"Well?" Seonaid asked quietly as Helen moved to sit between the women with a portion of stew poured into the last of their stale bread. "Will it work?"
"I am not sure," the redhead whispered anxiously. "I hope I used enough."
Seonaid hoped she had too but merely nodded. They would simply have to wait and see. Her gaze turned back to the men eagerly gobbling up the stew. They claimed it was most tasty fare, and Seonaid had little difficulty believing them. The scent wafting off the portion Helen had dished out for her smelled divine. She was almost tempted to eat it herself. Almost.
"They doona seem to be growin' sleepy," Aeldra murmured with concern as the men began to finish their food.
Seonaid didn't say anything, but slipped her bread bowl behind her back and tipped it over, dumping the stew in the grass. The last thing she wanted was for one of the men to notice they hadn't eaten it. Bringing the empty makeshift bowl back around, she traded it for Helen's full portion, then dumped it as well. She did the same with Aeldra's as she watched the men closely. Unfortunately, her cousin was right. They were all almost done and none were showing the least sign of weariness.
Her gaze turned on Blake with displeasure as she watched him pop the last piece of bread into his mouth. He had eaten the stew as well as the bread bowl holding it. Getting to his feet, he nodded toward the three women. "That was delicious, Sister. You have my thanks. Now I think I shall clean up at the river before retiring."
"How long did it take to work last time?" Seonaid asked Helen as the three of them watched Blake leave the clearing. She began to fear the Englishwoman had gone much too light with the plant in her worry at overdosing them.
Helen thought for a minute, then shook her head. "I am not sure. I recall it seemed to take forever, but I was frightened at the time. I knew did we fail, I would soon be dead."
Seonaid shifted with impatience. How long would they have to wait? Would it work? Dear Lord, what if they had grabbed the wrong plant and merely mixed a harmless herb in the stew?
She grimaced at the thought. The lost opportunity would be irritating, but almost equally upsetting would be the lost stew she had just dumped. It had smelled mighty fine, and if it was untainted and now feeding the earth ... well, that was a terrible disappointment. Were their plan not going to work, they might at least have had a good meal out of it.
Her thoughts were disturbed when Aeldra reached behind Helen to poke Seonaid in the side. She glanced at her cousin, then followed her nod to where a couple of the men, the ones who had eaten the fastest, were beginning to rub absently at their bellies.
Seonaid felt a prickle of unease race along her back as she watched the pained grimaces on their faces. They were looking a tad uncomfortable.
"Er ... Helen ..." Seonaid began, then paused. Two of the men had lurched to their feet and stumbled from the fire. The distant sound of retching soon followed.
"Oh, dear." Helen sounded shaky as a couple more men suddenly stumbled off into the woods. "Cameron's men did not react this way. I think it may have been the other plant, after all."
Seonaid bit her lip to hold back the nervous laugh that wanted to escape. It didn't help when she glanced at Aeldra and saw her goggling at the woman.
"Ye think?" her cousin asked with disbelief as several more men staggered off. "Ye think it might have been the other plant? I'm thinkin' it's pretty certain."
The camp emptied quickly. Seonaid could only be grateful Blake wasn't there to see his earlier suspicions being confirmed. As it was, several glances had been sent their way as the men headed out into the surrounding woods. The only ones not presently showing signs of discomfort were the three Scots Seonaid's father had sent out. They had passed up the stew in favor of their usual packet of oats, she noticed with concern. Damn. She hadn't considered them in this plan. It was an oversight that could be a real problem, she realized unhappily.
"Oh." Helen stood suddenly. Her face was a mask of misery as she watched Lord Rolfe and Bishop Wickham join the burgeoning number of men in the bushes. The men were not quiet in their agony, and the sounds were a torment to hear.
Aeldra stood too, trying to soothe her. "Now, now, Helen. 'Tis sure I am they'll be fine. A little discomfort is all they're sufferin'. They'll be right as rain on the morrow. Or the next day," she added as the cacophony of sounds grew around them.
"If they do not die," Helen moaned.
"Well, an' if they do, their sufferin' will end that much sooner," Seonaid said practically, drawing a gasp from the woman.
"Well?" Gavin asked.
Seonaid turned to the only men left seated by the fire. The three Scots were grinning fiendishly.
Now that he had her attention, the Scot asked, "Are ye goin' to make guid yer escape while ye can or no?"
Seonaid considered him briefly. "Are ye goin' to stop us?"
He merely shrugged. "The Dunbar didna say to stop ye, lass. Jest to keep Sherwell from killin' himself."
Seonaid felt herself relax somewhat. She hesitated, then told him, "We never meant to make them ill." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the retching taking place in the woods around them. "The stew was supposed to make them sleep."
"But I picked the wrong plant," Helen explained pitifully.
"I'll be sure to tell him," Gavin assured them with amusement.
Grimacing, Seonaid urged Helen to the horses, aware Aeldra followed. She had some trouble getting the Englishwoman to mount. Helen feared she had sentenced the men to death by her poisoning. Seonaid assured her the men would be fine, pointing out that they were purging the stew and whatever poison was in it. Helen didn't appear much relieved but did allow herself to be urged up onto a mount.
Seonaid and Aeldra then conferred over what to do about the horses. Gavin watched them closely and would no doubt raise a fuss did she try to free all of them. He'd not allow her to scare off his or his men's mounts. In the end, they took three horses: Aeldra and Seonaid's own as well as another horse to replace Helen's injured animal. Then they set the rest loose ... all but the three beasts belonging to her father's men. Seonaid knew she couldn't get away with setting them free. Unfortunately, she also knew that the rest of the horses probably wouldn't go far and would be easily rounded up with the horses she'd had to leave behind. Which meant all this trouble had bought them very little time in the end.
Blake stumbled back toward camp. His body trembled with weakness from an hour of retching at the side of the river and still he didn't feel much better. At least the heaving had stopped. Something in the stew obviously had not agreed with him, though he would not mention it to Sister Helen. The woman had worked for hours over the meal, and it had been quite tasty. Since the meat had been freshly caught, he suspected the culprit must be one of the wild vegetables and herbs the men had scavenged for her. He hoped he was the only one affected by it. The last thing he needed was three weak women on his hands. Blake loved women, but he preferred them warm and willing to ailing and wailing.
He reached the camp and stumbled weakly to the log he had been seated on earlier. He dropped onto it beside Rolfe, who sat, shoulders drooping, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The man looked rather pale and unwell, Blake noted, then frowned at the sight of the bishop lying on the dirt behind them, holding his stomach and moaning. It seemed he hadn't been the only one affected after all, Blake realized, and glanced around at the rest of the men. A good half of them were slumped around the fire, some clutching their bellies and rocking in silent misery, while more were staggering back out of the bushes to join them. There was no sign of the women.
"Were the women sickened too?" Blake asked with concern.
"The women?" Rolfe glanced around with bleary eyes. "I imagine they were. They must still be in the woods. Women are much more delicate than men. They would require more time to recover."
Blake grunted something of an agreement as his gaze moved to the fire. He sat still for a moment, loathe to move and stir up his stomach again, but
the women shouldn't be off alone in the woods. He knew he would have to check on them. After another moment had passed and none of the women rejoined the sufferers around the fire, Blake heaved back to his feet and forced himself to walk to the edge of the clearing. He paused there, really too weary to do a proper search. Instead, he called out into the woods, his only answer the moans of his men. He stood there, confused and shaky and wondering what to do next, when Little George lumbered out of the woods directly before him. In all the years Blake had known the giant of a man, he had never seen him unwell. It wasn't a pretty sight. Putting out a hand in case he took the notion of toppling on him, Blake asked, "Are you all right?"
Disgust flared on the giant's flat face and he shook his head. "I had three portions of the stew 'ere I started to feel poorly. I am paying for it."
Blake nodded in sympathy. He'd gobbled down two portions himself and wished he hadn't been so greedy. "Have you seen the women?"
Little George shook his head. "Have you asked the Scot?"
"The Scot?" Blake turned back to the fire, only then noting Gavin sitting, grinning like a fool. The man obviously wasn't suffering like the rest of them. But more importantly, he sat alone. The other two Scots were missing, and Blake didn't think for a minute they were with the other men in the woods. The Scots had refused to eat the Englishwoman's stew. Besides, the man looked terribly amused. He would hardly be so amused if his own men were ailing. Growling under his breath, Blake moved back to the fire, aware Little George was on his heels.
"Where are they?" Blake snapped without preamble and glared down at the Scot.
"Me men?" Gavin asked with a grin.
"No. The women."
"Hmm." Gavin shook his head. "Ye'd have more luck askin' me where me men are."
Blake hesitated, then decided to play along, "All right, where are your men?"
"Followin' the women."
He stood there for a moment, his face blank, his mind slow to process this news. Then his gaze shot instinctively to where the horses should have been tied. He wasn't sure what he had expected to see. All of the horses were gone, but for one. It seemed a good guess that the one remaining horse was the Scot's mount.
"Damn!" he cursed volubly. "Damn and double damn! They've flown again."
"What?" Rolfe interjected weakly and stood to join him. "They could not if they were as sick as we are. Did they not eat the stew?"
"Nay, they cooked it," Blake spat out. "At least one of them did."
"But Sister Helen cooked," Bishop Wickham protested, forcing himself to a seated position. "No bride of God would poison me."
"Seonaid must have convinced her to put something in the stew. She probably told her it would just make us sleep," he reasoned, then shook his head with disbelief. "Damn, the wench would rather kill me than marry me."
The very idea so shocked him, he could hardly believe it. A sudden burst of laughter from the Scot drew Blake from his thoughts.
"It was supposed to make ye all sleep, but the nun was unsure which weed would cause it. She was most distressed that she had blundered so and caused such discomfort, horrified even at the idea she might be responsible fer yer deaths."
Blake had started to relax when the man added, "Seonaid soothed her by pointin' out that should ye all die, ye'd be out o' yer misery."
The Scot burst out laughing at the horrified expressions on their faces.
Blake recovered enough to scowl at him, then strode to the man's horse. He had just laid his hand on the mount's tether when Gavin caught up and stopped him. "Horse thievin' is frowned on here in Scotland."
"I have to go after Seonaid," Blake said grimly.
"Ye'll find her faster with me to lead the way. Ye'd no recognize the trail me men will leave without me."
"Why?" Rolfe asked with bewilderment as he joined them. "Why would you lead us to her? Why did you not just stop her from leaving?"
"The Dunbar didna send me to stop her."
"Then why the hell did he send you?" Blake asked irritably.
"To keep ye from gettin' lost ... or killed," Gavin reminded him in a tone filled with amusement.
Before Blake could react to the slight, Rolfe intervened, saying, "I suppose we had best hie after them."
"Hie after them?" Blake scowled. "On one horse?"
"Well, obviously we shall have to round up the others. They will not have gone far. Look, there is one there. Is not that your mount?"
Following his pointing finger, Blake saw Rolfe was right. His mount stood not ten feet away, munching on grass. He had owned the animal for several years, and it was a faithful beast. Leaving the others, he walked to fetch the stallion, his mind working over the problem. He had half a mind to let the wench go. Why chase after her? She would just run again.
On the other hand, he would like to see the wench again. Very much so. He would like to catch up to her, drag her off her mount, pull her over his knee, and ...
Blake stopped his thoughts on a sigh. He felt sick and weary and thought he might be lucky to stay on his horse long enough to catch up to the woman, let alone pull her off her mount. But the idea of doing so was a lovely thing to contemplate. Pushing his fantasies aside, he forced himself to straighten his posture and stride manfully toward his mount as he ordered, "The rest of you follow as soon as you round up the other horses. I shall give chase."
"On your own?" Rolfe and Little George spoke the query at the same time, but in vastly differing tones. Rolfe sounded dubious, as if he thought Blake couldn't manage the task on his own. Little George sounded disapproving, as if he thought Blake shouldn't do it. The bishop and the damned Scot, Gavin, were holding their tongues, but the laughter in the Scot's eyes suggested he was sure Blake wouldn't manage the task.
Always having been a contrary sort, Blake took their reactions as a challenge. He mounted his beast, then forced one of his wicked smiles to his pale face as he turned to salute them. "Happy hunting."
"And to you; you shall need it," Blake thought he heard Lord Rolfe respond. He didn't pause to answer the comment as he was having difficulty staying mounted. After his bout in the bushes, his legs were as weak and trembling as a woman's, as were his arms. His whole body ached and trembled and his stomach muscles were the worst. He had to consider the irony of it all. He had survived countless battles yet been laid low by a rabbit. And a Scottish witch.
It was well past dawn before Seonaid deemed it safe for them to stop. She wouldn't have paused then except for the horses. The mounts had enjoyed little rest, riding a full day, then a full night with naught but a couple of hours' break in between. Worried about them--and Helen, who was just as exhausted, but too stubborn to allow Seonaid or Aeldra to take her up before them on their mounts--Seonaid had waited only until they had reached the relative safety of Comen's croft before stopping.
Comen was a friend to her brother. His home was always open to them on their travels, and this time proved no exception. Comen's wife offered up the only bed in the small hut, but they had chosen to sleep in the barn instead. Twice the size of the hut, it was filled with hay and most likely just as comfortable, if not more so. Besides, Seonaid felt it best to stay close to the horses in case the men caught them up. It was a very real possibility. If they still lived.
Seonaid scowled at the thought and turned on her side in the pile of hay she had made for herself. Aeldra and Helen were sleeping soundly, but Seonaid hadn't yet been able to find that happy state. She needed sleep but felt tense and wound up inside. It had been a tiresome task to ride through the night. Seonaid had constantly had to strain her eyes in an effort to judge the ground they crossed in the moonlight. It wouldn't have done to have another horse lamed on top of everything else.
Then there had been the tension of listening and watching for attack. It wasn't until they were well away that Seonaid had realized they hadn't found and retrieved their weapons before riding off. The three women were traveling unarmed. It was then Seonaid had realized just how rattled she had b
een by the men's reactions to the stew. She really hadn't wished them ill. Perhaps the Sherwell deserved it, but Lord Rolfe. ... well, he was trying to force her to marry Sherwell, but the bishop certainly did not deserve to be made so ill. Even if he planned to perform the ceremony binding her to the damned Sassenach.
Irritated by her own thoughts, Seonaid rolled onto her back, then froze in shock. There was a man standing over her. Lord Blake. She hadn't heard him approach. Even the horses hadn't made a sound of warning--he must have crept up on them like a ghost. Actually, she realized, he rather resembled a ghost, haggard and drawn and pale to the point of being almost gray-faced. Blake looked exhausted and definitely wasn't happy.
Seonaid instinctively reached for the sword lying on the ground next to her, only to recall that they had fled unarmed. She had no sword.
"You would be clever not to try anything at this moment."
Seonaid opened her mouth to give a witty reply, but he forestalled her, growling, "You would be clever to keep your mouth shut too, else you may move me to doing something we would both regret."
Seonaid decided it might be in her best interests to do absolutely nothing, so she lay there still and silent, watching him watch her. She didn't even move when the tension suddenly slid out of him and he moved to lie down beside her. She did turn onto her side away from him then, but got no further before he caught her around the waist and dragged her back against him. He arranged her so they lay spoon style, then fixed her firmly in place by casting one leg over both of hers.
That was a little too much togetherness for Seonaid. She opened her mouth and took in a breath to speak, but Blake's arm tightened around her waist and he growled by her ear, "Shut up, Seonaid. I am not very pleased with you at the moment. If you know what is good for you, you shall be quiet and let us both sleep."
Seonaid shut her mouth. They both lay silent and still and she soon became aware of his relaxing behind her, his muscles easing. She stared at the streams of sunlight slipping through the small cracks between the barn slats and listened as Blake's breathing slowed to a deep, steady sound. There were tiny dust motes moving through the streams of sunlight and she tried to concentrate on that rather than the way his breath softly stirred the hair on top of her head, or how his hand had shifted as he relaxed so it was now curled just below her breast. Every time she breathed in and her chest expanded, it felt as if he were almost cupping it.