Risk Everything (39 page)

“Ah, Meghan mine. What do you here?”

“I dinna come to rut with ye, MacDhaidh. I came to warn ye. Yer beloved wife plots with Fergus to kill ye and Garith.

So that it will appear a sudden sickness, she plans to poison others as well.” She jerked away from his hold.

“Lucifer’s rotted guts!” He shoved her ahead of him as he made his way to the table beside his bed. “Dinna move.” In moments, he held a candle aloft and studied her face.

In the soft light, she saw he wore naught but a damp pair of leggings that hid nothing from her eyes. Seeing his arousal, her gaze flashed to his face. Disbelief was reflected there.

“I overheard Ailsa meeting Fergus this eve. They whispered of some potion she will slip into the wine. A drop at first. Enough to cause malaise. When others sicken, she will add enough to yer and Garith’s wine to finish ye.”

“What addle-pated scheme have you thought up, Meghan?”

“Brainsick lout. ’Tis what they plotted, not I.” She wanted to take him by the neck and shake him like Ugsome would did he come upon a hapless hare.

“Fergus isna here. He wouldna show his face at Rimsdale.”

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She could not tell him of the postern gate, for he would secure it in an instant with but a shout to Jamie.

“ ’Twas Fergus. I would ne’er forget his voice. He has gained entrance and met with her in the stable. He brought the potion, and she plans to begin using it on the morrow.”

“Meghan, ne’er did I believe you would yield to jealousy.

My wife would not gain by ridding herself of me and Garith.

She would have nothing. The castle would revert to a distant kinsman.”

“Not if she is increasing with child.” Becoming angrier by the moment, she near hissed the words at him.

“Ah. There is the flaw. Ailsa couldna be carryin’ my bairn.”

“She is carryin’ a babe rightly enough. After ye perish from the poison, she will convince Alpin ’tis yer son. She plans to have Alpin take over Rimsdale for the sake of yer heir.”

His face turned cold as a death mask. The hard look in his eyes warned her not to utter another word.

“Mayhap Ailsa is right,” he said in a voice dead of emotion.

“What are ye talking about?”

“She seeks to find a suitable man to husband you.” His jaw clamped together, but the jerking muscles in his cheeks showed with what strain he held himself. “Alpin is a good man and will treat you with kindness. I will see it done on the morrow.”

“Fool! If ye think I built a tale out of jealousy, ye are not worth savin’.” Afore he could speak again, she spun on her heels and was out the door.

The MacDhaidh had not believed her, but when she slipped into the sleeping chamber, she had no trouble convincing Ede.

“You must leave at once, else Ailsa will see you dead afore Alpin even learns of Rolf ’s marriage plan,” Ede said. “Dinna worry. I will find ways to spill their wine so they willna swallow a drop, except what I offer them.”

“I will seek help at Blackthorn,” Meghan whispered as she secured her dagger and belted on the newly sharpened short sword. She threw a black cape around her shoulders, then turned to hug Ede. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way

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below. Creeping past the pallets of sleeping men and women, she decided a band of ruffians could move amongst them without being heard above the snores, belches, and blasts of breaking wind that echoed through the great hall.

The soft breezes floating over Loch Naver held a hint of rain. She glanced up to judge the clouds in the night sky, hoping they would not spill their bounty until she was safely aloft in her tree hideaway. She took a deep, steadying breath and stealthily made her way to the postern gate. As she eased it open and slipped out to freedom, she thanked all the saints in heaven that Ailsa had not yet returned to lock it.

She waited until a cloud covered the full moon, then dashed across the stretch of land to the loch. Dropping her cloak, she dove into the water. The cold shocked the breath from her, for ’twas like plunging naked into melted snow.

Gasping, she swam in the protective shadows of the bridge.

By the time she reached the shore, she fought for breath.

When next she saw her brother and cousins, she would bless them for insisting she increase her stamina by pulling one of them with her as she swam.

No sooner did she enter the woods than she sensed danger.

Her heart lurched. She stood motionless, near hugging the trunk of an oak tree while her eyes probed the foggy shadows.

She darted from tree to tree, going deeper into the woods.

What man lurked nearby? ’Twas not someone from Rimsdale, else he would sound an alarm. ’Twas not a Blackthorn warrior either. He would make his presence known.

Before each move forward, she stopped to listen. A horse snuffled. Her eyes sought movement in the darkness. Not a leaf stirred. Was she surrounded? Nay. Her instinct said not. Cautiously, she crept toward a tall pine tree. A burly arm whipped around her neck and snapped her back against beefy flesh.

“I got ye now,” gloated a gravelly voice in her ear. “I knew ye follered me to the gate.” He sniffed noisily and chuckled.

“Yer scent told me. The high and mighty Pride of Blackthorn wants what I been pleasurin’Ailsa with, eh?” He pinched the side of her breast.

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Meghan faked a whimper and ceased struggling. She drew in a deep breath and let every muscle go limp, sagging slightly, letting him think her terrified. With an ugly chuckle, he loosened his hold. She grabbed his wrist, bent her right leg parallel to the ground, swiveled her hip toward the right, and pivoted on her left foot. Swiftly, she snapped her leg down and struck his bare shin with the hard sole of her boot, ripping his flesh all the way to the top of his foot.

Fergus roared with rage and released her. Her short sword sang as it whooshed from its scabbard. Screaming curses, he clutched his dagger in his beefy fist and lunged. Meghan turned her short sword sideways. His blade ripped into her left arm but inches from her shoulder. Her sword slid between his ribs. He fell, his scream echoing through the still night as her weapon left his body. Darting a glance at him to be sure he could not pursue her, she dashed toward where she had heard the horse.

Lucifer’s cursed horns! The fires of Hades burnt in her arm. Though she bled like a gutted pig, she had no time to tend it. Clasping her hand over the wound, she ran so fast she all but collided with a horse tied to a dying oak.

Meghan tore the reins loose with her blood-soaked hand.

She put her foot in the stirrup and grasped the pommel, but a wave of dizziness swept her. It took two attempts before she gained the saddle. ’Twas then she heard the sound of horsemen tearing across the bridge. An eerie wail floated on the cold wind and caused chill bumps to scamper like a thousand fleas over her body. Needing no further encouragement to escape, she kicked her mount into a gallop.

More than once, she was not sure she could elude them.

The sound of the MacDhaidh bellowing, “Find the lass. She is injured,” drifted to her. The pain in her arm was as nothing to what she felt in her heart.

Join the birds in your nest
, Brianna had written. She headed for the tree.

Hooves thundered close behind. Splashing through the water, she spied the tree and its overhanging branch ahead

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and slowed her mount. Waves of dizziness swept through her, and she swallowed bile that surged to her throat. Fighting for balance, she cautiously knelt on the horse’s back.

A few short paces from the tree, she gritted her teeth and sprang to her feet. Stifling a cry, she grabbed the branch and near let go when fiery pain ripped through her arm as the terrified horse bolted away.

She no sooner climbed to the highest branch than warriors thundered past, some on land and some in the water.

“Ahead! A giant brown horse entered the woods,” one man called. “ ’Tis a Blackthorn raider!”

“Nay! Over here,” came another shout. “A huge white shot through the trees to the right. ’Tis Laird Damron’s mount.”

The sounds of horses crashing through brush came from all directions. Utter confusion reigned. She knew Blackthorn’s warriors divided the Rimsdale men and drew them away from her.

“Rolf ! I have searched to the right of the stream. She isna here,” Dougald’s voice shouted beneath her tree. “Ye are all wrong. I see them just ahead on the left.”

Meghan held her breath as Dougald looked at the ground below her at the red splotches barely visible from moonlight filtering through the leaves. Tilting his head back, he stared straight into her eyes and winked. “Take care and bind that wound,” he whispered loud enough for her to hear, then pranced his horse around, scattering the leaves to hide the telltale blood.

“To me, you lackwits,” he bellowed at the men. “A Blackthorn raider on a gray horse is but a short distance ahead.”

Dougald spurred his mount and led the men away.

While Meghan waited for their sounds to fade, she tore off the hem of her shirt, made a pad, and tied it around her wound.

Close by in the woods, a horse moved with near-silent steps. She stiffened. Held her breath. Had one been more canny than the rest? If so, she would hurl herself down on his back and put her blade to his throat afore he could draw breath.

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“Meghan, lass, ’tis me,” a deep voice whispered. “Dinna pounce on me and slit my throat. Netta would ne’er forgive you.”

“Ah, Mereck, I thought ’twas M’Famhair the men spied.

He is the only giant brown in the Highlands,” she whispered back as she made her way down to a low branch. She sighed with relief when Mereck’s strong arms plucked her off the tree like a dainty flower he feared to bruise.

“Damron and the men will lead them on a merry chase,”

he said as he wrapped her securely in his black cape. “Rest now. Soon we will be home. By the morrow, Bleddyn will have you back to rights.”

After Meghan had stormed out of his room, Rolf thought long and hard. He was wrong. Meghan’s honor wouldna allow her to create such a tale. If she said Ailsa planned to kill him, then ’twas true. He stiffened his jaw and bellowed.

“Cormac!” The lad raced to him. “Awake Dougald and bid him come to Lady Ailsa’s chamber. Then find her brother and do the same.”

Not bothering to scratch on the wood and seek entrance, Rolf slammed open the door to Ailsa’s chamber. “Where have you hidden it?” Rolf ’s angry voice bounced off the walls.

Ailsa knelt on the floor, rustling through her clothing chest.

She jumped to her feet and spun around. All color drained from her face leaving it the waxen hue of a body whose soul had quickly departed. “My lord husband? Hide what?” She reached behind her, gripped the lid, and slammed it down, then stepped back to press her legs against it.

“You know well of what I speak. I want the vial Fergus handed you earlier. Did he also supply you with the love potion?”

“Love potion?” She threw her robe open, exposing her lithe body to him. “What need have I of love potions?”

His glance slid over her body trying to discover if the woman had come to him already with child. His fists con-

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vulsed in fury. As blood surged and heated his face, his heartbeat slammed in his ears. ’Twas fortunate Dougald came to his rescue.

“You asked for me, Rolf ?”

“Aye.” He ordered Ailsa, “Cover yourself, woman!” His nails dug into his palms as he spun to Dougald. “When Alpin arrives, search this room. You may have no need to go farther than the clothing trunk she seeks to protect.” Even to his own ears, his voice was bitter.

Tears streamed down Ailsa’s face as she flung her arms around him. “I have nothing to hide, husband. If aught is in my trunk, your slut placed it there.”

Rolf thrust his arms wide and recoiled, feeling like a snake had wrapped around him. “If ye value your life, ne’er touch me again.”

“Rolf, what goes here?” Alpin’s voice rang with alarm.

“Why do you strike out at my sister?”

“You will see soon enough. Seat her and dinna let her rise.”

Rolf stabbed his hand toward the chair by the window and grabbed deep breaths to calm his rage. As twins, Alpin and Ailsa were closer than most, but she had hidden her treachery well from her brother. Rolf nodded to Dougald.

Dougald rummaged through the chest and quickly found the vials. One was larger than the other. He withdrew the cork on the smaller one and sniffed the contents. Rolf recognized the love potion. The other had an odor unknown to him.

He handed it to Dougald. “Take it below and find a fowl not worthy of the cook pot. Use a twig to put a drop of the potion on its tongue. Be careful you dinna spill it, and dinna touch it with your hands. Report to me what happens.”

Dougald nodded and hurried below.

Ailsa screamed at Rolf. “Last eve, I found Meghan in my room. Fetch her. Beat the truth from her. ’Tis she who placed mandrake there.”

“If you knew naught of it, how did you know ’tis mandrake in the vial?” Rolf crossed his arms and stared at her, his lip curled in contempt.

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A short time later, Dougald burst back into the room carrying a chicken’s carcass by the feet. Alpin turned ashen.

Groaning, he lurched to the window and spewed, then stared at Ailsa as if she were a stranger to him.

“It took but a few heartbeats, Rolf. ’Tis a heavy poison, to be sure.” Dougald looked unsure of what to do next.

“Weakling,” Ailsa shouted at Alpin. “The Blackthorn slut has ruined all my years of planning. From the first, Rimsdale should have been mine.” She turned on Rolf, her eyes gleaming with madness. “That whining Ingirid was not worthy to be your wife. She didna fight but blubbered like a bairn when Fergus dragged her to the stairs and shoved her. Garith was too much the weakling to fend him off. All mewling cowards.

I would have rid you of them. Our bairn will be strong. Look!