Above all of that, however, was the image in his mind of Edith’s face when she’d lifted it and he’d seen it by firelight. While he’d thought her pale below stairs, she was dead white now and he’d caught a flicker of discomfort on her face before she’d ducked it to continue to dump cooked fruit on his cock.
Concern struggled briefly with desire for the upper hand, but won easily and Niels leaned forward intending to catch her chin, lift it and ask if she felt all right. But before his fingers could reach her, she finished dressing his fiddle in fruit and popped the tip into her mouth to begin licking and sucking the sweet off.
Niels froze, his mouth opening and closing and his body almost lifting off the bed as he was hit by sensation after sensation. By Satan’s warty prick! The woman was—God’s teeth! Did she—? By the Virgin, she—
Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to regain control of himself, but he simply couldn’t and opened his eyes again almost at once. Edith obviously didn’t have a lick of skill at what she was attempting, but she was enthusiastic as hell as she conscientiously removed every last drop of the preserves she’d just applied. And damned if just the sight of her kneeling there with his cock in her mouth wasn’t near to killing him with excitement.
Niels had barely had the thought about her lack of skill when Edith stopped removing the preserves she’d put on and began to move her mouth up and down his length in a rhythmic manner with her hand leading. It was a rhythm he recognized, three strokes and a slight pause and then three more repeated over and over. Niels recognized it because it was how he played the fiddle as a rule, and how he’d played it that morning in the meadow as he’d given her pleasure the second time. He’d noted her watching a time or two, but apparently, the clever minx had been paying more attention than he’d realized.
And unless Moibeal had advised her on the mechanics of grasp and whatnot, Edith appeared to be a natural, he noted as a groan slid from his lips. She was holding him firmly with both lips and hand, but not too tightly. She was also being careful to avoid grazing him with her teeth, which he would thank God for later, Niels decided as he drew close to the point of exploding and his body began to tighten and strain toward it.
Niels was about to warn her that he was about to spill his seed so that she could remove her mouth if she wished, when Edith suddenly froze. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced to her just in time to see the confusion and panic on her face as she began to heave and then puke up preserves all over his prick.
Jaw dropping, Niels gaped at her briefly, and then reached forward with concern when she suddenly toppled over and lay on the floor convulsing and heaving and bringing up the rest of what she’d eaten that day.
“Edith!” Niels cried, lunging off the bed to kneel beside her. Grabbing her shoulders, he held her until she’d finished purging and then rolled her on her back. Peering at her pale, unconscious face with both concern and confusion, he brushed her hair away from her cheeks, and then did what he’d seen Rory do several times and lifted her eyelids. His head jerked back at once as if from a blow as Niels noted that her eyes were dilated. It was how they’d been when they’d first arrived at Drummond and Rory had seemed to see that as an indication that she’d been poisoned. Recalling that, Niels felt his heart lodge itself somewhere in his throat.
Scooping her up off the floor, he carried her around to lay her in the bed, and then turned and rushed to the door, his boots thumping as grimly as the thoughts in his head at that moment. Tugging the door open, Niels rushed out and up the hall to the top of the stairs, bellowing for Rory.
Chapter 10
“Aye. Poison. As ye thought,” Rory said grimly. Straightening from examining Edith, he turned to Niels and opened his mouth to say more, only to pause briefly with his mouth open and eyes wide, before saying with disgust, “Put some clothes on, brother, or at least clean the puke off your cock. Good Lord!”
Glancing down at the mess covering his groin, Niels scowled and then turned sharply and moved to the basin to begin cleaning himself as he asked, “Is she going to be all right?”
“I’m hoping so, aye,” Rory said, turning back to Edith.
“When we first got here ye said was she poisoned again she could die,” Niels reminded him grimly.
“Aye. If she’d been poisoned again at that time she surely would have died,” he assured him. “But she’s been eating well and rebuilding her strength since she woke up. And she seems to have tossed up the poison. Or at least I think she has. She certainly tossed up everything I know her to have eaten today. And some I did no’ ken about,” he added dryly before asking. “Did Jaimie make more pastries with preserves in them? I do no’ recall her eating cooked fruit.”
“Nay. She had that up here,” Niels muttered as he finished cleaning himself and moved to grab his shirt and pull it on over his head. Walking to the foot of the bed now, he bent and picked up the goblet the preserves had been in and handed it to Rory. “Was the poison in this?”
Rory took the goblet, sniffed it delicately and then stuck a finger in and licked it to taste the preserves. After a moment, he shook his head.
“I do no’ think it was in this,” he said, setting the goblet on the bedside table as a knock sounded at the door.
Niels moved to answer it, his eyes widening when he saw that it was Tormod, Geordie and Alick. When he saw that his brothers carried Edith’s trencher and drink from their celebratory dinner, he frowned and asked, “What’s that for?”
“I recalled ye mentioning that Edith seemed quiet and pale at dinner and wondered if the poison might have been in her food or drink at sup,” Rory explained, moving to join him at the door.
Niels frowned as he watched him sniff at the remains of food in the trencher and pointed out, “We ate out of the same trencher and I’m no’ ill. It can no’ be the food.”
Nodding, Rory handed the trencher back to Geordie and took the mead from Alick to sniff. The way he immediately stiffened made Niels narrow his eyes.
“Poison?” Tormod asked grimly.
“Aye, this smells like the tonic Victoria left behind,” Rory murmured, sniffing again.
“I thought that was all gone,” Geordie said with a frown.
“Aye. ’Twas,” Rory said grimly. “Obviously, someone made more.”
“So Victoria’s tonic was the source of the poison?” Niels asked grimly.
“I think so. But now as then ’tis hard to tell. The smell is very faint this time, but still carries the scent of several herbs,” Rory said, and then peered at the nearly full glass and said, “It does no’ appear Edith drank much of this. That is something anyway.”
“But how did it get in the mead?” Geordie asked. “’Tis from the pitcher I got from the cask here in this room. The fresh cask we opened on arriving. ’Twas supposed to be safe. And I watched the pitcher I fetched every moment until ye and Edith went above stairs.”
“Except when we were at the wedding down at the church,” Alick pointed out. “Ye left it on the table then.”
Geordie shook his head. “Nay. If I could have taken it down to the ceremony outside the church I would have, but I could no’ so I dumped that pitcher and fetched fresh from the cask in here when we got back.”
“The cask in here,” Niels said slowly, turning to look at the cask in question. It sat on the table along the wall where Edith had been waiting for him naked in the dark. As Rory walked toward it, Niels reminded them, “The killer shot an arrow at Edith from this room just before noon.”
Geordie stared at him blankly and then turned to watch Rory sniff the liquid in the open cask. When he set it down, turned a grim face to them and nodded, Geordie cursed. “I’m sorry, brother. I did no’ think about the killer being in here and what they may ha’e done.”
Niels shook his head wearily. “Nay, neither did I. And I should ha’e. I guess I was just so distracted with the wedding and everything . . .”
He turned to peer at Edith in the bed. She looked so small and frail under the linens and furs Rory had pulled over her. And it was his fault. He’d failed to protect her. He wouldn’t do so again.
“I’m taking her to Buchanan the minute she wakes up,” he announced firmly, moving to the bed to sit on the edge of it and brush her hair away from her face.
“Aye. Mayhap ’tis for the best,” Tormod said sadly. “I shall be sorry to see her go, but ye may have a better chance o’ keeping her alive there. Even does the killer follow . . . well, surely yer people would ken if a stranger was in their midst. So there ye’d only have to worry about stray arrows when she went outside.”
Niels stiffened at the words, knowing they were true. She wouldn’t be completely safe even at Buchanan. Not if the killer was determined to get at her. But she’d be safer at least . . . if he could get her to stay inside the keep. Somehow, he suspected that wasn’t likely.
“I should go below and see if any more o’ the men I sent out have returned with news o’ Brodie,” Tormod muttered, moving toward the door. “Only one has returned so far and two o’ the keeps I sent men to were close enough they should have got there and back today.” Pausing at the door, he glanced back and said, “Let me know when she wakes, or—” Mouth tightening, he changed his mind about whatever he’d been about to say and said instead, “Just let me know when she wakes.”