Page 69 of Bride takes a Scot

The maid left her, and Isabella finished her meal. She remembered that Declan had given her a missive the day before. With the chaos of the day, she had forgotten to read it. Isabella practically ran to her bedchamber. She searched for the gown she had worn the day before and rummaged through the seams. Carefully, she pulled out the missive and flattened it. It was a bit rumpled from being creased inside the seam.

She hoped to hear good news from her parents and recognized her mother’s writing. With shaking fingers, she cracked the seal and opened the parchment:

Dearest Daughter, I hope this missive finds you happy in your marriage. It is with the sad news that I impart the death of your brother. We received word that he perished in the war against the infidels. Your father has been duly punished by King Alexander for stealing horses, and wemust flee our home before the warder comes to imprison him. The lord must have won the king’s support for we are now in peril. We shall flee below the border. Worry naught for us. Your ever-loving mother, JF.

Isabella drew a deep breath. She was saddened to hear the news of Christopher’s death. Tears trickled over her cheeks at the thought that she would never see him again. Then she thought of her parents. How many times had she warned her father that he would eventually be caught? Her father wouldn’t cease his thievery and now he’d probably stolen from a higher-ranking lord who insisted the king take action against him. Now her parents had fled below the border into England. Lord only knew where they would end up but she couldn’t worry for them. They had made their bed and now they must lay upon it. Still, she would add them to her prayers when she sought to take Mass.

For the rest of the afternoon, she kept herself busy and tried not to think of Declan out in the woods waiting for his foe to show. She checked on Robbie again and still he slept but Edith told her that Lillith’s tinctures were much more powerful than hers. Isabella was always careful not to use too much medicinal in her remedies. She had heard about the effects of what such a tincture could do—end the life of the poor person who needed aid.

Isabella wandered through the keep. She’d finished all that she had planned to do. At the bottom of the stairs, the door opened, and Slone stepped inside. He had a look of concern on his face, one that alerted her that there was trouble. His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened before he addressed her.

“Milady, there is something amiss. I am going to the gate to find out what is happening. Stay inside and lock the door until I return.”

She grabbed his arm before he could depart. Her grip tightened in the same manner that clutched her heart. “Have the men returned? Is Declan all right? Oh, I hope it’s not the men who attacked Robbie. What is happening?”

Slone shrugged his shoulder and pulled back from her. “There were shouts. I must find out if all is well. Secure the door. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

After the soldier left, Isabella spotted a beam leaning against the wall which probably secured the door. She set the wooden post in place and jammed the bolt into it with shaky hands. She hurried to the back entrance and noticed the door was open. Footsteps sounded on the back stairs and sent a flutter of nerves to her stomach. Someone had come in through the back. Maybe it was Noah. It would be like a small lad to come in and leave the door ajar. Isabella closed and latched it. Then she hastened to the stairs and reached the first-floor landing.

Noah was enthralled with the bedchamber he had chosen for himself, and she had no doubt that he was there. Of course, Edith still hadn’t returned from her meeting with the cook. The men had gone to the gate. That only left the healer inside the fief with her, and Robbie in his bed. A bang sounded as if a door closed. With each step she took in the hallway, her pulse pitched to her ears and a dampness flushed her forehead. She had to make sure no one had entered and approached the chamber where Robbie rested.

Isabella opened the door and saw Lillith staring at her with wide eyes. Her gaze was intent, and Isabella instantly knew there was trouble given the look of fear on the healer’s face. She stood at the door unknowing what to do and breathed heavily through her nose. Someone was in the chamber with the healer. Robbie still slumbered from his medicinal-induced tincture. Lillith raised her chin and moved her eyes to the side, once, twice, three times. Isabella took that as a signal to mean she should flee. Shegently pulled the door closed, but then it was opened with a force that propelled her forward. A man she didn’t recognize took hold of her arm and swung her inside.

The man was young, perhaps the same age as Declan. He was just as tall, muscular, with dark wavy strands of hair falling to his shoulders. She couldn’t tell if he smiled or not as his lengthy beard all but covered his mouth. His eyes had darkness in both color and in the way he looked at her.

He motioned to the healer. “Be gone.”

Lillith gave her a sorrowful glance as she passed her and fled from the room. The man slammed the door shut and stood before it.

“Who are you?” she asked in awe. “Why are you here?”

“Dermot Murray, Milady MacKendrick.”

“You know who I am, but you have me at a disadvantage—”

“Your beauty is spoken of far and wide. I came to speak to Declan, but he is not here?”

She shook her head and wished her husband was home. The man before her appeared dangerous and a tremor of fear stiffened her spine. His voice came in a deep burr mixed with both English and Gaelic words. She understood enough of what he asked. “He is with the soldiers and should return shortly…for the mid-day meal.” Isabella purposely lied because she didn’t want him to know Declan was gone.

Murray laughed. “’Tis well past sext, Milady, as well ye know. Ye tell a falsehood, do ye not? It matters not because my men even now are cutting him down in his own woods.”

Isabella pressed her hands against her chest and drew a fearful breath. “Why…why would you want to hurt Declan? He is your friend, is he not? I have heard him speak of you.”

“He is no friend of mine though he deems we are comrades,” the man’s voice took on a vehemence that spoke volumes of his hatred for Declan. He loomed by the door, blocking her exit.

Would he kill her? He intended to kill Declan? She kept her distance, hoping and praying that someone would soon come to help her. She looked for anything she could use to protect herself, but there was nothing except medicinal jars and cloths that sat on a table behind her. The chamber wasn’t overlarge but big enough to fit a large bed, a side table which held a pitcher, a chair, and a basin table. One lone small window provided some light.

“What do you intend to do here?” Isabella backed up against the table where the healer set her items and medicinals. She had to do something to aid herself and with her eyes fastened on the bottle that held the mixture of ‘devil’s eyes’. The potion was tasteless and odorless. He wouldn’t be able to detect it and she made a small unnoticeable nod. If anything, she’d put the man to sleep and could get the guards.

“Declan foiled my plans time and again. It is time to end it.”

“He can be quite vexing, can’t he? Why don’t you sit for a spell? I will get you a drink.” She retrieved the pitcher, turned to the table, and with her back to him, she sneakily added a few drops of the tincture. She turned back to him and smiled, held the cup up, and poured a bit of water into a cup. Isabella apprehensively stepped toward the man and handed him the cup. “Drink and tell me why you want to thwart him. What has Declan done to cause your affront?”

Dermot held the cup in his hand but didn’t drink from it. He set the cup on his thigh, holding it ever so still. Her heart beat hard in her chest in wait for him to take a swig. “I murdered Laird Campbell. It had to be done so I could accuse Declan of his murder, but then the damned king allowed his freedom. I thought he would be tried and beheaded or at the least, hung, and that would be the end of it.”

“Good heavens. Why would you want to accuse Declan of Allan Campbell’s murder?” Isabella tried not to glance at the cupand kept her gaze fixed on his face. Lord, she prayed, please let him take a sip or two. She tried to distract him and get him to talk about his problems.

Murray scoffed. “I shouldn’t tell ye, but aye, for payment, for his family’s debauchery. Your husband was taken to the king’s dungeons, and I thought my problem was solved until I heard tell the king released him. The problem was, I did not discern that Declan was friendly with Alexander.”