Текст книги "My brave highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morn, after breaking their fast, Cyrus told Isobel he'd like to talk to her in the library. She glanced at Dirk, wondering why he wasn't invited. He gave her a little smile that made her recall their steamy encounter in the library the evening before. Then, they'd been summoned to share a dance in the great hall with their clans. Though Dirk had said he didn't like to dance, he'd done wonderfully.

Inside the library now, both Isobel and Cyrus took seats at the table.

"What do you think of Dirk MacKay?" Cyrus asked.

Why was he asking her this? The arrangement was already signed and sealed. She knew how her brother was—bossy and domineering. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd protested. Of course, she wasn't going to protest a marriage to Dirk. Quite the opposite. She could hardly wait to marry him.

She forced herself to be reserved, considering which words her brother would take seriously. She didn't want him to see her as a giddy young lass, though that's exactly how she'd felt since last night when Dirk proposed and then made love to her. Whew. She had a sudden urge to fan herself.

"Chief MacKay is a good man," she said. "Protective, helpful, an honorable gentleman. And a strong, brave chief. Well-liked by… everyone."

Cyrus lifted a brow. "In truth?"

"Of course." How could he doubt her words? Obviously, he was testing her in some way.

Cyrus sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Yesterday, he admitted he seduced you."

Her face burned. "I see." Did that cause Cyrus to disapprove of Dirk? They had seemed friends at both meals. "He's not to blame. It was mutual."

"You seduced him?" Cyrus asked, his voice loud and his eyes wide.

"Nay, not exactly," she quickly said, hoping her brother didn't think her whorish. Well, maybe she had seduced Dirk when she'd burst in on him in the bathtub… and last night in this room. "I find him… nice."

"Nice?" Her brother snorted.

"And handsome. I like Dirk a great deal."

"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. So, you want to marry him, aye?"

"Of course. You didn't tell him he had to marry me, did you?" That had been her greatest fear.

"Nay. He asked for your hand. He finds you lovely and he cares for you. He appears to be a good man. That's enough. Finding you a suitable husband has been a nightmare, Isobel."

"I ken it. But you chose wrongly the first time." She had told him this before.

"I'm sorry for that, but it was to secure an important clan alliance. Besides that, an offer of marriage from an earl to a baron's daughter is naught to sneeze at, no matter his age."

"Very well. I did my duty for the clan." The past was the past and she wanted to forget it. Her first marriage could've been far more horrible than it was, and she was grateful to have gotten off easy.

"Now, you may have your blessed love match that you have blathered on about since you were fifteen summers," Cyrus muttered.

Love match. Aye. She was falling in love with Dirk. Now, if only he would feel the same way. 'Haps he did, but he hadn't said so.

"For a certainty, you're smitten with the man," Cyrus said. "'Tis about time."

She shrugged, unable to help that she hadn't fallen in love with a man of the right rank years ago. She would have if Dirk had been around. "Someday you'll wish you had a love match," she told her brother.

"Hmph. I have no time or patience for such rubbish. Anyway, since you're in agreement about marrying Dirk, I'll see you wed afore I leave here."

Excitement and panic rushed through her. "I'm to wed him that soon?"

"Aye, tomorrow if possible."

"Surely you jest."

"Why not? We're all here, your brothers, except for Dermott, and part of your clan, the MacKays. I'll not give MacLeod an opportunity to steal you back."

"He has no interest in stealing me back." Nay, he had his eye on a certain flame-haired lass.

"Well, who the devil knows?" Cyrus said. "Some other bastard may come along and try to snatch you from under MacKay's nose. I don't want to have to go traipsing about the country again, worrying whether you're dead or alive. Once you're married to MacKay, he'll protect you well."

"That he will." Plus, once she was married to him, he was hers for life. Instead of sneaking about for stolen moments of passion, she could sleep in his bed every night. It was warm and big and she'd relished snuggling next to him the night she'd spent there. A giddy thrill spun through her, making her smile.

Cyrus observed her shrewdly, then frowned. "Indeed, you need to be married as soon as possible, lass. Make the preparations and I'll speak with Dirk." Cyrus strode out, leaving her to scramble from her chair and dash up the steps to her chamber. She burst in the door to find Beitris making her bed.

She gasped and spun around. "Heavens, lass! You scared the life out of me."

"Beitris! I'm getting married tomorrow!"

***

Isobel, Jessie and the servants spent the rest of the day preparing for a cool winter wedding. There was no time to make Isobel a new gown, nor did she wish to wear the one she'd planned to marry Torrin in. Jessie and Seona helped her assemble pieces from different outfits to create a completely unique wedding costume. It included a plaid her mother had worn at her wedding over thirty years ago.

"We could get married right here in the great hall," Dirk said to Isobel at supper that night.

"I'd prefer the kirk. Although 'tis too cold to hold the ceremony on the steps outside, as is traditional, the reverend said that since you're chief, it would be pleasing to everyone for us to be married inside. Since your father's tomb is there, I think he'd be honored."

Dirk nodded, his azure gaze turning slightly melancholy. "He will be with us in spirit, but I wish he could be here in truth."

"As do I, along with my parents. My mother always talked about attending my wedding." Tears pricked Isobel's eyes.

Dirk lifted her hand and kissed the back, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Abruptly, he turned to Aiden on his other side.

"Aiden, do you ken the ballad, The Laird 'o Logie?"

Aiden frowned. "Nay. I don't recall that one."

Isobel smiled at Dirk and swiped at the tears still blurring her vision. How sweet that he remembered she wanted that ballad played at their wedding feast. She wished to kiss him all over his precious, handsome face, but restrained herself and squeezed his hand instead. "'Tis a Lowland ballad," Isobel said to Aiden, remembering that one of the minstrels her father had employed when she was a lass had been from Falkirk.

"Mayhap Isobel could teach it to you," Dirk suggested. "'Tis her favorite. If you learn it in time, I'd love it if you'd play it at our wedding feast."

Aiden's eyes brightened. "Aye. I'd be honored."

"She can play it for you on her flute," Dirk said.

"I didn't know you played, Lady Isobel," Aiden said, his voice excited.

"Only a wee bit. You're exceedingly gifted, and I look forward to hearing you play it." Giddiness charged through her again. She could hardly wait for tomorrow, her wedding day, when she'd marry the man of her dreams. She wanted to jump up and down and embrace Dirk. Instead, she caught herself bouncing in her chair a bit and grinning like a fool.

Dirk observed her from the corner of his eye, amusement lighting his expression. He looked mischievous, like he wanted to kiss her, but he tore his gaze away and scanned the people in the hall instead. She knew he wouldn't engage in public displays of affection, but once they were in private, he would make up for it with delicious, bewitching kisses.

She sipped her wine as the dessert tarts were served. She wondered if he had told Cook to serve tarts every night since she loved them so much. Dirk's cupbearer had already sliced off the side of their tarts to sample them, making sure they were safe to eat.

A male servant appeared at Dirk's shoulder. "M'laird, Master Keegan would like to see you outside. Three of the outlaws have been captured and brought in."

"I'll be right back." Dirk kissed Isobel's hand again, rose from his chair and, taking his shaggy wool mantle, followed the servant out. Erskine, Rebbie, Cyrus and Torrin trailed after him.

She wondered which outlaws had been captured. She hoped one of them was Nolan. Trying to put the knave from her mind and think about pleasant things, like Dirk and their wedding day, Isobel bit into her tart with relish. Mmm. This one was blackberry, one of her favorites. Truth be told, she loved all types of tarts.

"I look forward to learning the new ballad. Will you play it here in the great hall for everyone?" Aiden asked, popping the last of his tart into his mouth.

"Oh, nay." Isobel shook her head emphatically. "I'm very much an amateur. I fear my skills are not good enough to perform, but I'll be glad to play it for you on my flute in private."

He nodded, glancing at Dirk's wooden trencher. "He's not going to eat this tart, you know."

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 brother 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.