by Amy Harmon
“Did you drink?”
Her breath caught in her throat; she looked at her goblet and nodded as Kellen grabbed her drink and sniffed it then gave his own drink the same treatment.
She heard the whispers. Poison.
Fear gripped her and she slowly stood. “What’s going on?”
The crowd parted and to her left she could see a man on the floor and watched as others helped him to sit up. Moaning and clutching his stomach, he vomited into a bowl that an old woman held to his mouth.
Gillian searched the crowd to see worried and fearful faces, people crossing themselves, and leaning to whisper to neighbors. She lifted her gaze to Kellen. “Someone poisoned that man? I don’t understand. Why?” she asked, and pressed a hand to her pounding heart.
Kellen didn’t answer but ordered someone to help the healer and make the man comfortable as they carried him out. He instructed Marissa to take the ladies up to their chamber and to stay inside with the door bolted. They were not to eat or drink anything. Kellen scanned the crowd.
Marissa tugged Gillian away.
“Someone was… was… poisoned?” Gillian asked again. “But why?”
“It was your platter that was tainted,” said Marissa. “Your food taster.”
Gillian stopped walking. “A food taster? What do you mean?”
Marissa gave her a push to get her going again. “Lord Marshall is a cautious man. Things are not as they seem here.”
“Someone really wants me dead?”
“You and Lord Marshall, it would seem.”
“But why?”
Marissa shrugged. “’Tis what Lord Marshall will discover.”
Gillian paused to look back at Kellen. He was shouting commands to lock the doors. No one was to leave. He turned to meet her gaze and his was as hard as granite. She shivered and let Marissa drag her away.
* * *
A half hour later Kellen’s fists clenched and unclenched. First someone tried to stab Gillian then poison her? Who? Why? It made no sense.
He could fool himself no longer. When Catherine had tried to kill him, she’d had help; someone had turned her against him, and that someone was now a threat to Gillian. The fact that he’d never found Catherine’s accomplice made this his fault.
Tristan and some of the guardsmen excused a group of servants and approached. “Any witnesses?” asked Kellen.
Tristan shook his head. “None remember who brought the platter; and other than a girl positive she saw demons flickering in the fire, none saw anything suspicious.”
Owen came into the hall and everyone stopped talking to watch his approach. He halted before Kellen and took a deep breath. “Frederick is dead. He could not give a name.”
Tristan swore.
Kellen’s mouth tightened and he looked at the ground. When he’d assigned Frederick as food taster, the man had been pleased to have the important task. No one, least of all Kellen, had truly believed the position a dangerous one. “Question the guards at the gates. Someone must have noticed something.”
The men turned and left.
Who were his enemies? Men he’d bested in battle? Or angered by having the King’s favor? And they’d sent assassins across the whole of England to kill his betrothed? Ridiculous.
He glanced to where Royce stood questioning servants in the middle of the hall. Granted, there was no love lost between them, but Kellen still considered him an ally. Besides, Royce had nothing to gain by Gillian’s death and had not been around when she’d been attacked with the dagger. Kellen headed to join him. “You were seated at Gillian’s side. Did you notice aught amiss?”
Royce gave an angry shake of his head. “Nothing. Would that I could name the blackguard who desires Lady Corbett’s death. I have questioned each of my men and many of the servants and they saw nothing awry. I suspect treachery from the north.”
The Scottish? Kellen doubted it. He scanned Royce’s men, but again, suspicion failed to take hold. Royce would not benefit by Gillian’s death.
“What can I do?” asked Royce. “I would help in your investigation of the matter.”
Kellen shook his head. “We will manage the search.”
Royce’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. The less people milling about the better. But do not hesitate to call upon me if I might be of assistance.”
Kellen followed Royce and his men outside, watched as they mounted up, and wondered at Royce’s earlier assertion. Could it be the Scots? Two of their men resided in his dungeon. But the Scots generally dealt in physical attacks: rescues, ransoms, thievery, and the like. Not poison. And what would Gillian’s death profit them? If they murdered a lady, their men would be executed, there would be war, and they could gain nothing by antagonizing England. If they wanted their men back, they had only to return the cattle. Killing Gillian would accomplish naught.
Owen and Tristan returned. “No strangers were seen lurking about, and no one suspicious passed through the gate,” said Tristan.
A growl issued from Kellen’s throat as he went back inside, his men following. He could not fight who he did not see.
Group by group, the stragglers were questioned then sent on their way. The dwindling crowd was a relief after the earlier madness. Kellen headed for the kitchens and, upon entering, found Cook crying. She looked up at his entrance. “Is Frederick truly dead?”
Kellen hesitated, then lips tight, nodded. “Aye. ’Tis true.”
Cook turned away and started cleaning, banging pots and pans, instructing servants to throw out food she had doubtless worked the day through to prepare.
“I am truly sorry about Frederick. I know he was a friend to you. We will find his murderer.” He paused. “Did any come in here who should not have?”
Cook shook her head. “No one came in but Lady Gillian herself. No food left this kitchen poisoned, I can tell you that. I do not let just anyone dally about.” Cook grabbed a piece of cooked meat, lifted it for Kellen to see, and stuffed it in her mouth. As she chewed with difficulty, tears ran down her face.
Kellen put a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you that I do not distrust your loyalty in the least. I have known you my entire life and none could be so entirely above reproach as yourself.”
Cook swallowed, nodded, and wiped her eyes; but the tears continued to flow as she turned away.
Owen and Tristan appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tristan elbowed Owen, and sighing, he pulled Kellen aside. “In considering the matter,” said Owen, “I note that on most occasions, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
He shifted on his feet, his cheeks reddening, but his gaze remained steady. No doubt he thought on Catherine, but Kellen couldn’t care less about her at the moment and only nodded.
“Marissa, her ladies, and Gillian are the newest members of the keep,” said Owen, his tone careful.
Brows rising as he caught Owen’s meaning, Kellen shook his head. “Nay. Marissa and her ladies could have no motive for killing Gillian.”
Tristan and Owen exchanged a glance. “If you were to die, Marissa’s elder son would be heir to your father rather than yourself; but regardless, I agree. I do not suspect Marissa, nor her ladies.”
He hesitated, looked at Tristan who nodded again, then continued. “But Gillian’s sister tried to kill you. Perhaps this day you were the target again, and not the Lady Corbett. The platter was to have fed you both. Perhaps she’d not meant to dine?”
Kellen shook his head again. “I knocked meat from her hand as she was about to eat.”
“But she did not actually partake, did she?” asked Tristan.
“Someone attacked her with a dagger also, remember?” said Kellen. “She is the target.”
Owen took a breath. “We have only her word there was an assassin. A common knife was found and she the only witness.”
Kellen remembered Cooks claim that Gillian had gone to the kitchen before the meal started. Perhaps to arrange something? Immediately he shook his head. If it was Gillian,
she was the best player he’d seen in his life. He’d known Catherine had despised him, but Gillian’s feelings seemed quite the opposite.
But she did continue to try and leave the keep. To visit the rocks and the cemetery. To meet someone? To acquire poison left by another? Did she blame him for her sister’s death? Or for her broken betrothment? Would she have Kellen dead rather than wed herself to him?
His chest tightened and, turning away from his men, he waved a hand. “Go talk with the men. See if they have learned aught.”
They left, but he could not erase the suspicion forming in his mind and burning deep in his stomach. Perhaps Gillian was simply more clever than her sister? Did she think to gain his confidence, draw mistrust from herself, then kill him?
He had never asked about her broken betrothal but thought on it now. If Kellen were dead, would she return to a former love? Or was her father the enemy? Had her father ordered both his daughters to kill him? Did Lord Corbett desire his death?
Closing his eyes tight, he lifted a hand to rub his forehead before turning and heading up the stairs. He needed to speak to Gillian. If she knew anything, he would get it from her.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Why would anyone want me dead?” Gillian paced across the floor to the fireplace, tremors occasionally running through her body. She turned her back to the flames, hoping to capture some warmth. “I mean, poisoning? Seriously? The whole thing is… it’s just… crazy.”
The three ladies, busy with embroidery, looked at each other; and Marissa set her sewing in her lap. “Perhaps it has naught to do with you? Perhaps Kellen has an enemy and you were simply in the way?”
“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Lady Yvonne nodded. “Aye, just so.”
Gillian couldn’t help a laugh and wasn’t surprised when the ladies exchanged another glance. Even she could hear the touch of hysteria. “Then I guess I’d better get back to the right place at the right time. Aye?”
All three sets of brows furrowed and Marissa lowered her sewing once more and motioned toward the maid. “Beatrice, help your lady to lie down.”
Beatrice jumped up, but Gillian hugged herself and snorted. “Yeah, because I’d be able to sleep.”
As Beatrice subsided to her chair once more, Vera shook her head but, needle flashing, didn’t look up. “Sarcasm is never becoming. If you refuse to lie down then why not sit and—”
There was a knock on the door, and Gillian hurried forward; but Marissa, who jumped up faster than Gillian would have thought possible, beat her to the door. She leaned her head close to the wood. “Who is there?”
At Kellen’s harsh but recognizable command, Gillian scrambled to help Marissa lift the bar and open the door.
Once inside, Kellen’s sharp-eyed gaze scanned the room, lighting on each woman. When his attention moved to her, Gillian crossed the space between them, threw her arms around his waist, and pressed her head to his chest. He tensed and, when he didn’t reciprocate or react in any way, Gillian slowly sank away, looking up to meet his harsh gaze.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Frederick is dead.”
Gillian’s hand flew to her throat and she took a step back.
“The food-taster?”
Kellen nodded once.
“It was poison?”
Kellen nodded again and continued to study her, his gaze penetrating.
Feeling vulnerable, she turned away. The room, Kellen, the ladies, everyone and everything suddenly seemed so foreign, unfriendly, and frightening. She pressed a hand to the ache in her stomach and shook her head. “This isn’t right. This just isn’t right. Did he have a family? A wife? Children?” She glanced back to see Kellen shake his head.
“He was unmarried. None will carry his name, though he did have many friends and will be sorely missed.”
Tears filled her eyes. Kellen watched a moment longer before turning to answer the questions Marissa peppered him with.
Gillian pivoted away. The room spun and she grabbed the back of a tall chair to steady herself. People didn’t die of poison. In her whole life she’d never known one person who’d died of poison. But here… Catherine had died, and now a man was poisoned with food meant for them?
She wiped a hand down the front of her gown and stumbled as she walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. She had to get out of there. All along it had been a given that she needed to leave before Edith and her family arrived, but now she needed to go before someone actually killed her.
She lifted a hand to her throat, remembering the dagger. Whether this was about Kellen or not, it felt very personal. Like someone wanted her personally dead. Because she was Kellen’s fiancé? She had to get out of there.
She turned to look at Kellen. The thought of leaving him tore her apart. What if he missed her as much as she was sure to miss him? What if he would go with her if she only had the courage to tell him everything? What if she would be saving his life too?
Kellen was still talking to Marissa but glanced up, as if feeling Gillian’s gaze. “I must needs question Gillian. Alone.”
Marissa hurried forward to put an arm around her. “Now is not the time. Note how pale she is. The girl has been through too much this night. On the morrow is soon enough.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Really. I want to talk to Kellen.”
“Nay.” Marissa’s tone was firm.
After one brief frustrated glance, Kellen turned to the other ladies. “Come. I offer escort to thy chamber. You need not fear, I am well aware of whom the murderer targets.” He looked at Gillian.
Gillian put a hand to her throat. “Do you know something you haven’t told me? Do you know who the poisoner is?”
Kellen stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.”
After they left, taking Beatrice with them, Marissa rebarred the door; and they started to undress, neither speaking as they went about getting ready for bed. Gillian pulled a nightgown over her head. Why had Kellen been so indifferent toward her? He’d been icy cold, his expression grim.
She huffed out a half-sob, half-laugh. How should he act? His friend had just died instead of the two of them. She was freaking out, why shouldn’t he? If only she’d had a chance to talk to him about it, to comfort him over his friend’s death, to be comforted.
“Do you feel unwell?”
Gillian climbed into bed. “I feel sad.”
“That is to be expected. But worry not, Kellen will find the murderer and he will be punished.”
It still wouldn’t change the fact that Frederick was dead, and it didn’t change the fact that Gillian couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t make any more half-hearted plans to go home. She had to go. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about her decision.
Marissa’s breathing grew heavy, and Gillian turned onto her side, tears filling her eyes and dampening her pillow at the realization that this was likely her last night here.
She was going to miss Kellen so much. She wished she could stay. She wished things were different. That she really was Kellen’s fiancé. That they loved each other and could raise a family together. That no one was trying to kill her.
She’d give up a lot to have him: modern medicine, her career, indoor plumbing, and chocolate. But she wasn’t willing to give up her life. Especially since he probably wouldn’t want her anyway once Edith arrived with her bags of gold, her land, and her family connections.
Or would he?
That was the thought eating at her. What if he would choose Gillian if given the chance?
She remembered how he’d looked when he’d left the room. Cold, indifferent, frustrated.
What if that was the last time she ever saw him? What if he were busy in the morning or gone when she got up? What if she never got the chance to ask him to go with her or to say goodbye?
Some time later Gillian slid out of bed to the sound of Marissa’s soft snores. If thi
s was her last chance to see Kellen, if only to say goodbye, she was taking it.
* * *
Kellen had almost talked himself out of his suspicions and was considering his warm bed, when he heard the scraping of a bar being lifted. Immediately tense, he straightened from the wall, moved back into the shadows, and waited.
The door opened and a small figure slipped into the darkness of the hall, her motions furtive and stealthy, the blonde hair that flashed in a slice of moonlight unmistakable.
Trying to rein in his doubt, to excuse her somehow, to squelch the dark suspicions rising within him, he watched and followed silently as Gillian made her way down the hall.
Perhaps she simply wanted to make use of the garderobe? Or mayhap she was hungry? After all, she’d had little supper this eve. None of them had.
But no, she went directly to his chamber and slowly pushed the door open. His jaw clenched, and a slow burn started in his chest as his mouth tightened into a straight line.
He should have known.
He should have known she had no true feelings for him. He should have sensed that beneath the lighthearted and cheerful facade she was a betrayer like her sister.
Did she think to kill him, as well? To finish what she’d tried to accomplish earlier when Frederick had been struck down? Perhaps she thought to stab him in his sleep? Smother him?
When she slipped inside, he was directly behind her, watching by the light of the small fire burning in the hearth, blood starting to throb painfully in his head, fists clenching. Kellen had truly believed in her, in her feelings for him, in their future together.
And it had all been a lie.
Darkness spread inside him, dangerous and vicious, as he watched her approach the bed. She hesitated and he waited for her to act. Was it to be poison dripped into his mouth? A knife? At this point he’d not be surprised if she drew a sword.
She stopped short of the bed, hesitated, then took a step back, seeming almost on the verge of leaving. Had she changed her mind? Did she harbor a small bit of the feeling she’d feigned for him? Had a portion of it been real?
