The Snow White Bride (16 page)

* * * * *

A
lexander awakened early
the following
morning,
feeling refreshed and invigorated. To his astonishment, there was no sign that Eleanor had ever come to bed. He washed and dressed with haste, surprised that Anthony had not yet brought him warm water. The sun shone
and
it clear
ly was not that early in the morn
.

He smiled, thinking that his castellan must have enjoyed the wine overmuch. It was good that Eleanor was not close at hand, expecting a comment upon her spicing. Convinced that all was right, Alexander strode out of his chambers.

It was in his own hall that he discovered the fullness of his error. All was a far cry from being aright at Kinfairlie.

7

B
y morning’s light,
Eleanor was so exhausted that she knew she saw things that were not there.

She had raced to the kitchen at Rose’s summons and found Anthony writhing upon the floor. A touch at his throat revealed the worst, for his pulse was rapid and irregular. With no time to spare, she immediately thrust her fingers down his throat.

He vomited with gusto, and his offering was the deep red hue of wine. He fell back, panting from his effort, and closed his eyes, but Eleanor granted the older man no respite. She compelled him again and again and again to empty his belly, until only bile came from his lips. The household gathered around her in silence, and she could feel the weight of their anxiety.

For the moment, though, she concerned herself solely with Anthony. When it was clear that he could summon nothing more, she sat back and considered the situation.

“What ailed him?” asked the cook, his tone filled with a wariness that Eleanor knew all too well.

“The wine was poisoned,” she said, allowing herself to
show no emotion. It had been destined for Alexander! And her spicing of the wine had ensured that no man would have noted the toxin within it. Would ill fortune never leave her side? “I suspect it was aconite. Do you grow monkshood here?”

The cook shrugged. “I take little interest in the inventories of medicinal herbs.” He cleared his throat. “It was you, my lady, who reviewed them this very night.”

And so she had. Eleanor was fairly certain that there had been aconite in the store, for it was common to possess, especially in the north. In minute quantities, the powder from its root could be soothing in a salve for painful joints and thus people were reluctant to be without it.

“What shall we do for him?” the cook asked, crouching beside her.

Eleanor considered the supine older man, whose color looked to be improving slightly. She touched her fingertips to his throat. His pulse slowed, but that could be a sign of the aconite working further. “I do not know if I came in time,” she said, seeing no reason to gild the truth. “He may recover, or he may not. He should be watched and kept warm, given milk to drink when he desires it. By morning, we will know the truth.”

“Not all of the truth, my lady,” corrected the cook’s wife. “For we will not likely know by then why the wine was tainted in the first place.”

“Oh, I think there is little doubt of that,” Eleanor said flatly. “Someone endeavored to kill my lord husband, but Fortune intervened.”

They whispered at that and withdrew from her plain speech, but Eleanor did not care. She was innocent and
she had no patience with those who would find a soul guilty with no evidence to their hands.

She ensured Anthony’s comfort, and though he was not entirely aware of his surroundings, she persuaded him to sip some milk. It was fresh and sweet milk, come from goats tethered in the kitchen gardens.

She sat vigil with him all of that night, bathing his brow through the sweating induced by the herb, talking to him to encourage wakefulness when his pulse slowed overmuch. She demanded his counsel more than once and the castellan was so dutybound that he stirred himself at great effort to reply.

Eleanor was tired herself and felt bent beneath the weight of the suspicion around her. With every hour that passed, she was more encouraged that Anthony would survive.

She saw things in the midst of that long, dark night that she knew were not there. She imagined her father watching from the shadowed doorway, his lips drawn taut in displeasure that she had been so stupid as to feed doubts about herself. She imagined her loyal maid, Moira, hovering behind her, her expression one of concern and sympathy. Why had she left Moira behind? Eleanor had believed there to be a greater threat to Moira in traveling to an unknown destination than in lingering at Tivotdale, but now she wished that she had had one ally at Kinfairlie.

But when morning came, and Alexander arrived in the kitchens, Eleanor knew that she saw what was before her in truth. Her husband’s brow was as dark as thunder, an expression she knew as well as her own name.

Her dawning conviction that there was no violence
within Alexander Lammergeier died a quick death and she feared him anew.

Eleanor straightened beside Anthony’s pallet, her heart racing, and struggled to appear suitably demure. She was painfully aware of the red stain of the castellan’s vomit upon the silk dress lent to her by her husband’s sisters. She did not doubt that her carelessness would earn his ire.

As would her other deeds. The household whispered and drew back, watchful of the inevitable encounter between laird and lady. Eleanor despised their curiosity yet at the same time was glad of their presence.

Any man was less likely to raise his fists before witnesses.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said with all the meekness she could summon. “I trust you slept well.”

“If I slept well, it was only because the truth of what occurred within these walls was kept from mine own ears,” Alexander retorted, and marched to her side. “How could I not be told of this?”

Eleanor swallowed, realizing that no one else in the kitchens would answer. “I feared to see you disturbed, my lord.”

“Would you leave me slumber through the Second Coming as well?” Alexander shook his head with impatience. “Eleanor, nothing is of as great an import as the welfare of those in my household. In future, this omission will not be repeated.”

Eleanor bit her lip, not thinking it timely to remind Alexander that he had been in need of his own sleep to recover from the tainted wine he had imbibed the night before. A sweat broke upon her brow, for two cups of
tainted wine had been served in this hall since her arrival, and she could easily guess who would bear the blame.

She spared a glance for those souls in Alexander’s household and felt sickened at the condemnation she found in their eyes. Oh, she knew this sense well, but she did not like it for all its familiarity.

Alexander meanwhile crouched beside his castellan and affection for the older man softened his expression. “How does he fare?”

“I think he will recover fully,” Eleanor said, aware that Anthony himself attended their conversation. She smiled for the older man, who managed a wan smile in return. “He was most stalwart in the battle that waged during the night.”

“I had a valiant defender, to be sure,” Anthony whispered. He grasped Alexander’s hand, and the sinews in Anthony’s hand were prominent with age.

“What happened?” Alexander asked tersely.

“There was aconite in the wine sent to your chamber last night,” Eleanor said, seeing no point in evasion. Alexander looked up at her. “It is a potent poison, one that kills a man with fearsome speed. I gather that Anthony took the wine, instead of you.”

Alexander glanced down at his castellan and Eleanor could not see his expression. “Who prepared the wine?” he asked, his tone carefully controlled. She could not guess his thoughts, that fact feeding her fear of his response.

The kitchen was so silent that Eleanor could fairly hear the mice breathing in the cellar.

“I did,” she said. She had never flinched from the truth of her deeds, whatsoever their price might be.

“And was it left unattended?”

Eleanor considered. “I do not know. It was poured before the cook and I checked the inventory in the storerooms. I do not know who else was in the kitchens during our absence.”

Alexander nodded, then impaled her with a bright glance. There were no stars in his eyes and no laughter curved his lips. He was deadly serious and she feared his judgment more than anything she had ever feared before. “And did you place the aconite in the wine, for any reason?” he asked, no accusation in his tone.

He watched her avidly and Eleanor knew that he sought evidence that she lied.

Eleanor held his gaze. “No, my lord, I did not,” she said firmly. “It is true that I did not favor the smell of the wine upon our return from the inventory, when Anthony made to carry it to you. I heated it and added some cloves, for I thought a mulling would improve its flavor.”

“The flavor was most exceptional,” Anthony said, his determination to defend Eleanor fairly rending her heart. His grip tightened on Alexander’s hand. “Do not place blame, my lord, where its presence cannot be proved.”

Alexander rose to his feet and smiled thinly. That he put aside his castellan’s hand with such firmness was no good portent in Eleanor’s thinking. “I thank you, Anthony, for your counsel,” he said gently. “And I now would counsel you to sleep and see yourself recovered.” He shook a finger at the olde
r man, his manner playful for th
e first time since he had entered the kitchens. “What should I do without your wise counsel?”

“You have your lady wife, my lord.”

“I would have you, Anthony,” Alexander said with a resolve that made Eleanor shiver.

The castellan fought against his body’s determination to rest, probably thinking it discourteous to fall asleep in the presence of his laird, but lost the battle. His eyelids fluttered, looking as thin as the finest parchment Anthony appeared much older than he had and more frail, and Eleanor did not doubt that he had come close to losing his battle.

The castellan’s breathing deepened, though it was not deep enough for Eleanor’s taste. She did not like his pallor, either, and bent to touch her fingertips to the pulse at his throat once more.

At least it seemed to have regained a normal pace.

Alexander’s brow furrowed as he watched the castellan sleep. “What will come of this?” he asked in an undertone.

“I cannot say.”

He met her gaze steadily. “You can guess.”

Eleanor sighed. “He will need to rest.”

Alexander considered her and she saw that he understood the import of her words. “But you anticipate a recovery?”

“I hope for one. It is a potent poison and it was in his belly longer than one would prefer.”

His gaze touched upon the stain on her garb. ‘‘It did not agree with him?”

Eleanor held up two fingers. “I persuaded his belly to empty.”

Alexander heaved a sigh, then studied his castellan again. “Then you saved his life. Anthony is fortunate that you were here, no less that someone thought to summon you.” He took her elbow in his hand and spoke decisively. Eleanor could not help but note that his favor did not reach his eyes. “I thank you, my lady fair, for your quick
wits. We shall return to our chambers now, and a hot bath will be brought for you.”

“I should remain with Anthony,” Eleanor said with panic. Any deed could be done behind the sturdy portal of that chamber, and a turn of the key would ensure that no soul could aid her.

Alexander shook his head. “Others can tend him in your absence. You have need of your own sleep and I will hear no protest against it.” He began to lead Eleanor from the kitchen, but the cook’s wife stepped into their path.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but it must be noted that your lady prepared that wine and insisted it be taken to you!”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his manner incisive. “My lady is above rebuke from those in my household. Any discussion upon this matter will be conducted between the lady and myself, in the privacy of our chambers.” Eleanor shivered at the portent of that.

“But
…
”
Rose protested.

“There is no reason why my lady would have wished me dead and less reason for her to desire Anthony’s demise,” Alexander said, his tone allowing no argument. “Instead of speculating upon nonsense, I would ask you to each consider who was in the kitchens last evening.” He gestured to his brother-in-law who had followed him from the hall. “I charge Rhys FitzHenry with making a summary of your accountings.”

“It shall be done,” Rhys said. “You will not a one of you speak to each other before you speak alone with me.”

“I will speak first,” the cook said, stepping forward. “And I will offer my recollection to my laird Alexander.”

“Speak with Rhys, as I have bidden you all. I have an
other matter before me,” Alexander said with smooth assurance, his very surety making Eleanor’s spirit quail. “And those of you who are not summoned immediately to Rhys, I would have you bring the lady’s bath with all haste.”

Eleanor understood that she was to face a reckoning from her spouse, and though she appreciated that it would not occur before his household, still she was not anxious to receive this accounting. His jaw was set and she feared that Alexander had, like her other husbands, excised his charm.

He fairly marched her toward the stairs. Eleanor felt her chest tighten with every step. She did not dare defy him, lest she provoke his anger further, but she hoped that she would have the opportunity to regain his favor.

In truth, Eleanor feared her current husband more than she had ever feared another man. Alexander was young and strong and agile. If he chose to beat her, he might well kill her. She already understood that in this hall, just as in the other halls she had occupied, no soul would raise a hand to assist her.

But Eleanor was surprised to realize the difference in herself since she had faced a man in other halls. She had a keen desire to live, and she had yet more desire to live at Kinfairlie. Although she feared Alexander’s anger, a part of her dared to hope that his fury could be turned aside, that his charm could be summoned again, that Kinfairlie could prove to be the sanctuary she had initially hoped it to be.