To Marry a Scottish Laird

  "Poisoned?" Cam sat up straight.

  "Aye, it didn't take but one look for Lady MacKay to determine the lad had been poisoned," Lady Sinclair said quietly.

  "His fingers were blue at the tips," Annabel murmured when Cam and Joan glanced to her.

  "Aye, poison," Joan said, mouth tightening.

  "What kind?" Cam asked.

  Joan shrugged. "Ye can get a poison that'll do that from crushed apple seeds, cherry pits, peach pits . . ."

  "Laurel leaves or rotting cabbage too," Annabel added.

  "But it's very fast acting," Joan said with a frown.

  "How fast acting?" Cam asked. "Could he have been given the poison here before he left?"

  "Nay," Joan and Annabel said together, and then Joan added, "He would be dead within minutes of eating whatever the poison was in."

  "It must have been put in his food," Lady Sinclair murmured, and noting their expressions, explained, "I had Cook pack a bag of food and drink for each o' the lads ere they left so they could eat in the saddle and no' have to stop to hunt up their meals." Grimacing, she admitted, "I was a bit eager to have the girls gone."

  "It would have had to have been put in something with a strong flavor to cover the taste of the poison," Annabel said thoughtfully.

  "Aye." Joan agreed and when Cam glanced to her in question, explained, "This poison is bitter. 'Twould have been hard to hide the flavor."

  Cam nodded in understanding, but added, "And then they would have had to get it in his food bag."

  "So someone went to a lot o' trouble to keep the scrolls Allistair carried from being delivered," Laird Sinclair said grimly.

  Cam's eyes widened and he turned to his mother. "Whose messages did he carry?"

  Ross pulled several scrolls out of his plaid and dropped them on the table. Aunt Annabel immediately picked one up and examined the scroll. "This just has MF written above the seal."

  "The MacFarlands," Lady Sinclair announced.

  "This one has a B," Laird Sinclair said after picking up another.

  "Buchanan," Cam's mother said, and added, "Which means the other three should be Carmichael, Drummond and MacCormick."

  "Aye," Lady Annabel said, checking each scroll. "One is marked with a C, one a D and one with MC." Frowning then, she said, "These are all to the families of the girls who fell ill from the cider."

  "And Finola," Lady Sinclair pointed out. "But she was no' taken ill."

  "Aye," her aunt agreed and then said thoughtfully, " 'Tis possible Finola poisoned Joan's cider in the hopes of getting her hands on the dress while she was under the weather."

  "Finola wasn't in the room to put anything in my drink," Joan pointed out.

  "Oh, aye." Grimacing, she gave her head a shake. "I forgot about that."

  "Then the person who poisoned the messenger can't be the same one who poisoned my cider," Joan said reasonably. "She hardly would have drank the cider she'd poisoned."

  "Unless she deliberately drank from the goblet to remove suspicion from herself when the others drank it," Lady Sinclair pointed out.

  Joan frowned at the suggestion, but supposed that was possible. She considered the four women who had fallen ill with her and then said, "I think we can discount Murine, at least. She was the first to drink from it after me and only did so because I suggested she have some."

  "Aye, but she may only have accepted because refusing might have made her look suspicious once ye fell ill," Cam pointed out.

  Joan sighed unhappily and sat back. He was right of course, or could be. How the devil were they supposed to sort this out?

  Cam suddenly cursed with frustration and stood up. "Frankly I do no' care who it is. I want all of these women out of here and me wife safe. I say we send them all home today with our men for escort."

  "I understand why you would feel that way, Campbell," her aunt said solemnly. "But that will not eliminate the problem. If we do not discover the reason behind the attacks, there could be another attempt at a later date when you are not expecting it. If you are unprepared at the time, there is a better chance it will succeed."

  "Or they could pay someone else to do the deed," Uncle Ross said quietly. "Which ye wouldn't be expecting either and could no' prepare against."

  "Aye," Annabel agreed and shook her head. "The best solution is to sort it all out and find the culprit now."

  Cam scowled at the suggestion, obviously not pleased, but nodded in the end. "Fine. How do we sort it out?"

  Everyone was silent for a minute and then Aunt Annabel said, "Perhaps we need to spend more time around these women, get them to talk and hopefully they will say something to reveal themselves."

  "And how are ye going to get the women all in the same room together with Joan? I'd say she needs her bed rest after today's incident," Laird Sinclair said and then added heavily, "And without the lad here to pester her."

  Cam scowled at his father. "I told ye, I was no' the one who--"

  "We shall have a sewing party," Lady Sinclair said suddenly. "Ross brought all that material for Joan. We shall suggest to them that she is feeling low after this latest accident and we would like to hold a sewing party in her room to cheer her."

  "That might work," Annabel said thoughtfully, and then nodded and smiled and said, "Aye. I think that might work well."

  "Ye may be able to get them all together, but 'tis a lot to hope fer that the lasses'll let anything slip," Laird Sinclair said with a frown. "They will be treading carefully now, watching their words and every move."

  "Mayhap," Annabel agreed with a nod. "But mayhap not. They can't know we suspect anything. Does anyone outside this room know we suspect Finola's death was not an accident? Or that the hatpin that was put in the saddle was found?"

  They all glanced to each other in question until Joan said, "I haven't told anyone."

  "Me either," Cam announced.

  Everyone else spoke up then, avowing that they hadn't spoken to anyone outside the circle about it and Annabel nodded. "Very well then. I think 'tis best if Joan spends the afternoon with the ladies. Ye can bring up the subject of the cider and Finola's death and see if anyone reacts oddly."

  Joan was just nodding when Lady Sinclair suddenly said, "The guards."

  "The guards?" she asked uncertainly.

  "Father put guards on our door after the incident with the horse," Cam explained quietly. "To keep ye safe against any more attacks."

  "Oh dear," she said with a wince. "Well, that probably has tipped them to the fact that we know someone's up to no good."

  "Aye," Lady Annabel agreed on a sigh.

  They were all silent for a moment, and then Joan said, "Perhaps if you remove my guard and--"

  "Nay," Cam said sharply. "They stay."

  "Sending them away would not do any good anyway," her aunt said gently. "They have been out there for hours now. I am sure all the girls have either seen, or at least heard of, their presence outside your room. They already know something is amiss."

  "Aye, but if we remove them and--"

  "Nay," Cam repeated at once.

  "Husband, please just hear me out," she requested quietly.

  Cam hesitated, but then nodded reluctantly.

  Joan smiled at him, and then turned back to the others. "We could send away the guard and tell them about the hatpin and--"

  "What?" Lady Sinclair interrupted this time. "But we are supposed to be making them think that we think that there is no threat, not that we ken there is one."

  "Aye," Joan agreed patiently. "But they already know that from the guard, so now we have to explain why we would no longer think that's the case. We shall say that a hatpin was found under my saddle and we suspected someone was trying to hurt me because of that and the cider so Cam arranged a guard. But when Lady Sinclair saw the hatpin, she recognized it as Finola's and we now realize she must have been behind both incidents. In fact, we can say we now suspect it is what she was doing creeping around the castle at night. We believe she was retur
ning from the stables. Therefore she was the threat, the threat is gone and all is well."

  "That's brilliant, me love," Cam complimented solemnly.

  Joan flushed and ducked her head, but glanced quickly back up when he added, "But I do no' like ye no' having guards."

  "She will no' be without guards," his mother assured him, straightening from whispering with her aunt. "Lady MacKay and I will be with her at all times until this is resolved."

  "Aye," her aunt said firmly and smiled at her.

  "There!" Joan said with relief. " 'Tis all settled then. We women shall get to the bottom of it."

  For some reason, none of the men appeared pleased with this announcement.

  Chapter 17

  "OH MY, JOAN, YE'RE TRULY THE LUCKIEST LASS I KEN," Lady Murine breathed, running her hands over the rolls of material stacked on the table by the fire in Joan and Cam's bedchamber. "To have an uncle as kind as Laird MacKay . . . I can no' believe he bought ye all this."

  "Aye," Saidh said solemnly, walking around the room to take it all in. "Ye've enough cloth here to make a dress fer every day o' the year. Ye'll never have to buy cloth again."

  "Aye," Joan agreed, eyeing the material from her position in bed. She had been excited and pleased when the servants had begun to carry the cloth in, but when they'd set down the first load and left, only to return again and again, she'd been flabbergasted. The man must have bought every stitch of material the merchant carried with him. The rolls formed a pyramid shape on the table, but also had been leaned up against the walls and laid across the chairs. There wasn't a surface in the room that didn't hold a bolt of cloth. Even the bed had a couple rolls lying across the end.

  "Well," she said now. "While I am lucky, I surely don't need all this cloth. So I thought I'd gift you each with a couple bolts for helping me."

  "Really?" Edith asked excitedly, running her hands over a bolt of dark blue material.

  "Aye, of course," Joan said solemnly. "You've all been so kind, I'm pleased to share my good fortune with you. Besides, I feel rather like I owe you. After all, you all got sick from drinking my cider."

  Aunt Annabel cast her an approving smile for the way she'd brought up the subject of one of the attacks, but Joan managed not to smile in return. She kept her gaze solemn as she peered from woman to woman, judging their reactions.

  "Oh, that was no' yer fault," Murine said at once, rushing to the bed to sit on the edge and clasping her hands. "Ye were trying to be kind when ye offered me a drink, and the others only tried it because we complained it was so bitter."

  "Aye," Edith agreed grimly. "The fault lies with Finola fer dosing it with whatever she put in."

  Joan shifted her gaze sharply to the woman. "You think Finola put something in my cider?"

  "Well, who else would do it?" Edith asked with a shrug. "Besides, she stuck her hatpin in yer saddle."

  Joan nodded solemnly and avoided looking at her aunt and Lady Sinclair. They'd apparently done well at presenting the explanations she'd suggested.

  "Finola could no' have dosed the cider," Saidh said now with the exasperation of someone who had repeated this several times already. "She was no' there in the solar with us."

  "Well Finola was no' there when Joan was thrown from her horse because o' the hatpin either, but we ken she did that," Edith pointed out reasonably. "Perhaps she dropped something in Joan's goblet while the servant was gathering the goblets and cider in the kitchens."

  "And how would she ken which one Joan was going to use?" Saidh asked dryly and shook her head. "She could no'."

  "Saidh's right," Garia said, offering an apologetic smile to Edith. "There were two goblets still when I came back with me pins and I did no' see anything in the goblets." She paused, and then added judiciously, "Though, I confess, I was no' looking. But still, if there had been something in one o' the goblets . . . well, I could ha'e picked either one. 'Twas just happenstance I did no' pick the one Joan got. For that matter, 'twas just happenstance one o' you didn't pick it yerselves."

  "Then mayhap she did no' care who drank it," Murine suggested now. Grimacing, she added, " 'Tis no' as if Finola liked any o' us. She made it plain she thought herself above us all." She shrugged. "Mayhap she just wanted one o' us sick and did no' care who."

  "Now that's just nonsense. What benefit would there be fer Finola to just randomly make one o' us sick?" Saidh asked with exasperation and then answered her own question. "No' a thing."

  "I do no' ken," Garia said suddenly, her expression thoughtful.

  "Oh, please, Garia," Saidh said with surprise. "Do no' say ye believe this nonsense? Ye're usually the more sensible one o' the three o' ye."

  "Aye, but Finola was wearing Joan's gown when she took her tumble down the stairs," Garia pointed out. "What if she just wanted one o' us sick as a distraction to bring an end to our finishing the gown so that she could pinch it fer herself ere we hemmed it and made it too short fer her?"

  "Oh, say," Edith said with surprise. "That does seem possible."

  "Damn, it does," Saidh agreed on a grumble and shook her head. "I suppose it certainly seems more likely than that we have two people here trying to hurt Joan."

  "Aye," Murine agreed and squeezed her hand. "Joan is just too nice to have made enemies."

  "Aye," they all agreed as one, smiling at her.

  Joan smiled back, but silently cursed. She hadn't learned a damned thing. She glanced to Lady Sinclair and her aunt then, hopeful that they had picked up on something that she hadn't, but both women looked as disappointed as she felt.

  She would have to keep trying, Joan thought grimly. The culprit was one of these women. It had to be. Why else would the messenger carrying their scrolls have been poisoned? One of them wanted to stay longer, and who would want that when Cam was married and unavailable? Unless they planned to change that and make him an available widower again.

  "QUIT YER BLOODY PACING, LAD. YE'RE MAKING me nervous," Laird Sinclair barked irritably.

  "My apologies," Cam said dryly. "But I'm a little worried just now. In case ye've forgotten, me wife is up there with a woman who has already poisoned her once, arranged a riding accident and killed another woman."

  "How can we ferget? Our wives are up there with her too," the MacKay said grimly. He turned his tankard on the table, then muttered impatiently, "This is worse than waiting through a birthing."

  "Aye," Laird Sinclair muttered, raising his ale to drink it.

  Cam didn't comment. He didn't even want to think on that subject. It would just make him more anxious.

  "Halt!"

  Cam glanced around with surprise at that barked word from Laird MacKay. He then followed the man's gaze to the three lasses who now stood frozen at the foot of the stairs. His sister, Aileen, and Laird and Lady MacKay's daughters Annella and Kenna. The trio had obviously been about to try to sneak upstairs.

  "Here," the MacKay snapped, pointing to the bench beside him. "Now."

  The girls hesitated, and then all three heaved sighs and moved reluctantly to the table to sit down.

  "Where did ye three think ye were going?" Ross asked dryly once they'd sat.

  "Jinny said the ladies are all up in cousin Joan's room having a sewing party and we thought to join them," Annella explained.

  "Ye'll no' be joining them," the MacKay announced.

  "What?" Annella appeared surprised, but when her father shook his head firmly, she protested, "But Papa! She is our cousin and we both--" She paused to smile apologetically at Aileen, and then continued, "All three of us sew well. We should be there too."

  "Nay," the MacKay said firmly.

  When Aileen pursed her lips, as if she wasn't sure that his nay included her, Cam's father eyed her solemnly and echoed, "Nay."

  Aileen slumped in her seat with a sigh.

  All three girls then simply sat there, moping and looking miserable, until the MacKay shifted impatiently and said, "Go find something to do. Pick apples or something. Mayhap the Sinclair's cook
'll make ye a tart."

  "All the ripe ones ha'e been picked already," Annella said miserably. "Cook said one o' the ladies brought in a basket full the other day for him and he made applemoyse with them."

  "Well then go find something else to do," Laird MacKay suggested impatiently.

  "Can we take our horses fer a ride?" Kenna asked hopefully.

  "Nay," Laird MacKay said firmly. "I want the two o' ye to stay close today."

  When they simply sat there, fidgeting, he added, "But no' this close. Get yerselves outside to the gardens and take a walk."

  Sighing, the three girls stood and headed for the keep doors.

  "But no riding," the MacKay barked after them. "I'll be asking the stablemaster later and if I find ye went against me, I'll . . ." He paused, looking blank. Apparently, unable to come up with a suitable threat, he simply muttered, "I'll make ye sorry."

  "Daughters, eh?" Cam's father muttered.

  "Aye," the MacKay agreed, and then glanced to Cam with surprise when he suddenly stood up. "Where are ye going?"

  "Ye can no' go upstairs," his father added firmly, apparently thinking he meant to storm the room to protect his wife.

  "To the stables," Cam said, hurrying away from the trestle tables without further explanation. The MacKay's words to his daughters had made him realize that he hadn't thought to ask the stablemaster if any of the ladies had been near the stables of late. He suspected the man hadn't seen anyone near Joan's mount or he would have mentioned it when he and his father were examining the animal for what might have caused her to go crazy as she had. But he might not have thought to mention one of the ladies simply being in the stables. They all had horses there. Actually, it may end up that all of them had been there recently, but he wouldn't know unless he asked . . . and it was better than simply sitting around waiting. Doing nothing was making him crazy.

  He found the stablemaster, Robbie, mucking a stall when he got there and immediately asked, "Have ye seen any o' the ladies down here o' late?"

  Robbie paused and straightened to face him as he shook his head. "Nay. I would have said as much if I had after finding that hatpin in yer lady's saddle. But I've no' seen even one o' the lasses down here in a couple days. They all have horses and rode them often enough ere ye got here, but once ye arrived, they've no' been back."

  "Oh," Cam said, leaning against the stall door with disappointment. He'd told himself it was a long shot, but he'd still hoped . . .