She grimaced and then explained, "I gather that his first became worried when he had no' returned by the time his lady wife was up to break her fast. Apparently, Allen made it a point always to join her at the table, but that morning he had no' yet returned. When I joined the table, Lady MacDonnell was asking after her husband, wondering why he had not yet arrived and whether she should no' wait fer him ere breaking her fast. His first sent someone to check to see if he was still swimming. The man returned with the laird's body over his horse." She sighed. "It was quite distressing. Aunt Tilda and Allen's lady wife were terribly upset." She shrugged unhappily. "So, as I say, we could no' simply mount up and ride on."
"Nay, and I would not expect you to," Joan said with understanding.
"We decided we should stay fer the funeral, expecting to be delayed a couple days or a week at most, but Aunt Tilda-- Well, he was her only son. She decided he should lie in state in the village church fer two weeks so that his villeins and friends could pay their proper respects."
"Two weeks?" Saidh with dismay. "Bloody hell, he must ha'e stunk to high heaven by the time they put him in the ground."
"Oh, they did no' put him in the ground," Edith assured her. "He went in the family vault, and he did no' smell either." She paused briefly and then almost whispered, "They embalmed him."
"What?" Murine asked with amazement. "But the church frowns on that. They say 'tis pagan."
"Oh, aye, but they'll allow it for a fee," Saidh said dryly.
Edith nodded. "Me aunt got special permission to do it."
"Hmmm," Saidh muttered. "So ye stayed fer the funeral?"
"Aye." Edith grimaced. "Although I really wish we hadn't. Lady MacDonnell was inconsolable, but Aunt Tilda was worse. She kept saying that Allen was such a strong swimmer and how could this happen, and then she began looking at Lady MacDonnell as she said it. By the time of the funeral, she was treating Allen's wife most coldly and reminding anyone who would listen that Lady MacDonnell's previous husbands died unnaturally too."
"Did they?" Murine asked with interest and Saidh nearly grinned at her expression. There was nothing that could put color into the woman's cheeks like the possibility of good gossip.
"Apparently," Edith said. "They say her last husband, Laird MacIver, died just a month after they married when he was thrown from his horse. Broke his neck, he did."
"Oh dear," Murine and Joan said together.
"So two husbands dying in accidents," Saidh said dryly. "It does sound a bit suspicious."
"Hmm," Edith murmured in agreement. "But four dead husbands in as many years sounds even worse."
"What?" Murine asked with amazement. "Surely not?"
"Aye. She has been married and widowed four times."
"Well, what happened to the other two husbands?" Saidh asked, her interest now captured. There was nothing like a good murder mystery to pass the day.
"Well, the one before Laird MacIver was his uncle, Laird Connell MacIver. He died in his bed on the wedding night. He was old though," she added quickly. "They said he could no' handle the excitement o' such a young bride."
"Ohhhh," both women crooned with interest.
"And the first husband?" Saidh asked.
"That was Laird Kennedy. He was killed the day after the wedding. Attacked by bandits on their way from her parents' hold, where they'd held the wedding, to the Kennedy stronghold."
Saidh stiffened. "Lady MacDonnell was not born Lady Fenella Fraser?"
"Aye," Edith said with relief, and then smiled wryly and admitted, "For the life o' me I could no' remember her first name once I started to tell ye all what had happened. But that is it: Fenella." She nodded and then grimaced and added, "They are starting to call her the widowmaker though. Which is completely unfair really," she added firmly. "Fenella was with her first husband and injured in the attack that took his life. They found her unconscious and bloodied next to his body. As fer her second husband, the elder Laird MacIver was an ancient old man and everyone said the excitement of the wedding night with such a young bride had surely killed him."
"What of the younger MacIver laird?" Murine asked. "Was there any suspicion that it was no' an accident?"
"O' course there was, but the King sent men to investigate and they determined it was nothing more than an accident. Lady Fenella was entertaining his mother and aunt in the great hall when he left for his ride and the three women were still there when news came that his horse had returned without him. Lady Fenella herself went out with the riding party to find him, pulling his horse behind her own in hopes he could ride back. Of course, he couldn't. He was dead when they found him, his neck broken."
"Still . . ." Joan frowned and pointed out, "My horse threw me as well and that was not an accident. 'Twas a pin in my saddle, puncturing the horse's back so it would throw me."
"Aye, but yer horse went wild and ran madly through the woods the moment ye put yer weight on the beast," Edith pointed out. "By all accounts, Laird MacIver mounted in the bailey and rode out without any difficulties. The horse threw him when he was well into the woods. It could no' have been a pin in the saddle as was done with you."
"Nay, I suppose not," Joan agreed slowly and then shrugged and glanced at Saidh. Her mouth opened as if she meant to say something, but then she paused, her eyebrows rising abruptly. "Is all well, Saidh? You look . . ." She hesitated, apparently unsure how to describe how she looked.
Saidh couldn't blame her, since she wasn't quite sure how she felt. There was a knot in her stomach made up of a combination of emotions. The few she could pick out of that nauseating miasma were dread, fear, and anxiety. Swallowing the bile that seemed lodged in her throat, she forced a smile that failed miserably, shook her head and admitted, "Fenella is me cousin."
"Really?" Edith asked with interest and then grinned. "That means me cousin married yer cousin. We're related."
"Did ye no' ken she was married to the MacDonnell?" Murine asked with a frown.
"Nay," Saidh admitted and then sighed. "In fact, I did no' ken she'd married again at all after Kennedy."
"Not even the Laird MacIver?" Murine asked with amazement.
Saidh shook her head. "We attended her first wedding. In fact, we all traveled together on the way home. Buchanan is on the way to Kennedy land. They left with us the morning after the wedding."
"Ye were with them when Laird Kennedy was killed?" Murine asked almost breathlessly.
Saidh nodded silently.
"But if ye went to her first wedding, surely, ye were invited to the others?" Edith said.
"Nay," Saidh assured her, and then frowned thoughtfully and added, "Well, actually, we may ha'e been. But mother died shortly after Fenella's first wedding, and me eldest brother, Aulay, is laird now and does no' care for large celebrations. He may ha'e just sent a wedding gift with his regrets and neglected to tell the rest o' us about the weddings."
"That is probably it, then," Edith said on a sigh.
Saidh nodded, but her mind was back in a clearing where the Kennedy lay dead and her cousin confessed, I killed him.
"Damn."
Saidh glanced around with surprise at that curse from Murine. The woman never cursed. Spotting her by the open shutters, Saidh became aware of the sounds coming from outside. Shouts of greeting were joined by the clop clop of what sounded like at least a dozen horses. Curious, she walked over to stand beside Murine and look down at the busy scene below as well. There were not a dozen horses, but at least three dozen, and Joan's husband Cam was greeting a man who was dismounting. If she were to guess by his posture, Cam didn't like the man, which was a concern when the visitor had brought such a large contingent of men with him.
"I do no' recognize the banner," Saidh said with a frown.
" 'Tis the Danvries banner," Murine said grimly.
"Yer brother's?" Saidh asked, glancing to the woman with surprise.
"Me half brother," Murine corrected, her voice giving away her contempt. Saidh wasn't surprised. She
and Murine had become good friends, and she knew the woman absolutely loathed her half brother.
"Why would Montrose be here?" she asked quietly, afraid she already knew the answer.
"Papa must ha'e died," Murine said, a catch in her voice. Releasing a shuddering sigh, she shook her head and closed her eyes. "He has no' been well fer a while, but had seemed to turn a corner. I felt sure he would recover else I ne'er would have left him to come here."
"Mayhap not," Saidh said, though she suspected Murine was right. Biting her lip, she slipped an awkward arm around the other woman in support. It seemed the thing to do. She knew how much Murine adored her father.
"I suppose I should go below and find out one way or the other," Murine said after a moment.
"I'll come with ye," Saidh offered quietly.
"Thank ye," Murine whispered, and slipped her arm through hers to walk to the door.
Greer heaved a sigh at the sound of distant hoof beats, and reluctantly opened his eyes. Through a frame of green leaves from the trees that surrounded the clearing he was reclining in, he could see that the sky was still a bright, pale blue above him with fluffy white clouds drifting slowly by. He took a minute to guess how much time he had before the approaching horse reached him, and then sighed and raised his head to peer down at the blond head bobbing over his groin.
"Ye'd best leave off that now, lass. We're about to ha'e company."
The blond maid removed her mouth from one of his favorite body parts and cast him a pouty look. "But I've jest begun."
"Aye, I ken. Trust me, I ken," he said dryly and sat up to tuck himself away inside his plaid. "But someone is coming, and by me guess ye've just enough time to straighten yer dress ere they arrive."
Clucking under her tongue with irritation, the woman stood and proceeded to pull up the top of her gown, covering the generous breasts he'd worked so hard to uncover. When she then began to struggle with the lacings, Greer stood to help. He finished with the task just moments before his squire, Alpin, rode into the clearing and brought his pony to a shuddering halt.
"Me laird," the boy cried, nearly throwing himself off his mount in his eagerness.
Greer reached out a hand to steady the boy and simply waited. Everything was a crisis with his new young squire and Greer had quickly learned not to let the boy's excitement raise his own.
"Lady Fenella sent me to find ye," the boy blurted. "She was wondering where ye are."
"O' course she was," Greer said dryly. He had arrived at MacDonnell only a week ago, just in time for his cousin's funeral. But it had quickly become obvious that the late laird's widow was a pain in the arse. She was forever weeping and whining and moping about the castle like some tragic ghost. And most often she wanted someone to weep and whine at. Since his Aunt Tilda was as good as accusing the woman of killing her son, and everyone here was keeping their distance until they sorted out what way the grass lay, he was the only one who had even spoken to her this last week. The woman had promptly decided he was her ally and had begun to trail him around like some poor starved puppy looking for a new home. In fact, that was why Greer had found Milly, pulled her up on his mount and slipped away from the keep. He'd been looking for a bit of respite.
His gaze slid to the maid, noting that her nipples were still erect and poking at the soft cloth of her worn gown. Seeing that he was looking, she ran one hand up her stomach to catch and briefly cup one round globe through the cloth, then licked her lips. The action made Greer's still erect cock throb under his plaid and he caught her by the arm to urge her away from Alpin and his horse, saying over his shoulder. "Tell her ye could no' find me."
"But what about the guests?"
Greer stopped walking and closed his eyes on a sigh. Guests. Of course there were guests now too. As if half the country hadn't just left after sticking about for two weeks and nearly eating MacDonnell out of its stores. Some stragglers were arriving too late to attend the funeral, but would still demand food and housing for the night at least. And as the new laird, he would be expected to greet and welcome them.
Milly's small hand closing around his cock brought his eyes open and down to see that she was standing sideways to him, her position hiding from Alpin that she had her right hand under his plaid. Greer groaned as her hand slid the length of his erection, and then rose its length again.
"Tell them ye could no' find me," Greer repeated in a growl as the maid pressed her breasts against his arm and repeated the gloving action with her hand.
"But--"
"Go!" Greer roared, his hips jerking involuntarily under Milly's attention. Trying for a calmer voice, he added, "I'll be back soon."
Alpin released a most put-upon sigh. The sound was followed though by a rustle that was probably the boy remounting his pony, and then the soft clop clop of the animal trotting out of the clearing.
Milly immediately dropped to her knees in the grass and ducked her head under his plaid to lay claim to the erection she'd been so eagerly fondling. Greer groaned and grabbed her head through the plaid for balance as she clasped his hips in her hands and began to move her mouth lustily over his organ.
Damn, the woman had some serious skill, he thought vaguely and then stopped thinking and gave himself up to the pleasure. Within moments he was roaring with release as he spilled himself down her throat.
"What was that?"
Saidh shook her head at Murine's nervous question and reined in her mare, aware that the entire traveling party had done the same. Murine's brother's soldiers were all halted and peering warily into the woods around them, seeking the source of that pained shout.
"Ye do no' think Laird MacDonnell's ghost now walks these woods, do ye?" Murine asked worriedly and Saidh glanced to her with surprise.
"Nay. Of course no'. Do no' be silly, Murine," she said. Good Lord, she had enough on her plate without worrying about ghosties and goblins in the woods around the castle she was about to stay in.
If she stayed. Saidh added the thought grimly. It was not as if she had been invited. In fact, Fenella didn't even know she was coming. But after learning that Murine's brother, Montrose Danvries, was indeed at Sinclair to inform Murine that her father was dead and to take her to his home in England, Saidh had found herself asking if she might accompany them as far as the MacDonnell keep. Even she had been surprised by the words when they'd slid from her lips.
She'd been more surprised, though, when Montrose had agreed readily to the request. The man was an ass, selfish and dissolute. He rarely did anything that he did not gain from. But it had become quickly obvious that he had hoped to gain something after all. He'd apparently expected that she would be so grateful for his escort that she'd allow him liberties. Saidh had set him straight on that quickly with a move her brothers had taught her--she'd kneed him in the place it hurt a man worst. He hadn't spoken to her since.
"Do ye think Laird MacDonnell's death was an accident?" Murine asked quietly as the party started forward again.
"I do no' ken," Saidh said wearily. It was the question that had plagued her this entire journey.
"Do ye think someone may be murdering yer cousin's husbands?"
Saidh glanced at Murine with surprise. "What?"
"Well, she has lost four husbands in as many years. The king's men obviously do no' think she killed the first three, but now there is a fourth. Mayhap someone else is doing the killing. Mayhap she has a jealous admirer who wants her fer himself and is killing her husbands."
Saidh considered that as they rode forward. She almost hoped it was true. Because if it wasn't . . .
The king's men may have decided that Fenella was innocent and she could understand that. Fenella had not been alone when Laird MacIver the younger had been tossed from his mount and broken his neck. She was in fact with his family members, a perfect alibi. As for the senior Laird MacIver, he had been extremely old and might well have died from all the excitement of bedding a much younger and beautiful bride. But Saidh knew something the king's men
did not know, and that was that Fenella had definitely killed her first husband. And knowing that cast suspicion on all of the men's deaths in Saidh's mind. She needed to find out for herself if Fenella had had anything to do with the deaths of the Lairds MacIver senior and junior, and Laird MacDonnell. Because if she had, Saidh had saved her cousin that day at the expense of three men who otherwise would surely be alive today. Their blood would be on her hands.
The thought made her mouth tighten grimly as she followed Montrose's mount out of the woods and along the dirt lane toward the castle gate. She would find the answer, but after that she had no idea what she would do. Or even what she could do. If her cousin was killing men, was there anything she could do to stop her? Nothing that wouldn't include admitting her collusion in the death of Laird Kennedy. She may not have killed the man, but she had lent her aid in concealing who the murderer was. What kind of punishment was she likely to be dealt for that?
The question left Saidh in an unhappy silence as they reined in and dismounted at the foot of the stairs to the castle. A servant led them up the steps and through the keep door, explaining with a pained expression that, unable to find the laird, they had sent for Lady MacDonnell, who would surely greet them soon. He'd barely finished making those apologetic explanations when a soft rustle and the patter of footsteps drew their attention to the older lady descending the stairs. Allen MacDonnell's mother, was Saidh's guess as she looked over the still attractive woman. Certainly, it wasn't her cousin.
"Lord Danvries." Tilda MacDonnell smiled sadly as she crossed the great hall to greet them. " 'Tis a pleasure to see ye again. I trust ye found yer sister?"
"Yes. Thank you," Danvries said, his voice for once quiet and respectful rather than the bluff and arrogant booming sound it normally was. Turning, he gestured toward Murine and added, "This is my sister, Lady Murine Carmichael, of clan Carmichael."
"My dear," Lady MacDonnell took Murine's hand and clasped it gently in both her own. "I was sorry to hear o' yer father's death. It seems Scotland has lost two good men in short order."
"Aye," Murine murmured, her eyes glazing with the tears that had filled them every time someone had brought up her father since she'd learned of his death.