“And what of her wet clothes?”
“Have the good innkeeper’s wife come to our aid in this matter to preserve the girl’s modesty.”
Fergus nodded and left the room once more returning with Mrs. Inger. The men left the room long enough for the woman to change Amelia into the borrowed nightdress. When she reopened the door, Amelia lay dry upon the bed. The moment they entered she began to convulse once more.
The physician pushed through the door past the innkeeper’s wife to Amelia’s side. He poured the wine into a bowl, along with fifteen drops of laudanum. He placed the bowl to her lips and had Tristan to aid him in rousing her enough that she might drink it. Amelia resisted, but the surgeon would not give up and forced her to drink the contents of the bowl in its entirety.
“Why would someone do such a thing?” Mrs. Inger breathed in fright as she watched the entire ordeal. “How could they do this to a lady of such noble birth?”
“As camphor is not a poison that leads to instant death it would appear that the lady’s enemies wished for her to suffer, or perhaps they meant only to scare her unaware of the medicine’s deadly qualities. Either way, whomever has done this most likely used a bitter food or drink to administer it to conceal the taste.” The surgeon turned to Tristan. “Were you anywhere in the last day or so that such a thing could have taken place?”
“Aye,” Fergus answered. “We stayed at an inn farther north o’ here last night and at the Duke o’ Slantonshire’s estate the night afore that.”
The surgeon nodded. “’Twould be no trouble at all to slip something such as camphor into her tea or ale, both if strong enough would conceal the bitter taste. Camphor poisoning can pass itself as many other ailments. I would not have known what it was myself had I not seen it before. I will remain here with her through the night. The wine and laudanum will need to be administered at moderate intervals until the poison has passed from her system.”
“Will she live?” Tristan’s heart pounded with fear and fury.
“Only time will tell.”
Chapter 12
“Fergus, have a missive sent to Henry right away. Pay what you must to see that the messenger does not spare the horse. I am afraid that you will not be able to rest the night here but must ride like the wind to Canterley to warn Jonathan of the danger. They are both at great risk.”
“Aye,” Fergus nodded in agreement and left the room at once.
“It would appear that you are plagued with enemies, My Lord.”
“Yes, enemies of the vilest kind.”
“I would say so to harm a lady. Were you to find the men responsible, I would gladly serve as witness to what I have seen here today before the magistrate.”
“I thank you, …”
“Greene. Phineas Greene”
“I thank you, Phineas Greene. We may have need to call upon you yet for such a task.”
The physician bowed graciously and returned to his work with Amelia. They worked tirelessly through the night to save her as she faded in and out of consciousness. At times she would fight them, at other times she would cling to Tristan’s arms as if he were the only thing that kept her planted to the earth. She called out to Grace in her delirium along with prayers to God that he might have her life if only he would save her sister’s life in exchange.
Tristan’s heart broke time and time again as the tides of Amelia’s misery ebbed and flowed between convulsions and lethargy. “Is there not more that can be done? The wine and laudanum do nothing but make her sleep in drunken stupor when it is not causing her to expel the contents of her stomach.”
“Nay, there is nothing else that I can do. Either the remedy will work, and she will recover, or it will not, and the lady will perish. I am sorry, My Lord, but that is the truth of it.”
Tristan balled his fists and imagined his hands wrapped around the throat of the men who had done this to her. He knew it had to have been the kidnappers. No one else would have had cause to do her such harm. Whether they meant it as a warning or for it to lead to her death he did not know, but he would have gladly killed them all for either reason. The image of him killing the men who had attacked her flashed through his mind and he wished a similar fate on the men who had caused her current calamity.
He knelt at the head of the bed and whispered in her ear. “I will find the men responsible for this and bring them to justice. They will pay for what they have done to you and your family.”
“Tristan,” she whispered. Her voice was unsteady, her gaze unfocused.
“I am here,” he moved to within her line of sight. She reached up and he took her hand in his.
“You must go on without me. You must save Grace,” she half pleaded, half commanded.
“Nay, I will not leave you,” he swore. Bringing her hand to his lips, he placed a kiss upon it. “Henry and your father have the ransom well in hand. I will remain here with you until you are able to travel, then I will see you back to your home safe in your family’s arms.”
Amelia stared at his lips, her eyes glazed by large quantities of laudanum and wine. “No sooner shall Grace return, but that Henry will take her away again. She is to be wed, and all else will fall to the wayside. My duty to my mother will be done. One would think it to be a relief, and yet my heart feels as if it is being ripped from my chest.”
Tristan knew that she was not cognizant of her speech, and had she been she would not have spoken such, but he also knew that in her haze some truth had been revealed. “She will always love you,” he reassured her knowing it was not enough to ease the pain.
“She could be lying dead somewhere, and I lie here concerned for what the future will hold without her once she is a bride.”
“It is understandable.”
“It is unforgivable.”
“Nay, never.”
Her gaze wondered up to his eyes and she tried to focus. “You are too kind to me.”
“No such thing.”
“Yes, you are,” she nodded drunkenly hiccupping slightly. Tristan fought the urge to chuckle over the adorable sound. “Fergus says…” her words wondered off for a moment.
“What does Fergus say?”
“He says a lot of things,” she murmured drifting back toward sleep.
Tristan did chuckle then. “Yes, he does.”
Her eyes fell closed once more and her breathing grew more even. Tristan moved to rise but was stopped by her squeezing his hand. “Fergus says that you love me,” she murmured, then was asleep.
Had Fergus been there in that moment Tristan might have punched him in the mouth. Blathering Scotsman! He leaned over her and kissed her forehead then moved back out of the surgeon’s way so that he might assess her condition.
“The fever has broken.”
“Will she live?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Thanks be to God,” Tristan sighed in relief.
“It will be several days before she will have the strength to travel.”
“I will remain here and watch over her. I thank you for your aid. ‘Tis due to your own quick hand that she lives.”
“And your own diligent service,” Phineas Greene stated. “She is a very fortunate lady indeed to have a man such as Your Lordship as a friend.”
“Thank you.”
“I believe that she is out of danger now, so I will leave you, but you should continue to administer the treatment a few more times to be sure. Now remember to call on me if she worsens or if you find the men responsible and need a witness. No one should be forced to suffer as she has this night. I will return before the day is through in reassurance of her recovering state.” Phineas Greene bowed in farewell then left the room.
Tristan looked down upon Amelia’s sleeping face and traced the pale drawn lines with his eyes. He had not slept since leaving Slantonshire as the incident with Amelia had robbed him of his sleep at the first inn and her illness at the second. Throwing a blanket down upon the wooden floor at her bedside, Tristan lowered
himself to rest. He groaned as his muscles attempted to relax against the hard surface with little success. The strain of the last days coursed through his body in painful reminder of all that they had endured.
He closed his eyes in hopes that sleep would swiftly claim him, but his concern for Amelia kept it at bay. He tossed and turned in restless frustration. How can one be robbed of sleep for so long and yet still not give way to its call? Sitting up he leaned his back against the side of the bed and stared into the flames of the fireplace. He sighed rubbing his face fiercely as if he could somehow remove all worry. Amelia stirred beside him pulling his attention back to her form.
Rising, he plied her with the prescribed medicines. He prayed that the surgeon was indeed correct in believing her to be on the mend and that the cloud he saw upon her visage was nothing but the wine and laudanum at work. He smoothed the sweat-dampened hair from her brow with a cooling cloth. Her fever had lessened but had not been entirely eliminated. He feared that the physician might have been premature in his pronouncement that it had broken. Amelia moaned in misery.
“Shh, hold on, my love. Hold on.”
* * *
Grace lay upon the cold stone floor of the broch shivering to the point that she feared her teeth might shatter. During the day she stood unsheltered from the sun, while at night under the north Atlantic chill she felt as if she might perish from the cold. The stone offered her body little comfort, its gray surface marred by the stain of her blood as she had tried and failed to pry the stones loose allowing her escape. She turned her face up to the clouded sky and cried out in silent query to the heavens.
Why have you forsaken me to such a fate? Have I not been a dutiful daughter, sister, and friend? Have I not guarded my virtue and my tongue with equal measure? Have I not brought my father’s house glory and renown through my betrothal to the Duke of Slantonshire? Why do you punish me so?
She stood gazing up at the empty blue-gray sky, the gift of answer refused to her. She had begged and pleaded for her captors to release her, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. So too had God given her little credence but to spare her life up to this point. Not a small blessing and yet her circumstances found gratitude to be a difficult thing to achieve. Grace had never felt more alone or afraid in her entire life than she had in the days since her abduction and she could see no end in sight.
In recent days she had begun to feel her sanity slip as lack of sleep and fear plagued her sensibilities. In an effort to keep herself from falling further into despair, she recalled to mind every memory of her life that she could manage to summon. When such failed her in the end, she turned to recitation of poetic verse and the creation of her own where remembrance fell short. Such past times were only temporary measures and she soon returned to prayer for salvation from her torment.
Her kidnappers provided her with food and water enough to keep her alive, but nothing else. They did not speak to her more than to demand her silence. Occasionally a bird or insects would visit her for a time, and she envied their ability to come and go as they pleased. My life has come to such as this, holding envy in my heart for the freedom of an insect. Were it Amelia in my place, I cannot help but wonder would she have fared better. Would she have found a means to escape or perhaps even slit their throats afore being delivered to this desolate place?
Grace could not help but to wonder what her elder sister did with her freedom. She knew Amelia would do all within her power to see that Grace was sought after with fervor, but she also knew that their father would not allow Amelia to do anything but remain at home to pace the floor. By now her father would have given up searching in favor of paying the ransom. If anyone still sought her outside of such an agreement at all she hoped it would be her beloved Henry.
Oh, Henry… Please find me for if you do not, I shall surely perish upon these stones.
Chapter 13
When word reached Jonathan of Amelia’s plight his heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. “Both of my sisters have been torn from our family’s home one by will, the other by force, and yet both of their fates lie within the hands of the willful cruelty of brigands.”
“And those o’ God,” Fergus reminded. He had brought the news of Amelia’s health to Canterley with all haste. “Dinnae count Lady Amelia or Lady Grace as lost, My Laird. There is still hope o’ the ransom for Lady Grace, and Lady Amelia is under the care o’ a physician as we speak.”
“Does she yet stand a chance at life?”
“Aye,” Fergus forcefully answered. “Always, My Laird. Lady Amelia is a lass o’ spirit and strength. She will fight tae the verra last breath. She kens nae other way.”
“Pray God that she will not be forced to do so. Her last breath should be long in coming, when her hair has turned white with the snows of age and her fair skin marked by the tides of time. Preferably long after I am gone, for a brother should never be forced to see the loss of both of his sisters. Losing our mother was sorrow enough for a lifetime.”
“The Earl remains behind with Lady Amelia and sees tae her care. She will want for nothin’ in the absence o’ her family.”
“And Lady Grace?”
“The cuddies have warned that if we continue our pursuit, they will kill her without a second thought, ransom or nae.”
Jonathan’s jaw clenched in rage and he flung his glass into the fireplace, shards of light scattering upon the floor. “If they harm her in any way, I will see them hanging from the gallows!”
“Aye, they shall dance upon a jib afore this business is done, e’en if I must see them tae their deaths myself.”
“I am grateful to you, Fergus, for your aid in this matter. You are a loyal friend to my sister, even though it was forbidden to you both by my father. I will do all that I can to see that you come to no harm for it upon Father’s return.”
“I thank ye for the kindness, My Laird.”
“Were I could fly to Amelia’s side, but if I were to leave and the letter for Grace should come in mine and father’s absence all might be lost for her.”
“Lady Amelia kens such and would nae wish ye tae place yer sister’s life in danger for hers. She would ne’er forgive either o’ us or herself should ye do so and Lady Grace’s life be forfeit in the doin’.”
“Were she to perish and I was not there with her…” Jonathan shook his head in sorrow at the thought.
“Ye have been left with an impossible choice, My Laird.”
“Impossible,” Jonathan murmured. “How is it that God has seen fit to rain down these miseries upon this house? What have we done to have deserved such a gruesome fate as this? Perhaps, God has no hand in it at all, and it is the Devil himself who has taken a fancy to our humble family.” Anger arose in his throat as bitter bile. “A curse of the worst sort has fallen upon us and I stand here helpless to do anything in its remedy, leaving much to trusted servants and friends rather than my own hands.”
Jonathan paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. He longed to race to Amelia’s side, and yet could not do so or risk the loss of Grace. An overwhelming anger filled him as he wrestled with the pain of it. Fergus stood in silence awaiting his master’s orders. “We must send word to Father. He seeks Grace’s ransom with single-minded purpose, nevertheless he should be made aware of what has happened.”
“If I may speak plainly, My Laird?”
“Yes,” Jonathan waved the Scotsman forward.
“I beg Yer Laird’s pardon, but the Viscount does nae hold the Lady Amelia in any special regard in spite o’ the blood shared between them as faither and daughter. I dinnae believe that he will leave his purpose in London tae return tae her bedside.”
Jonathan sighed nodding. “Sadly, you are correct, but even so I cannot fathom that he would leave her to suffer alone. Even if he were to refuse to return, he must be made aware of the dangers to his own person.”
“Were they tae harm the Viscount they would nae receive their ransom. ‘Tis unlikely that anything will befa
ll him afore the funds have been exchanged, My Laird.”
“Let us hope that you are right, Fergus, for we have suffered enough calamities for a lifetime and it would appear that they are not yet over.”
“Nae, My Laird. I fear that they are nae.”
“Return to Lady Amelia’s bedside and guard her with your life. I place my sister in your care, Scotsman. I send with you my trust and the love I bear my sister. Do not disappoint me.”
“My Laird,” Fergus bowed and left the room, flying to return to Amelia’s side as fast as his horse would carry him.
* * *
“Tristan,” Amelia whispered, her throat sore and dry. Her head pounded in agony as if her skull had been split asunder. Her mouth tasted of sheep’s wool and vomit. The stench of sweat and regurgitated wine filled her nostrils causing her to shudder in disgust. She reached out her hand and felt Tristan’s head lying upon the bed at her side, his back leaning against its edge. The world spun around her and she felt herself fading in and out of consciousness.
The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley Page 11
