His Bonnie Bride (12 page)

Much later, as he held her languid body in his arms, he murmured, "Thank ye, Storm."

"For what?" she mumbled, feeling sated and content as she snuggled close to his strength.

"For freeing me from my torment. I could almost think ye cared."

"More fool you. Go to sleep."

He laughed softly and had soon obeyed her teasing command. Storm determinedly fought her own tiredness. As soon as she felt him relax into a deep sleep, she eased out of bed. Donning her nightdress and his robe, she crept from the room. She could wait no longer to voice her suspicions to Malcolm.

"What do ye want?" Malcolm asked when he answered her knock at Colin's door.

Pushing him aside, stepping into the room and shutting the door, Storm said, "I know what ails him." She spotted a beaker of something on a bedside table and picked it up. "What is this concoction?"

" 'Tis a potion his lady brings him each night. He wasnae awake sae he hasnae drunk it yet."

"Thank God." She dipped her finger into the milky liquid and tasted it, surprised at the strength of the poison. "This one was meant to be the last he would ever take. Colin MacLagan has been slowly poisoned. Taste this." She nodded at the shocked look on Malcolm's thin face. "She plainly felt 'tis time to hurry things along."

"Lady Janet?" croaked Malcolm, and Storm nodded. "But why?"

"So she can marry my son Tavis," came a weak voice from the bed, causing both Storm and Malcolm to jump in surprise. "How'd ye guess, lass? Are ye sure?"

"Near positive, m'lord. I am sorry."

"Och, 'tis past pain I am. I learned quickly that I had erred in wedding Janet. Have ye proof 'tis her?"

"Not enough, but I do have a plan."

"Weel, let us have it then. I'd send the bitch off, but I'd sore hate to inflict her upon another."

"To start with, ye are going into a coma so we can have time to get the poison out of ye and put some strength back in."

Colin smiled. "Aye? And then what, lass?"

Storm smiled and then elaborated, earning a great deal of approbation for her cleverness. It was fully two hours before she returned to her own chambers. She opened the door to bright light and a furious Tavis.

Tavis had woken up to an empty bed and a massive attack of suspicion. Lighting nearly every candle in the room, he waited for Storm to return. The longer she took, the more sure he was that she had gone to another man. When she walked into the room he leapt from the bed and slammed her up against the door.

"Where the devil have ye been?"

"Visiting your father. I could not sleep, recalling how poorly he was, but there is naught I can do." She met his gaze without flinching, feeling a little hurt by his suspicions. Glancing at his naked body, she murmured, "Ye best get in bed or ye'll catch a chill."

Muttering in Gaelic, Tavis slid into bed, pulling her into a rough embrace when, after putting out all the lights save for one candle by the bed, she joined him beneath the covers. Snuffing that last candle, he decided not to mention the matter any more. He had made a big enough fool of himself. Tugging off her nightdress for the second time that night, he lost himself in her silken loveliness and forgot all about her lengthy absence from their bed. Storm did her best to ensure that for, if her plan were to work, even Tavis had to remain ignorant.

There was an air of grim anticipation hovering over Caraidland. For three days the laird had lain in a coma, hovering on the brink of death. Now, even the most optimistic could not ignore the fact that Colin MacLagan was dying. Only Malcolm and Storm were allowed into the laird's chambers. No one questioned Storm's place, for her healing abilities were already well respected. Storm suspected there would have been a large number of very angry people if they could have seen behind the thick door of Colin's chambers.

"I think 'tis time for ye to come out of your coma," Storm mused from where she sat next to a rapidly improving Colin. "I think ye are strong enough to perform your death scene now."

Colin laughed and toasted her with a mug of ale. "I look forward to it. Where shall it be, lass?"

"Since ye are well known to be a stubborn man, none will think it strange that ye demand them all in your room to hear your last will and testament. They could easily believe ye would come back from the brink of death just to do that."

"Aye, but dinnae I look a wee bit too healthy now? They may not believe I am dying."

"A little powder and paint will serve." She produced a small sack. "Malcolm had best rid the room of all the signs of your returning appetite. As soon as I have ye looking ready to gasp your last, we will fetch up your family. I shall be glad to see the last of their long faces."

"Are ye sure the bitch'll give herself away?" asked Malcolm as he tidied the room.

"Oh, aye. Tavis plans to send her on her way if Colin dies. I doubt the laird's death rattle will have ceased echoing in the room ere he tells her to pack her things and go. Then there is our little
coup de grace."

"Ye are a devious lass. I ne'er would have thought it o' ye." Colin chuckled softly.

"Needs must when the devil drives," she mumbled as she put the finishing touches on Colin's death mask. "There. Ye look like ye have been buried near a week.

Mayhaps I overdid it. Not to worry. Ready for your performance, sir?" She grinned at Colin. "Shall I gather the audience?"

Tavis was the first to greet her when she entered the hall. Storm looked at his haggard face and felt guilty for causing him grief with her machinations. It was only a fleeting twinge, for she knew what she was doing was both necessary and right. The one who had tried to kill Colin had to be exposed. She delivered her prepared speech and led the solemn group to Colin's chambers.

Colin lay, slightly propped up by his pillows, the hollows of his face starkly accentuated by the light and Storm's skilled work with the paints and powders. He watched his sons' faces tighten as they fought to hide their grief and felt guilty, both over the deception and the pleasure he felt at this proof of their caring. It was hard to conceal his rage when his eyes settled on his wife, but he managed, knowing one error would ruin all they had accomplished so far.

"I ken ye are aware o' how I wish to disperse my holdings, but I wanted to say it one more time afore witnesses so there be no doubt," he said in an appropriately failing voice as Storm moved to stand by him. " 'Tis no surprise that I leave Tavis Caraidland and all that goes with it and the house in Edinburgh, plus half my wealth. Sholto and Iain, ye can sort out the rest as ye will. In my writing table ye will find a paper with instructions concerning a few others, such as Malcolm here."

"What of me, darling?" Janet asked when Colin closed his eyes and said no more.

"Och, weel, I leave ye what ye brought to Caraidland and no more." He grasped Storm's hand. "See that the lass here gets back to her folk," he gasped before passing away with a trembling sigh.

Thinking that he had done that very well, Storm crossed his arms over his chest. "He's dead."

She stood by the bed to block any chance of the unknowing seeing anything suspicious. With a sardonic look she watched Janet burst into tears and fling herself into Tavis's arms. Storm felt badly for the brothers, who plainly struggled to remain manly in their grief. Their unaffected sorrow erased the tiny, lingering suspicions she had so unwillingly harbored that one of them was in league with Janet.

With a harsh oath, Tavis flung Janet away from him. "Cease that false noise, woman. An I could do so, ye'd be on your way within the hour, but 'tis best an it waits until after the burial."

"Send me away?" Janet gasped. "How can ye be so heartless? I have nowhere to go, Tavis."

"Ye'll find a hole quick enough," he hissed, "so stop your weeping, or do ye weep for the gold me father didnae leave ye? 'Tis nay grief that sets ye to wailing. I ken that weel, as does many another. I'd nay be surprised to find ye had a hand in his death, ye had so little feeling for the man ye wed."

"Perfect," thought Storm, her eyes moving just quickly enough to catch the flash of panic in Janet's eyes.

Janet gasped, a hand dramatically fluttering to her throat. "I would ne'er do such a thing."

"Aye?" growled Malcolm, stepping in precisely on cue, "if ye be sae free o' guilt, go near the body, m'lady."

"What would that prove?" Janet asked haughtily, but her gaze darted nervously toward Colin.

" 'Tis said that an a murderer nears his victim's body, the body will give a sign such as a movement or blood flowing anew from an old or new wound. Care to try it, m'lady?" Storm asked.

"Peasant superstition," she scoffed, staying right where she was.

"Then it cannae hurt ye, can it?" Malcolm goaded. "Then again, ye may be guilty."

Glaring at her tormentor, Janet strode to Colin's bed. Storm and Malcolm feigned shock almost as well as the others did when blood began to seep from the old wound in Colin's shoulder, soaking the front of his night shirt. It was plain to see that the three brothers wanted to deny what their eyes saw. In the enlightened year of 1362 such magic was scorned, or so it was hoped. Janet blanched and backed away from the bed, shaking her head.

"It seems ye did have a hand in his death," drawled Storm her eyes settling accusingly on Janet, hoping that the woman would condemn herself with her own words.

Janet looked around at the accusing faces turned her way. Her guilt proved to be her own worst enemy. She turned to Tavis, her hands held out beseechingly. All along she had held to the delusion that only Colin kept Tavis from her side. Now she felt sure that his passion for her would be freed and therefore he would help her. Instead, she met nothing but contempt and suspicion, even open dislike.

"How can ye look at me so, Tavis? Can ye not see? Now we can be together."

Tavis's revulsion at that idea was plain to read upon his face. "I ne'er wanted to be with ye."

"That's not true!" She clutched at the front of his tunic. "How can ye forget the night we made love? All the words o' sweet love ye spoke to me? Now we need not keep it a secret."

"There's naught to be kept a secret," he snarled as he shoved her away. "Ye crawled into my bed and I was too fou to boot ye out. We did naught. I ken that now. Ye played me for a fool, bitch, but dinnae delude yourself as ye tried to delude me. I dinnae want ye. I ne'er have."

"But I did it all for ye. I kenned we couldnae be together whilst he lived," she screamed, then gasped in horror when she realized what she had said. "Nay."

"It was in the potion, was it not?" Storm asked quietly.

"Nay! I did naught! Ye have got me all confused. I ken not what I be saying."

"Ye ken right enough," came a voice from the bed, and Colin sat up to glare at his wife, shocking his sons into open-mouthed speechlessness and sending Janet one step closer to madness.

"Nay, nay, ye are dead. No man could have survived that last dose I gave ye," Janet moaned as she stepped further away from the bed, her eyes wide with horror. "Ye be haunting me, that be all."

"He is not dead, Janet. He did not drink your last potion, the one that was so strong."

"Ye have tricked me," she hissed, her wild eyes fixing upon Storm. "Ye bitch! Sassanach whore!"

Before anyone could react, Janet pulled a dagger from a concealed pocket in her skirts. She lunged at an unsuspecting Storm, who had turned to help arrange the pillows behind Colin. Storm had no time to fully react to the cries of warning. With a snarl, Janet plunged her knife into Storm's slim shoulder. She had aimed for Storm's back, but Storm had already begun to turn, ruining her aim. Storm felt a flash of pain strong enough to make her swoon and collapsed upon Colin. Before Janet could try a second time, Malcolm swung at her with the fireplace poker. Janet fell to the floor with hardly a whimper, blood seeping from a wound at her temple.

"Is she dead?" Colin asked, holding on to Storm, trying to staunch her wound's bleeding with his own bed linen. "A neat swing, Malcolm. Could have been a bit quicker, though."

"She's dead," Iain said as he rose from examining Janet.

"How is Storm?" Tavis asked as he bent over the wounded girl. "Is it bad, Malcolm?"

"Nay as bad as it could be," muttered Malcolm as, after ripping open Storm's dress, he proceeded to wash the wound clean. "The knife was meant tae go deep into the wee lass's back, but she moved in time."

"So, 'twas all a ploy," breathed Sholto as he moved to the foot of his father's bed.

"Aye. 'Twas the lass's idea. She guessed that 'twas an unnatural illness I suffered from."

"How did ye get the wound to bleed?" asked Iain.

"Chicken's blood in a pig's bladder afixed 'neath me arm. The open end pointed to me shoulder. All I had to do was squeeze it a wee bit and it looked as if me old wound bled anew."

"Ye were ne'er in death's sleep, were ye," commented Tavis as he held Storm firmly to the bed so that, even in her unconscious state, she would not move as Malcolm stitched her wound.

"Nay, that was Storm's idea as weel. It gave me time to recover, get me strength back."

"How did she discover ye were being poisoned?"

"She kenned the symptoms, Sholto," Colin replied. "I'm right sorry ye were kept in the dark, but we felt it better that way. Ye'd act more natural and Janet'd be more apt to confess the truth."

"The poison was in the potion she mixed ye?"

"Aye, Tavis. An ancient one—arsenic. A slow death so it would look like a wasting sickness and raise nary an eyebrow. It was a clever plan that nearly worked."

"I wonder how the lass kenned what it was. 'Tis not common knowledge," Iain mused.

" 'Twas how her mother died," Malcolm said as he finished bandaging Storm. "They caught it too late and, being a wee lady, she hadnae the strength to fight it like the laird did. Some woman did it. Gather the lady felt 'twas time for the laird o' Hagaleah tae take a new wife."

Tavis suddenly recalled a small, girlish voice saying, "The way of a lady is a bit o' poison in the meal. So much more refined." Even then he had wondered at the bitterness in Storm's voice. Now he understood. As he brushed the hair from Storm's flushed face, he wondered how she had come through such trials with her innocence and optimism intact. Life had not treated her very kindly.