To Marry A Scottish Laird (17 page)

Grimacing, he rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, trying to ease the crick there, then let his hand drop and glanced to Joan. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the candle on the bedside had burned down so that it was now a puddle of wax with a weak flame flickering and about to sputter out. It was enough light for him to see that she was still sleeping, but that was about it. He needed to fetch another candle and build up the fire if he didn’t want to sit in the dark.

Yawning sleepily, Cam stood and moved quietly out of the room. In the hall, he walked to the railing to peer down into the great room below. He’d intended to get the attention of one of the servants and have them fetch him a fresh candle, but the great hall was silent and still, the fires burning down, leaving the room nearly dark. Despite that, Cam could see the servants sleeping on pallets on the floor below. It was late enough that everyone had retired. How long had he slept?

A yawn interrupted this concern and Cam debated simply returning to his room, crawling into bed and sleeping, but Joan hadn’t woken yet and he wanted to be there for her when she did. He wanted to be awake though, not sound asleep beside her, so he continued toward the stairs, pausing there to glance further along the hall when one of the doors opened.

Squinting in the dim light, Cam tried to see who it was, but could tell little more than that it was a woman until she stopped at one of the guttering torches and lit a candle he hadn’t noticed she carried with her. When she then turned and continued toward him, the candle held up before her, Cam recognized Lady MacFarland. Not wanting to deal with her, he turned to continue on his way.

“Campbell.”

Surprised as much that she’d used his first name as that she’d called out to him at all, Cam stopped and turned slowly to wait for her, sure he was going to regret it.

J
OAN’S H
EAD WAS POUNDING WHE
N SHE WOKE.
Grimacing, she sat up, blinking when she realized she was in the bed. Wondering what she was doing there and where her aunt and cousins were, Joan started to get out of bed only to freeze when she realized she was naked.

Dropping back on the bed, she pulled the linen around herself and tried to recall how she’d got this way, but the throbbing in her head wasn’t helping with that endeavor. Letting go of the matter for the moment, Joan hesitated, but then tugged the linen out from under the furs and wrapped it around herself, tucking the end into the front to secure it as she stood up.

How she had got this way could wait until she’d eased the ache in her head. That was more important at the moment. Desperately important, she thought, one hand going to her forehead, and fingers rubbing in an effort to ease the pain.

Her medicinal bag was on the table by the fire where she’d left it and Joan started toward it, but paused as she realized she would need a drink to mix her herbs into. Obviously she couldn’t go below like this though. Joan shifted on her feet briefly, debating what to do, but then headed for the door. She might not be willing to go below like this, but perhaps she’d be fortunate enough to spy a servant in the hall.

That thought in mind, she opened the door a crack and peered out, surprised to see that the hallway was quite dim with just two flickering torches still lit. It must be quite late, she realized, and then noted movement near the stairs. She squinted, trying to see who it was and then glanced past them as she noticed a light moving up the hall. Someone carrying a candle, she realized, able to see the red of the gown they wore, but not their face. Even as she noted that, they lifted the candle, revealing more of the gown and then their face. Joan recognized her gown just before she was able to see the woman and recognize that it was Finola.

Well, that explained where her gown had gone. Now the question was how the devil had the woman got it off her? The last thing she recalled was wearing it as the girls pinned the hem for her. Joan couldn’t see the hem of the gown now, the candlelight didn’t reach that far, but she suspected it was just as long as it had been before the women had started to pin it.

Damn, Finola had stolen her dress, Joan thought, mouth tightening. She was about to barge out in her linen to demand to know what the woman thought she was doing in her gown, when Finola got close enough for her candle to cast light on the man at the top of the stairs.

“Cam,” Joan breathed, the name barely a whisper of sound as the woman walked straight up to him until their bodies pressed together. Even as Finola leaned into him, she raised a hand to catch him by the back of the head and pulled him down as she rose up on her toes to kiss him . . . and Cam wasn’t fighting her off.

Silently closing the door, Joan turned to walk back to the bed. She settled on the edge of it, her mind a complete blank. This was her nightmare come true, Cam turning to another and her having to stand by and watch.

Joan couldn’t be sure how long she simply sat there, but after a moment she slipped under the furs, still wrapped in the linen, and closed her eyes. She didn’t want a drink anymore, or herbs to ease her aching head, she just wanted to pretend this had all been a nightmare and that she would wake up to find it had never happened.

C
AM S
HOOK OFF THE SURPRIS
E THAT HAD BRIEFLY
held him still and caught Finola by the shoulders to push her back. Cold anger sliding through him, he demanded, “What do ye think ye’re doing?”

“Oh, come, m’laird,” Finola murmured, smiling seductively. “Surely ye do no’ expect me to believe ye really enjoy being married to the peasant? I ken ye were forced to marry her by the MacKay. But ye can ha’e it annulled, and then ye can ha’e me.” She leaned back slightly and held the candle closer to herself so that the glow fell over her from head to knees.

Cam opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell, but then paused and allowed his gaze to travel over her in the gown as he recognized it.

“Am I no’ more beautiful than her?” Finola asked with a triumphant smile.

“Nay,” Cam said coldly. “And is that no’ me wife’s gown?”

Finola blinked. “What?”

“The gown ye’re wearing,” he said succinctly. “Me wife was wearing it when she fell ill. We stripped it off to give to Kenna because she said one o’ the women claimed they wanted to sew the hem.”

“Ye were there?” Finola asked with alarm.

“Aye,” he said dryly and then tilted his head. “I’m guessing ye were the woman who asked fer it. I’m also guessing ye ne’er planned to finish the hem at all. Ye just wanted to steal her dress and then use it to try to seduce me?”

Finola pressed her lips tightly together with anger, and then snapped, “Well, ’tis wasted on her anyway. It looks better on me. And you would do better with me too. At least I’ll no’ embarrass you and yer family with me ignorance like she will.”

Cam stared at her with something that was a cross between disbelief and bewilderment as he tried to sort out how she could think her behavior would be attractive to a man. First, she behaves no better than a village slattern, throwing herself at him, and then she tries to win him over with insults to his wife and boasts of her own supposed beauty? Sometimes he simply did not understand the reasoning skills of others, or the lack of said skills.

“Lady MacFarland,” Cam said solemnly, “Joan may very well make mistakes in the future, but they’ll no’ embarrass me.
She
will ne’er embarrass me. You on the other hand, embarrass yerself, yer clan and me with yer behavior and
ye’ve
no excuse fer
yer
ignorance.”

“Bastard,” Finola hissed and raised her hand to slap him.

Expecting it, Cam caught her by the wrist and warned. “I would never hit a lady, Finola, but since ye’ve proven ye’re no’ one, I’ll give ye fair warning; if ye slap me, I’ll slap ye back.”

He stared at her silently for a moment, and then released her.

Finola glared at him with impotent rage, her hand balling into a fist, but then she lowered her hand without a word.

Cam nodded. “I’ll arrange fer some men to escort ye back to MacFarland on the morrow. Ye’re no longer welcome here,” he said grimly, and then turned on his heel and continued downstairs. He had no more time to waste on the woman, and couldn’t wait to send her on her way.

And he would see to it that Joan never wore that gown again, Cam decided grimly as he made his way carefully through the people sleeping in the great hall. Joan had looked absolutely beautiful in it, but he would not see her wear anything that woman had tainted with her touch.

The kitchen fire was burning low when Cam entered. Something that smelled delicious was bubbling in a large pot hanging above it. The scent reminded him that he hadn’t eaten the evening meal and Cam decided he should grab some bread and cheese to take back upstairs with him. But not now. After he’d retrieved the candles he’d come for, he thought, turning toward the door to the storeroom. Cam unlocked the padlock, lifted the bar and pulled the door open. The room was dim, with just enough light making it through the open door for him to see the candles resting on a shelf on the right, halfway to the back wall. Stepping inside, he moved toward them and was just closing his hand around a couple of the candles when the door suddenly slammed behind him.

Startled, Cam whirled around and stared into the darkness where the rectangular opening should have been, then rushed forward and felt around until he found the door latch. He lifted it and tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell?” he muttered, trying again. Nothing. Pounding on the door now, he called, “Hello? Is someone there? Hello?”

Silence met his call and Cam tried again, pounding and shouting louder, but the door didn’t suddenly open, bathing him in light and freedom. Pausing, he stepped back and considered trying again, but the truth was no one would hear him. In the summer, the kitchen staff slept in the great hall with the other servants to avoid the heat that remained after cooking all day. All except the cook, who had a room at the back of the very long and large kitchens. But the man was well known for being impossible to wake once he fell asleep. Cam suspected it had a lot to do with the drink he indulged in at night. But it was none of his business what Cook did when he wasn’t working and usually it wasn’t a problem. Right now, being locked in the storeroom and needing someone to let him out was a problem . . . but not the cook’s.

Sighing, Cam eased to a sitting position on the floor and leaned back against the shelves. Once the kitchen staff were up and about he should have no problem attracting attention and gaining his freedom. It looked like he would be stuck here until then though . . . which meant Joan would be alone if she woke up before morning.

The thought made him pause. While the bar could have fallen back in place once the door was closed, it couldn’t have closed on its own. Someone had closed him in here and probably dropped the bar back into place too. Deliberately. Why?

Cam wouldn’t put it past Finola to have done it. She was no doubt angry that her plan to seduce him and convince him to annul his marriage for her had failed. She probably wasn’t pleased with what he’d said to her either. And he knew she was up while the rest of the castle appeared to be sleeping.

He began to tap his fingers on the stone floor, thinking. So long as this was the extent of Finola’s revenge he would let it go, arrange her journey home and just get her on her way. But that was only so long as she didn’t do anything else. And that was what worried him. What else could she do? And what else had she done?

Cam fretted over that briefly. Joan and four other women had been made ill after drinking from Joan’s goblet. She’d been drinking from the same pitcher as everyone else, so there had obviously been something either in her goblet before her drink was poured, or put in her drink after it was poured. Had Finola been behind it? Had she planned to remove Joan, to clear the way for herself? And if she had, what might she do now that Joan was alone, unconscious and basically helpless?

Not that he thought Finola could possibly still hope that he would turn to her should anything happen to Joan, but she was a bitter and nasty bit of work. Would she hurt Joan to hurt him? Cam wouldn’t put anything past the bitch.

Jumping to his feet, he felt his way to the door and began to hammer on it and shout again, then took several steps back and threw himself at it.

Chapter 14

“
O
H, M’LADY!
Y
E’RE UP!”

Joan turned from the window and forced a smile for her maid, Jinny. “Aye. I’m up, and in desperate need of clothes, Jinny. I think the gown I wore yesterday is still in the solar . . .” Her voice trailed away as Jinny raised her hands, drawing her attention to the dress she held. The same one Joan had worn the day before to go for the fitting. “You have it.”

“Aye.” The maid grinned and hurried forward. “One o’ the maids brought it to yer room last night and I took it below to press the wrinkles out o’ it. It looks good as new now.”

“Aye, it does,” Joan murmured, moving forward to touch the gown. It was one of Annella’s gowns, and she was grateful for it. She would never wear the red and gold gown again . . . if Finola even bothered to return it. She hadn’t so far. She hadn’t returned her husband yet either.

Joan had lain awake all night waiting, unsure what she’d say or do when, or if, Cam came back to the room they were to share. She’d debated between feigning that she was sleeping and saying nothing, or slapping his face the minute he showed it. But in the end, she hadn’t had to decide between the two. He’d not come back.

When the sun had risen and he still hadn’t returned, Joan had got up and moved to the window to peer down into the bailey. She’d stood watching the castle begin to stir and wondering why she wasn’t crying. She should be crying, she even wanted to cry. It might put an end to the numbness that had claimed her and seemed to be locking her in an emotional cocoon, but her eyes remained as dry as bone.

Jinny suddenly moved away, taking the dress with her.

“I’ll just set this over the chair and fetch yer basin o’ water. I left it in the hall,” the maid said happily, moving to the chairs by the fire to lay the gown over one. Hurrying toward the door then, she added, “I ha’e much to tell ye while ye tend yer ablutions. So much has happened.”

Joan’s mouth tightened. She already knew one of those happenings. Did the whole castle know that her husband had already tired of her and moved on to Finola?

“Lady Finola is dead,” Jinny announced as she returned with the water.

Joan stiffened and then turned slowly. “What?”

“Aye,” Jinny said almost breathlessly as she set the basin on the table by the fire. “She was found at the bottom o’ the stairs this morning. She tumbled down them and broke her neck. And the nasty cow did it in
yer
dress!” Jinny announced with outrage. “Can ye imagine? Lady Annabel said she and yer husband removed the dress from ye because Kenna came asking fer it. One o’ the ladies approached her saying the others were going to hem it fer ye ere ye woke. It turns out, Lady Finola was the one who told Lady Kenna that tale. The other ladies said there was no such plan. That they were all too worried about ye and the other lasses to think o’ hemming anything. Well, since Lady Finola was wearing it when she died, ’tis obvious she lied so she could steal the gown right off yer back!”

Jinny scowled ferociously at the cheek of the woman, and then said, “Now I’m thinking her falling down the stairs was God striking her down fer stealing it. Aye.” She nodded firmly. “God smote her for her sins.”

“When did Lady Finola fall?” Joan asked, her mind churning up all sorts of nonsense.

Jinny shrugged. “She was cold as stone and stiff when they found her this morning, so some time in the night.”

“And no one witnessed it?” Joan asked reluctantly.

“Nay. At least no one’s come forward to say so,” Jinny said with unconcern, moving up beside her to hold out soap and a scrap of linen to her.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered and moved to the basin of water to begin to wash.

“M’lady?”

“Hmm?” Joan asked absently, dipping the linen in the water.

“Should I no’ take the bed linen?” Jinny asked. “It might get wet do ye no’ take it off.”

“Oh, aye.” Joan unwrapped the linen she’d worn since waking and handed it over to the maid, then turned back to frown into the water as she began to lather the soap. The scent of lime and herbs drifted up to her as she worked. It was a scent she loved, but she hardly noticed. Lady Finola had fallen down the stairs? And no one had witnessed it? The last time she’d seen Lady Finola the woman had been kissing her husband . . . by the stairs, that she’d then apparently fallen down . . . without anyone, not even he, witnessing it.

She shook her head slowly. Something was terribly wrong. More than one thing actually, Joan thought as she recalled all Jinny had said. The woman had blurted it out so quickly and then she’d been more interested in the news about Finola, but now . . .

Turning to where Jinny was making the bed, she asked, “You said the women were too worried about myself and the other ladies to think of hemming my gown?”

“Aye,” Jinny said absently and then glanced up to peer at her wide eyed. “Oh, o’ course, ye do no’ ken about the other ladies. Ye were the first to take ill, and had already fainted ere the other women did.”

“Fainted?” Joan asked with a frown. She had no idea what the woman was talking about. She recalled going in to try on the gown, and she remembered them asking her to remain in it so they could pin. Cider and pastries were fetched, she had some cider and then . . . well, actually her memory got a bit fuzzy after that.

“Aye. Ye had a bad batch o’ cider and it made five o’ ye ill,” Jinny explained, concern on her expression. “Do ye no’ recall?”

“Nay,” Joan admitted on a sigh, but that explained the headache she’d woken up with. Fortunately, it had dissipated on its own in the time since she’d woken up.

Jinny frowned at this news, then glanced to the door when a knock sounded. Straightening from the bed, she moved over to open it and then curtsied and stepped quickly to the side to allow Lady Annabel to enter.

“Oh, you are awake,” her aunt looked amazed, and then glanced to the empty bed and scowled with displeasure. “Where is Cam? Why did he not let me know when you woke up? He promised he would. In fact, when I came up here I assumed he was still here watching over you. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Joan admitted quietly, turning back to the basin of water to quickly finish her ablutions so she could dress. Her aunt had seen her naked several times now, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with it.

“You do not know?” Annabel asked with surprise and then frowned. “Was he not here when you woke up?”

Joan shook her head, but didn’t say that her husband had been away for the last half of the night.

“That is odd. He was most concerned about you. He and I sat with you for hours and then he sent me away. He did not even eat the evening meal.”

Joan didn’t comment, but this news simply added to her confusion. He’d been concerned? Sat with her for hours and then gone out and kissed Finola? Well, to be fair, she supposed Finola had kissed him, but . . . now Finola was dead and he had never returned to their room. Where the devil was he? And had he had anything to do with Finola’s fall down the stairs?

She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. First, she spent hours thinking he was off philandering with Finola, and then she worried that he killed the woman. Joan was so confused.

“I told her about the bad batch o’ cider, but she does no’ recall getting ill herself,” Jinny said suddenly, concern obvious in her voice.

“Do you not?” Lady Annabel asked, and while she didn’t exactly sound concerned, Joan could hear a frown in her voice.

“Nay,” Joan admitted and dropped the linen in the bowl, then turned to pick up her dress. Jinny immediately rushed to her side to help her don it.

“If ye’ll sit in the chair, m’lady, I’ll fix yer hair,” Jinny said, moving to get the brush once she’d finished tying her stays for her.

“I shall do it, Jinny. I would like to talk to Joan anyway,” Lady Annabel said quietly and suggested, “Why do you not go break your fast?”

Jinny hesitated, her gaze sliding to Joan.

“ ’Tis all right. Go ahead,” Joan said with a nod.

Jinny handed the brush to Lady Annabel and slipped from the room.

“Sit,” Lady Annabel said lightly, gesturing to the chairs by the fire.

Joan settled in one of the chairs and stared at the long cold ashes in the hearth.

“It was not a bad batch of cider,” Annabel announced as she began to run the brush through Joan’s hair. “The servants were just told that to prevent gossip.”

Joan raised her eyebrows. “What was it then?”

“I’m not sure, but it was something in your goblet alone,” her aunt admitted.

“Mine?” Joan asked with surprise. “Then how did the other girls . . .” She let the question die as she recalled offering the goblet to Murine.

“Aye. All five of you drank from your goblet. You had two sips, and then offered it to Murine. The girls said you thought she was on the verge of fainting,” her aunt explained, not realizing that she was recalling now. “The other girls tried it because you both said it was bitter. They only had one drink. You had two. You all fainted after drinking it, but you stayed asleep longer while the other girls woke by the evening meal.”

“We were poisoned?” Joan asked quietly.

“It would appear so,” Annabel said and then frowned. “But I wonder if whatever was in the drink was meant to kill you or just make you ill. None of you took very ill in the end, so I began to think perhaps it was just meant to make you sleep for a while, but . . .”

“But?” Joan asked when she paused.

“But now Lady Finola is dead,” Annabel said on a sigh.

“I thought her death was an accident. Jinny said it was,” Joan said solemnly, peering at her hands where they lay in her lap.

“Most people seem to think that,” Annabel agreed.

“But you don’t?”

“I think ’tis odd that Lady Finola would be up and about and wandering around the castle fully dressed after everyone else had retired.”

Joan lowered her head. She knew exactly what the woman had been doing up at that hour . . . kissing, and who knew what else, with her husband. She didn’t say as much however.

“Also,” her aunt continued, “I went to look about in her room after we found her and there was only one candle in a holder in her room. Yet our room has two candles, a holder on either side of the bed, so I asked Lady Sinclair and she said that there should be two of them in Finola’s room as well. There is not, and there was no candle holder found near her or on the stairs.”

Joan raised her head slowly. She distinctly recalled Finola carrying a candle as she’d approached Cam in the hall. “What about at the top of the stairs?”

“Nay.”

Joan bit her lip. “You think someone is attacking the women?”

“Nay.” The brush paused in her hair and then her aunt admitted apologetically, “I fear someone is attempting to hurt you.”

“What?” Joan squawked and whirled around on the chair to peer at her. “But five of us were made ill from the cider, and Lady Finola is the one who—”

“Five of you were made ill from drinking
your
cider,” Annabel pointed out grimly. “And Lady Finola was wearing
your
gown.”

Joan stared at her blankly, her mind beginning to whirl with thoughts now. The fact that the girls had all got ill from drinking her cider suggested someone had planned it for her, and Finola
had
been wearing her gown, she’d seen that for herself. And Cam had no doubt seen that as well, but if someone else had pushed her down the stairs . . . well, when she’d first seen Finola she’d been holding the candle low and out before her, leaving her face in darkness. Someone could have mistaken Finola for her because she was wearing the red and gold gown.

But Finola had been with Cam when she’d last seen her, she thought again. And she’d had the candle, but the candle was now missing and so was—

“I need to find my husband,” she said suddenly and got to her feet.

“But I have not finished with your hair,” her aunt protested.

Joan swung back, but grimaced and asked, “Do ladies always have to have their hair piled up on top of their head like a bird’s nest? It gives me a headache.”

“Oh, I am sorry. You should have said something. Perhaps we are setting it too tightly. Or it might just be that you are not used to wearing it up.” She grimaced and admitted, “But ladies always wear their hair up, Joan, especially once they are married.”

Joan hesitated, but then sat back down in the chair with a little sigh of resignation. If married ladies wore their hair up, she supposed she’d have to as well. She was supposed to be a lady now.

“I will try to make it looser today,” Annabel assured her. “Then we will see how it goes.”

“
S
O
N?
S
ON.”

Cam came awake with a start when someone shook his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he peered blankly at the man standing over him. “Da?”

“Aye. What the de’il are ye doing sleeping in the storage room?”

Cam began to struggle to his feet. “Joan.”

“She’s fine. She’s awake.”

Cam glanced past his father to the half dozen servants peering into the room and recognized his wife’s maid, Jinny, as she finished: “Lady Annabel is fixing her hair fer her right now.”

“Thank ye, Jinny,” he said wearily. He’d pounded at the door and shouted for what had seemed like hours, giving up only when he began to lose his voice. Then he’d sat down to wait, intending to try again to rouse someone’s attention once his throat recovered. Instead, he’d drifted off to sleep leaning against the shelves.

“What the de’il were ye doing sleeping in here?” his father asked, repeating his earlier question.

Cam grimaced and stretched to remove the kinks from his back. “I came down to get fresh candles and someone closed the door behind me. I shouted and pounded, but everyone was sleeping.”

“When was that?” his father asked sharply.

Cam shrugged. “Late. The fire in the great hall was nearly out.”

“Ye did no’ happen to stumble o’er Lady MacFarland’s body at the bottom o’ the stairs, did ye?”

“What?” Cam asked with bewilderment.