Torn (The Handfasting) (10 page)

An
enemy could not survive for years inside Glen Toric. They would have exposed
themselves.

"Anabal's
birthing came on too soon. That's not uncommon. Nor is losing a babe before
time."

"Too
fast, Laird. A woman's first child does not come on so quick; one moment
standing and laughing the next folded up and screaming."  Conegell
insisted. "The women are talking, trying to remember the shock of your
first wife’s dying. They weren't easy in it then, even less so now."

Talorc
fought despair that would only muddle his mind. He had to think, had to listen,
with a clear head. "If what you're saying is true, then someone among the
clan would have to be the cause of it."

William
leaned in, "Old Micheil was betrayed." 

Thoughts
forced Talorc to stand. His words put before the others for consideration. "We
don't know the man was betrayed. And I can think of no one who would do this. No
one who could live among the clan and remain an enemy."

Conegell
took a deep breath. "Beathag gave her a drink."

William
snorted, "Maggie knows better than to drink Beathag's concoctions." 

Talorc
waved him away, weighed the accusation. "Maggie might drink one of
Beathag's brew, but not Anabal. And Anabal loved the old woman as much as
Beathag loved Anabal. I don't see it, but yes, the old woman might hurt my
Maggie. The hitch is, she would never harm the child she nursed from
birth."  Talorc frowned.

Beathag
was an easy solution, but such things were usually the fault of shallow
thinking. He needed more information. "Conegell, you've followed the woman.
What do you think?"

"You
asked me to watch, but when she goes to your Maggie's room, I can't follow. Una
does."

Buoyed
by purpose and duty, Talorc waited, impatient for information. When none came
he looked up, gestured. "Well?  What did Una say?"

 Conegell
shifted. "Beathag put a goblet down, but Lady MacKay dinna' drink, not
then. She talked to the old nurse, sweet like, and thanked the woman. Una said
Beathag left, and then Lady MacKay took a sip. There were two flasks there; the
one from Beathag and one with fresh water."

"You're
saying she drank from the wrong one."  Talorc closed his eyes. This made
sense, a stupid error. She knew which to drink from and took the wrong one. Life
was that fickle.

But
when he opened his eyes, Conegell was shaking his head. "The women don't
know. Some say yes, some say no. They're all fretting about it, about the way
Lady MacKay made a face with the taste of her water, but swallowed
anyway."

"She
knew it wasn't water?"

"No,"
Conegell shook his head. "It's more like, she wasn't certain. She looked
at the goblet, as if something was wrong with the goblet, not the brew."

"Did
Una understand why she would do this?"

"You
know how Una talks round and round till it makes you dizzy. But she said she
was certain Maggie drank of the water.”  They all stared at Conegell, he
continued. “But she says it like it's a question, like she can't figure it out.
She says Ealasaid keeps saying Lady MacKay never drinks Beathag's drinks. They
use different goblets. Maggie knows Ealasaid's goblet and Ealasaid fetched the
water herself."

Talorc
swallowed air, rubbed the base of his head where a knot twisted.

"From
Una's description, Lady MacKay looked at the goblet again, smelled it then her
face turned ashen. She dropped the goblet, clutched at her inners and started
to scream as she fell. Both goblets toppled when she went down. No one knows
for certain which one was which. I'm thinking, Lady MacKay will be the only one
who knows if she drank from Beathag's or the water's flask."

"Where's
Beathag?"  Rage, a powerful menace, threatened Talorc's control. With
effort, he breathed deep, forced his tightening muscles to ease. There was no
loosening the knot in his stomach, or at the top of his spine. The hollow calm
of his words obscured the tempers edge he rode. "Where is she?  Where's
the old hag?" 

It
made perfect sense, after all Beathag was a Gunn. A Gunn spy, planted within
the MacKay clan. He smiled with thoughts of vengeance.

But
his smile waned. It made no sense. Beathag was free to return to the Gunns, but
had cringed from such freedom. She never left the hall. Never went for a visit.
Had no way of meeting the enemy.

And
Beathag would not, could not murder Anabal. She had been the girl’s nurse, had
raised her from a wee babe. She adored her charge.

If
she had poisoned Maggie, that would mean two culprits with the same outcome. Not
likely. It didn't ring true.

"We
locked Beathag in her room," Conegell put his hands on his Laird's
shoulders, as if to temper his temper. But the rage had twisted into
frustration. "The old woman was as startled by the scream. I saw her, saw
the look on her face. She ran, fast for old legs, tears running down her
cheeks, she near twisted her hands off, and she kept saying 'not again. Oh, no my
lass, not again."

His
instincts were true. Beathag, guilty or not, did not set out to murder anyone. "Did
you watch her make the drink?" Talorc asked.

"Aye.
Her worry made me think. All these times I follow her, I see her take the
goblet up to your wife's chamber, but I never see her gather herbs or go down
in the rooms where they make the potions. She fills the goblet with a small
chunk of sugar, a spoon of malt, an inch of molasses and a pinch of yeast. The
rest is ale, straight from the cask in the kitchen. Today was no
different."

"Does
she pull anything from a pouch on her way to the room?"

Conegell
shook his head. "She adds an egg some days, but not today. The cook
wouldn't have it."

"Are
you certain that is all she puts in there?  Could there be anything up her
sleeve?"

"I've
run it round and round my head and I'm certain, Laird. I've watched real close.
But I watch her, not the brew and that's the worry. She leaves it on a shelf,
gives the yeast time to come alive and stir the flavors."

The
chamber door opened and Deirdre popped her head out. "The bleeding’s
stopped."

Talorc
groaned, felt tears of relief surge. He fought them. "Is she awake?"

"No,"
Deidre looked back in the room, "Well, not really. Her eyelids flutter,
which is a good sign. But I have to get back."  She darted in as quick as
she had popped out.

Talorc
stood, alone, surrounded by his men. He had tasks to do, for Maggie. Just what,
refused to surface. He had to get a grip on his thoughts. "William,
Conegell, go to Beathag and talk to her. See if there's anything she wants to
say, or thinks about all this."  He turned to Paraig, "Take Niall
here and go to the kitchens. Watch who comes and goes. Listen to their
thoughts, suspicions. Don't let them know why you're there, just snitch at the
food and flirt, like you would otherwise.

"Liam,
you stay here in the hallway, to do any bidding that's necessary. I want you to
note who comes to see how Maggie fairs. Bruce," Talorc didn't turn when he
addressed him, "send Malcolm up, he can help with running messages. And
between the two of them, one should be here at all times."

It
was then that Talorc eyed Sim, who stood to the back of the other men, just
behind Liam, "I'm going to ask a great task of you Sim, and you're the
only true choice."  The young man stood taller. "I need you to get to
the MacBede Keep, as fast as you can . . . but first, check to see if there are
any unusual tracks around this keep. Do you understand?  If there are tracks,
forget the MacBedes and come straight to me. If not, if I don't see you in the
verrrry near future, I'll know you are on your way to her people. They'll want
to know the hope of a child is no more."

"Should
you wait, Laird?"  Bruce had the gall to ask.

"Wait? 
To see if she lives or dies, do you mean?"  Bruce looked at his feet. If
she lived, how different would they react. If she died . . . her eyelids had
fluttered. Talorc would hang on to that.

"Go
now Sim, and promise we will send another, on the morn, to say if she lives or
dies. And Sim," Talorc looked him straight on, "tell them I broke my
promise. We think she was poisoned by one of our own."

Maggie
lay on the bed, white as chalk. Covers pulled up to her waist, where a twisted
sheet and a piece of wood for a tourniquet handle, rested on her belly, the
twist now loosened. Ealasaid leaned against the wall, spent from her efforts.

"What
needs doing?" Talorc asked. She shook her head, words more energy than she
had.

Gerta
pushed forward, "Y' need to sit." And pushed Ealasaid into a chair. "You,"
she pointed toward Una, "and you," Deidre this time, "help me
strip the bed down, and take that God awful thing from around her."

Ealasaid
shoved away from the chair, "She'll be needing water."

They
all looked to the spilled pitcher on the floor, and the drying puddle of blood
beside it.

"Liam's
outside," Talorc told them as he eased the knot at the top of the
tourniquet sheet, "tell him to fetch fresh water from the stream and warn
him he's to taste it before she has any."

"You
can trust my Liam!" Caitrina snapped, and walked to the door to inform her
husband of his task.

"Caitrina,"
Talorc stopped her, "have Liam tell the rat catchers," the young boys
who made certain the keep wasn't over-run with vermin, "to find me some
live ones."  The girl shuddered, but didn't ask questions as she did his
bidding.

Talorc
lifted Maggie into his arms, as Gerta removed the twisted sheet from around her
waist.

"Hold
her a bit, while we get this bed freshened." Ealasaid stepped in front of
him, "Sit over there. We'll get her into a fresh gown as well."

Caitrina
came back into the room with a bucket full of water and a scrub brush.

"What
are you doing?" Talorc asked.

Caitrina
scowled as Gerta answered. "She's going to clean the floor."

"Don't."

"Laird,
we can't leave it as a memorial, now."

"Don't
clean it. Not until I say. And don't step over there either."  There were
answers on that floor. He needed to find them.

 Maggie's
gown was lifted, to be changed, and revealed a deep purple circlet of bruises. Great
racking shivers coursed through her.

"Shock,"
Talorc mumbled. He held her close to his chest as he reached over, lifted the
lid of the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled out fresh blankets to wrap
her in. He had experience enough with injuries during battle. He knew what he
was dealing with. What he didn't like was the limpness. She was no more than an
empty shell of flesh.

"She
needs water, Laird. She's lost too much of the liquid inside of her. She needs
water."

"It's
coming."  He had to stay calm, for Maggie. If he let his fears, his
temper, surface he would be no help. He had to stay focused.

"Bring
the bucket here, Caitrina," He felt it, ice cold. "Over there, by the
fire, there's a kettle. Bring some hot water so we can wash her before we dress
her again.”

Talorc
helped to get her clean, dressed, back on the bed and under heavy piles of
covers. Liam came in with another bucket of water, and took a sip without being
asked, ended it with a respectful nod to Talorc.

At
least he did not take offense to his laird's request.

"You’re
a good man, Liam MacGhei."  Talorc nodded him off then turned to Ealasaid.
"How many people do you need now?"

"Gerta
will do, the rest can go, though you'll be hard pressed to get them to
leave."

"I
want as few people in this room as possible."

Ealasaid
nodded. Talorc looked at the others, then tilted his head to the door. As they
left, they skirted around the blood soaked floor, and toppled pitcher.

Ealasaid
was set on getting Maggie to drink the water, but Maggie refused it. Every try,
the liquid spilled over and down her neck. Talorc stood beside Ealasaid. "Use
a cloth," A slanted look let him know she wasn't stupid.

She
dipped a clean cloth in the cup and dribbled it over Maggie's lips. Loss of blood,
weak as she was, Maggie managed to tighten her lips against refreshment and
moaned.

“She
doesn't trust the water," It also told him which goblet she had drunk
from.

"Maggie,"
He held her head upright, his face straight on hers, even though her eyes were
closed. "It's fresh water. Liam tried it; I'm tasting it right now." 
He grabbed the mug and took a taste. "It's sweet and clear and refreshing.
Ah, I think I'll drink more." He took her face in his hands again. "Want
a wee drop, of the same cup I drank from?" he didn't expect an answer in
words. He knew it would come as he tipped the cup to her lips. It went past her
lips, into her mouth. She swallowed.