Surrender to the Highlander(7)

Edith’s eyes widened at the claim. “I woke before?”

“Aye,” he said dryly. “But ye were a might confused and no’ really alert. Ye drank some mead and then tossed it right back up all over me and passed out again. I’d rather no’ go through that again.”

Edith groaned and lowered her head with embarrassment.

“There’s naught to be embarrassed about,” Niels said and she could hear the frown in his voice. “I’ve four younger brothers who I’ve had to care fer as they tossed up their stomachs . . . and they were no’ poisoned. It was just too much drink fer them. With you, well at least ye had a good excuse.”

Reminded of the poison, Edith jerked her head up on a frown. “Me father and brothers?”

Niels winced at her raspy voice and raised the mead again. “Another swallow o’ this, I think. This time swish it around real good and wet all the corners. Ye’re obviously dry as a bone.”

Edith dutifully took another mouthful of mead, but the moment she’d swished and swallowed, she asked, “Me father and—”

“Aye. Rory can no’ be sure o’ course, but he believes they were poisoned too. They had all the same symptoms. Except fer the . . . er . . . stomach issues,” he said delicately. “But Rory suspicions that’s what saved ye. Ye reacted to the poison and tossed it up each time ye had it. There was no’ enough left in ye to kill ye as it did yer father and brothers.”

Edith lowered her head on this news, her mind awhirl with grief and anger. It had been bad enough when she’d thought she’d lost her father and two brothers to illness, but to know they had been deliberately killed—Jerking her head up, she asked, “Brodie?”

“Well and fine, as far as we ken,” he assured her. “He feared getting it himself and took his bride and left fer safer shores when yer maid got sick.”

Edith didn’t comment. Now that he mentioned it, she recalled Brodie’s leaving. She’d been rather annoyed at the time, thinking it less than laird-like behavior to flee the keep and all its people when they might be at the start of a crisis. She noted that Niels sounded disgusted by his actions too, but merely asked, “Moibeal? She is—”

“Yer maid is fine,” he assured her. “And fashing to see ye. I would be surprised does she no’ ignore Rory’s orders to stay away and show up here once she learns ye’re awake.”

Edith’s eyebrows rose. “Why was she no’ allowed—”

She broke off and glanced to the door when it opened. Alick was returning with another man and Edith found herself examining the three of them. They were all similar in looks with dark hair and those lovely blue eyes. But Niels was obviously older than the other two. He was also bigger, his shoulders wide, his arms thick and strong. Not that the other two didn’t look strong, but Niels looked like a warrior used to wielding a broadsword, while Alick looked like he hadn’t fully grown yet and Rory looked like . . . well, like he was a healer more than a warrior.

“’Tis good to see ye awake, Lady Edith,” Rory said by way of greeting as he walked to the bed. “How do ye feel?”

“Thirsty,” Edith admitted.

“I’ve only given her two small sips o’ mead to see how she stomachs it,” Niels announced, and much to Edith’s disappointment, stood so that Rory could take his place. She wasn’t sure why she was sorry he left, since she barely knew the man, but she was disappointed, and her feelings obviously showed on her face, Edith realized when Rory’s eyebrows rose slightly and he glanced from her to Niels with a small smile.

Fortunately, he didn’t embarrass her by commenting and merely asked, “How does yer stomach feel after the first couple o’ sips?”

“Fine, thank ye,” she whispered.

“Then Niels can give ye more in a minute,” he said and leaned in to look into her eyes.

Edith stilled, fighting the urge to look away and simply waited.

“Yer eyes are back to normal,” he murmured.

Edith had no idea what that meant, but looked away with relief when he sat back again. She then frowned as her gaze fell on the woman in bed next to her. “Effie? Is she—?”

“She appears to have ingested the poison too,” Rory interrupted, sparing her voice. “I think, like Moibeal, she did no’ consume much o’ whatever had the poison in it . . . else she’d be dead now. Howbeit she’s old and frail enough that even a little might yet do her in.”

“Ye ken what was poisoned?” Edith asked, her voice cracking in several spots. Her throat hurt it was so dry and the few sips she’d had of mead hadn’t been enough to ease it.

“Niels, come give her more mead,” Rory said, standing and moving around the bed to examine Effie now.

Edith frowned, thinking he planned to ignore her question, but when Niels settled next to her on the bed again and slid an arm under her shoulders to ease her to a sitting position, she forgot all about her question. Niels smelled like the woods in the springtime, a scent she’d always loved. Edith couldn’t resist turning her head toward the curve of his neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply. When Niels stilled, she realized what she was doing and quickly turned her face back. Edith was quite sure she was blushing, but Niels merely smiled faintly and offered her the mug of mead.

“Thank ye,” Edith murmured before taking a sip.

“Moibeal said she had a couple sips o’ yer wine when ye did no’ drink it the night she fell ill,” Rory commented after she’d had several cautious sips.

Looking toward the other man, Edith saw that he had lifted Effie’s eyelids and was peering at her eyes silently. His words hadn’t been a question, but she nodded and responded as if it was anyway. “Aye. I said she could. I did no’ have the stomach fer it after tossing it back up so many times, so she gave me her cider and I let her have me wine.”

“She said she did no’ drink much though. Is that right?” Rory asked, sitting up straight and turning his questioning gaze to her.

“Aye. She only had a sip. She did no’ care fer it,” Edith recalled, noting that her voice was getting stronger. The mead was making her throat feel better too.

“And did Effie have some o’ yer wine too?” Rory asked.

“I—” Edith paused, her gaze dropping to the woman before she shrugged helplessly and admitted, “I’m no’ sure. She may have. I do no’ recall much o’ the last week or so since I fell ill again.” Frowning, she explained, “At first I could no’ keep anything down, but felt better once I’d purged. That kept happening, and finally I refused the wine and broth Moibeal brought.” Eyes narrowing as she thought on it, she murmured, “Once I stopped having those, I was able to keep down an apple and some bread Moibeal brought me and I started to feel better again . . . and then I wanted to build me strength so I had some stew and—” She grimaced with distaste. “It did no’ seem to make much difference when that came back up. I was exhausted and weary and just wanted to sleep.”

“Ye were weakening from no’ being able to keep yer food down fer so long,” Rory said solemnly.

“Mayhap,” Edith admitted and glanced to the woman in bed next to her. “I have a vague recollection o’ Effie trying to get me to eat or drink and saying I needed to build up me strength, but every time I did . . .” She grimaced with distaste and merely shook her head.

“Did ye ha’e wine with the stew while ye were tending Moibeal?” Niels asked, drawing her gaze his way.

Edith wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Frankly, I fear I’ll never want wine again after tossing it back up so many times. I did no’ have anything to drink that night.”

“So the poison was in both the wine and stew,” Niels said grimly.

“It was?” Edith asked uncertainly.

“Aye,” he assured her, his voice sounding angry. “Moibeal was poisoned from a couple o’ sips o’ yer wine, but ye fell ill again after eating stew. Both must ha’e been poisoned.”

“Oh, aye,” she said with realization and then noticed the grim looks Niels and Rory exchanged.

Still a bit fuzzy-minded, Edith wasn’t sure what that exchange meant. Noticing her confusion, Rory explained, “We were hoping that perhaps the family wine had been poisoned in an effort to kill yer father and brothers, and ye merely had the bad luck to have some o’ the poisoned wine. But if yer stew was later poisoned too . . .” He pointed out almost apologetically, “No one else fell ill from the stew that night.”

Edith’s eyes widened incredulously at those words. She understood what he was saying. After killing her father and brothers, someone had deliberately tried to poison her. Why would anyone want her dead? She was no one of import.

“Though,” Niels added now, turning toward his brother, “the maids both being poisoned is most likely an unintended result o’ trying to poison Edith.”

“Aye,” Rory agreed. “If Effie wakes up I’m quite sure we’ll find she ate or drank something that was sent up fer Lady Edith.”