The Highlander Takes a Bride (27 page)

“Killing yer own sister and her bairns ye mean?” Saidh asked dryly.

“Exactly,” Tilda said sharply, and then jabbed her in the back with her knife and snapped, “Faster.”

Saidh winced at the painful poke, but moved faster.

“Me sister was useless,” Tilda announced after a moment as if to justify what she’d done. “She only e’er birthed lasses. I am the one who ga’e MacDonnell his son and heir.”

“And then ye killed that son and heir,” Saidh pointed out dryly.

“Well, he damned near killed me while I was giving birth to him,” Tilda shot back as if that excused it. “And then, after he was born, I could no’ ha’e any other children.”

“Ye blamed him fer that?” she asked with disbelief.

“He tore me up inside, didn’t he? I near bled to death,” she snarled, and then sighed and said, “Still, I told meself, I had him. The precious male heir who would ensure me blood would continue down the line.” Tilda laughed bitterly. “Little did I ken then. Me sister must ha’e been laughing in her grave at the joke.”

Lady MacDonnell was silent for a minute as they walked and then suddenly squawked, “What man prefers the company o’ men to women? How was he to gain an heir that way? He wouldn’t,” she said, answering her own question. “And he did no’ e’en care.”

“So ye killed him,” Saidh said quietly, slowing as they reached the end of this first passage and automatically starting to turn left as she and Alpin had earlier.

“Nay, turn right,” Tilda snapped, poking her in the back again.

Saidh ground her teeth together, very tempted to turn and hit the woman with the flaming torch. But the possibility of hurting Alpin if she did stopped her. Which was what the woman was counting on, of course, she thought as she turned around to head to the right. “How did ye kill Allen?”

“You mean after he finished telling me that he was the laird, and would no longer do as I wished? That he would no’ sleep with his wife, or give me grandchildren, and that I’d best jest keep me mouth closed and do as he said or he’d see me in a hovel at the edge of the property?” she asked dryly, and then continued, “After all o’ that he ordered me to send fer wine and his first.”

“Ye did no’ send fer his first,” Saidh said with certainty. She already knew that from Bowie. He’d waited all night for Allen to send for him.

“Nay,” Tilda said with satisfaction. “I suspected he intended to ha’e Bowie remove me to the threatened hovel that very night. So I did no’ send fer him, and I fetched the wine meself. After putting a few o’ Helen’s weeds in it, I delivered the wine and told him that I had sent a servant fer Bowie and he should be along soon.”

“What kind o’ weeds?” Saidh asked with a frown, slowing as they came to stairs leading up.

“Keep going,” Tilda ordered, and when Saidh started up the stairs, answered, “A combination that made him easy to handle. They worked beautifully,” she added with satisfaction. “I had no trouble at all getting him to follow me into the passage and down to the loch. Then I jest had him strip, walked him out into the water and held his head under. He barely struggled. In no time at all I was back in the castle, climbing into me bed.”

And slept like a babe, no doubt, Saidh thought grimly, but didn’t say as much. Instead, asking, “And Fenella?”

“That was supposed to be you,” Tilda said with irritation. “I near to died from shock when I saw it was her instead.”

Saidh grimaced to herself. They’d thought her shock because she hadn’t done it. Instead, it was because she’d done it to the wrong woman. They should have thought of that possibility, she acknowledged grimly.

“I had intended for Fenella to take the blame fer both yer death and Allen’s,” Tilda said, bringing Saidh’s attention back from her thoughts. “O’ course, I can no’ do that now.”

“Why kill me? I thought ye liked me,” Saidh said, and frowned at the plaintive note in her own voice. But truly, she’d come to really like Aunt Tilda. At least the Aunt Tilda she’d thought she was.

“I do like ye, child,” Tilda assured her. “Yer verra entertaining. The way ye handle yer brothers impresses me greatly.”

“Then why kill me?” Saidh asked with bewilderment, and then slowed as the torch revealed a stone wall half a dozen steps further up.

“Keep going,” Tilda hissed, poking her once again with the knife, harder. Feeling a thin rivulet of what could only be blood trickle down her back, Saidh paused and growled, “Poke me with that pig sticker again, m’lady, and I shall turn and shove this torch down yer throat.”

“Then Alpin will die,” Tilda said coldly.

Saidh ground her teeth together and continued up the last few steps. This time, to avoid giving the woman an excuse to stab her in the back again, she didn’t hesitate, or wait to be ordered to pull the lever. She just did it and then stepped out into darkness and cool night air.

“Where are we?” she asked, continuing forward and peering curiously around. They were in what appeared to be a small room. At least it had walls and a ceiling, although all four walls had large openings without any window or shutters, leaving it open to the elements on all sides.

“The bell tower,” Tilda muttered, and Saidh glanced back to see her push the stone door closed. Finished with her task, Lady MacDonnell turned to face her, Alpin clamped to her body by her arm again. She’d used her hand holding the knife to push the door closed, but now raised it to press against his throat again.

“There is no bell,” Saidh pointed out.

“Nay,” Tilda agreed. “No’ anymore.”

When she didn’t explain further, Saidh let the subject go and dropped her gaze to Alpin’s face. He looked much more alert, but was still leaning weakly against Tilda. But that might be to their advantage, she thought, and then raised her eyes to Lady MacDonnell’s face and asked, “So? Why kill me?”

“That should be obvious e’en to you,” Tilda said quietly. “While I like ye, child. Yer no’ a lady. In truth, ye’re little better than a lightskirt, the way ye lifted yer skirts fer him at the loch and rutted like an animal with him. The things ye let him do to ye . . .” She shook her head. “Yer no better than me sister was. Ye could hear her squeals o’ pleasure through the castle too.”

Saidh gave a sharp laugh. “So ye killed yer son because he’d no’ sleep with his wife, and ye’d kill me because I happily sleep with me husband?”

Tilda’s mouth tightened with anger. “A lady suffers her husband’s attentions, she does no’ revel in them and scream her pleasure like some cheap whore. Besides,” she added grimly. “Yer no’ good enough to rule MacDonnell. Me people need a proper lady, not a cursing, swaggering lass who thinks she’s a lad. ’Tis bad enough that Greer behaves so, yer worse because ye’re a woman. Ye merely encourage him to behave badly. Once ye’re gone I’ll find him a proper wife who’ll help me reform him and—”

“Help ye reform him?” Saidh asked with disbelief. “Ye’ll be strung up by the neck fer this, no’ reforming anything. They ken ye killed Allen and Fenella, and they’ll ken ye killed me.”

“They may suspect I killed Fenella, but they ha’e no proof and once I explain how Alpin here so cleverly placed a knife to me throat and used the threat o’ harming me to make ye do as he wished—”

“Alpin?” she nearly gasped the name. “Ye really think ye can convince them that wee Alpin stabbed Fenella, knocked out both me big strong brothers and then killed me?” She shook her head with disbelief. “He’s a stripling.”

“And I’m a frail old woman,” Tilda pointed out sweetly. “Who has ne’er showed anything but fondness fer ye. While Alpin is a strong lad, with lots o’ wiry muscle from saddling his laird’s horse, and carrying his shield and such . . . who also complained to one and all that ye were no lady.” She put on a sad moue and sighed. “I fear he was horrified at the prospect o’ having to serve the poor dear.”

Saidh stilled at her words, but then swallowed and said, “Greer’ll ne’er believe it. Alpin had no reason to kill Allen.”

“Is anyone really sure Allen did no’ merely drown accidentally?” she asked. “I am the only one who believed it was no accident. If I was the one who killed him, why would I ha’e squawked about it to one and all, and possibly raise their suspicions that it might ha’e been foul play, when no one thought it anything but an accident ere that?”

Saidh frowned. The woman’s reasoning was not completely insane. She might convince . . . Straightening, she said triumphantly, “The arrow. Alpin was sick in bed when I was shot in the woods. He could no’ ha’e—”

“Used the passage to slip out by the loch and then go lie in wait fer ye to return before using the passage to return to his bed ere Greer found and brought ye back?”

“Ye used the passage,” Saidh murmured. She had no idea where it came out by the loch, but remembered the horses reacting to something in the trees surrounding the clearing. Pushing that away for now, she rallied and said, “They’ll ne’er believe Alpin could knock out Rory and Dougall.”

“Why not? I did and he is stronger than me,” she pointed out. “All he needed was a stool to stand on by the door fer Dougall. I did place one there,” she added, and then continued, “As fer Rory, he was bent o’er his satchel on the table when I crept into the room, his head easily reachable to the boy.”

“But Alpin can barely stand up,” Saidh pointed out. “Those tinctures o’ Rory’s—”

“He only pretended to take them,” Tilda said with a shrug.

Saidh shook her head. “Greer’ll ne’er believe it.”

“Mayhap, but he’ll ne’er be able to prove otherwise,” she said with certainty. “And does he prove difficult, I can always kill him and help the next in line to the title.”

Saidh stared at her briefly, and then past her as she noted movement in the darkness by the door. She almost raised the torch to see what it was, but then realized doing so might be a mistake if it was help coming, and shifted her attention back to Tilda. Shaking her head, she said, “Alpin was injured saving me from the merlon ye pushed off the wall.”

“Or was he trying to push ye under it?” Tilda asked.

Since the boy couldn’t have been pushing her around and toppling the merlon at the same time, that argument would never work, but Saidh merely said, “Ye’re such a disappointment.”

“Me?” Tilda gasped indignantly.

“Aye,” Saidh said firmly. “I actually admired ye and thought ye were a true lady, kind and sweet. Instead, yer naught but a sneaky, brain-addled viper who destroys all she encounters. Yer sister, her bairns, yer son, Fenella . . . is there anyone in yer life who ye’ve no’ killed?”

“Her husband, but I hear she made him so miserable he threw himself on an enemy’s sword to escape her,” Greer said grimly, appearing out of the shadows behind Tilda and pressing his sword tip to the side of her throat. “Drop the knife and release the lad, or I’ll slice yer throat wide open where ye stand.”

Tilda froze, fury crossing her face. Saidh suspected the woman might have tried something then, threats or trickery to turn the tables, but the appearance of Aulay and her other brothers moving out into the small room from behind Greer caught her attention, and she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they seemed as empty as she was and she shrugged indifferently. “Go ahead and slice me throat. ’Tis no worse than what’ll happen to me now anyway.”

For a moment, Saidh thought Greer might do it. He certainly looked furious enough to, and she couldn’t blame him. On the other hand, she didn’t want Alpin injured, so while the pair were distracted glaring at each other, Saidh quickly stepped forward and grabbed the woman’s hand, pulling it away from Alpin’s throat. She then squeezed Tilda’s wrist with her other hand until she shrieked in pain and released the knife.

“Thank ye, wife,” Greer said grimly as he tugged Tilda’s arms behind her to free Alpin.

“Me pleasure,” Saidh said dryly, putting out a steadying hand to Alpin when he staggered away from Tilda and toward her.

“Oh, m’lady,” Alpin muttered, collapsing against her. “Ye were so brave. And ye did no’ scream once, all those times she stabbed ye in the back.”

“What?” Greer bellowed. Tossing Tilda toward Saidh’s brothers, he rushed forward to catch her by the shoulders and turn her around so he could see her back.

“She only poked me a time or two,” Saidh muttered, clasping Alpin close to keep him from tumbling to the floor.

“Nay. She stabbed ye,” Alpin said, raising his head to peer at her face from the comfort of her bosom. “ ’Twas three times I think, and the knife went in an inch at least each time.”

“What?” Saidh bellowed now, and tried to twist around to see her back. Unable to, she glanced to Greer and was only alarmed further by his expression. Her voice was shaky as she asked, “She did no’ really stab me, did she? It did no’ feel like she did more than poke me.”

“Yer blood was up,” Aulay said quietly, pulling Alpin from her unresisting hands and lifting him into his arms. “Ye’d ha’e felt it eventually. By then ye’d ha’e lost enough blood and been too weak to protect yerself, though . . . which is probably why she was so happy to keep ye talking once she got ye up here.”

Saidh stared at him blankly. She’d thought she was the one keeping Tilda talking. Hearing tearing behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Greer had knelt and was tearing strips out of her gown.

“What are ye doing?” she protested.

“I’ll buy ye another gown. In fact, I’ll buy ye a dozen,” he growled. He straightened then to try to wrap the cloth around her waist and back, but she shifted away, scowling.

“I’m no’ worried about the gown ye, daft man. I’m worried about ye covering me wounds with cloth that has been dragged through that filthy passage. Rory says dirty bandages are no’ good fer a wound.”

“O’ course yer no’ worried about yer gown,” Greer muttered, dropping the strips of cloth and scooping her up instead.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Saidh asked suspiciously as he carried her toward the passage door.

“It means—” Greer halted abruptly and swung back when Alick cried out.

Her youngest brother was leaning out one of the openings, peering down, eyes wide and face pale. Frowning, Saidh asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Where is Tilda?” Greer asked at the same moment and Saidh realized the woman was no longer in the bell tower.