in the morn. Ye might die in this tempest.”
Cue to the man’s word, a jagged fork of blue lightning shot through the air and a thunderous clap followed it. Leith shook his head and headed out, calling over his shoulder, “I’
ll take me chances.”
When Mary woke up, in what looked like the dimness of dawn, her throat felt like someone had shoved gravel down her windpipe. Her head was hurting as well because her “pillow” had been a stone wall.
Mary stood on weak legs and went to the stone door Finlay had locked behind her. She rose up to her toes to get to the tiny window there and called for someone. No one came and though her throat was raw and scratchy she called more. Her body felt weak and her head was beginning to spin.
“Jailer, please! Help!”
With no one coming to her aid, she sank to her knees again and cradled her head. She had not eaten from last night, as she had worked all day, and she had barely stomached anything before the ruckus in the great hall had her rushing in. Now her stomach felt sick and was on the verge of losing the meager contents. Bile was burning her throat as it came up but she swallowed it down.
Her head was hammering for another reason. She managed to press her head on the wall again, just for its coolness even though its texture was ripping her skin apart. She breathed through her nose, sucking in the stale air as much as she could.
The door was opened and the grate had her head pounding even more. She peeled her eyes open and saw a man she did not know, “I’m hungry, please give me some food.”
“I cannae miss,” the man said without a hint of sympathy. “I’m under orders from Lady Lenichton to nae give ye anything.”
Nothing? Nothing at all? This was a level of cruelty Mary had not expected from the woman who had given such a pious, caring sense.
Figures, my parents too were pious and caring and they betrayed me, so what less could I expect from those who are pious and caring.
Bitterly, Mary asked, “Not even water?”
“Nay miss, nae even that,” he said. “She says ye are to suffer for yer act of poisoning the Laird.”
“I did not…” she had to stop to swallow over a burning throat, “nothing of the sort. Please, I beg you, I just need water. Just water, please. Surely you can have some compassion.”
No change was in the man’s features and after looking at her impassively for a while, turned and walked out, closing the door after him. Mary could only bow her head. I’m going to die here.
Little light was coming in and what did come in barely fell to the ground. She saw thick dust motes hanging in the air. It was deathly quiet and the only sound she heard was the soft sounds of breaths. The skitter of a rat’s nails on the floor had her opening her eyes but the critter was gone before she could even see it.
Eventually, she slipped into a daze, not fully awake or fully asleep. She was worried, dearly bothered about everything, her situation, Leith, and Leith’s father. She began to feel that Lady Lenichton had hated her from the moment she had stepped into the castle. But if so, why had she given her the task to give her husband his daily meals?
Mayhap this is the second try to get rid of me…she had offered to marry me off before. But now…how did she know this was going to happen? Was her husband getting ill again just a happy chance for her to blame me? If not, what else would she have tried?
Her doze deepened. Now, she’s trying to get rid of me by starving me. She hates English people and she hates that I’m with her son even more. Leith did tell me she spoke to him about marrying a Scottish woman too. Is Cooper behind all this? He does have the power to influence her with his hatred.
Her mind wove through possibilities and underlying schemes that all coalesced into this mess. In the end, she was sure Nicolas Cooper was behind all this. The man was stealing Leith’s inheritance from him, influencing the people against his authority and was barefaced about hating those who were not Scottish. The Laird’s madness was what Cooper had used to take control.
He was absent but his plan was working. He’ll have me executed. The morning slipped by and by, the time ticking away slower than thick molasses. She had passed the stage of hungry and thirsty to the point her body had given up wanting and had been slowly carving a pit in the middle of her stomach.
The misty dawn of the Highland forest surrounding him had an eerie calm to it. The crisp clear morning air was only sharpening the resolve Leith had to find Luag Magrath. He rode into the village, half-damp with his clothes sticking to his skin. He passed by the watchtower, and ringing belfry of the nearby kirk paired with the hymn he heard from inside brought him a glimmer of hope.
He passed by a smithy and heard the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. Turning down a road, he headed to the inns he remembered in the village and held back on his horse’s trot. The pulsing need to find Magrath was a desperate itch under his skin, that would only be soothed when he found the man and carried him home.
It crossed his mind to call on Theodor Addair, the Laird of Denwen, but there was no time. If he did not find Magrath, he might beg the man’s help. He found the first inn. With his haggard appearance, he might alarm someone but it needed to be done. He alighted from the horse, right onto the sodden ground. Mud splashed up his boots but he did not care.
Taking the steps to the inn in one large stretch, he knocked and waited on someone to come and speak to him. An old man, bent nearly in half came and squinted up, “What are ye here for, son?”
“Are ye the innkeeper?” Leith asked. “If nay, get him for me. I need to know if a man named Luag Magrath is here.”
“I’m nay the keeper, son, but nayone with that name is here,” the man said. “He might be around and about, keep trying.”
Gritting his teeth, Leith nodded, thanked the man for his help and left to another inn. An hour or so later, empty-handed and frustrated, Leith had to turn to his last resort and go find Theodor Addair.
The Laird’s home was not as established as his. As Addair’s father had come to the Lairdship only two-and-a-half decades ago, his home was more of a work-in-progress. It was large stone creation with wooden finishes. The lane to Theodor’s home was long enough to have the guards spotting him.
The moment he came closer he could feel something was wrong. There was an air over the home, so still and heavy he could almost taste bitterness in the air. He approached a guard and announced himself and saying the issue was urgent. He then looked around with a frown. “What is happening here?”
An expression flashed across the man’s face too quickly for Leith to understand what it was. The man shook his head, “I ken it’s best for his Lairdship to tell ye, Young Lenichton.”
He then was sent in and another guard showed him to the meeting room of the Laird of Denwen. He heard soft susurrations inside and the uneasy feeling inside him grew stronger. The guard knocked and said. “Me Laird, Young Lenichton is here to see ye,. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Let him in,” Laird Denwen said.
Entering the shadowed room, Leith’s eyes landed on his old friend and his chest went tight at the pain and agony lined in Theodor’s face. For a man of barely thirty-five, he looked two times older. The man that was speaking to Theodor, bowed, “I’ll come back at a later time, Me Laird.”
Leith grimaced. “Denwen, what’s the matter? The air around here is so somber I’d think someone died.”
Theodor’s face went tight and his hand rubbed at his red eyes, “Funny ye should say that, Young Lenichton, someone has…my wife Davina passed away four days ago.”
The news hit Leith like a blow to his stomach. He reached out for the nearest chair and sat heavily. “Good God, Denwen, I cannea tell ye how distressing that is. I ken ye loved her even more than yerself.”
“I did,” Theodor said with a hollowness Leith had felt himself but it was only when his father was at the height of his illness. “I had wanted to send for ye, but I hear that yer Faither took a wrong turn and dinnae. Kent ye were in over yer head too.”
“News spreads fast,” Leith held his grimace in, “I was told the healer I had found to cure me Faither is in yer town but I’ll be damned if I can find him.”
Theodor rubbed his stubbly cheek. His light brow
n eyes still looked hollow, “Are ye looking for Luag Magrath?”
“Aye, I am,” Leith said. He leaned forward and grasped Theodor’s hand, “How do ye ken of him?”
Standing, Theodor unfolded his long, sturdy body and came around the table. He went to a table and flipped a goblet over. He then poured some drink into it that smelled like a fruit wine. “I ken ye dinnae drink, Young Lenichton, but please humor me.” He then poured another and handed it over. “I just…havenae been sleeping. With her nay by me side…it is hard to sleep in the same bed we slept in. Magrath has been helping me with me grief and me sleeplessness. I ken I’m stable enough for ye to take him back with ye.”
Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 23