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Through the years she had shared her herbal knowledge with many a desperate woman, trying to offer counsel and solace to ensure that a lethal dose was not taken. Yet she never would have believed that someday she would be the one in need of assistance.

Several of the required herbs were growing in the kitchen garden she weeded. They had been the simplest to obtain. The rest could be found in the castle stillroom, which was kept unlocked so the cook could season their meals and Hamish could dispense medicines to those who fell ill.

Still, Fiona had been fearful of anyone seeing her taking what she needed, so after giving her very detailed instructions on what to look for, Fiona had sent Alice to the stillroom to fetch the other herbs.

“’Tis poison, my lady,” Alice said in a nervous whisper.

Fiona gazed about the room. They were obviously alone, yet Alice felt the need to whisper. A clear indication of her fear. But it could not sway Fiona’s resolve.

“This medicine will help to bring on my courses a bit sooner than usual,” Fiona said calmly. “Nothing more.”

“It could also bring on your death,” Alice hissed, her eyes wide with worry. “I’ve heard tell of a woman who had the life bleed out of her after drinking a similar brew.”

Fiona blanched. She was well aware of the dangers, to both her body and her mortal soul. But she had no other choice. “I cannot risk the earl’s seed taking root inside my womb. ’Twould be a disaster.”

“Father Niall says a child is a blessing.”

“A babe is truly a miracle,” Fiona agreed. “Lest you forget, I already have a son and he deserves my protection. What would happen to Spencer if I became pregnant?”

“Do you think the earl would abandon you?”

“I’m uncertain.” Fiona rubbed her brow, confusion tearing at her gut. “His assumption that I was barren brought an odd sense of relief to his expression when he spoke of it.”

“But you are not barren,” Alice exclaimed. “Why would the earl think such a thing?”

“More than ten years wed and no children of my own. ’Tis a logical conclusion to reach.”

Alice blushed and lowered her eyes. Having served Fiona all of her married life, the maid was well aware of how infrequently the baron shared her mistress’s bed. “Can you not trust in the good Lord to guide your future?”

Regretfully, Fiona shook her head. “I cannot leave Spencer to an uncertain fate. The risk is too great. For all of us, but most especially for some poor innocent babe. Ewan Gilroy is proof enough that being born a bastard is a harsh life around here.”

After wrapping her hand with thick cloth, Fiona carefully removed the bubbling cauldron from the fire and set it on the floor beneath the window. Alice peered inside and Fiona could see the maid’s surprise at the meager amount. But Fiona knew she had made enough for an effective dose.

Fiona extracted a few spoonfuls and dribbled them into a cup. Well aware of Alice’s disapproving frown, Fiona stared at the contents for several minutes, waiting for it to cool.

Then with a sudden stab of regret, she lifted the goblet to her lips, and drank.

Gavin sat brooding in the great hall after the evening meal, his eyes resting on the group of women clustered in front of the fireplace. Fiona was among them, spinning a ball of wool into thread. Well, not precisely among them. Though engaged in the same work, she sat slightly apart, an obvious outcast. Her dour maid was beside her and if not for the servant, she would be completely isolated.

Lifting his arms above his head, Gavin stretched out the stiffness in his back. The motion brought him higher in his chair and that’s when he noticed Fiona did have one other companion. That mangy dog.

The beast was curled at her feet, no doubt snoring loudly. It gave him a queer sense of comfort knowing that she had a valiant protector, even if he was of the four-legged variety.

“I need to speak with ye on a delicate matter concerning Lady Fiona,” Hamish said.

Gavin eyed his steward. After the day he’d had, he was not in the mood to listen to any more problems. Yet duty always came first. “Aye.”

Hamish cleared his throat. “The other women dinnae like the lady,” the steward muttered.

Gavin twisted his head to see if anyone else had overheard the remark. Then feeling foolish for acting so concerned, he shrugged. “’Tis of no importance. What matters is that I like Lady Fiona.”

“Forgive me, milord. Naturally yer desires are all that matter.”

Gavin grunted with satisfaction and waved the steward away. Hamish turned, then paused. He took a breath and glanced again at the earl hesitatingly.

“Speak,” Gavin commanded. “’Tis obvious there is more to say, which in all likelihood I willnae want to hear, but ye believe it needs to be told.”

“The castle women resent Lady Fiona’s interference in the daily routine. Her insistence on helping with various chores has caused resentment and discord among the women. They complain of it to me daily.”