Brogan was off his mount before the animal had stopped. He thundered across the ground, his lips pursed together, and murderous rage in his eyes. Solely focused on one man in particular, he found him standing not far from a group of stones, talking to two men.

Reginald looked up to see Brogan stomping toward him. Without warning, he grabbed Reginald by the collar of his tunic and began dragging him away.

“M’laird!” he shouted. “What the bloody hell is the matter?”

Brogan did not stop until they were a good distance from the quarry. He pulled him into a small copse of trees before he let him loose, tossing him against a thick tree.

“What be wrong?” Reginald asked, dumbstruck and confused.

Brogan was seething with fury. A fury he only felt on the battlefield. “I want answers,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I swear to ye, Reginald, if ye once tell me ye will no’ speak ill about yer lady or her uncle, I will kill ye.”

“I do no’ understand,” he said as he righted himself. “What the bloody hell has happened?”

Brogan began to pace before him. “Mairghread,” he began, stopped, and started again. “Mairghread. Somethin’ has happened to her and I do no’ ken what. I left for a few moments, and upon my return, she was …” he searched for the right words to describe what had happen. “She was in such a frenzy!” he exclaimed. “She attacked Tilda, and Liam. They both require stitches. We had to restrain her, Reginald. We had to tie her to the bloody bed!”

The blood drained from Reginald’s face. “I must go to her—”

He did not get two steps away before Brogan threw him back against the tree. “Nay, ye will no’ leave here until I get some bloody answers!”

Reginald’s mouth fell open. “I do no’ ken what happened! I have been here since I broke my fast.”

Brogan shook his head. “Nay, that is not the answer I seek.”

“Then what? What is it ye want from me? And why are ye so bloody furious?”

“I be bloody furious because me wife is locked away in a room, tied to a bed, having lost her bloody mind! I be furious because she is screamin’ at the top of her lungs that she killed her husband and son!”

“And ye believed her?” he asked incredulously.

“I do no’ ken what to believe anymore,” Brogan told him.

Reginald closed his eyes and took in a lungful of air. He expelled it slowly as he shook his head. “Nay, Brogan, she did no’ kill her husband and son.”

“Then why in the name of God is she saying she did?”

“Because her uncle told her so.”

* * *

Brogan knew he should have been more surprised by Reginald’s answer. “Why in the hell would he tell her such a thing?”

“For the life of me, Brogan, I do no’ ken,” Reginald replied.

Brogan ran a hand through his hair as he tried to make some sense out of the afternoon’s events. First Mairghread all but loses her mind for unknown reasons, now this.

“Tell me what ye ken of that night,” he told him. “And do no’ leave out a thing.”

Reginald shook his head. “I was no’ here. I was in Edinburgh.”

“But ye have heard of what happened,” Brogan said, eying him closely.

He was met with silence and a disheartened look.

“Tell me what ye do ken,” Brogan told him. “Leave nothin’ out.”

’Twas painful for Reginald to speak of that night, but he did it anyway. “From what I be told, Gertie heard Mairghread screamin’. No one knew at that time that we were under attack. Gertie went racing’ into Mairghread’s room.” A distant, forlorn expression came to his face. “All I ken is what Gertie told me, fer Aymer refused to speak of it.”

“And what did Gertie tell ye?”

Reginald’s jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. “When she came into the room, Mairghread was still screamin’. Aymer was on the floor next to her. Blood was everywhere.”

“And?” Brogan asked, encouraging him to continue.

“Aymer told Gertie that when he came into the room, he found James and Connell already dead.” He had to clear his throat before he could go on. “He told her he found Mairghread standin’ over the bairn with the knife in her hand. When she saw Aymer, she began to stab herself, all the while screamin’ she had done it. She had killed them.”

Brogan felt his legs grow week. Nay, he told himself. He was unable to stretch his imagination that far, to believe her capable of such a thing. Yet, this afternoon? She had lost her mind, had gone mad, had attacked Tilda, Charles, and even himself.

Could her problems be more severe than an addiction to drink? His mind took him back to that attic room, the destruction, the anger blended with insanity.

“I,” he could not find the words.

“Brogan, on my dead wife’s grave, I swear to ye, that I do no’ believe she did it.”

He raised a dubious brow as he stared at Reginald. Was his love for Mairghread so strong that he could not believe for a moment she was capable?

“Then what do ye think happened?” He finally asked.

“I think Aymer killed them.”

* * *

Brogan wouldn’t know Aymer Mactavish if he came up and kicked him in his arse. He’d never met the man.

But if what he had learned thus far about the man was any indication as to his character, then aye, he could believe him capable of murder. Still, there did linger a twinge of doubt, only because of what Mairghread had done less than an hour before. His fury erupted.

“For the sake of Christ, why did ye no’ tell Mairghread that?” Brogan ground out as he pushed him against the tree again. “Why did ye let her think she was responsible? For all these years, it ate at her soul, turnin’ her into a drunk!”

“What would ye have done?” he asked, his face turning purple with rage. “Were ye in me position? With no one to turn to? With the girl ye love like yer verra own, so overwrought with grief that she could barely remember who ye were at first?”

“Ye could have told her later!” Brogan seethed.

“I tried, but she would no’ listen,” Reginald barked back. “All I could do was watch over her. Try to keep her safe. Try to keep Aymer away from her, from hurtin’ her any further.”

“Why did ye no’ tell me?” he asked, shoving him harder against the tree.

“Because I did no’ ken ye! I had to wait, until I knew ye better. And then ye started to help her, and she was doin’ so well. I did what I thought was best fer her!”

Disgusted, he let loose his tight hold on Reginald’s tunic and set him free.

“When ye started buildin’ the wall, when ye increased the patrols, I thought mayhap, just mayhap I could confide in ye. But then Mairghread gave up the drink. All I could think about this past sennight, was gettin’ her better and buildin’ that bloody wall.”

Brogan’s anger began to wane when he saw Reginald’s sincere distress. What would he have done were their roles reversed?

“Ye say that what we speak of is betwixt only us,” Reginald said after a long length of silence. “I ask that what I am about to say remain betwixt us as well. If Mairghread knew my suspicions, I do no’ ken how she would take it.”

“Ye have me word,” Brogan said firmly.

“Aymer Mactavish is no’ a man to be trusted,” he began.

Brogan grunted.

“He has always called the night James and Connell were killed ‘an attack on the keep’. Two guards were killed that night, along with James and Connell. But no one saw a bloody thing!” He raked a hand through his hair, disgusted for a wide variety of reasons. “No one saw any attackers. Naught was taken that night. The coffers were no’ raided, no horses’ stolen. Nothing but four dead people, and almost a fifth if ye count what happened to Mairghread. She nearly died that night as well, ye ken.” He took in a deep breath before going on. “No’ only do I believe Aymer killed James and Connell, I think he also had a hand in some of the deaths of her family.”

“What do ye mean some of the deaths?”

Reginald sighed angrily. “Wee Walter, drowned in the ocean, his body never found. ’Twas Aymer who came to Donald, Mairghread’s father, and told him he saw the boy floatin’ out to sea, but could not get to him.”

Brogan’s brow furrowed as he listened intently. Mairghread had told him about that death, but these were things she had not mentioned. Was it still too difficult for her to speak about, even after all these years?

“And Charles. Aymer found him dead, his skull crushed upon a large rock, his body broken and twisted. Presumably from his mount spookin’ and throwin’ him.”

Brogan’s curiosity was more than just piqued.

“And Callam? Fell off the cliff’s edge when he was only two and ten. Apparently, he took a walk after dark and fell. And Gavin? He died the exact same way, and in almost the exact same spot as Charles.” He let his words sink in for a time. “I think that be far too many coincidences, do no’ ye?”

Aye, Brogan had to agree there were too many instances to be coincidence. He thought then of the will that Gertie and Tilda had only eluded to. “Tell me about Donald’s will.”

Reginald grunted derisively. “Only Aymer has seen it. And according to him, Mairghread be chief of the clan. But the only way she holds that title is if she be married and has a livin’ heir before her fifth and twentieth birthday.”

Brogan found that information peculiar to say the least. “And then?” he dared ask.

“It all falls to Aymer.”

It all began to fall into place then. He could see it with perfect clarity. Aymer had killed as many people as Reginald suspected, including James and Connell. All so that he could inherit the Mactavish lands, keeps, and holdings.

The bloody bastard.

* * *

His fury returned with the realization that his wife was in grave danger. Looking at Reginald, he said, “I want ye to go to every village within fifty miles of here — one hundred if ye must -- and hire every able-bodied man ye can.”

Reginald stared in amazement.. “Why?”

“We need to finish this bloody wall before Aymer returns. We have what, three months before he gets back from France?”

“If we’re lucky,” Reginald replied.

Brogan stomped across the grass to where his mount was grazing. “Leave at once. Take at least five men with ye. I do no’ care what it costs, but ye find men. Able-bodied men. Bring them back here.” He mounted his horse, and turned to look at Reginald. “Pull the men off the quarry and have them start felling trees. ’Twill be faster to build a wall of wood than stone right now. We will work all day and all night, but we will get it done.”

“Where are ye goin’?” Reginald asked.

“First to Iariann,” he replied gruffly.

Reginald felt just as anxious about Aymer’s return as Brogan did. “And what of Mairghread?”

Brogan pulled rein, and went back to Reginald. “I can no’ believe she just suddenly went mad,” he told him. “There had to be somethin’ that happened. And I be goin’ to find out what the bloody hell that was.”

* * *

Brogan rode straight to the smithy’s barn. Iarainn was working on another cooking pot, which today, infuriated him to no end. Cooking pots!

“M’laird,” she called out as he approached. When she saw the fury on his face, she carefully sat her tools aside and looked at him with an expression of true confusion.

“Beginning immediately, ye are to start forgin’ weapons,” he told her. “Broadswords, knives, dirks, arrows. Ye will no’ forge another cookin’ pot or anythin’ else, do ye understand?”

With furrowed brow, she wiped her hands on her heavy leather apron. “May I ask why?”

He could not very well tell her the truth without clear and convincing evidence. “I have a suspicion that we might come under attack in the comin’ months.”

“Do ye ken by whom?” she asked.

Resting his fingertips on his hips, his anger burning almost as bright as the fire in her forge. “Does it matter?”

Twisting her lips to one side, she thought on it for a brief moment. “I suppose no’,” she replied. “But what am I to tell people when they see me makin’ weapons? Word will undoubtedly get back to Aymer.”

His nostrils flared as his eyes turned to slits. “Aymer be no’ the chief of this clan. Mairghread is.”

“She is well, then?” she asked.

Genuine concern filled her eyes, softening his anger just a bit. “She will be soon enough. But it matters no’. What does matter is that we are defenseless. With no walls, no towers, and no bloody weapons, if we are attacked, there be no way we can win.”

“I have been sayin’ that fer more than three years,” she replied solemnly.

“Then ye be with me on this?”

“Aye, m’laird, I am. But what do I say if anyone asks?”

Frustrated with the hold Aymer had on this clan, he let out a heavy breath. “Ye can tell them to mind their own bloody business! And if they have any questions, they can come see me. Ye are workin’ under Mairghread’s orders.”

“Ye ken word will get to Aymer,” she said.

Waggling his brows and grinning, he said, “I hope the bloody hell it does!”

They spoke for a little while longer. With her orders clear, he took his mount back to the stables and asked one of the stable boys to tend to it. The lad did as asked without question.

As he thundered back to the keep, he made a solemn vow to himself. “I will no’ rest until I find out what happened to Mairghread.”

* * *

He had his answers in less than an hour. They were able to piece together the events that led up to Mairghread’s mad frenzy.

He stood now in the kitchens, speaking with Lowrens, who looked fit to be tied. “I did no’ ken what she was goin’ to do, m’laird, I swear it! I only gave her the hot water and cup she asked for. ’Tis Hargatha. Sometimes it is best no’ to ask her too many questions.” Rubbing the top of his head, he looked positively sickened by the part he unwittingly played. “Had I kent I would ne’er have given it to her.”

Brogan had seen Mairghread moments ago. Though she was no longer fighting as strongly as before, she was still behaving like a woman possessed. Her eyes were glassy and dark, her pupils so large and black one could barely tell she had emerald green eyes.

“I do no’ ken what she gave her,” Brogan said. “I have no idea how to help Mairghread. But none of this be yer fault, Lowrens.”

“I should have kent somethin’ was wrong when she thanked me fer the cup and water,” he said between gritted teeth.

A young lass of no more than four and ten stepped forward. “M’laird,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “I do no’ mean to eavesdrop, but mayhap I can help.”

Brogan lifted a curious brow. “How?”

“Well, me mum, she be a midwife, ye ken. But she be also right smart when it comes to herbs and such. Mayhap she can help ye.”

Brogan needed all of one heartbeat to think on it. “Aye, please!” he told her. “Fetch her straight away, lass.”

She glanced at Lowrens as if asking permission to leave. He rolled his eyes and waved his hands. “What be ye waitin’ fer?” he snapped. “Go fetch Martha!”

The girl didn’t even bob a curtsey as she all but fled from the kitchens.

“Martha be a fine woman,” Lowrens said. “I ken the womenfolk like her. Our lady used to help her with the birthin’s.”

Brogan was relieved to hear it.

“I imagine she’ll be spittin’ mad when she finds out what Hargatha has done,” he added.

Brogan doubted anyone’s anger over Hargatha’s actions would match his own.

Gertie entered the kitchens then. She took one look at Brogan and averted her eyes.

“Gertie,” Brogan called to her. “Come here.”

Like a child being led to a bath, she drug her feet as she stepped forward. Brogan offered her his arm. She gave him a peculiar look before accepting.

In silence, he led her out of the kitchens and back to the keep. When they were inside and he was certain they were away from ears that could overhear, he stopped. “How be Tilda?”

“She has a nasty cut on the top of her head, and one on over her brow,” she replied. “Seamus stitched her and Charles up.”

“Why did ye no’ seek out Hargatha, the healer?”

“Bah!” she exclaimed. “I do no’ trust that woman!”

Brogan nodded his understanding. “Did ye ken that Hargatha had given Mairghread a tisane?” he asked.

Her eyes grew wide with horror. “Nay! I would no’ have let her near Mairghread, m’laird.”

“Do no’ fash yerself,” he told her. “I have only just figured it out myself. She tricked Liam into taking a tisane into Mairghread. She gave him the impression that ’twas on my order, which I can assure ye, it was no’.”

Gertie’s eyes grew wider. “That mean, nasty, foul woman!” she cursed.

Brogan agreed with her assessment of the healer’s character. “The other day, Hargatha told me I needed to call a priest. She said she was certain Mairghread was possessed.”

He watched as her countenance changed, from anger to horror. “Dear, God!” she exclaimed, as if a something had just occurred to her. “Nay,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “Nay, it can no’ be.”

“What, Gertie?” Brogan asked, growing more curious by the moment.

She shook her head and stammered. “When NAME was ill, with the wastin’ disease, she said the verra same thing!”

“I do no’ understand,” he said with a raised brow. “Who said what?”

Gertie swallowed and fought back tears. “When NAME was ill, och, he was just a lad. Only two and ten years old. He came down with the wastin’ disease. Hargatha said ’twas because he was possessed. The day he died,” she could no longer hold back the tears. “He did just what Mairghread did! We had to tie him to the bed! ’Twas as if he was possessed by the devil.”

Brogan’s head began to spin. Was it a poison that Hargatha had given her and not just something to make her go mad?

Brogan regained his composure long enough to give Gertie an order. “Gertie, please, go find one of me men. I do no’ care which one. But find them and send one to me!”

“Where be ye goin’?” she called after him.

“To Mairghread’s room.”

* * *

Brogan raced up the stairs as fast as his legs would allow. He was afraid to ask if this day could get any worse, for he didn’t doubt that it would. When he reached Mairghread’s room, he was covered in sweat and out of breath. Liam was still at his post, but now, he stood inside the room, between the bed and the door. He looked up when he saw Brogan and his shoulder’s relaxed.

“How fares she?” Brogan asked breathlessly as he entered the room in a rush.

“God’s teeth, Brogan!” Liam exclaimed. “I have never seen anythin’ like this in me life.”

Mairghread’s pupils were still large and black. Her body glistened with sweat as she thrashed about the bed, though ’twas no’ nearly as bad as earlier. Her wrists and ankles were bleeding from where she fought against the ropes. But thankfully, she was no longer screaming at the top of her lungs.

Dread, trepidation and heartache were nearly his undoing. Nay, he told himself, ye will be no good to her if ye fall apart now.

“How be Tilda and Charles?” Liam asked in a low, hushed tone.

“Seamus, the stable master, stitched them up,” he told him over his shoulder.

“Do ye ken what happened yet?” he asked.

Brogan let his breath out in a whoosh and raked a hand through his hair. “’Twas Hargatha, the healer,” he said. He gave him a quick rundown of what he knew thus far. The woman had convinced Liam ’twas by Brogan’s order to give Mairghread the tisane. “What we do no’ ken was what was in it.”

Liam began looking about the room, for what, Brogan didn’t know. He was too focused on his wife. Kneeling beside her, he brushed his hand across her forehead. She smelled of sweat, urine, and things he wished not to think of. He felt as though his heart being cleaved in ‘twain. “Wheest, lass,” he whispered to her. “I be here.”

For a moment, but only a moment, she stilled at the sound of his voice and turned to look at him. For the tiniest moment of time, he would have sworn she both heard and saw him. But just like that, she was gone again. Mumbling incoherently, tossing her head from side to side. Her breathing was harsh, as if she had just ran all the way from Edinburgh.

Liam came to stand beside him again. “Brogan,” he said. “I think I ken what she was given.”

Brogan looked over his shoulder, puzzled. Liam was holding the broken cup in his hand. He held it out. “Smell this.”

Brogan sniffed. ’Twas a foul, noxious odor, but he had no clue as to what it was.

Liam took it away and shook his head. “Me brother studied with monks in Italy for a time. He be a healer, ye ken, fer the MacFindley clan, up near Aberdeen way.”

Brogan remembered him speaking of that once.

“I think this be Devil’s Herb.”

* * *

Liam had no sooner uttered the words, than a very bonny woman came rushing into the room. She had dark brown hair, twisted into a braid. Her pale blue eyes held a seriousness that Brogan rarely saw in someone so young. Behind her was the maid Brogan had met earlier in the kitchens. “Ye be Martha?” he asked, just to be certain. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.

“Aye, m’laird,” she replied as she took the cup from Liam. Doing as they had done, she took a sniff, then another. “Aye, it be Devil’s Herb,” she said. “Mixed with a bit of Monkshood.”

Liam’s eyes grew wide with horror. “God’s bones, that could have killed her!” he exclaimed.

All Brogan heard was could have. He shot to his feet. “Will she live?” he asked hopefully.

Martha pursed her lips as she went to the opposite side of the bed. She looked into Mairghread’s eyes, then placed her ear against her chest and listened. “I will do me best, m’laird,” she told him.

“Evelyn,” she said, looking up to her daughter with an outstretched hand. “Give me me bag.”

Reaching across the bed, Evelyn handed her the worn, brown leather bag, then took a step back. “Fetch me a pitcher of cold water, and a pot of boiling,” Martha directed as she began fishing through her bag. “I also need two bowls, fresh linens, and sheets.”

Evelyn nodded and left the room to do her mother’s bidding.

Martha looked up at Brogan. “Evelyn tells me ye did no’ ken what Hargatha was givin’ her?”

“I ordered Hargatha to keep away from Mairghread. I was no’ here when she came back. I would never have allowed her to give her anything.”

Martha studied him closely for a moment. “Ye’ve ordered the rebuildin’ of the wall?”

“Aye,” he replied, though he did not see the importance of that fact.

She snorted derisively. “And ye also want her,” she gave a nod to Mairghread, “to take over as chief?”

Brogan stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I do.”

Martha nodded once, and went back to her bag. “And what do ye plan on doin’ to Hargatha?”

Skirting the truth slightly, he replied, “I do no’ ken yet.”

She humphed once, before turning her attention back to the bag. Carefully, she began removing pouches and jars, and setting them up on the floor at her knees. “If ye be a good and just man, ye’d hang that foul woman.”

* * *

Dumbfounded, Brogan stared at the woman. “Ye think she should be hanged?” he asked.

“Aye, I do,” she replied bluntly. “She does more harm than she ever did good. She walks around like she be the chatelaine of the keep most days. Amputatin’ fingers and limbs where there be no reason to. Tellin’ people they would no’ be ill if they were no’ sinnin’ all the time. Or worse yet, convincin’ them they be possessed.” She shook her head with a good deal of disgust. “And now this,” she said as she looked at Mairghread. “’Twill be a miracle if she lives through the night.”

He felt his chest tighten, as if a hand had reached inside his chest and held onto his heart with the grip of death. Holding his breath, his mind begged him to scream and rail.

Liam stepped forward. “I thought Devil’s Herb usually killed within moments,” he said.

“If given enough, aye, it can. I do no’ ken what she mixed with it.” Martha explained. “I believe I detect a bit of Monkshood too. What I do no’ ken is how much she gave her. The poor woman could lie here for days, dying a slow, painful death.”

Refusing to believe she would die, Brogan shook his head. We can no’ have come this far only to lose her now.

“If that witch had a heart at all, she would tell me how much and what herbs were in that tisane. But I doubt she will. If I only knew, I would be better able to help her.”

Clenching his jaw, he drew his hands into fists. “Hargatha will tell us,” he ground out. “Or she will hang before the sun sets this day.”

* * *

“I do no’ care if ye have to drag her here, kickin’ and screamin’!” Brogan was barking his order to five of his men. Standing on the third floor landing, his face dark with fury, his hands fair shook with it. “Ye find the healer, Hargatha, and ye bring her to me!”

Not one man asked for a reason behind his order. As soon as they left, he headed back to Mairghread’s room. Evelyn had returned with the items her mother had requested earlier. While Martha mixed what she hoped was the right antidote for whatever had been given to her, Evelyn and Liam were straightening up the room.

The smell of bodily fluids was growing worse and he did not know how much longer he could stand it. “Would it be safe to move her?” he asked Martha. “To a room across the way?”

“Ye might wait a bit, m’laird. I do no’ ken if the madness will kick in again.”

Brogan rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, his heart heavy with worry. “Do ye,” he stopped, swallowed once, and began again. “If ye can find the proper antidote, will she…” his words trailed off. He couldn’t bear to ask the question.

“Will she recover her mind?” Martha asked the question for him. “I believe so, m’laird. But again, it depends on what Hargatha has given her.”

Hargatha. Just thinking of her name left a foul taste in his mouth. How on earth … much older and wiser now, he knew there were people on this earth who possessed no line they would not cross to get what they wanted. But this auld woman, who was supposed to be a healer? Nay, that was something he doubted he would ever be able to understand.

“Liam. Evelyn,” he said. “Let us go and set up the room across the hall.”

Each of them nodded and followed him out of the room. Just across the tiny hall, which was really nothing more than a landing, was another small room. Almost identical to the one in which Mairghread now lay. Arrow slits and one small window, cold stone floors and walls, and that was it.

“I do no’ ken where Reginald got the bed Mairghread now lies in,” he said, speaking to no one in particular. A numbness began to settle into his bones. Weary, tired to the point of exhaustion, he stood in the tiny space, uncertain of what he should do next.

“I ken where to get another,” Evelyn offered.

He nodded, but made no attempt to move. Liam placed a hand on Brogan’s shoulder. “Brogan, let Evelyn and me prepare this room, aye? Ye can go sit with yer wife.”

His wife. Aye, Mairghread was his wife and she needed him, even if she had no earthly idea if he was in the room or in Edinburgh. Up until this afternoon, he had no issue with simply sitting with her, getting her through those difficult times. ’Twas something he rather enjoyed, save for when she suffered with hallucinations. Being there for her had given him a purpose. But now, he had the need to move, to be out of those cramped quarters.

“’Tis all right, Brogan,” Liam said. “We shall take care of it fer ye. Now, go. Be with Mairghread.”

* * *

Three hours passed before Brogan received word they had found Hargatha. During that time, Martha had given Mairghread a simple tisane. One that would help settle her stomach and ease the sweating. One of the Mactavish men had come to the fourth floor with word that his men were approaching. Brogan told the young man to have them wait with her in the gathering room.

“Evelyn and Liam can stay with her,” Martha said told him. “I want to speak to Hargatha myself.”

Brogan believed that might be best, for he certainly had no knowledge of herbs or healing. “I think that be a verra good idea.”

Together, he and Martha left the room. On the way below stairs, Martha said, “I could kill Hargatha with me bare hands.”

Brogan quirked a brow. “Because of what she did to Mairghread?”

“Because of how many people she has hurt over the years,” she replied. “But I promise, I’ll no’ strangle her until after we learn what was in that tisane.”

“I thank ye, and I be certain Mairghread will as well,” he said.

His men were practically dragging Hargatha into the gathering room by the time they entered. There was no doubt the woman was angry, for she was letting anyone within earshot know of her displeasure. “Do ye no’ ken who I be?” she shouted at the two men who were holding her by her arms. “Ye will hang fer this as soon as Aymer returns.”

“If anyone hangs, ’twill be ye,” Brogan shouted from across the room. “And ’twill be much sooner than Aymer’s expected return!”

“And who will order it done?” she shouted back. “Ye?” she harrumphed indignantly. “The Mactavish people will no’ hang me.”

Brogan stood just inches away from her and leaned down so that he could look into her eyes. “The Mactavish people might no’, but me men would be more than happy to do it.”

He was met with stone cold silence.

“What did ye give Mairghread?” His words were clipped, firm.

She shrugged her shoulders and feigned ignorance.

Brogan was not a violent man, but this woman was pushing him to his limits. He grabbed her arms and began to shake her. “Ye listen to me, auld woman! If Mairghread dies, I will hold ye personally responsible. Ye tell me now what ye gave her, or I swear to ye, we will take ye from this room now, and hang ye from the tallest tower of this keep!”

“You would no’ dare,” she spat back at him.

Brogan began pulling her toward the stairs. “Henry!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Bring me a rope!”

Hargatha Mactavish chose the wrong day and the wrong man to test.

* * *

By the time they reached the third floor, with Brogan pulling her along behind him, she began to see the error of her ways. His men were all right behind him, along with Martha, quietly offering their unwavering support. When he pulled open the door that led to the fourth floor, she began to wail. “Ye would kill a helpless auld woman?” she asked.

“Ye might be auld, but ye are far from helpless,” he seethed. A dull ache had begun to form at the base of his skull. So incensed was he that aye, he was ready to hang this woman. Not because she refused to cooperate, but because of what she had done to Mairghread.

As he pulled her through the door, she began to stammer. “Wait! ’Twas no’ but a tisane!”

Brogan halted abruptly. “I ken it was a bloody tisane!” His voice boomed and echoed through the narrow stairway.

“If ye kill me, Martha can no’ make an antidote!” She was trying to bargain her neck out of the hangman’s noose.

“The bloody hell I can no’!” Martha shouted from behind her.

Hargatha growled as Brogan began to pull her up the stairs once again. “Verra well!” she cried. “’Twas naught but Devil’s herb!”

Martha heard her and pushed her way through the crowd of men. “And what else?” she demanded to know.

Hargatha turned her head enough to glower at her. “And Monkshood ye interferin’ whore!”

If Martha was bothered by the insult, she did not show it. “And what else?”

The auld woman grew silent until Brogan yanked on her arm. “And a bit of lobelia!”

“And naught else?” Martha asked, her glower hot enough to set a grown man’s skin afire.

“And naught else!” Hargatha replied with a snort of derision.

Martha studied her closely for a moment. Apparently satisfied she had told the truth, she said, “I ken what to do now. Ye can go ahead and hang her.”

Hargatha let loose with a slew of curses Brogan had never heard from a woman’s mouth before. Martha ignored the woman’s tirade and pushed her way past her to return to Mairghread.

“I told ye what ye wanted!” Hargatha cried. “Ye can no’ hang me now!”

Brogan pretended to give her argument some thought. “Aye, I can no’ hang ye now,” he said before handing her off to Henry. “Henry, find a room to lock her in. Keep her under guard at all times. James, Peter, ye start constructing the gallows. She hangs on the morrow.”