Arsenic and Old Armor (38 page)

“
Your wedding dress,” the
older woman told Marion, spreading the beautiful gown on the bed
and showing her the intricate handiwork of gold thread.

Marion was struck
speechless with the gesture. There had been seamstresses in and out
of her room for the past few days, but she had expected a simple
gown that would fit her body…
nothing
so elegant.

“
This is far too
beautiful.”

“
And you are far too dear
to me for anything less elegant,” Lady Elizabeth told her, drawing
Marion in a warm embrace.

The young woman was touched by the gesture
and kindness. “You are doing so much for me.”

“
It is nothing.” Lady
Elizabeth shook her head. “In the morning, there will be three of
my women at your door to give you a bath and do your hair and help
you dress for the church.”

“
I don’t believe I have
ever had this much attention,” Marion smiled, pleased with it
all.

“
Your aunts arrived from
the abbey convent for the wedding ceremony tonight and your aunt
Judith wanted to know if you still wished her to mend a gown for
you for tomorrow. I thought if you had other help, it might make
everything more enjoyable for you.”

Marion nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing.
“What are they doing now?”

“
I don’t know. They
insisted on going down to the kitchen. Something about a special
recipe that your aunt Margaret wanted to have on hand for the
celebration.”

Marion was immediately alarmed. “What kind
of a special recipe?”

Lady Elizabeth shook her head in confusion.
“I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to offend them.”

“
Oh, they will not be
offended,” Marion said in a rush. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I
think I’ll just run down to the kitchens to find out about this
recipe.”

Marion raced out of the chamber and down the
hallway only to come face to face with Iain.

“
What’s wrong?” he asked,
taking her hands.

“
My aunts are in the
kitchens.”

He nodded with understanding. “Brother Luke
just came into my room, telling me that Lady Margaret and Lady
Judith were here. He mentioned something about them wanting to
check on the wines.”

Hand in hand, they ran downstairs.

With all that was happening, Blackthorn
Hall’s extensive kitchens were a very busy place, but Marion and
Iain had no trouble finding the McCall sisters, chattering away and
busily measuring out wines into pitchers in a bright corner.

They rushed to the old women’s side. The
sisters were very excited to see them, and Marion took hold of the
hands of both of them.

“
Aunt Margaret,” Marion
said when she’d heard all the news of the abbey and Sir William.
“There is no reason for you to be working in the kitchen
tonight.”

“
But there is, my
dear.”

“
There is,” Judith
said.

Marion was relieved that they were deciding
to hear her tonight. “The cooks and their helpers are seeing to
everything for tomorrow.”

“
You are guests,” Iain
added. “You shouldn’t be working.”

Margaret giggled. So did Judith.

“
But we’re family, dear.”
She patted Iain’s hand. “And what we’re going to make, no one else
has a recipe for.”

“
No one,” Judith
agreed.

Marion and Iain sent a desperate glance at
each other.

“
What is it that you are
making?” Marion asked hesitantly.

“
A special wine,” Margaret
answered.

“
Wine, of course.” Judith
smiled.

Marion put both hands on Margaret’s
shoulder. She lowered her voice. “There are no Englishmen attending
our wedding. Everyone here will be a loyal Scotsman. All friends.
We cannot poison friends.”

Both sisters giggled and shook their
heads.

“
This is a different
recipe, dear,” Margaret said.

“
Completely different,”
Judith agreed.

“
What is it that you have
in the wee bottle?” Iain asked, pointing.

The two sisters shared another
conspiratorial laugh.

“
The juice of the
mistletoe,” Margaret whispered.

“
Mistletoe,” Judith
whispered.

Marion looked at them, confused. “And what
does that do?”

“
It’s for fertility,”
Margaret answered, patting Marion’s cheek.

“
That means it helps you
have babies.” Judith made a rounding gesture over her
stomach.

“
Oh!” Marion said, blushing
slightly as she looked at Iain. “Well, I suppose that’s all
right.”

Iain looked at them suspiciously. “Wait a
moment. Isn’t mistletoe also a kind of poison?”

We hope you have enjoyed
our medieval send-up of Joseph Kesserling’s American
theatrical
standard Arsenic And Old
Lace
. This book is for those fans who have
been after us to go back to the medieval period. To our loyal
readers, you may remember the priory on the Isle of Skye. That was
where Fiona Drummond got her start in
Angel of Skye
.

As always, we love to hear from our
readers.

www.MayMcGoldrick.com

[email protected]

Twitter: @NikooandJim

Twitter: @MayMcGoldrick

Complete Book List as of 2012

[email protected]

www.JanCoffey.com

Twitter: @NikooandJim

@MayMcGoldrick

@JanCoffey

Novellas

Thanksgiving in Connecticut: May McGoldrick
romantic comedy

Mercy: Jan Coffey Ghost/suspense

Writing As May McGoldrick:

Made In Heaven

Ghost of the Thames

Scottish Dream Trilogy

Dreams Of Destiny

Captured Dreams

Borrowed Dreams

The Rebel

Tess and The Highlander (A YA Novel)

The Promise

Highland Treasure Trilogy

……
.The
Firebrand

The Enchantress

…
The Dreamer

Flame

The Intended

Macpherson Trilogy

Beauty Of The Mist

Heart Of Gold

Angel Of Skye

Thistle and The Rose

Writing As Nicole Cody & May
McGoldrick:

Love and Mayhem (reissued as Arsenic and Old
Armor)

Writing As Jan Coffey:

Aquarian (A YA Novel)

Blind Eye

The Puppet Master

The Deadliest Strain

The Project

Silent Waters

Five in a Row

Tropical Kiss (A YA Novel)

Fourth Victim

Triple Threat

Twice Burned

Trust Me Once

Writing as Nikoo Kafi (Hichkass
Hamekass):

Omid’s Shadow

Non-fiction:

Marriage of Minds: Collaborative Fiction
Writing

Step Write Up: 21st Century Creativity
Skills

Author Bio

May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey are just two
pen names adorning the covers of Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick's books.
With an engineering degree, a PhD in British literature, and
experiences ranging from the clubs of Rodeo Drive to the shipyards
of New England to the college classrooms of Pennsylvania, these two
writers together have created over thirty books, won numerous
awards, and touched the hearts of countless readers. When it comes
to pursuing their dreams, they are the little engine that
could.

www.JanCoffey.com

[email protected]

www.JanCoffey.com

Twitter: @NikooandJim

@MayMcGoldrick

@JanCoffey

Here's an excerpt from Angel of Skye by May
McGoldrick

Angel of Skye

Prologue

Drummond Castle, October 1502

His ice-blue eyes locked on the castle
looming in the gathering dusk.

Silent as death, he and his company of
killers climbed the ridge toward the open drawbridge. Andrew would
get back what was his. He would have his revenge.

Fiona bounced across the wood floor at the
sound of horses thundering across the drawbridge. Standing on her
tiptoes, she stretched her five year old body, inching her dimpled
chin up onto the stone ledge surrounding the small window in her
effort to peer out into the dusky light at the approaching riders.
From the unglazed slit in the castle wall, the misty autumn wind
swept damply through her fire red hair. She could not see the
riders, but she could hear their steel armor clanging as they rode
into the castle’s inner yard.

Her Father was coming for her.

“
May I please go down,
Nanna?” she asked for the umpteenth time. “Please,
Nanna?”

“
You know what your mama
said, child,” the old woman responded, smiling at the irrepressible
excitement of the little girl. This was a big day for her. This was
a big day for them all.

Fiona skipped from the window and picked up
her little stool from beside the fireplace, carrying it quickly to
the high window and scampering onto it. As she pressed her face
into the opening, a gust of Scottish night air filled her with a
thrill of anticipation.

But her mother had given strict orders that
she was to remain in her room until she was called for.

He must be very important, the little girl
thought excitedly, trying to pick him out from among the horsemen
in the courtyard. In the flaring torchlight she could see the
varied array of tartans on the company of men dismounting
below.

Though Fiona could not even recall when
exactly she had last seen her father, she tried hard to remember,
as her eyes scanned the sea of men below, what he looked like. She
had been very little the last time. But there were things about him
that she could still recollect, vaguely. His deep and easy laugh.
His soft red beard. The strange, belt-like chain that she could
feel under his shirt. Her mother had told Fiona that her father
always wore that, but she had never said why.

“
Your papa is a busy man,
Fiona,” her mother had said the times she’d asked for him. All her
life Fiona had been hearing talk of fights with the filthy English
who were trying to take Scottish lands. And all her life she’d been
hearing her mother tell her how papa had to help. How it was his
job to help keep their homes and their country safe.

But now he was coming to them--making a
special visit--to take her and her mother and Nanna back to his own
castle. To be with him.

For the past week Fiona had been shadowing
Nanna as she went about her chores. The little girl had tried extra
hard to be more of a help than a hindrance. After all, she had so
many questions about the upcoming visit, and Nanna was the only one
who would even talk to her about it.

Fiona wished she could remember more.

For as long as the little girl could recall,
no one would ever talk to her about her father. There were moments
when her mother would allow Fiona a glimpse of those times when he
had been near. And it was during those talks that Fiona would hear
about his humor, his courage, about the kind of man he was. But
then her mother would never answer her other questions about him,
so he remained an enigma.

Sometimes Fiona wondered if her father still
loved her. She wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him.
Sometimes she even dreamed of him. When she did, he was like an
angel, floating far above—away from her—but watching over her. She
could see him, his red hair and beard streaming around him as if
blown by a gentle breeze.

And now everyone kept telling Fiona not to
disturb her mother.

The little girl knew that her mother was not
her usual self. She had been very quiet for the past few days and
spent many hours alone in her room. Fiona heard her crying. Nanna
said that her mother was just having a hard time believing that
what she had wished for, for so long, was finally coming true. But
Fiona knew it had to be something else.

During their time together Nanna had told
her that, for reasons beyond their control, Fiona’s parents could
not be married up until now, but that their love had finally
triumphed.

At last, her father had told his people that
Fiona was his daughter, and that he and her mother were going to be
married. Fiona was not really sure what being married meant, but
she knew it had to be something very special. After all, she was
going to have a permanent father now. But even more importantly,
she knew that it meant her mother would never have to be sad again.
Nanna had told her that.

Fiona began to count the torches that were
being lit in the courtyard. She knew her father would have warriors
with him. Nanna had said Fiona’s father had many who attended
him.

“
Fiona, come here so I can
braid that wild hair of yours,” Nanna scolded gently, smiling
patiently at the excited child. The room was warm and comfortable,
and the old woman felt at peace with the world.

The little girl reluctantly turned from her
place at the window. Hopping off the stool, she ran across the
room, flinging herself affectionately onto the woman’s lap. Nanna
put her arm around the child, returning her warm embrace.

Nanna had raised the girl’s mother, just as
she was now helping to raise Fiona. They were so different, mother
and daughter, and yet so much the same. Margaret had always been
the proper child, always reserved, always private. But Fiona was
different. Nothing was held in. Nothing was hidden. One thing Nanna
knew they had in common, though: they both had such incredible
depths to their love.