Surrender to the Highlander(56)

“Ye poisoned the food brought to me when I fell ill,” Edith added.

“Every night,” she admitted and then added bitterly, “Fer all the good it did me. Ye just would no’ die.” Her face and expression suddenly became furious.

“And ye poisoned the ale Brodie’s men took with them,” Edith guessed.

Bessie nodded.

“Lonnie?” she asked.

“I’d heard Brodie tell his wife they were going to the family lodge. I wanted to follow them to keep an eye on things. I worried that if one o’ the men drank the ale ere the others, they may be warned off o’ it. I’d put a lot o’ poison in this time. Any death by it would no’ have been mistaken fer illness. So, as I say, I wanted to follow and keep an eye on developments, but servants are no’ allowed horses, which hampered me somewhat. So that evening, I took the tunnels out to watch fer anyone returning. They must have drunk the ale right away on arriving at the lodge. All but Lonnie, o’ course. Because I barely got out o’ the cave the tunnels open into when he came riding up. I ducked behind a bush, let him pass and then shot him in the back. Then I took his horse and weapons and rode out to the lodge.” She shrugged. “The poison worked well. They were all dead.”

“Nessa?” she asked, thinking of Victoria’s missing maid. “Where is she?”

“In the well,” Bessie told her with a smile. “I thought to blame it all on Victoria’s maids, so I dragged the lass to the well and dumped her in so she would no’ be found. I did no’ consider that she’d float on the water’s surface,” she added with a grimace. “I was positive she’d be found as I rode back. When she was no’ discovered, I felt sure the heavens were smiling on me.”

Edith’s mouth tightened. It was more like the heavens had been weeping, and that had saved the woman from being discovered, she thought as she recalled that Niels had gone to the well, but the bucket had been sitting there collecting rain in the storm they’d been seeking cover from. He hadn’t had to draw any water. He’d simply used the rainwater in the bucket. If he’d had to draw water from the well, he would have noticed Nessa.

“What did ye do with Lonnie’s horse?” Edith asked.

“He’s back in the woods a ways. I’ve been keeping him in the cave the tunnel opens into. I thought I might need him a time or two yet. I could no’ ride him all the way out here today, for fear yer Niels would hear the horse approaching.”

“He probably would have,” she acknowledged.

“No doubt,” Bessie said dryly.

“Cawley? Why’d ye kill him? A half brother would hardly inherit Drummond if a full-blooded sister was discovered,” Edith pointed out, finding she was growing weary at the thought of all the killing this woman had done. Or perhaps from Bessie’s complete lack of compunction regarding those killings.

She shrugged. “He had it easy here while I suffered when he was only a bastard half brother.”

“So ye killed him out o’ spite,” Edith said dryly, and then asked, “Effie? Ye threw her off the wall?”

“Aye.”

“She was awake?”

Bessie nodded. “She woke up the day after ye moved her. The men did no’ notice at first and she heard them talking on how they suspected her poor Victoria being behind the poisonings. So the old fool feigned that she was still unconscious to avoid possibly incriminating her girl.” Bessie glanced toward Ronson briefly and then continued, “I saw her up and about from the tunnels later that day when the healer went below to fetch more broth for her. So I slipped in and—”

“How did ye ken about the passages?” Edith interrupted her to ask. Tormod had said that traditionally, only the Laird and Lady of Drummond knew about them.

“I discovered them as a child while playing,” she said with a shrug. “It was me secret place when I wanted to get away. No one ever used them. I’d walk through, looking in the bedchambers and watching me father and mother abed, or me sister sleeping or look down on the hall.”

Edith nodded, and then turned the conversation back to her original explanation. “So ye slipped into the room Effie was in and . . . ?”

Bessie shrugged. “I pretended to be sympathetic and promised to bring her real food and news until we sorted out how to keep her lady safe. O’ course, I only brought her news that would be useful to me. Fer instance, I could hardly tell her Victoria was dead else she would have had no reason to feign being unconscious anymore. I could no’ risk her telling anyone about the passage I used to get in and out o’ her room, or that she’d even spoken to me. And I could no’ kill her until I succeeded at killing ye. After all, how could she be blamed fer yer death if she was already dead?”

“Why’d ye throw her off the wall then?”

“That was yer fault,” she accused at once. “Had ye kept yer mouth shut about her having no feeling in her feet and legs, all would have been well, but the minute ye said that I kenned the men would go poke her somewhere else, realize she was awake and question her. Fortunately, yer husband was delayed just long enough for me to slip into the passage through the garderobe entrance and get above stairs to sneak Effie out through the tunnel to the laird’s chamber. From there I took her through the second tunnel and up the stairs to the wall. I had her wait fer me at the top o’ the stairs while I listened to as much as I could when ye all were in the laird’s chamber. I had to duck into the stairs a couple times since ye all kept poking into the passage, but I heard enough that I kenned Effie had outgrown her usefulness.”

“So ye took her up on the wall and threw her off.”

“Aye.” She gave a laugh. “I could hardly believe me luck when I glanced down and saw ye standing below. I thought the Fates were smiling on me again and pushed Effie over. But she missed ye,” she added with disgust.

“And now there is no one to take the fall but you,” Edith said quietly, and then cocked her head as she heard a faint, far-off drumming. “I believe I hear me husband and the others approaching. Several horses it sounds like.” Watching Bessie’s knife hand, she added, “Failing finding ye at the keep, they must have realized ye’d come out here.”

Bessie turned the knife in her hand, her eyes flashing as she tried to decide what to do.

“Everyone at Drummond kens who ye truly are and what ye’ve been up to,” she pointed out, and then couldn’t resist adding, “It was all fer naught. Ye’ll never be lady. And Ronson, like all the others who have ever loved ye ere him, will no doubt suffer as a result o’ yer actions. He’ll mourn the gran he loves, but hate and be ashamed o’ what ye did.”

Bessie stilled and protested, “Ye can no’ hurt Ronson like that.”

“I have no choice,” Edith said without apology.

“Aye, ye do,” Bessie countered. “The men all think Effie did it. Let them continue to think that.”

“Ye want to blame yet another fer yer actions?” she asked with disbelief. “And expect me to agree?”

“Why not? Effie has no family to care or be hurt by it. No’ like me Ronson,” Bessie pointed out, and then added, “And I’m yer aunt.”

“Who tried to kill me,” Edith said dryly, and then shook her head. “Besides, ye’re no’ me aunt. Both me aunts Ealasaid and Glynis died ere I was born. Yer the servant Bessie who killed me father, Ronald, me uncle Cawley, me brothers Roderick, Hamish and Brodie, Brodie’s wife, Victoria, both her maids and the six warriors who rode out with them. That’s fourteen people,” she pointed out in an empty voice. “The only future fer ye is to hang, or be locked up in the oubliette fer the rest o’ yer days.”

“Ye’d put Ronson through that?” Bessie asked with disbelief. “He’d hate ye fer it and I ken ye care fer the lad.”

“Ye’ve given me no choice,” Edith said firmly. She saw Bessie’s arm start to move and then Ronson was suddenly in front of her.

“I hear horses, m’lady. Do ye think it’s the laird? I’d really like to show him me new bow.”

“I’m sure ’tis the laird,” Edith said, watching Bessie warily. She wasn’t at all sure the woman might not try to throw her dirk at her despite Ronson’s presence.

“Ronson, come here,” Bessie said suddenly, and before she could stop him, the boy had slipped away and to his grandmother.

Edith tensed, half expecting Bessie to throw her dirk at her now that the boy was safely out of the way, but instead she handed the dirk to her grandson. “Take this. It’s yers now too.”

“Really?” he asked excitedly, taking the weapon. “Oh, wait til I show the laird this.”

“Why do ye no’ go wait fer him at the edge o’ the clearing?” Bessie suggested.

“Aye.” He ran off toward where Niels had stopped his horse the last two times they’d come here, clutching the knife to his chest, and Edith was briefly distracted watching him with concern. She was hard-pressed not to yell at him that he should not run with the knife, but then realized she’d allowed herself to be distracted and glanced warily back to Bessie in time to see her lower her hand from her face. Edith narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she caught a flash of blue in her fingers.