The Highlander Takes a Bride

  Greer scowled at the men, who were supposed to have kept Saidh safely in the master bedchamber, and received apologetic looks in response as Dougall and Geordie paused behind his wife. It seemed that, even awake, her brothers could not keep Saidh where she did not want to be.

  "She's alive," Rory said soothingly to Saidh. "She just fainted."

  "Are ye sure?" Saidh asked anxiously. "I saw her fall, she was grabbing at her heart."

  Rory lowered his head to Aunt Tilda's chest and listened briefly. He straightened a moment later, looking less certain. "We'd best get her to her bed."

  "She'll want her maid, Helen," Saidh said fretfully, getting up as Rory scooped up Aunt Tilda and stood. "She's trained in healing too. She tends to Aunt Tilda's ailments."

  "Alick?" Rory said over his shoulder as he headed for the door with Saidh trailing him and Dougall and Geordie following her.

  "I'll fetch her," Alick assured him.

  Greer watched silently as the small troupe left, hoping that Saidh would glance back or say something to him. She didn't, however, and he was left standing there feeling like an utter horse's arse for having put Aunt Tilda through that. If the woman died, he would never forgive himself, but worse than that, he suspected Saidh wouldn't either. She might not even forgive him if Aunt Tilda lived.

  "Lady MacDonnell was no' faking her shock," Aulay sounded disappointed as he pointed out the obvious.

  "Nay," Greer agreed dryly.

  "Hmmm." Aulay sighed. "I guess we should talk to Bowie now then."

  "Really, I'm fine, dear. I was just a little overset by seeing Fenella like that," Aunt Tilda murmured, hands fluttering weakly as Saidh finished fussing with the furs she'd pulled over her.

  Greer's aunt had woken up as Rory carried her into her bedchamber. She'd at first been confused as to why she was being carried about, and then quiet, but now seemed embarrassed by all the fuss.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, Saidh took her hand and peered at her worriedly. Lady MacDonnell had regained a little color, but was still quite pale and her hand was trembling a bit in hers.

  "Are ye sure ye feel all right?" Saidh asked, squeezing her hand gently. "Ye grabbed yer chest when ye fell. How is it now?"

  "I am fine," Aunt Tilda assured her on a little sigh. "More embarrassed at fainting as I did than anything, to tell the truth." Grimacing, she added, "Ye'd think I'd ha'e been happy to see Fenella that way after everything that's happened. 'Twas just the shock. I just . . ." She shook her head wearily.

  "Greer should no' ha'e surprised ye like that," Saidh said grimly, squeezing her hand again.

  "I'm sure he thought Conran would tell me what had happened when he came to find me," Aunt Tilda said quietly, defending the man. She then defended Conran as well, saying, "And Conran probably thought it was no' his place. 'Twas jest an unfortunate set o' circumstances."

  Saidh didn't comment to that. She suspected Greer had known exactly what he was doing bringing Aunt Tilda in to see Fenella without warning her first, although she couldn't for the life of her understand why he'd felt he had to do it. Or perhaps she could, Saidh acknowledged. She was sure there were few people who knew about the secret passages. It was probably only supposed to be family as it was at Buchanan. Obviously that wasn't the case, though. Someone outside the family had to know, because she hadn't killed Fenella, and neither could Greer and Alpin have done it. That had left only Aunt Tilda for Greer to consider. Saidh hoped this episode had cleared the woman of suspicion in his mind.

  "Oh, Helen," Aunt Tilda breathed in relief as the woman rushed into the room.

  "M'lady," the maid said with dismay, hurrying to her side. "What happened? Are ye all right?"

  "She had a shock and fainted," Rory explained quietly.

  "Aye, but I'm fine now," Aunt Tilda said firmly, struggling to sit up. "And I should get up. We need to tend to Fenella."

  Helen straightened with surprise, eyes wide. "Lady Fenella? Is she ill?"

  "She's dead," Aunt Tilda announced bluntly as she heaved herself upright. "And we'll need to see to her body."

  "Ye're in no shape to tend to anything jest now," Saidh said firmly, urging her to lie back down. "Ye should rest. I shall worry about Fenella."

  "But--" Aunt Tilda began, only to heave a sigh and settle back against her pillows. "Aye. Mayhap I should. I am weary." Distress crossing her features, she added fretfully, "Though I do no' ken how I'll sleep after seeing Fenella like that."

  "I'll fix ye a tincture to help ye sleep," Helen said at once and bustled over to a chest that sat on a table against the wall. Opening it, she began to retrieve various weeds and medicinals.

  "Oh dear," Aunt Tilda breathed, drawing Saidh's attention back in time to see the woman grimace with distaste and mutter, "A tincture . . . vile things."

  Saidh smiled sympathetically at her expression. "If it helps ye sleep, 'twill be worth the unpleasant taste."

  "I suppose." Aunt Tilda sighed, and then patted her fingers. "Helen has me in hand. There is no need fer ye to stay with me." She frowned and added, "Yer looking a bit peaked yerself, dear. Mayhap Helen should make a tincture fer you, as well. I really do no' think ye should be up running about like this. Ye're still recovering from that arrow."

  "I am fine," Saidh assured her, but it was a lie. She felt as if she'd run halfway across Scotland. In truth, she didn't know how she'd run up the stairs when Fenella's maid had screamed. Just going down them had wearied her. She supposed that scream and then seeing Fenella's body had raised her blood, giving her a temporary boost. But that boost was fading now, leaving her feeling weak and a little shaky.

  "She's right. Ye've lost all yer color," Rory said quietly, concern on his face. "Ye should be abed too. Besides, I'm sure Lady MacDonnell can no' like her bedchamber being invaded by so many men."

  "Oh, aye," Saidh said with realization. She was used to having her brothers around, but supposed it would be unsettling for the poor woman to have the men in her bedchamber. Forcing a smile for Aunt Tilda, Saidh got shakily to her feet saying, "I'll take me brothers away and leave ye to rest."

  "Verra well then," Aunt Tilda murmured, then glanced to the men and said, "Make sure she rests. She does no' look well at all."

  Saidh heard her brothers rumble their agreement to the suggestion as they followed her to the door. But she remained silent, her attention on sucking in deep breaths to try to ward off the weakness now dropping around her like a large cape.

  "She's right, ye need rest," Rory said quietly once they were out of the room and Dougall had pulled the door closed behind them. "Ye're recovering from a mighty injury, Saidh, and all this rushing about can no' be good fer ye. Besides, I want to check yer wound and apply more salve."

  "Soon," Saidh murmured, slowing as she saw Bowie following Alick off the stairs and into the room where Fenella was. Frowning, she asked, "Why Bowie?"

  "He is the only one who kenned about the passages besides ye, Greer, Alpin and Lady MacDonnell," Rory answered quietly. "I imagine they want to see his reaction on viewing her body, just as they did Lady MacDonnell."

  Saidh frowned at this news and moved a little more quickly up the hall, but only a little. It was a long damned hall and Lady MacDonnell's room was nearly at the end of it. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the bedchamber door. When she did, she found the door open. Bowie had not closed it as he entered. She peered in curiously to see Bowie staring down at Fenella, shock still present on his face. Greer, Aulay, Alick, Conran and Niels all surrounded him.

  "And no one entered the room?" Bowie asked slowly.

  "Nay. No' from the hall," Greer answered.

  "Then they must ha'e used the passage," Bowie said at once, turning wide eyes to Greer.

  "Aye, 'tis what we're thinking," Greer agreed grimly.

  When Bowie frowned and turned his gaze back to Fenella, Greer added, "Aulay informs me it is usually only family who ken about passages in castles. Yet ye were the one to show it to me. Why wou
ld Allen ha'e showed it to ye?"

  Bowie glanced to him with surprise, opened his mouth to respond, then paused and closed it again, his gaze turning wary.

  "Well?" Greer prompted when the man remained silent.

  "I think ye'd get more answers did ye ha'e me brothers leave," Saidh said quietly, moving into the room now.

  All of the men turned to peer at her then, and all of them were scowling at her appearance, except for Bowie and Greer. Bowie just looked more wary. Greer, however, looked relieved, though she wasn't sure why.

  "Ye should be resting, love," Greer said, striding over to scoop her up into his arms.

  "I want to be here while ye talk to Bowie," Saidh protested when he would have carried her out of the room. When that made him pause, she added, "I ken things. I can help."

  Much to her relief, her husband nodded and turned to carry her to the chairs by the fire. He set her down in one and would have straightened, but Saidh kept her arms locked around his neck and whispered, "Make me brothers leave. He'll no' talk in front o' them."

  Greer met her gaze silently, eyebrows raised and asked in an undertone, "What do ye ken, lass?"

  "After me brothers leave," Saidh whispered firmly.

  "Why do we ha'e to leave?" Aulay asked by her ear in a whisper of his own, and Saidh jumped in surprise and released Greer to turn to peer at her brother where he now stood behind her, bent at the waist to join the conversation.

  Saidh grimaced at the man, then said quietly. "He and Allen were friends like our cook and Quintin."

  Aulay considered this news and then nodded and straightened to glance to the other men. "Take his sword and any other weapons he has. We're waiting in the hall, but I will no' leave him armed."

  Saidh glanced back to Greer then, expecting him to ask what she'd meant by Bowie and Allen being friends like the cook at Buchanan and Quintin, but instead he asked solemnly, "Is Aunt Tilda all right?"

  "Aye." She sighed the word, recalling her anger at him earlier. "And I understand why ye did it, but she is an old woman, Greer. She could ha'e died."

  "Aye. I ken," he admitted. "And I regret that it had to be done."

  "But ye'd do it again," she guessed, unable to miss the fact that he wasn't apologizing for it.

  "In a heartbeat," he assured her solemnly. "I'll do anything necessary to find the killer and keep ye safe, Saidh. I love ye."

  That declaration left Saidh gaping at him like a fish out of water. Before she could recover enough to sort out how to respond to it, Aulay paused at the door and said, "We'll be in the hall. Shout and we'll come running."

  Greer tore his gaze from Saidh to glance to her brother. Nodding, he murmured, "Thank ye," then shifted his attention to Bowie as the bedchamber door closed behind the Buchanan men. A moment of silence passed and then he again asked, "Why did Allen tell ye about the secret passage?"

  Letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Saidh forced her attention to the matter at hand. She would consider how she felt about Greer's claim later, she assured herself as she peered at Bowie.

  The man looked like he was battling an inner war, struggling over what to say, or what he dared to say.

  "He told ye so ye could use the passage," Saidh guessed and when Bowie glanced to her sharply, but didn't deny it, added, "because ye were his lover."

  Saidh had expected Greer to be shocked by this announcement, but the only one who appeared surprised was Bowie. His eyes widened with both shock and alarm now and he began to shake his head.

  Wondering why Greer was not amazed at this news, Saidh continued to eye Bowie solemnly as she added, "I ken Allen preferred the company o' men to women. And Fenella told me how the two o' ye were always going off together to swim and taking hunting trips and such. Ye were lovers, were ye no'?"

  Bowie stopped shaking his head, and lowered it, his shoulders slumping in defeat. After a moment, he said, "I loved him," in a voice so low she almost couldn't hear him.

  Saidh let her breath out on a sigh. She'd suspected Bowie had been Allen's lover after talking to Fenella, but she hadn't been sure. Now that she was, she began to consider all that had happened. "Did ye ha'e a lovers' quarrel at the loch the morning he died? Had he found someone else, or--?"

  "I did no' kill him!" Bowie cried, his head jerking up to reveal his shock at the possibility. "I could ne'er kill him. I loved him."

  "Did ye think Fenella had done it then?" Greer asked quietly.

  "What?" Bowie looked briefly bewildered and then he glanced at the woman's blood-covered body and realization slowly dawned. Expression grim, he drew his shoulders up and turned back to say firmly, "I did no' kill Fenella." Lifting his chin, he added derisively, "Why would I?"

  "Out o' jealousy?" Saidh suggested. "She was the wife of the man ye loved."

  He snorted at the suggestion. "In name only. They had no' e'en consummated the wedding. I am the one who spent e'ery night in his bed. And I am the one he spent his days with, and talked to and--" He shook his head. "There was nothing to be jealous o' Fenella fer. She was a pretty, brainless child, happy to accept the baubles he gave her and stay out o' his bed."

  Saidh pursed her lips and glanced to Fenella. As sad as she was to admit it, that description was probably a perfect portrayal of her cousin during her marriage to Allen. There had been much more to the woman than that, of course. Or could have been, had she allowed it, but Fenella had been so grateful at Allen's kindness and his not bothering her about the bedding, that she'd closed her eyes to everything around her that she hadn't wanted to see. It was the only way to explain how she could live with the man and not realize his true nature.

  "I tend to believe ye, Bowie," Greer said, rubbing a weary hand around his neck. "The problem is that whoever killed Fenella had to ha'e entered the room through the secret passage." He let his hand drop and added, "And as far as I ken, the only people who are aware o' it, are me, me squire, me wife, Lady MacDonnell and you." He let that sink in and then asked, "Is there anyone else who knows about it?"

  Bowie shook his head slowly. "Nay. No' as far as I ken," he admitted with a frown, and then rallied and added, "But it was no' me, and the boy is in no shape to ha'e done this," he said gesturing to Fenella's body. "So if 'twas no' either o' ye, then ye should look to Allen's mother. She hated Fenella."

  Saidh scowled at the suggestion. "I ken she thought Fenella had somehow brought about Allen's death, but--"

  "Nay. She hated her long ere that," Bowie informed her. "She blamed her fer no' being woman enough to change Allen's ways, and no' demanding he get her with child. She hated him too fer that. I would no' be surprised to learn she killed them both."

  "Nay," Saidh protested. "Aunt Tilda would ne'er harm her own son. She understood and loved Allen."

  "Aye, so long as he let her think he would give her the grandchildren she wanted and was no' following his inclinations," Bowie said bitterly. "But when she actually caught us together--" His mouth tightened. "I ha'e never seen such hatred. I thought she'd kill us both right there."

  "She caught ye together?" Greer asked sharply.

  "Aye. Right here in this room," Bowie admitted, glancing around sadly. "Allen moved to this room after the wedding, leaving Fenella to have the master suite." His gaze returned to Saidh and he added, "As ye suggested, I used the passage to come to him at night. I did that night as well. We were both taken by surprise when his mother barged in."

  Bowie shook his head, his eyes growing dim as if he were seeing that confrontation again in his mind's eye. "When she started shrieking, Allen suggested I leave, so I gathered me clothes and did. But I stopped in the hall to dress and I heard him tell her to go to hell. He bellowed that he'd married that little bitch Fenella as she'd insisted, but he would ne'er actually consummate the marriage and gi'e her those damned grandchildren she was always harping on about. She'd jest best forget about it, he said, and leave him be or he'd stick her in a hut on the edge o' the property and she'd ne'er set foot in her belov
ed castle again."

  Pausing, Bowie sighed and rubbed his forehead and then said almost apologetically, "Allen was no' normally like that, but I think she'd pushed him to his limits."

  Saidh waved that away. She too would have been upset did someone barge in on her and Greer together. "What did she say?"

  "I ne'er heard," Bowie said unhappily. "I was dressed by then and someone was coming up the stairs, so I slipped away to avoid being seen. I returned to the barracks and paced all night, waiting fer Allen to send fer me, but he ne'er did . . . and then the next morn he was found dead in the loch."

  Saidh and Greer were silent for a moment, absorbing what he'd said, and then Greer made a frustrated sound. Her eyebrows rose as she noted his expression. Something about the story obviously didn't sit right with him, Saidh realized, and she wondered what it was. She understood when he asked, "Why did she allow ye to stay at MacDonnell after Allen was found dead the next morn? I'd ha'e expected if she was that angry, she'd ha'e sent ye away at once."

  "She did no ken it was me," he said with a shrug.

  Saidh turned to him with amazement. "How could she not?"

  "The Drummonds had stopped to rest on their way north to Sinclair, and the MacDonalds were here on some business, and Allen decided to use that as an excuse to hold a masked ball that night," Bowie explained, and then added with a sad smile, "Allen loved feasts and celebrations."

  "I do no' see how that would prevent her--" Saidh began with confusion.

  "While we were both naked, we were both still wearing our masks," Bowie explained, flushing slightly. "He liked to do that sort o' thing too."

  "Oh, I see," Saidh murmured, but her gaze was on Greer, who was looking at her as if his expression suggested he was imagining making love to her with masks on and nothing else.

  "I'd also sooted me hair," Bowie added. "Me platinum hair is very distinctive, so I rubbed soot in it to make me less recognizable," he explained when they both turned blank expressions his way. "It was a masked ball, after all. But if I'd no' sooted me hair, e'eryone would ha'e kenned who I was at once. The game was to see if Allen could find me amongst all the masked men." He shook his head firmly. "Lady MacDonnell could no' ha'e kenned it was me with Allen that night. If she had, I would surely be gone, or probably dead like Allen."