Page 24 of Wolf Heir (Highland Wolves of Old #3)
What had they thought? That if Aisling had died, no one would have suspected any of them of poisoning her? Gormelia had been the most antagonistic toward her, but Kenna and Wilma went right along with her mean behavior, companions in taunting Aisling.
But when they tried to see the chief, Morag intercepted them in the hall outside their chamber, her face a perpetual scowl, barring their way like a stone pillar. Her hair—so dark it looked blue in the right light—was rope-braided and looped over her shoulder.
Her dress was the color of oxblood, an omen if ever there was one, and her hands were folded in front of her with such stillness that for a brief moment, Aisling wondered how she could stand there, controlling her emotions when she had to have already heard what had happened.
“So,” Morag said, the word dropping with the force of a hammer.
“What is this all about?” She looked them over, eyes grazing Aisling’s face and then immediately dismissing it, as if the very sight of her was a waste of time.
“Is it true, then, that you tried to kill yourself?” The question caught in the air, heavy and raw. “What is this all about?”
Taken aback by the absurdity of the notion that Aisling had tried to kill herself, she was sure Morag had already heard the rumors of what had happened. And it had nothing to do with Aisling trying to kill herself!
“Come into my solar so we can talk privately,” Morag said, softening her stance, as if she realized she might control the scenario better if she hid her anger from any clan members who might walk by.
Morag walked into her solar while the women followed her into the room.
She sat high and straight on her embroidered chair, as if she were holding court, and gestured for the others to stand before her.
The room smelled faintly of incense. For a moment, Morag said nothing.
She allowed the silence to stretch, watched the discomfort flicker across the faces of her courtiers.
Morag was a scrawny woman despite all her bravado. But her rounded eyes could give anyone a chill.
Aisling didn’t want to see her! She wanted to see the chief. She didn’t expect justice at the hands of this woman.
Cook outlined the situation, and Aisling's mother verified that the mushrooms were indeed poisonous.
Cook also shared that no one working for her would make a mistake in picking poisonous mushrooms, then preparing them for just one specific person.
Nelly then recounted how she had orchestrated a distraction to ensure Gormelia consumed the food she had contaminated.
“Just because Kenna, Wilma, and Gormelia went to the forest to harvest mushrooms, doesna mean the other two women were involved,” Morag said. “Further, Gormelia might no’ have realized the mushrooms she had picked were poisonous.”
“All of my assistants know which mushrooms are good and which are no’. They would no’ have made the mistake,” Cook reiterated. “The fact that Gormelia gave Aisling the plate with only the poisonous mushrooms indicates that she knew just what she was doing.” Cook folded her arms.
The man who had taken Gormelia to her bed returned with one of her muslin herb bags. He held the bag at arm’s length. Then passed the bag to her, his own hands trembling visibly, as if he’d half expected it to bite him. “Are these remnants of the poisonous mushrooms?”
Aisling’s mother took the bundle with an expertise born of decades spent in the company of roots and rot. She pressed it between her fingers, then drew it close and gave it a deep, deliberate sniff.
She opened the cloth, her nails working deftly at the crude stitching, and spilled the contents into her palm: brittle threads of moss-green, a few shriveled caps of brownish fungus, what looked like the fibrous stems of something wild.
Her face was an impassive mask while she sorted the contents into little piles in her hand, but her eyes flicked up to the man as if she were weighing him alongside the mushrooms.
“These are not from the market but from the forest.” She pointed at a small clump of mushrooms with a kind of reverence and dread, then selected an individual and held it to the light. “These are deadly.”
The man at her side exhaled, his jaw slackening with relief and apprehension in the same gesture.
“Aye, they are the same found in the dish meant for Aisling that Gormelia ate from,” Blair said.
Morag defended them. “It still doesna mean that Kenna and Wilma were involved.”
The door to the solar slammed back on its hinges with such force that all six women and the guard jumped as if the devil himself had burst into the room. Chief Hamish strode in, his stride clipped and heavy, the ceremonial iron clasp of his plaid catching the firelight.
His face was a mask, the kind highlanders wore at funerals, and his eyes swept the chamber once before settling, cold and merciless, on Morag.
“I’m handling it, Hamish,” Morag said, her tone haughty. Morag drew herself up as only the chief’s wife could do in front of an angry mate. “Rest assured, there’s no need for male interference in the matter. It’s a woman’s matter.”
“’Tis no’ a ‘woman’s matter’ when murder is attempted,” Hamish shot back, his words crisp as the first frost. “Since when do my words constitute interference?”
Morag squirmed a little, seemingly torn between the urge to speak her mind, as she was used to doing with her courtiers, and the wisdom she’d earned by living with Hamish as his mate all these years.
Hamish gave Morag a steely-eyed glower. He planted himself squarely between the hearth and a small table, casting a long shadow over the ladies.
“I have had word from Drustan,” he said, in a voice that made the shutters tremble, “that there was an attempt to poison Aisling, and that the poisoner herself has now repented with her own suffering.”
For a moment, Aisling felt a flicker of gratitude toward Hamish.
He, at least, would not try to sweep her attempted poisoning under the rushes.
She could believe he would mete out justice without regard to the ties of blood or clan since Morag seemed to be defending the ones who had tried to poison her.
She was also sure Gormelia wouldn’t have kept her misdeeds secret from her friends.
Morag was not one to yield ground on her turf despite knowing she was on treacherous grounds.
Her eyes flared with a mixture of outrage and dread.
“You presume too much, my laird. Women’s feuds are the realm of women.
Aisling has always been a troublemaker, leading men astray and then casting them aside. It was likely a jest gone awry.”
The laird’s glare hardened. “Serving poisonous mushrooms to another pack member is no’ a jest. If it pleases you, my lady”—he sounded facetious when he spoke the words—"we will have a full reckoning in the great hall. This is not the sort of justice that hides in the shadows. If poison has been used, I will see justice done, and the clan will know why.”
Morag held his gaze steady, even as a violent crimson crept up her neck and cheeks. She was outmaneuvered, and she knew it. “Nay, if you wish to speak here, then we shall.”
“Tell me what happened.” Hamish folded his arms across his chest, looking indomitable.
Cook explained the situation, and Blair, Nelly, and Aisling shared their experiences.
Hamish looked at Kenna and Wilma, who had remained silent through the whole thing. “What say you?” His voice was hard.
Kenna meekly said, “We didna know that Gormelia had collected poisonous mushrooms.”
“Yet you were with her. You talk to one another. You’re loyal to her. I dinna believe that you wouldna have known what she planned to do.” Hamish looked from one woman to the other with a searing glance.
“We didna know,” Wilma said quietly. If they hadn’t been wolves, they wouldn’t have heard her words.
Hamish shook his head. “I dinna believe you.”
“But there’s no’ proof that they were involved,” Morag said, still defending them.
“I believe they were complicit. They will no longer work in the kitchen should they do what Gormelia did,” Hamish said.
“They could take the place of a couple of the washer women, and they could come to work for me,” Cook said.
“I was thinking more of them mucking the stalls out, but if a couple of the washer women can learn to cook for you and you’re not short on servers, so be it.
If the two of you women are involved in other matters like this, you’ll be banished from the pack.
” He gave Morag a cutting glare. Then he stalked out of the solar.
“Get out. All of you,” Morag screamed.
They all headed out of her solar. Aisling squeezed her mother’s hand, glad Hamish had gotten involved and had irritated Morag over his decision.
Kenna and Wilma were crying. Aisling didn’t feel bad for them. She was certain they knew what Gormelia had planned to do and had probably encouraged it. But when their plan didn’t succeed, they were horrified, afraid they would be found responsible for it also.
The lad, Niven, hurried to speak with Aisling’s mother. “You need to come to see Gormelia.”
“Aye.” Her mother hurried to the women’s chamber.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Aisling asked.
“Nay. See Coinneach. I’m sure he has already learned of Gormelia’s treachery and will be concerned for you.”
“You two, come with me,” Cook said to Kenna and Wilma. “And stop your blubbering. If I had been chief, you would have been thrown out of the pack and on your own.”
Nelly asked Cook, “Can I do anything?”
“You can help me pick the two women who will replace Kenna and Wilma.” Cook, Nelly, and the ostracized women headed down the tower stairs to the main floor.
Aisling followed them down to the inner bailey. She wanted to see who Cook chose to replace Kenna and Wilma, but she had to speak with Coinneach. As soon as she headed for the tower stairs to the wall walk, she saw Coinneach waving at her.