“I came up here to see if ye wanted to have some wine with me.” Dougal crossed his arms, anger radiating off his body. He was one of the very few men in the Castle Freya was afraid of. “I heard it all. So, it was ye all along?”
“Ye have it all wrong.” Just like that, the surprise was gone. He was calm and collected once again. “I dinnae say everythin’ since I dinnae need to, seein’ that I was talkin’ to Freya and she already kens. But now that ye’re here, I suppose I can explain.”
Dougal went after him. Freya took a step toward them, but she saw a hand lift to ward her off as Dougal grabbed him by the collar, nearly picking him up off the ground. “Ye have nothin’ to explain,” Dougal hissed. “I’ve heard it all clear as day. Ye are guilty!”
“Ah, I see why it may sound that way to ye, but I promise ye, ye will understand it all when I explain. How about we have some wine? It may calm ye.”
“I shall prepare it,” Freya knew what she needed to do.
Yet she did not move, not until Dougal finally let him go. He was not convinced in the slightest, but he was willing to listen and that was all that mattered.
“There is nothin’ ye can say to make what I’ve heard any better,” Dougal grunted. He stood closely to him, as if he were ready to grab him and drag him down the hall if needed.
Freya knew he was more than capable of it and her heart fluttered with fear at the possibility.
“Freya, would ye mind?” he called to her gently and she nodded. She would not have to go far. He always had wine in his bedroom.
“Come, Dougal,” he said. “Sit with me, at least.”
She moved over to the sideboard on the other end of the room and poured two goblets full of wine. She lingered over them, knowing that neither of them was paying her any mind. It gave her the time and space to do what she had to.
Ensuring that she was ready, she loaded them onto a tray and brought them over to them. Now, she could see his face a bit clearer, as handsome as he was the first day that she had met him. She wished she had been able to kiss him just once before his confession about Jonet.
He took his goblet and Dougal reluctantly took his. Freya knew there was no way he would be able to talk his way out of this one. He was quite adept at such things, but all he had said had been far too incriminating and it appeared as if Dougal had overheard quite a lot.
She moved over to her spot on the bed and stared at Dougal.
There was one thing he had in common with the Laird. He drank when he was angry. By the time she had made it back to the bed, he had drank half of his wine already. She watched him finish it, satisfied.
He wiped his mouth and glared. “Alright, tell me whatever it is ye want to say. Let’s see if this is really such a misunderstandin’.”
There was no response. Perhaps Dougal wanted there to be a logical explanation for his words. Even though they had been very direct, with little room for misunderstanding, Freya thought for a moment she had seen a twinge of hope in Dougal’s eyes.
That was all she saw of those eyes before they rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor.
Chapter 25
The sky was bright in the morning. White, fluffly clouds had rolled through a sea of blue, protecting the Castle from the angry rays of the sun. A gentle breeze wafted over the stone walls; the ones that now felt colder than ever, but perhaps that was simply the chill Jonet could not be rid of.
The beauty of the world around her, even as day fell into night, was marred by the jaunty tunes, marking the day Dougal would be laid to rest. The ceremony was a happy one, focusing solely on the acheivements of the war chieftain, and as scotch and whiskey began to flow, the lingering air of sadness was shoved to the background.
Jonet could not do the same.
She moved through the motions, the rituals of such an important burial, the way she should. She was not only the Laird’s daughter, but the niece of the war chieftain. No matter how he had died, he had lived a long and fulfilling life. He should be honored and that was exactly what the Laird was determined to see through.
Jonet listened to her father’s booming laughter over the noise in the dining hall. The table was laden with food and her mind idly drifted to Christal, wondering how she fared having taken care of most of the meals. Jonet lifted her own tankard of scotch to her lips, but she tasted very little. She felt numb, every inch of her no longer working as intended.
I should at least try to pretend that I daenae want to vomit.
With all her numbness, she thought it rather ironic that she felt the bile burning the back of her throat. She had been in a haze ever since she had heard the shouts and chaos once Dougal had been found. It had been a few days ago, but Jonet remembered it all in clear detail.
She had been standing by the window in her bedroom, remembering how Georgie had put himself in harm’s way to save Matthew’s life. The noise that erupted throughout the Castle had cut straight through her.
She had thought: This is it. He’s dead. Whoever wanted him dead has won.
Jonet had stood frozen to the spot listening to the chaos, not wanting to leave her room. She did not want to find out that she was right, that Matthew was dead. A hole had begun to carve its way into her chest, merging with the ones Henry and Murdock had left behind. She did not think she would survive after this one.
Then he had burst into her room, frantic. He had spotted her by the window and the relief that had washed over his face had surged within her with as much fervor. Her knees had buckled but he was there, scooping her up, wrapping his arms around her, burrowing his face into her hair.
A few minutes later they had learned of who had actually died. That hole tearing through her chest did not let up.
It was poison. Dougal had been found lying haphazardly off his bed, his door ajar. Whoever had done the deed had done so hastily, frantically, and had not taken as much care as they had for the others. Jonet did not know what that meant. She did not know if Dougal had been an intended target, or a spur of the moment decision, which would explain their sloppiness. Perhaps the killer was growing impatient, or angry. Whatever it was, it had only made them more dangerous.
A hand slipped around hers and Jonet let out the breath she had been holding. Matthew’s comforting presence calmed her a bit of her unease, surrounded as they were in such comraderie.
“Christal has asked that I give ye this,” he said to her, holding out a plate. Jonet hoped it was a pastry, a guilty pleasure to ease her perturbation, but it was covered instead with meat, potatoes, and sausages. “Ye havenae eaten all day,” he urged her to take the plate. “Ye’ll collapse if ye daenae put somethin’ in yer stomach soon.”
Jonet stayed silent. She took up a sausage and bit into it, chewing without thought. Like the scotch, which had been taken away from her with Matthew’s deft hands, she did not taste it at all.
She stared at her father, sitting at the head of the large table. His hearty laughter did not fool her, but she knew it was what needed to be done, his last tribute to his fallen brother. Their relationship had been odd, filled with fierce competition and quick verbal jabs. Yet Jonet knew that, had he been given the chance, her father would have taken the poison in his brother’s stead.
The thought brought tears to her eyes.
“How many more, Matthew?” she murmured. She felt his eyes on her, his presence always so close, always so comforting. If it were not for the fact that his nearness gave her strength, she would have fallen apart already.
“How many more will die because of me?”
Matthew said nothing because he knew consoling words were not what she wanted to hear. She had heard them enough. Her question was aimed at herself for the most part, a quiet convinction that she could not sit on her hands and allow someone else to die before this person was caught.
She looked up at Matthew and he gazed back down at her. She wanted to tell him to leave. When she had heard of Dougal’s death, crumpling in his arms as she wa
s seized by her tears, her first thought was to ask him to go. To chase him out if she needed to. Another death was on her hands, simply because she was too selfish to face her life without him.
“Matthew…”
“Daenae even say it, Jonet.” Sequestered as they were in the corner of the dining hall, he leaned over and pressed a tender kiss in between her brow, as if to smooth away the frown that laid there. “I willnae go. I cannae. Nae now when ye are in such danger. I love ye and I will stay by yer side until the end. I willnae let ye try to push me away again.”
“That is very nice to hear, but that isnae what I was goin’ to say. I wanted to ask if we could slip away somewhere.” She smiled softly.
Matthew’s eyes noted surprise, but then he smiled. “If that’s what ye want. But ye really should eat.”
To make him feel better, she finished off her sausages and half the potato before she rested the plate to the side. She took him by the hand and led him out of the dining hall.
She thought of going to her mother’s room. Rinalda, stricken by sadness for her brother-in-law’s death, was weaker than ever. Jonet thought she should check on her, knowing her brave mother would be regretting that she could not attend his wake.
Yet her steps led her in a different direction. Jonet did not know where she was going until they were almost there. Soon, she arrived at Dougal’s bedroom.
She gasped silently when she saw Jonathan inside.
The young man did not see them enter. He was standing by the bed, staring down at the mattress, right in the spot where Dougal had been found. As she drew closer, she saw a silvery tear fall to the floor.
“Jonathan,” she called tenderly.
He started at the sound of her voice. Turning his head, he quickly wiped at his tears before he faced them, sniffling.
“Ye werenae suppose to see me like this,” he said.
“Ye have every reason to be sad,” she spoke softly, coming to his side. She took his hand, staring at the spot as well. Dougal’s bed had been put back together, but it could not erase the memory of how he had been found: slung halfway off the bed, sheets pooling beneath him, no honor in his death.
“I shouldnae be cryin’ though,” he shook his head. “I should be in the hall, celebrating the life he had lived.”
“I came to get away from it all too,” she nodded. She heard Matthew behind her, but he was not close with Jonathan. There was nothing he could say to comfort him.
“He was as good a teacher as he was a war chieftain,” Jonathan went on. “He gave me a chance when I was no one. How could someone like him be… gone?”
His anger came fast, shocking Jonet to step back. He threw a fist into the wall, one that nearly shook the room.
“It doesnae make any sense!” he hissed.
Jonet stared at Jonathan’s red face and felt despair come over her. It mingled with her own breed of anger. Somehow she had put her faith in the killer, thinking that she and Matthew were the only ones in danger. She felt something akin to betrayal for the death of somene who did not deserve it.
“I’m sorry.” As quickly as it came, Jonathan’s anger went rushing out of him. He sagged, running a shaky hand over his face. “I shouldnae have done that. I should… I should head down to the dinin’ hall.”
“Jonathan…” He lifted a hand to ward her off, escaping through the door. Jonet sighed, turning to Matthew. Without a word, he embraced her. “What do ye think happened?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
“I daenae ken,” he sighed. “I wish I did, but… it doesnae make any sense. Why would they go after Dougal?”
Jonet brought her thoughts to a sharp focus, shoving aside the sadness, terror, and rage she felt burning within her. “I have been thinkin’ about it all day. And I can only think of two reasons why they would want to kill him. Either they are getting’ rid of anyone who is tryin’ to find them, which terrifies me. Or…”
“Or Dougal found somethin’ and they wanted to make sure he couldnae say anythin’.”
Jonet let out a shuddering breath at his words. It was the only one that made the most sense to her. Dougal had been by her side for years. Why would they want to kill him now, if not for the fact that his investigation had been far more fruitful than anyone else’s?
“Do ye think she did it?”
Matthew shook his head. “I daenae ken.”
The maid who had found Dougal had disappeared during the disorder once more people began arriving to the bedroom. That had only served to mark her as guilty. Her father had acted in a fit of blind rage, one that did not seem very obvious past the ice in his voice as he issued orders to find her.
“I hope she hasnae gone far,” she stated. “I want to talk to her. There is somethin’ about it all that doesnae sit well with me.”
“I understand. But ye arenae goin’ to think about it anymore tonight.”
“I’m nae?”
“Aye, ye are headin’ straight to bed. Daenae think I havenae noticed that ye havenae been sleepin’ either.”
She lifted a brow at him. “My, if ye kent all this, it’s a wonder ye managed to keep quiet about it all this time.”
“I was hopin’ some time would help,” he slid his hand down to capture hers. He led her from the room, closing the door gently behind him. “But now I ken that if I daenae stop ye, ye’ll just keep goin’ until ye cannae go anymore.”
“Is there anythin’ so wrong with tryin’ to find me uncle’s killer?” Jonet’s tone was mild, not at all annoyed by what he was saying. The mere mention of sleep made her weary on her feet. Indeed, ever since Dougal’s body had been found, she had neither slept nor ate. The sausages were beginning to churn her stomach, but she ignored the feeling.
“I daenae ken how ye expect to find anyone when ye can hardly walk straight on yer own.”
She certainly was leaning rather heavily on Matthew. She was also not paying any attention to where she was going, hardly seeing the walls and windows that went by.
“That’s because I ken ye will take me where I want to go.”
“Aye.” Without warning, Matthew scooped her into his arms. Jonet let out a half-hearted yelp. “Daenae fight me, Jonet. It’s easier this way.”
“I ken.” She rested her head on his shoulder, listening to the soft padding of his feet as he brought her to her room.
He did not put her down when he arrived. He brought her over to the bed and laid her there. He sat and proceeded to undo the braids Freya had put in earlier that day. Jonet said nothing. She only stared at his handsome face, letting that familiar warmth rush through her.
When he was done, he fanned her hair out around her and took her hand. He leaned down to give her a tender kiss on the cheek. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Matthew began to rise. Jonet did not allow him to go far, tightening her grip on his hand. “Stay,” she whispered.
He stared down at her for a few moments before he nodded. That was when she decided to let go. She did not take his eyes off him as he rounded the bed and climbed in beside her, pulling her into him.
It had been their routine ever since the Laird told him to keep her close by, but no day had comforted her so much as today. Fast acting tears ran down the side of her face, ending up lost in her hair.
She made sure her voice would not crack before she said, “I love ye, Matthew.”
He gathered her even closer. “I love ye too. And we will get through this.”
I hope so.
Within seconds, Jonet fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, carrying his promise into her dreams.
She did not know how long she was sleeping when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her away. Jonet opened her eyes, squinting into the darknes. Much like the morning, the clouds seemed to be shielding the light of the moon, bathing the room in shadows.
Even so, she managed to make out the familiar outline above her.
“Freya?” Her voice was raw, groggy. “Did somethin’ hap
pen? What is it?”
She began to sit up, growing a little panicked. Matthew shifted behind her, waking.
In the darkness, Jonet saw Freya shake her head. “Nothin’ happened, Miss Jonet, everythin’ is fine. But, I thought ye would like to ken that…”
Jonet sat up all the way. Her eyes had adjusted enough for her to see the slight frown Freya wore. Despite her earlier reassurance, her heart jumped. “Is it Faither? Did somethin’ happen to him too?”
“Nay, Miss Jonet. But… the maid has been found. The guards have brought her to the dungeons.”
Jonet let the words settle for only a second before she leapt from the bed and took off into a run.
Highlander's Trials of Fire: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 22
