Keeper of my Heart (25 page)

Roderick pointed to Iain’s empty chair. “Sit down and tell us what you found. There is a cup of ale waiting to ease your thirst.”

Iain sank into the chair beside her, and placed his hand on her thigh in a very possessive and personal manner. As soon as he touched her, another wave of unease washed over her, warning her. Màiri looked into his face in search of the cause of her unease. His expression remained closed. She opened her gift to him, but as usual, it returned to her empty.

“Was I na right?” Roderick said, the sincere expression on his face as focused as the concern in his eyes. “Did I na tell you none of us were to blame for the stolen cattle?”

Iain looked at Roderick and nodded. “Did you follow the tracks made by the cattle after they were taken from Cochran land, Roderick?”

“Of course. ’Tis impossible to cover tracks left by that many cattle. We followed the tracks across our border onto our land, then back onto Cochran land. The Cochrans tried to cover the tracks when they took them back home, but they did na do a very good job. The tracks were still there to read. Surely you saw them?”

“Aye, I saw them.”

“I know you want to believe the Cochrans are innocent, Iain, but the proof is there.”

Iain sat forward and reached for the ale sitting on the table in front of him.

The minute he touched the goblet, a jolt as painful as a knife plunging into her chest stole the air from her body. “Nay!”

Without thinking, she grabbed the goblet from Iain’s hand and took it away from him. She stared at the liquid sloshing in the cup then to the puzzled look on Iain’s face, and finally to Roderick’s look of shock and surprise.

The cup held the touch of death.

Roderick stared at her in disbelief. His gaze focused first on the goblet in her hand, then back to focus on her eyes.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not disguise the terror she felt. Something amiss with the ale.

At first Roderick did not react, then his face darkened with a questioning look that told her he wanted to know how she knew. Her breathing came in harsh ragged gasps. She could not believe the cool, calculated way Roderick sat there, calmly waiting to watch his brother die.

Iain reached for her. “What is it, Màiri?”

“Nothing,” she said, her hand trembling as she held the cup further away from him. “Here.” She moved her goblet toward him. “Ferquhar!” she yelled and Ferquhar rushed over to their table. “Pour your laird some fresh ale.”

She made sure Ferquhar used her goblet.

“Is something wrong, milady?” Roderick questioned. “Is there something wrong with the ale?”

Màiri lifted her gaze. She could not help but stare at him in astonished horror. What had he done? She wanted to accuse him in front of Iain, but when she looked at the confusion on Iain’s face, she knew she could not.

What if he didn’t believe her? Roderick would most likely deny having anything to do with the ale in the cup. What would she do if Iain took Roderick’s word over hers? She remembered Iain’s reaction the last time she’d tried to warn him of Roderick. Without proof, how could she make Iain believe her now?

She handed Ferquhar the cup with the poisoned ale. “Throw this down the shaft in the garderobe, Ferquhar.”

“Ah, milady…”

“Throw it away!” she said in a voice she knew was too loud and strident. “I forbid you to take even one sip of it. Do you understand?”

Ferquhar shook his head sadly. “Aye, milady. But ’tis a waste of good—”

“I don’t care!” she hollered, then watched as Ferquhar set the pitcher on the table and staggered away with the goblet.

She clutched her hands in her lap and took one steadying breath after another. Dear God. What was she going to do? How could she protect Iain when Roderick’s attempts had turned so ruthless and blatant?

Iain touched her arm. “What is wrong with you, Màiri?”

She slowly raised her head, forcing herself to look into Iain’s questioning gaze. “It…” He would never take her word over Roderick’s. He would never believe her. “The ale had been there a long time. I wanted you to have fresh. Here,” she said, clasping her hand around the goblet Ferquhar had just filled. Her gift told her there was nothing wrong with the ale in this cup. “Drink this.”

Iain raised the goblet to his lips and drank. His gaze never left hers. She wiped the sheen of perspiration that dampened her forehead and fought the turmoil raging inside her.

She looked at the sinister smile on Roderick’s face. She understood the warning in his fixed stare. Her gift exposed it all, both his hatred for his brother and his plan to kill him.

And Roderick knew she knew.

. . .

Màiri raced across the drawbridge and down the path that led to Donald’s cottage. She’d left Iain alone with Roderick only long enough to tell Donald that Iain needed his protection. That would be difficult but not impossible. The impossibility would be in convincing him from whom Iain needed protection.

“Mistress?”

A voice from behind her stopped her short and Màiri turned to see Lochlan walking toward her at a fast pace.

“Where are you going, mistress? It is almost dark. Far too late to be beyond the castle walls.”

Màiri kept walking. She could not waste any time. “I need to speak with your father, Lochlan. It’s important.”

“Does our laird know you’ve come out without anyone to guard you? He would not be pleased.”

She kept her gaze focused on the path ahead and did not look at Lochlan. “Your laird is busy. He has much to discuss with his warriors.”

How could she tell Lochlan that Iain was still deep in conversation with Roderick, listening to his every opinion and weighing his suggestions without realizing Roderick intended to harm him? How could she tell him about the ale?

“You should na have come out alone. Walk with me. I will take you to my father.”

She nodded and led the way, ignoring the concern on Lochlan’s face as he walked to catch up with her. Her mind swirled in maddening confusion. There were so many important problems to worry about, such as how she could ask Donald to guard Iain without having to tell him why she feared for his laird’s safety.

When they were near enough to Donald’s cottage to be heard, Lochlan yelled out his father’s name. The door opened, silhouetting Donald’s broad shoulders and powerful stance against the soft candlelight glowing from within.

“Mistress, is that you?” Donald asked, the surprise evident by the frown deepening on his forehead.

“Aye. I have need to speak with you.”

Donald nodded once, then moved back so she could enter. “What is wrong?”

Màiri stopped just inside the door and barely cast a glance at Donald’s wife, Elsa, who stood before the hearth, stirring the stew in the kettle hanging from the hook. She kept her gaze focused as she prepared to say out loud words she knew Donald would find impossible to believe. “I am sorry to intrude so late. I know you have had a long day and are ready to sit down to your meal, but it is important.”

“I will wait outside,” Lochlan said, turning to leave.

“Nay, Lochlan,” Màiri said. “You should hear this too.”

Lochlan nodded, then walked across the room to stand by his father.

“Sit down, milady,” Donald offered, pulling out a bench from beneath the table. “Elsa, bring your mistress something cool to drink.”

“Thank you, Elsa,” she said when Donald’s wife set a cup of water in front of her. Elsa gave her a compassionate smile then walked back to her stew. Màiri took one swallow then braced her shoulders. “I have come for your help, Donald.”

“Anything, mistress. You have only to ask.”

Màiri nodded, then lifted her head to look at Donald. “Your laird is in danger. Someone wants him dead.”

Donald straightened, his stance rigid and battle-ready. The step he took closer to her could have been intimidating if she did not already trust him as unconditionally as she trusted Iain.

His hand slowly reached for the dagger at his side. “How do you know this?”

“I just know,” she said, praying for a way to convince him without revealing more than was necessary.

“Perhaps you are just overly cautious because of the threat from the Cochrans yesterday.”

She shook her head. “It is more than that.”

Donald held up his hand. “The possibility of a battle perhaps reminded you of the serious injuries our laird suffered when you found him. We all know how fond you are of your husband.”

Màiri bolted from her seat and took three steps before she spun around to face them. “Someone tried to poison your laird tonight.”

The frown on Donald’s forehead deepened and his voice when he spoke vibrated with a violent anger. “Why wasn’t I called? Does the laird know who is responsible? Has the culprit been found? Is he still alive?”

“Iain does not know about the attempt on his life. I am the only one who knows.”

Donald stared at her, his silence an indication that he found what she’d said hard to believe. “How did you discover the poison?”

“The goblet of ale waiting at Iain’s place had been poisoned.”

“How do you know?”

Màiri held her breath, searching for a way to convince Donald without revealing her secret. “I just know. I lifted the goblet to hand it to him and…I knew.”

Donald and Lochlan stared at her, waiting for more proof. “Perhaps you are mistaken, milady. Perhaps—”

“The wine was poisoned!”

Màiri fisted her hands at her side and took in several harsh breaths. “I have come to warn you that your laird’s life is in danger and to demand that you honor your oath to protect him.”

Donald nodded curtly. She knew he didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. He would do as she demanded because he had sworn to protect his laird. Both Donald and Lochlan would give their lives to keep Iain safe.

“Do you know who left the ale at our laird’s place?” Donald asked. “Who we should most watch to guard against?”

Màiri took in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Those closest to your laird are the ones most dangerous to him.”

“Closest?”

“As close as blood can make them.”

Donald’s eyes opened wide while he shook his head in denial. He took a step away from her as if he wanted to distance himself from her accusations. “Do you know what you are saying, mistress?”

“Aye. I would give my life if it were na so.”

Donald shook his head. “Nay. That canna be.”

The look on Donald’s face reemphasized that he did not believe her. Her gift told her the same. “I have na come here tonight to ask that you protect your laird, Donald, but to demand you do so. Do na take my warnings lightly or your laird will pay for your carelessness with his life.”

Every muscle in Donald’s body stiffened at her rebuff. “I would never be careless in protecting either you or my laird.”

“I know you would not, Donald, but I am in na danger. Your laird is.”

A long, uncomfortable silence hung between them while Donald struggled with the news she had just given him.

“What did you do with the ale that was poisoned?” he asked softly, his contemplative voice barely above a whisper.

“I gave the goblet to Ferquhar with strict instructions to throw the ale down the shaft in the nearest garderobe.”

Donald nodded. “Who knows you discovered the poisoned ale?”

“Roderick knows. And he knows I know he is the one who poisoned it.”

Donald slapped his hand against his thigh. “Ah, milady,” he sighed. “I canna believe—”

“Do na doubt me, Donald. Your laird’s life depends on it.”

Donald hissed a sharp breath then repeated his oath. “Have na fear, milady. I will keep the MacAlister laird safe and pray you are wrong.”

“I am not. Begin your watch yet tonight. I pray he will not try again yet tonight, but it would na surprise me.” Màiri turned to leave but hesitated when she reached the door. “Have you gone to see your mother since you’ve been back?”

“Nay. I was going to stop by but the hour got too late. I will go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow will be too late, Donald. Go to see her yet tonight. It is important that you visit with her before tomorrow.”

“Why, mistress? Is there something wrong—”

Màiri did not listen to the rest of Donald’s question. She did not want to explain why it was important for him to go to see his mother. She walked down the lane that would take her back to the castle and into Iain’s arms. She could not be gone from him too long. He was not safe. Now that Roderick was aware she knew he had tried to kill his brother, he would try again—and soon.

Màiri sat at Iain’s side where she’d been since coming back from Donald’s and watched every move Roderick made. Lochlan sat at the end of the table feigning interest in a tale one of the elders, Guthred, was telling. It was a tale every MacAlister had heard at least a dozen times before, but she knew that was not the reason Lochlan was here. He had come to watch over his laird.

She looked at Iain, studying the look on his face then touching his goblet to make sure there was nothing wrong with it. Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for just a moment.