Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (71 page)

“Did ye taste anything else?” Katherine asked. Both of the other women shook their heads. “Rub a nice bit of it hard between yer fingers to release the oils, then touch yer finger to yer tongue.”

Tira tried it. “Something is a little hot, but I don’t recognize it.”

Lana’s eyes filled with tears and Katherine asked, “Do ye recognize it Lana?”

“Aye,” she sobbed. “It is foxglove. Rhiannon has been poisoning my daughter slowly with foxglove.”

“I fear she has. It would certainly account for many of her symptoms. It might have been the cause of her nausea in the first place. It certainly would explain why it continued afterwards.”

“But the tisane always seemed to help.”

“Aye, it would for a while, but as her body absorbed each new dose of poison, it would come back. There isn’t much in this. It would be enough to make a young, healthy woman feel sick and perhaps fatigued if she drank it every day, but it would take quite a while to kill her.”

“After Gillian kept getting sicker, Rhiannon changed the recipe. Maybe she put more in, but I can’t find the newest packet. She had me give it to her three times a day.”

Katherine went to the bed to check on Gillian. She was still barely breathing. “Well, she should recover. It may take a while for it all to leave her body but with time, it will.” The real question was whether she would ever wake from the poppy sleep.

Niall found Brathanead in an uproar. He and the remainder of their party arrived less than an hour after his wife and her guard. Alan met him in the courtyard. “Laird, things are bad. Fingal’s concerns were not unfounded. Someone drugged Lady Gillian with poppy. Lady Katherine is with her, but fears she may not wake.”

“She is in the laird’s chamber?”

“Aye, Laird.”

“I’ll go to her. Ye and Keith find a room for Edna and the children and keep them under guard.”

“I will, Laird, but there is something else. Fingal is missing. He left the keep on horseback this morning and hasn’t been seen since.”

“God’s teeth.” Niall swore. “Does anyone have a clue as to where he might have gone?”

“Several people remember seeing him ride through the village, but no one paid attention to where he went. We are forming search parties and will head out soon. I assumed ye would want to go along.”

“Aye, let me check on Katherine and I’ll be back down in a moment.”

He took the stairs two at a time. Katherine stepped into the hall when he knocked on the door.

“How is she?”

“She was given poppy this afternoon and is in a deep sleep. But that isn’t the worst of it. Do ye know the woman called Rhiannon?”

“Aye. I think she had been a companion to Malcolm’s wife at one time. She was married to one of Malcolm’s father’s guardsman. They have a son. If I remember right, I think her husband was killed at Halidon Hill. She has always been a bit odd. People whispered about her.”

“What did they whisper?”

“The usual things one hears about odd women who live apart. Some said she was a seer and held her in high regard. Others thought she dabbled in the old ways and were suspicious. But why are ye asking about Rhiannon?”

“Because I think she is the one who drugged Gillian. What’s more, it looks like she’s been slowly poisoning her with foxglove.”

“Rhiannon? Are ye sure it couldn’t be Lana as Fingal suspected? I can’t see what motive Rhiannon would have.”

“I don’t think it’s Lana. She seemed genuinely shocked, not to mention heart-broken when I discovered the foxglove in Rhiannon’s tisane. She had been brewing it for Gillian and encouraging her to drink it all this time. She is feeling profound guilt. I can’t imagine she would take any responsibility if she were behind it.”

Niall rubbed his head. “I don’t know what to think. I trust yer instincts but please be cautious until we know more. I am going out now with men to search for Fingal. I will make sure Rhiannon is guarded until we can get to the bottom of this.”

~ * ~

Fingal knew not to let rage overtake him in battle.
Physical prowess means nothing without cleverness. Lose yer wits and ye will lose the battle every time.
His father had drilled this into him, over and over, and it had served him well.

Today that proved false.

He was more badly injured than he had let on. When he had awakened, caught and hanging upside down in the rowan tree he had been sure he would not survive it. Blood dripped steadily from the back of his head. His left arm was broken as were several ribs, based on how it hurt to breathe. He had no idea how long he had hung there, unconscious. Every move he made hurt but he knew he had to keep going in spite of the pain. He was certain Gillian’s life depended on it. His memory was fuzzy and it made no sense to him, but he was sure Rhiannon had pushed him off the cliff. And if she did, was it possible she had been involved in the other attempts on their lives?

So, with the help of the dagger he wore strapped to his leg, and sheer determination, he had worked steadily to extricate himself from the branches of the tree, then climb up the cliff. Inch by painful inch, his progress had been excruciatingly slow. It must have taken the better part of two hours. The top part of the cliff, while a steep incline, was not a sheer drop. His body had probably hit it several times as he tumbled down, accounting for his battered state. However, it also made it possible for him to climb out and perhaps was what gave the rowan tree a place to take root. Below the tree, the cliff face cut sharply back. Had the tree not been there, he would have plummeted to his death.

As he had struggled to climb, his thoughts whirled, trying to make sense of what had happened. It hadn’t taken him long to determine, as he originally expected, that this had something to do with Fallon. He was even more inclined to believe that Lana was involved in some way because she had pushed so hard for a betrothal between Fallon and Coby. He still didn’t believe that Fallon was remotely involved. This was something Rhiannon and Lana must have conspired over. Although the only way that Fallon and any husband selected for her would take over the leadership of the clan was if both he and Gillian were dead, with Gillian so very ill it would take little effort to kill her. This would be made even easier if the person trying to kill her was the one supposedly working to heal her.

That was it. In spite of the throbbing pain in his head, everything became crystal clear. Rhiannon was causing Gillian’s mysterious illness. It had to be the tisane. He remembered how Gillian searched for the herbs the morning after they had first made love, because Rhiannon told her the brew would help her conceive fine, strong sons, the same tisane that he and Lana had practically forced down her at Rhiannon’s insistence, believing it would cure her. This single realization is what helped keep him climbing upwards, in spite of all the pain. He had to get to Gillian before whatever was in that tisane did kill her.

When he reached the top of the cliff he heard someone speaking. Not sure who it was, he hid on the other side of the huge boulder. He heard Coby curse. Of course. Rhiannon had sent Coby to make sure he was dead. Coby too was clearly involved. Fingal made a split second decision. Better to go on the offensive, letting his opponent believe he was not seriously injured, than to hide and let him think he had the upper hand.

Fingal pulled on every last reserve of energy. He willfully ignored the pain in his arm and ribs. He focused his mind on a single purpose—defeating his opponent. His father believed mental focus was more important in battle that brute strength and Fingal prayed it was true, for God knew he had precious little strength left.

And it had worked. Coby may have started the fight over-confident, trying to goad him, but Fingal kept his focus. He did not allow Coby to distract him. Even severely weakened, Fingal had struck flesh several times. Then Coby had said the words that caused Fingal’s heart to freeze.
Gillian isn’t sick, she’s dead. Mother saw to that this afternoon
.

Engulfed by rage, all rational thought fled. Fingal emitted an unearthly scream of rage and pain. He lunged at Coby, intending to bury his sword in the cur’s gut.

Taken by surprise, Coby stumbled backwards to avoid the thrust. He fell over the edge of the cliff screaming. Fingal watched in horror as he fell. The rowan tree did not stop Coby’s descent. His scream ended when he hit the bottom of the gulch.

Fingal fell to his knees, struggling to breathe. His beautiful, strong, funny, passionate wife was dead. He didn’t know if the searing agony he felt was because of his broken ribs, or his broken heart. Part of him wanted to throw himself to his death to end the misery of loss that he knew would shadow him for the rest of his days. The other part—the stronger part—wanted to see the teeny, grizzled old git brought to justice.

Eventually, he rose from his knees, made his way to Con, mounted, and rode towards Brathanead. It would never be home again without Gillian.

After Coby left for the cliff, Rhiannon gathered up her stores of questionable herbs. She certainly could not risk anyone finding the carefully dried and ground foxglove in her cottage. She placed them in a cloth sack and tied them under her skirts until she could find a place to hide them. She also quickly made a mixture of mint, thyme, comfrey, chamomile and St. John’s wort, creating a packet that looked just like the one she recovered from Lana. If anyone asked for it, they would find nothing untoward in it.

She intended to clean and dress the puncture wounds on her hand when she heard someone ride into the yard. Blaze barked madly. Again, she pulled her sleeve down over her hand before going to the door.

“Tarmon, what brings ye here?”

“I’ve come to fetch Coby back to the keep. The MacIan’s have arrived and the laird is missing. No one seems to know what has happened to him. We are sending out search parties and need every able body.”

“Oh, dear. He isn’t here.” Curse it all, she thought she would have more time. She needed an excuse. Glancing around the yard, her eyes landed on their small byre. “My cow strayed. Ye know how they do when they are ready to calf. He went to find her.” The cow had wandered off that morning and would wander back that evening as she always did but it made a good excuse. “Ye go on back to the keep. I’ll go now and find him.”

“Thank ye, Rhiannon.”

He remounted and rode back towards Brathanead.

She grabbed her walking stick and started up the path to the cliffs. She hadn’t gone far when she heard a horse on the path ahead of her. It couldn’t be Fingal. Coby must have decided to retrieve Fingal’s mount. She glimpsed the horse through the trees. A bloodied man was slumped in the saddled. She fairly dove off the path, hiding herself in the dense undergrowth. He raised his head, as if he had heard her. She held her breath as he rode past. He hadn’t seen her. She had to find Coby. They could not let Fingal reach Brathanead.

As soon as she was sure it was safe, she made her way as fast as she could to the cliff. Surely she would find Coby there, searching for Fingal. Having found no sign of him, dread gripped her heart. Approaching the edge of the cliff, she looked over, covering her mouth to keep from screaming. Her son’s crumpled body lay at the bottom. She clenched her teeth as tears streamed down her face. “I will avenge ye, son. I swear. Malcolm’s by-blows will not win.”

She could not return to her home. She had to find a place to hide until she could act. There was only one place where she could hide and still have the access she needed to exact her revenge. She walked westward along the top of the cliff to where the slope wasn’t as steep and a path was worn into it, winding downward. Before reaching the bottom she came to an opening from which an underground stream flowed, feeding the burn that wove through the bottom of the gully. It looked like little more than a crack in the rock wall but once she squeezed through, it opened into a wider cave. She hadn’t come prepared with a torch and the light from the cave opening only penetrated a few feet. Still, she knew the way. She placed her right hand on the wall and walked. As long as she kept her hand on the wall, always taking the path to the right, she would come to the door. She knew the walk through the cave from the cliff wall to the door could take upwards of two hours but she was in no hurry. Someone would patch Fingal up but she would see him dead soon enough.

Fingal emerged from the forest near Rhiannon’s cottage to find mounted men spreading out from Brathanead’s village. His brother Niall pounded on Rhiannon’s door as Blaze barking wildly on the other side.

“By everything that is holy, Fingal, what happened to ye?” his brother demanded.

“I was desperate, Niall. She was dying. I was willing to try anything.” Fingal had to stop for a moment. It hurt so very much to breathe.

“Wheesht. Tell me later. We need to get ye back to the keep.”

The fear on Niall’s face told Fingal that he looked as bad as he felt. He saw stars and feared he would pass out but he had to continue. “I went with Rhiannon to cut twigs from a rowan tree to make a charm. She pushed me over the cliff. I climbed out. Killed Coby.” Despair filled him and everything began to go black. “She killed Gillian.”

~ * ~

He woke later to an excruciating pain in his arm. Some hellish demon was pulling it while a giant held him down.

“I’m sorry, Fingal, I had hoped ye would stay unconscious for that.”

The demon had a sweet, very familiar voice. Nay, not a demon. “Katherine,” he whispered.

“Do ye still need me to hold him, my lady?”

Well he had been half right. A giant held him down.

“Nay, Turcuil, I’m finished. Now that the bones are aligned, I just need to splint it.”

His foggy brain cleared a bit more. He looked around. It was late. The windows were dusky twilight and candles lit the room. He was in one of the chambers at Brathanead but not the one he shared with Gillian.
Gillian
. Memories came flooding back. Coby’s taunt gutted him.
Gillian isn’t sick, she’s dead. Mother saw to that this afternoon
. “Rhiannon killed Gillian,” he whispered.

Katherine took his good hand in hers. “Nay, she didn’t Fingal. Gillian is still alive.”

Could it be true? When he thought her dead, all light had left his world. He struggled to sit up. “Alive? I must see her.”

“Nay, Fingal. She is sleeping. Let me finish patching ye up first.”

“Don’t worry about me. Katherine, she is terribly ill. I fear Rhiannon and maybe her mother tried to poison her. Ye can’t let either of them near her.”

“I know, Fingal. I don’t think that Lana was involved, but Rhiannon was definitely trying to poison her. She mixed small amounts of foxglove in the herbs she gave Gillian.”

“Her son is dead, but where is she? I will see justice done. She must be held accountable. If Gillian...nay I won’t even think it. She must live and Rhiannon must not be allowed anywhere near her. I want the vile woman under lock and key.”

“No one gets near Gillian unless Bodie says they do. Rhiannon is missing anyway, but Niall has at least fifty men out searching for her. Fingal, I do think Gillian will live through this. She has a strong spirit and now that we know what was making her ill, I think she can recover fully.”

“Are ye sure? Coby said Rhiannon killed her this afternoon. Yer sure there isn’t something more?”

“Well, she certainly tried to kill her this afternoon. It appears she drugged Gillian with poppy. I’m not sure how it happened but much of it was spilled on the bedding. She is still in a deep sleep, but her breathing is becoming more regular and I am hopeful that she will wake soon.”

“Where is she? Who is with her?”

“Father Stephen is—”

“Father Stephen? Dear God, has she received the last rites?”

“Nay, Fingal, calm down. Father Stephen is just worried about her, as we all are. Edna and Lana are with her too and Quinn is standing guard.”

“I don’t want Lana near her.”

“Fingal, I told ye I don’t believe Lana knew anything about the poisoned herbs.”

“Ye are too trusting, Katherine.”

She harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “Well, there is no doubt ye are Niall’s brother. Fingal, I assure ye, she is safe. As soon as I finish splinting yer arm, I will take ye to her. Ye had the good sense to stay unconscious while I stitched yer head and nothing but rest will fix those broken ribs.”

When his arm was firmly strapped between two narrow boards, she helped him sit up. His head swam and throbbed and the movement caused waves of pain to shoot through his ribs but it eased after a moment. Then he remembered something. “Katherine, do ye have any red thread?”

She smiled and cocked her head, clearly confused by the question. “Aye. Why?”

“Where is the sheath for my dagger?”

“Here it is.” Turcuil handed it to him. Fingal fumbled with it using only his right hand for a moment before sighing and handing it back to Turcuil. “There are two rowan twigs in it. Can ye get them out for me?”

When Turcuil handed them to him, he positioned them into the shape of St. Andrew’s cross. “Katherine, can ye help me bind these with the red thread?”

Turcuil nodded, finally understanding, but Katherine, who was not from the Highlands, said, “Aye, but why?”

Turcuil explained, “It is a very ancient practice. The rowan was sacred in the old ways. Some folks still believe the rowan can protect ye from evil if ye pluck two twigs and bind them in the shape of St. Andrew’s cross.”

“It was why I went with Rhiannon to the cliff in the first place,” Fingal said. “I feared Gillian was dying and Rhiannon offered no other hope. She said the protection would be greater if the tree was very strong and the person collecting the twigs had never seen it before.”

“Aye, so it’s said,” agreed Turcuil.

Katherine looked skeptical. “I know it is superstition, but Katherine, the tree these twigs came from saved me. It stopped me from falling to my death. I figure it is a powerful tree and if it protected me, perhaps it will protect her as well.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “It can’t hurt.”

Katherine smiled. “I would have to agree.” She bound the twigs and handed him back the small cross they formed.

He stood up and Turcuil grabbed his uninjured elbow.

“I can walk, Turcuil.”

“Well, ye didn’t walk in here, so while I believe ye, thousands wouldn’t.”

Fingal took a few steps and suppressed a groan. His body definitely was telling him that he had tumbled down a rock face today but nothing would keep him from Gillian.

When they reached his chamber, Fingal and Katherine entered while Turcuil stayed in the corridor with Quinn.

Fingal went straight to the bed. Gillian was pale and so very still, but the steady rise and fall of her chest told him she lived. Bodie lay beside her. He raised his head and wagged his tail. Fingal caressed her cheek and kissed her forehead before greeting the others in the room.

Edna embraced him gently. “Fingal, thank God ye survived that fall.”

“It shouldn’t surprise ye. Ye’ve always said I was hard headed. It’s come in handy a few times of late.”

“Well, ye’ll be right as nails soon. Lady Katherine will see to that. And she’ll see to yer beautiful lass too. Mark my words.”

Father Stephen also stood to greet him. “Laird, I agree. Surviving that fall was nothing short of a miracle. I continue to pray that the Lord sees ye both through these dark hours.”

“Thank ye, Father. Gillian and I both appreciate that. I have a small favor to ask though.” He held the rowan cross out to him. “The tree that saved me was a rowan. I know the tradition is left over from the old ways, but this saltire is made of twigs from that tree. I...well...I want to put it near Gillian to protect her. Will ye bless it?”

“Of course I will. May almighty God, St. Andrew, and all the angels and saints guard and protect her.” He said a blessing in Latin and after making the sign of the cross handed it back to Fingal.

Lana stood near the hearth. “Laird, I too am glad ye are well.”

“I’m not sure I’d jump straight to ‘well’ but I’ll live.”

“Please God, Gillian will too.” Lana looked pale and drawn, exactly as a distraught mother should.

He couldn’t help it. He would not be able to tolerate being in the same room with her or allowing her near Gillian until he knew.

“Lana, what do ye know about all of this?”

“I know what ye know, Laird. Rhiannon tried to poison Gillian.”

“Ye had no role in it?”

Father Stephen was shocked. “Laird, surely ye don’t suspect Lana of harming her child.”

“Nay, Laird! I would never harm Gillian.”

“Would ye not? Not even to see Fallon ‘rise above all others’?”

Lana trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. “Laird, perhaps I deserve yer suspicion. I have treated Fallon differently. There were reasons that I don’t expect anyone to understand. Still, I would give my own life this instant, if it meant saving Gillian’s. I swear to ye, by God’s holy bones, I knew nothing about the poison in the herbs Rhiannon gave me. I gave Gillian the tisane, just like ye did, hoping to see her well again.”

“If ye and Rhiannon were not working together, why did ye try so hard to get me to arrange a betrothal between Fallon and Coby?”

“I—I have wanted that for years.”

“Have ye? Why? What was so special about him that ye nagged yer husband then me to see them wed? He had no great skills, an average warrior at best. He was neither wealthy, nor particularly handsome or charming. In fact, he was ordinary in all things. Surely lovely, warm-hearted Fallon, the child ye believed was destined to ‘rise above all others’, deserved more than mediocrity?”

“I never looked at it like that. It was just always meant to be.”

“It was meant to be. Why would ye think that? Oh, let me guess, Rhiannon
predicted
it.”

“Nay, she didn’t. Oh, she talked for years about how nice it would be for them to marry but she didn’t predict it. I respected Rhiannon, nearly everyone did. I was flattered that she wanted Fallon as a daughter by marriage. She thought it was to be a good match and I agreed. We dreamed about sharing grandchildren. It pleased her so to think of them married.”

“I’m sure it did. It would also give her a very good motive for wanting Gillian and I dead. If Rhiannon had succeeded in killing us, and she could manipulate ye into marrying Fallon to Coby, her son would become laird.”

“Laird, I love my daughter. All of my daughters.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Fingal did not know what to think. His head throbbed. He remembered the story about how Lana had wanted Fallon to be recognized as chief over Gillian. That simply didn’t make sense. It led him to question her innocence in this now. He sighed. “I want to believe ye, Lana, but at the moment there are too many unanswered questions. Until Rhiannon is found, and I know more, I do not want ye in here.”

“Laird, ye can’t mean that. Gillian is gravely ill. I need to be with her.”

“Katherine, do ye believe Gillian will wake from the poppy?”

“Aye, Fingal, I do. Her breathing is strong and steady now.”

“Is there anything I should do when she wakes?”

“If she wakes, send for me,” Katherine said. “The best thing for her is to drink lots of fluid to help flush the poisons from her body. Give her some water to drink. If she is able she should have some food too, to help build her strength, but I suspect some broth at first is all she’ll be able to manage. If she wakes, I’ll see to it. But Fingal, ye have a bad head injury and have lost a good deal of blood yerself.”

“Give her water and send for ye. Even in my questionable state, I can handle that.” At her frown he added, “but if it would make ye feel better, I will instruct the men standing guard to wake me every hour or so to make sure I’m still among the living.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

“Very well, then I will say good night to everyone. Katherine, if Niall returns with any news, please send for me. Otherwise I will see ye all in the morning.”