Page 25 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Bride

CHAPTER 25

Maisie felt fairly relaxed throughout the meal.

Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves, and it seemed that their fears were unfounded. No one in the room looked hostile; indeed, she had received a fair number of friendly smiles from those in front of her.

It was only after she took a sip of her wine that she began to feel strange. She was in the midst of discussing the expansion of Bram Wallace’s lands, following the marriage of two of his tenants when everything in front of her shifted violently.

She shook herself, trying to dispel the feeling, but as she did so, her stomach cramped painfully, and her throat began to constrict.

“Me lady?” Bram asked, looking perturbed. “Me lady!”

Maisie couldn’t breathe. She tried to cough, but her throat began to close up, and she choked, clinging to the table desperately.

She could feel hundreds of eyes upon her. There was a violent thud as James’s chair hit the floor and he stood abruptly, taking her into his arms.

“Bring some water!” someone shouted, as her vision began to turn black.

“James,” she murmured. “What is happening?”

She lurched upward, thinking that she might be sick. Her stomach began a paroxysm of cramps as her body tried to expel whatever it was it had ingested.

There was a low murmuring of voices all about her. She looked upward, gasping for air, and then flinched. One of the banners seemed to be moving like a snake over the walls toward her. Above her head, the boar that was mounted on the wall had come alive and was champing at her menacingly.

“Drink this,” James said, handing her a tankard of water and holding it up to her lips. She drank it quickly, her mind spinning.

Am I goin’ to die? She thought. Why is the ceiling caving in on itself?

She managed a few mouthfuls of the water, but as soon as the cool liquid hit her stomach, her body reacted on instinct.

She spun in James’s arm, trying to pull herself away so that she could be spared the indignity of a hundred eyes upon her distress. But there was no time. She was violently sick all over the flagstones.

She did not think that her stomach could possibly expel anything else, but she convulsed three or four times before she finally fell limp against the strong body behind her.

James’s hands never left her, clutching her to him, not allowing her to fall.

Her last thought before the world faded away was that she was glad he was there and that her last moments on this earth had been with him.

Maisie was met with gray, wrinkled eyes and a cold sensation on her stomach.

She groaned and tried to move it away, but firm hands pushed hers to the mattress. She could do nothing but lie there in her weakened state.

She managed to glance down at herself, watching the elderly healer covering her belly with some kind of resin that smelled sweetly of honey.

She felt very sick.

Her stomach was still rolling unpleasantly, and her throat was dry and prickling. The taste of vomit still clung to her lips. She grimaced, turning her head, only to find the tankard of water hovering beside her. James poured some gently into her mouth.

“Slowly, me laird,” the healer murmured. “Nothing but water until she has stopped the convulsions.”

James’s dark blue eyes met hers, and she had never seen him look so grim. When she had returned from the clan lands injured, he had been raging and angry, but now he looked more frightening still. It was as though he had channeled every ounce of anger into himself, and he was ready to kill anyone who came near them.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“Poison,” James stated bleakly. He was sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched forward, his gaze flitting about the room as though there might be an assassin hiding in the walls. “When I find him, he’s a dead man. Nae one will sleep until he is found; that is a solemn promise.”

“James…am I goin’ to die?” she asked, her hand reaching out to his.

“Nae, lass,” the healer said softly. “Ye will be all right. But any more of that poison and ye wouldnae be with us. It’s a good thing ye didnae have much of the wine.”

Maisie looked at James. “Is anyone else hurt? Did they target ye?”

“Nae. Ye were what they wanted. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them!”

“James,” her voice came out harsher than she had expected. “Stop that, ye will make yerself ill.”

He scoffed and she felt her anger rise as he got up from the bed. He slammed the tankard down on the bedside table, barely looking at her.

Is he angry because they hurt me, or because they have weakened his position as laird?

“Why would they wish to hurt me?” she said, trying to fathom why anyone would be after her this way.

“I dinnae ken, but ye will eat nothin’ that I dinnae bring ye, and anything ye dae eat I shall be tryin’ first. I’ll nae risk yer life a second time. I was stupid to think that I could expose him that way, I have exposed ye instead. This is my doin’.”

“James, dinnae speak like that,” she said, but her throat was too painful to continue, and she coughed, feeling the healer’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Whoe’er has done this, man or woman, will be shown what happens when they threaten a MacLennan.”

Maisie froze, watching him carefully.

Do I dare speak my suspicions?

“Woman?” she asked hesitantly. “Dae ye… dae ye suspect Lillian?”

He looked back at her, and something was shared between them in that gaze that made Maisie’s chest constrict. James said nothing, but she could tell they were in agreement.

She looked down as the healer laid a piece of white gauze over her belly.

“Leave that there for a few hours, m’lady, and dinnae get out of this bed at all until the sickness has faded. Nae more talkin’ now. Ye need to rest.”

“I am tired of restin’,” Maisie said stubbornly, but her eyes were already heavy. The sickening rolling of her stomach was abating at least.

She looked at the tankard of water, wanting some more, but James was already leaving the room.

“Where are ye goin?” she asked weakly.

“The council. This ends today!”

James slammed through the council chamber doors. He was greeted with a sea of worried and familiar faces. Every single one of them was now a suspect in his mind.

Despite his suspicions in the early hours of the morning, he was not at all convinced that Marcus was guilty.

It seemed too callous and too cruel to poison Maisie like that in front of the entire clan. How would Marcus have arranged it? Who in James’s staff would have agreed to it?

James cursed inwardly as something else occurred to him.

With a feast of this size, Mrs. Murray would have had to hire help from the village at short notice. Anyone could have come to the castle and worked in the kitchen without being properly scrutinized.

Ye nearly got her killed, ye blitherin’ fool.

“Sit down!” he barked. The entire council chamber creaked and scraped for a short while as all of the men before him took their seats.

Many looked wary, and well they might. Marcus’s gaze was fixed on the table, deep in thought. Could he have had help?

Could Lillian—sweet, mild-mannered Lillian—be this calculating? He hoped not.

James did not take his seat, pulling his chair out of his way and leaning over the table. He glared at them with all the rage he had kept beneath the surface.

It was late now, almost midnight, but no one in this room would be sleeping until he was certain that she was safe.

“None of the men in this room took the threat on me wife seriously, and now here we are. She was within a hair’s breadth of losin’ her life because ye havenae tried to investigate a thing. I had to find the man meself and slit his throat just to find out from his own lips that this is someone close to me.”

He kept himself hunched over the table, using his size and bulk to intimidate everyone closest to him.

Marcus, Bram, and Nathaniel were all watching him from a few seats down, and many of the other clan members were exchanging uneasy looks.

“Ideas!” James spat, waiting to see who might be brave enough to speak.

There was a heavy silence for almost a full minute before he scoffed and stood back.

“So, nae one on this council, the best men of me clan, can think of a reason why she might have been targeted? If I have to start taking heads until ye all start talkin’ dinnae believe that I willnae.”

“That’s hardly necessary, James,” came Marcus’s voice from the other end of the table. “Ye cannae truly believe that any of the men in this room would wish harm on yer bride.”

“None of ye— none of ye—supported the match. Ye all thought I was mad to choose Maisie, ye most of all, Marcus. We all ken who ye wanted me to pick for me bride.”

Marcus’s face turned puce with rage as he rose to his feet abruptly, his pudgy finger pointing at James in an act of defiant fury.

“Ye truly believe I would e’er harm the lady of this clan because?—”

“Because ye have always wished her to be Lillian? Yes, I dae. Ye were furious when I chose Maisie over yer niece, and dinnae try to deny it.”

The men all about them were looking from James to Marcus and back again as though they were playing some sort of farcical tennis match. Everybody in the room was leaning away from the table as though to disassociate themselves from Marcus.

James was kicking himself for exposing his suspicions so soon. He had intended to draw this out, but he was so angry he had played his ace before he even knew the other man’s hand.

Marcus was so incensed he stalked around the table. The whole room held its breath as he came level with James, his finger pointed up at him. He was a head smaller than James, but he was no coward.

“If ye wish to accuse me, ye go ahead and tell me this moment, MacLennan. I have been a loyal servant to this family for years. I will nae stand and be told I have designs on yer position.”

James drew his sword, and Marcus backed away, a flash of fear in his eyes as his gaze flicked to the table and back. It didn’t look as though anyone was coming to his defense, but then a hand came to rest on James’s shoulder.

“James,” Bram Wallace said behind him. He had risen from his chair and was pulling James gently away from Marcus. “We will find the culprit, whomever it may be, but this is nae the way to discover it. Put yer sword down, unless ye truly intend to draw blood with nae evidence.”

James felt his ire dim a little, but he was too angry to back down completely.

“All right, have it yer way, but I willnae take any action. No one sleeps until ye prove who is behind this.”