It wasn’t until Ronson popped to his feet, scrubbing his eyes sleepily, that Edith managed to drag her gaze from more than she’d ever expected to see of one of Saidh’s brothers. Giving her head a shake, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, followed quickly by Laddie and Ronson.
“Should we—” Ronson began, but paused at once when she hushed him.
Edith closed the door carefully, and then ushered the lad up the hall. They were at the stairs before she stopped to eye him and asked, “Does yer grandmother ken where ye slept last night, or has she been worrying herself sick wondering where ye were?”
“I told her,” he said just a little too quickly, and then babbled, “Lord Niels told me to go below and ask would it be all right, so I did.”
“Ye did what? Ask her or tell her?”
Ronson grimaced, but then sighed and admitted, “She was heading into the garderobe when I came down, so I asked her through the door and she did no’ say no, so I came back up.”
Edith clucked her tongue and shook her head. “She probably did no’ even hear ye. Ye ken her hearing is bad, Ronson. Why did ye no’ just wait fer her to come out and ask her then?”
“Because she takes forever in there,” he complained.
“Aye well, I’m afraid when we get old we all take a little more time in the garderobe,” Edith said.
“Hmm.” Ronson scowled. “No’ like Gran. Sometimes I think she falls asleep doing her business, she takes so long.” Heaving out a heavy sigh, he shook his head and said woefully, “I’m never getting old, and that’s the truth, m’lady. I’m no’ spending all me time crapping in the gong.”
Edith’s eyes widened incredulously, and then, deciding a change of subject was in order, she asked, “What were ye going to say when we were leaving the bedchamber, Ronson?”
“I was just thinking mayhap we should wake Niels so he can keep ye safe from the murdering, pimple-arsed whoreson who done poisoned yer father and brothers,” Ronson said earnestly.
Edith blinked down at the boy several times as her brain tried to accept the words that had just come from his mouth. She’d never heard Ronson use such foul language, but didn’t have to think hard to know where he’d learned the words. The Buchanans did have a very colorful way of speaking. Even Saidh had a mouth so foul it could make your ears pinken.
“Er . . . aye, well I’m sure I’ll be safe enough from the . . . er . . . pimple-arsed . . .” Edith paused and then just shook her head and started down the stairs, saying, “I’m sure we’ll be safe enough at table, do ye no’ think?”
“But Laddie’ll have to go outside or he’ll be pissing everywhere like a warty prick,” Ronson protested.
“Oh, dear,” Edith breathed faintly. Goodness. A little time with the Buchanans was certainly a lot of time when it came to learning, it seemed.
“So I gotta take him out,” Ronson continued anxiously, following her down the stairs. “And then ye’ll be all alone. I can no’ leave ye alone, m’lady. That murdering whoreson might get ye!”
“I’m—Oh!” Edith gasped with surprise when she was suddenly swept off her feet and into someone’s arms. Turning her head, she gaped at Niels and protested, “I can walk, m’lord.”
“Aye, but ye’re too slow. Ye were blocking the stairs,” Niels argued with a shrug as he continued down the stairs, and then he added grimly, “And ye should no’ have left the room without me.”
“I was just telling her that, m’lord,” Ronson assured him firmly, on their heels. “I told her as how we needed ye to keep her safe from the warty prick what poisoned her da and brothers.”
“Actually, I believe he was the pimple-arsed whoreson, and Laddie would be pissing like a warty prick,” Edith pointed out dryly, glaring at Niels as she did. When he just grinned at her, she whispered sharply, “His grandmother is going to kill me fer letting ye teach him such things.”
Niels raised his eyebrows and then paused on the bottom step and turned to tell Ronson, “A man does no’ use such words in front o’ a lady.”
Ronson looked confused and pointed out, “But ye do.”
Niels pursed his lips and nodded. “Aye. I do,” he admitted and then turned to cross the bailey floor, muttering, “I tried, m’lady, but by God’s tooth he’s right. I fear me brothers and I all swear something awful.”
“Aye,” Edith said on a sigh. “So does Saidh. I suppose there are worse habits.”
Niels grunted what might have been an agreement to that as he set her on the bench at the table, and then glanced around and ordered, “Take Laddie outside, Ronson. His eyes are near floating he has to go so bad.”
“Aye, m’lord,” the boy said and hurried away, calling Laddie to follow just as the dog started to lift a leg by the end of the bench Edith sat on. Fortunately the dog obeyed and followed at once.
Niels watched them until they left the great hall and then dropped to sit on the bench next to Edith.
“He thinks much o’ you,” she said quietly.
“Aye. Well, I like him fine too,” Niels said gruffly. “He’s a good lad.”
“He is,” she agreed.
“It was good o’ ye to take in he and his grandmother,” Niels said softly enough not to be heard by others.
Edith shrugged. “Ye make it sound like charity. It was no’. I had positions fer both o’ them.”
“Aye. Ronson watches yer dog,” he said with amusement. “Tell me the two o’ them do no’ simply follow ye around the keep all the livelong day.”
“How did ye ken th—?” Catching herself, she stopped and clucked her tongue with irritation at giving herself away.
“Because they have been following me around in yer absence every time I left yer room,” Niels answered her unfinished question, his tone dry. “’Tis obvious the lad usually follows ye around. Any question I asked about ye, he kenned the answer to.”
Edith stiffened and turned to eye him suspiciously. “What kind o’ questions?”
She was not soothed by the wide grin that suddenly claimed his lips.
“Ah, m’lady, I can no’ tell ye how pleased I am to see ye up and about and well.”
Edith turned quickly and smiled at Cawley as he claimed the spot on her other side and took her hand.
“I knew they could save ye,” Cawley told her, squeezing the hand he held. “Thank God Tormod listened to me and finally agreed to let them in to tend to ye else ye’d have surely died.”
“God’s blood, Cawley,” Tormod growled, dropping onto the bench next to him. “I was following orders. Once the lad pointed out that his brother might be able to save our lady, I let them in, did I no’? Despite the fact I’ll probably be flogged fer it?”
“Oh flogged,” Cawley said with disgust. “What’s a little flogging when our lady is alive and well?”
“I do no’ ken. Why do I no’ take ye out front and give ye the floggin’ I’ll most like receive when the laird returns and then ye can tell what a little flogging is?” Tormod said grimly.
“Oh now, Tormod,” Cawley said with alarm.
“I would no’ do that and ye ken it,” Tormod said on a sigh, and then asked, “Did ye talk to the cook, like I asked?”
“O’ course I did,” Cawley said at once.
“And?” Tormod asked.
“And he could no’ remember who took the stew up to Lady Edith that made her sick,” Cawley admitted unhappily.
“And?” Tormod repeated.
“And what?” Cawley asked warily.
“Is that it?” Tormod snapped. “I have been running meself ragged overseeing the men at practice and running the servants in Lady Edith’s absence. I asked ye to do one thing, one thing—question the cook and his maids in the kitchen and find out what ye can—and that’s all ye come back to me with?”
“Oh, well . . . I did try,” Cawley said anxiously.
“No’ hard enough,” Tormod growled. “If we can no’ sort out who put the poison in her food and drink then Lady Edith is still in danger. Get yer hairy arse into the kitchen and watch the food, make sure no one puts poison in anything. And ask questions while ye’re there. Find out what ye can.”
Cawley nodded eagerly and stood.
“And tell Cook he’d best make and bring out Lady Edith’s food himself and never take his eyes off it while he does, because if she is poisoned again, I’ll hang the two o’ ye from the castle wall and let crows pick yer bones.”
Eyes wide, Cawley nodded and waddled quickly off to the kitchens.
Tormod watched him go and then turned to the table with a sigh and muttered, “That ought to keep him out o’ our hair for another day or two.”
“Aye,” Edith murmured and then glanced to Niels and noted his expression.
“Cawley is special,” Tormod said when Edith hesitated to explain.
“Special?” Niels asked dubiously.
“Aye,” Edith agreed. “He has a tendency to . . . er . . .”
“He tells tales,” Tormod said mildly. “A lot. While he just claimed to Edith that he argued that you be let in, when Brodie returns he’ll tell him just as earnestly, and right in front of her, that he tried to warn me against going against his orders and opening the gate to ye.”