by Mary Wine
None of that mattered to her. What warmed her heart and sent tears into her eyes was the way the man had winked at her. He approved of her. Coupled with the affection Norris had expressed for her, there was nothing else to long for. Life was perfect.
***
The musicians of Dunrobin lifted their instruments the moment the earl emerged from his private chambers. They filled the great hall with bursts of music as the people enjoying the evening meal stood in respect for their laird.
“Let us enjoy this fine meal, Mistress MacLeod.”
Lytge sat down and didn’t seem to notice the flurry of activity behind him as his pages returned. His goblet was filled, and the maids began to bring the food back from where it had been warming in the kitchens. Once again, the cook appeared to watch his laird.
“Mistress Fraser has retired for the evening,” Asgree informed the earl softly.
“How fortunate,” he muttered low enough to keep his words from drifting too far. Daphne’s eyes widened, which earned her another wink as he sampled the ale in his goblet and began to partake of the supper before him.
“Eat, lass! Ye look frail enough to blow away with the winter winds.” He used his knife to deposit a serving of meat on her plate, laughing when she tried to protest. “Nonsense, it is nae too much. Sutherland is a demanding land. Ye will need strength here.”
He waved at the musicians, and the hall filled with the sounds of the bagpipes and the clàrsach. Men at the lower tables began to keep time with the music, and some of the women rose to dance. Soon tables were moved aside so the younger girls might high step on their toes while their skirts twirled.
Daphne smiled and clapped in time. But she failed to completely forget Sandra Fraser was nearby, just waiting to do her best to destroy everything Daphne held dear.
***
Deigh Tower was gloomy. Clarrisa frowned, trying not to curse her departed guests, but she failed. She sighed. There would be penance for certain later when she confessed her sins, but for the moment, she cursed Sandra Fraser for the mess the girl had made.
How had Sandra known it was Norris Sutherland arriving? The question needled Clarrisa throughout the day as she reflected on the previous night’s events and had trouble recalling the moment she had fallen into bed. She was not normally prone to such lapses in memory, and when she considered she had partaken of only a single glass of cider, her mind refused to let the subject go. Her suspicions refused to allow her peace until she made her way to the back of the kitchens where the stillroom was. A large cabinet stood there, with numerous small drawers. It was the spice cabinet. Clarrisa gently pulled on each handle, making sure all the locks held. They did, confounding her, because it was the only place the more potent compounds were kept: compounds that might ease suffering and take an injured person into sleep in spite of pain; compounds that might make it difficult to recall the night before.
A loud sound drew her attention. She listened to it for a long moment before following it. The stone hallways of the tower made the sound echo. She’d lived at Deigh Tower only for half a year and was still learning the maze that made up its kitchens and storerooms. The sound drew her around a corner and then down another passageway until she smelled the scent of yeast from the cellar.
Clarrisa peered inside to see the brewmaster sound asleep in the corner. The man was leaning up against a wall, perched on a stool. She moved closer to him and snapped her fingers near the man’s ear, but he snored on. In his hand was a mug of half-drunk cider, the barrel nearby. Suspicion rose back up inside her, for she recognized the scent of the cider. The man would never open a new barrel without permission; however, he might finish off one the laird would think empty after entertaining guests.
“Mistress?” Her head of house’s voice came from somewhere down the passageways. “Mistress? Where are ye?”
Clarrisa moved back toward the door. “I am here… in the cellar.”
Edme would send her husband’s retainers looking for her if she failed to answer, because every castle had its spies. Clarrisa wasn’t surprised when Edme appeared with two men close on her heels.
“If ye needed something from the brewmaster…” Edme’s voice trailed off when she caught sight of the passed-out man in the corner.
“He will nae wake,” Clarrisa said loud enough for her words to bounce between the stone walls. She lifted the mug cradled in his lap and sniffed the contents. “This is the cider from last evening.”
Edme took the mug and sniffed it. She also tasted it before passing it to the men behind her. One of them knelt down and clapped his hands next to the brewmaster’s ear. The man roused only partially before renewing his snoring.
“I’ve known this man since we were lads, and he never sleeps so soundly.”
“I suspect foul play, as well.” Clarrisa moved closer to the cask. “Pry off the top.”
The man was happy to comply, even if his expression was dark. He pulled a tool from where it rested on the wall. Using a mallet, he hammered the steel rod under the lid until the wood splintered and the top came free. When he lifted the top away, they all peered into the barrel, but there was nothing but cider.
“Poor the contents into an empty barrel,” Edme ordered. “Slowly.”
There were only a few inches of cider left, and it took a brief moment for the small bundle of cloth to be discovered. Edme picked it up and placed it on the table used for smaller bottles of French wine. One of the men offered her a knife, and she used it to open the packet. She spread out the contents, inspecting them closely.
“A sleeping draught,” she announced.
Clarrisa looked back at the brewmaster, frustrated by the fact that she could not wake the man. Every second he slept offered the culprit more time to escape.
“I needs speak with me husband. Place a man here, and tell me the moment the brewmaster awakens. We must know who had the opportunity to place that in the cider.”
Truly, she already knew. A quick look at Edme, and Clarrisa realized the older woman agreed with her. Their opinions alone would not be enough to convict Sandra Fraser. Not in a world run by men, and Bari Fraser was a laird. Norris Sutherland had best say his prayers, for he needed divine deliverance.
***
The cook in charge of the kitchens at Dunrobin looked satisfied—happy even—as Lytge wiped his lips on a linen napkin and nodded enthusiastically.
“The man is gifted, I tell ye, Daphne.” He leaned closer to her. “Artists have the most unpredictable tempers.”
“So I have heard.”
The earl winked and drained his goblet. He let out a pleased sound before standing up to address his people. The hall went silent.
“A fine meal, Master Cook, one… I…”
He stopped and cleared his throat, but when he opened his mouth to continue, all that came forth was a strangled gasp for air. Lytge struggled to draw breath. His body shook as he failed to fill his lungs. He braced one hand against the tabletop and slowly collapsed. His men began rushing toward him; they couldn’t help him. Lytge Sutherland fell to the floor, and as he suffocated, his face turned purple. Women screamed and men cursed. The head table was turned over and its dishes scattered down the stairs as more men tried to get close enough to the earl to aid him.
Daphne was pushed back. She wanted to help; every muscle in her body was straining with the need to offer assistance. However, there was no way past the solid wall of men surrounding Lytge.
“Ye did nae have to poison him…”
Daphne turned. Her mouth dropped open as she came face-to-face with Sandra. She had no idea where the girl had come from, but her complexion was red and her hands clenched into fists.
“Ye did nae have to poison my father-to-be! It is nae his fault ye have no dowry!”
“I did nae…”
Her words wer
e overshadowed as Sandra continued to scream at her, and she wasn’t alone. Other women pointed at her, rage contorting their features. Cam pushed her behind him. He and Isla seemed the only ones not intent on accusing her.
Despite the tumult, Daphne was more concerned with Lytge. His body contorted, twisting in agony, and his face turned as red as sunset. Men made the sign of the cross over themselves, and women began to pray. Once of his older captains looked up.
“Fetch a priest!”
Silence fell over the hall, allowing everyone to hear the sounds of the men running down the aisle toward the church. Each footfall felt like it pierced her heart.
Seven
Lytge Sutherland surprised them all by living to see the dawn. The priest still gave him last rites, because no one expected him to rise from his bed, except perhaps as a specter. His captains were grim faced as they debated what to do.
Daphne didn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the fingers pointing at her. She paced around the confines of the star chamber, freezing every time she heard the door move. It was impossible not to think retaliation might land upon her.
It ended up being only the wind, but she couldn’t dismiss her fear. It was like a living thing inside her. It felt like a bird, flapping its wings frantically to be free. She paced some more, every moment expecting to hear the bells tolling the news of the earl’s passing. Each hour felt like a year. And yet, part of her wanted to savor every moment, because she feared it might be her last. Many had taken Sandra’s words to heart and looked at Daphne with hate. No one came with wood for the fire, and more retainers had arrived to guard her door.
Damn Sandra and her accusations…
Her temper flared up, keeping her warm, and she didn’t bother to counsel herself to forgiveness. Sandra Fraser would receive no kindness from her. It would seem they had something in common at last. They hated each other. The emotion was so strong it threatened to consume her. Daphne warned herself to keep the blaze of hatred under control, because she would not become like Sandra. Norris was not a possession; he was the man she loved. Nonetheless, it was possible his own people might hang her before he returned. If Sandra had her way, Daphne would never see another sunset.
***
“Enough of this indecision.” Sandra Fraser walked boldly into the private chambers of the Earl of Sutherland. His captains were seated there and glared at her for interrupting. “Daphne MacLeod should be hung. Immediately,” she announced. “A message needs to be sent to anyone who would harm a Sutherland.”
There were eight men in the room, all of them wearing three feathers in the sides of their bonnets. Two were pointing up, the third down, declaring their status to the rest of the clan. Sandra refused to allow their rank to intimidate her. Her potion had failed her, so it was up to her to salvage the situation.
“Daphne MacLeod was alone with the earl—”
“So were ye,” one of the captains remarked.
“But he did nae collapse after meeting with me,” Sandra said, defending herself.
“That does nae absolve ye of being the one who poisoned him.”
Sandra drew herself up as regal as a queen. “How dare ye! I had no reason to harm me future father-by-marriage. Daphne MacLeod is the one who needed to make sure Norris did nae have a father any longer. It’s well known Norris respects his father. If his father were gone, she would have the chance to remain here and tempt Norris back into her bed. The MacLeods are destitute. Even a Sutherland bastard would help them bleed Sutherland dry.”
Some of the captains glanced at one another, silently agreeing with her. Sandra walked slowly among them, keeping her steps even and enticing to dull their wits. She drew in a deep breath and ordered herself to relax. This was not the first time she had twisted men into doing her bidding.
“Daphne MacLeod has bled, and Norris knew it before he left.” She turned and looked at them. “He told me how relieved he was to be rid of her hold on him. She doesn’t want to return to her lands and the shame of being a soiled woman. The earl swore to me he was going to see her on her way this morning. That is why she poisoned him, and do nae think she will content herself with only one victim. One of ye will be next, or perhaps meself, if we do nae take action to protect ourselves.”
“Perhaps… we should question her,” one of the captains offered. “And any who might offer evidence in this matter.”
“Aye.”
“A sound action.”
The captains agreed, and Sandra bit her lip to hide her displeasure. She needed more anger from them, more passion. Daphne needed to be gone before Norris returned, or all was lost for her.
***
The cook of Dunrobin had his bonnet completely off and was busy worrying the edge of it with his fingers. The great hall was deathly silent, something he’d heard only in the darkest hours of the night. Most of the benches were full. The day’s tasks were left undone, because everyone wanted to hear what Daphne had to say. Hear her interrogation, actually.
She held her chin up and stood in front of the table where she’d had supper with Lytge the night before. The cook was on one end, while she stood to the left. Yes, in the sinister corner, already convicted it seemed.
“I found her in the stillroom, sure enough, and she never asked permission or made it known she was going in there,” the cook said.
“Did ye have the keys?” one of the captains asked.
“I did, indeed, but we were preparing for a feast, so many of the cabinets were unlocked throughout the day.”
There were whispers in the hall, and the oldest captain slashed his hand through the air. Silence returned immediately.
“Ye are dismissed. Return to the kitchens.”
The next man called was one of the retainers whom Lytge had sent away from his private chamber the night before.
“The earl sent ye away?” the older captain asked.
“Aye, he did. He was in a dark humor,” the retainer answered.
The whispers began again. This time, even a slashing motion wasn’t enough to quiet them quickly. Daphne could feel the noose tightening around her throat. She suddenly resented the years she would be deprived of. Nevertheless, she wasn’t willing to quit.
“I did nae poison the earl,” she stated in a clear voice.
The hall erupted into chaos. Men shouted, and women pointed at her.
“And why in the hell would she have, when I’d asked the lass to wed me before I left?”
People turned around so fast, several ended up sprawled on the floor. Benches toppled over, but Norris didn’t pay any attention to it. He paused for a moment at the end of the aisle, shooting a furious look at his clan members.
“And why the hell are nae the lot of ye in church, where yer jabbering might do me father some good?”
Norris was furious, but he was the finest sight she’d ever seen. Daphne couldn’t stop herself from moving toward him. One of the younger retainers set to guard her put his arm out to stop her. There was a snarl from Norris as he came down the aisle at a near run. “Get yer hands off me wife-to-be!”
The captains had risen, but Norris wasn’t impressed with their show of respect.
The oldest captain spoke up. “Ye should nae shelter her. Even the laird’s family is nae above justice when the crime is one of attempted murder.”
A muscle on the side of Norris’s jaw twitched, and she was sure she had never seen him so angry. He drew in a stiff breath and glared at his father’s captains.
“I am not afraid of their questions,” Daphne insisted. “For I have nothing to hide.”
Norris lifted his hand. Everyone waited on his next words.
“If ye are going to investigate this matter, I am left wondering why me father’s page is nae here?”
The captains looked startled; then o
ne of the younger ones spoke. “We believe the earl was poisoned when he took Mistress MacLeod into his private chambers and dismissed his retainers.”
“The definition of an investigation is that ye question everyone, nae just the person ye would like to find guilty of the crime,” Norris growled. “Ye are finished here, and ye may thank Christ for the fact that Broen MacNicols sent a hawk to Faolan Chisholms with news that had me ride through the night to return home. There would have been hell to pay if ye harmed me bride.”
The young captains ducked their chins in the face of Norris’s displeasure, but the older captain still refused to bow. “If she truly is yer choice, ye must allow this investigation to continue, else there will never be an end to this matter.”
Norris didn’t like what the man had to say, but the whispers that rose up behind him could not be ignored. “Then it will proceed once I’ve had some time to make sure anyone who might have had a hand in this is nae overlooked.”
Gahan suddenly appeared and shook his head. Norris sent a hard look at his father’s captains. “Where is Sandra Fraser?”
Even Daphne was confused, for the girl had been standing nearby just a few moments ago. An icy touch settled on her nape, and she pointed to where Sandra had last been.
“Find her,” Norris barked. Gahan directed Norris’s men while the hall erupted into movement.
Daphne didn’t get a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, because Norris caught her up against him, squeezing her so hard she couldn’t draw breath. She didn’t care. It was the most perfect embrace ever. He buried his head in her hair and inhaled.
“I’m so sorry, lass. I swear I will never leave ye so unprotected again.”
She trembled, wanting nothing more than to remain in his arms, but the activity around them stole his attention. He stepped back and cupped her face. For a single moment, his expression softened.
“Forgive me, lass, but I can nae leave yer safety to chance.” He rubbed her cheeks for just a moment before releasing her. “Gahan, make sure she is secure. I must see me father.”
