“Bloody hell! Open the damned gate and let us see Lady Edith, ye whoremonger, or we’ll set it alight and smash it down ourselves.”

Alick’s threat made Niels shake his head, because threats were all they were. Setting fire to the Drummond gates and smashing them down was the last thing they were going to do. Hell, with just the four of them there, he wasn’t sure they even could. Though it would be fun trying, he acknowledged.

Still, they weren’t here to start a war with the Drummonds. Their only task was to check on their sister’s friend and report back to Saidh on how she fared. Unfortunately, nothing short of their actually seeing the lass was likely to keep Saidh from insisting on trying to ride out here to see her for herself. And he suspected even that wouldn’t be enough. Once they’d agreed to come, she’d insisted on accompanying them. Only Rory’s warning that the journey might harm her unborn babes had kept her at home. Well, that and Greer’s threat to tie her to their bed and keep her there under guard until the babes were born did she even try mounting a horse.

Niels shook his head again at the thought. Babes, as in plural. As in his sister was bearing more than one babe. Rory suspected it was twins. Alick and Geordie were sure it was going to be more and were betting on the size of the litter. Alick was guessing three, Geordie four. Niels thought they were both mad. Women did not have litters of three and four. Twins alone were a rarity. Three or four . . . well . . . he’d heard old wives’ tales about some woman way back when, or from a distant land, having three bairns in one birth, but he was sure an old wives’ tale was all it was. Still . . . Saidh was huge enough to be carrying three or four.

Raising his gaze to the men on the gate tower, he shouted out calmly, “We just wish to see yer lady. Our sister, her friend Lady Saidh MacDonnell, is concerned for yer lady’s welfare. If ye do no’ wish to open the gate, then jest have yer lady come to the gate and let us see her so that we can tell our sister she is well and healthy.”

The men on the wall all glanced at each other, and then one said, “I thought it was Lady Edith ye were interested in, no’ our lady?”

“Aye.” Niels frowned. “Is Edith no’ lady here? I understood her mother was dead and she was lady here now.”

“She was,” the man called back, “But Brodie, the youngest son, married and his wife, Lady Victoria is now lady here. And the laird ordered that the gate no’ be opened to anyone until they return.”

Niels’s eyebrows rose at the news. He hadn’t heard of the marriage, and was a bit surprised that the youngest son’s bride would be allowed to step in and replace the daughter of the house as lady. Perhaps had the eldest brother and heir married, his wife as future Lady of Drummond would have stepped in, but the wife of the youngest son?

Still, that wasn’t his issue to deal with here so he merely set that information aside to consider later, and said, “Well, ’tis Lady Edith we are interested in. Saidh has sent three messengers and received no response. She asked us to come and see her to be sure she is well.” He paused a beat and then added, “She felt sure that, Scottish hospitality being what it is, ye’d no’ turn away noblemen as ye have mere messengers.”

The men above them began to argue back and forth. It seemed someone up there felt they should be allowed entrance. Others obviously didn’t agree and he waited patiently as the argument continued. After a moment, however, he repeated, “We need not enter to please our sister. If ye would jest have Lady Edith come to the gate to assure us she is well we could be on our way.”

“She can no’,” the earlier speaker said and then admitted grimly, “She is too weak to make her way to the gate.”

“She’s still ill then?” Rory asked next to him, concern in his voice.

“Verra.” The man sounded weary. “She’s hanging on by a thread and lasted longer than her father and the two older brothers, but she’s no’ long fer this world. A shame too, she’s provin’ herself a fighter. Would have made a good clan leader.”

Niels’s eyes widened at the news that Ronald Drummond and his two elder sons were dead, but supposed it explained how the youngest son’s wife could now act as lady of the castle.

Rory shifted restlessly in the saddle next to him, and Niels glanced over as he pointed out, “Saidh’ll no’ be happy if we leave with no more news than that the woman still ails.”

Nodding, Niels raised his head to call out, “We’ll no’ be leaving here until the lass is either dead or back on her feet. Our sister would accept no less.”

“We’ll tell ye when she dies then,” the voice called back.

Rory muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Niels said, “Or ye could let us in. Me brother here is the finest healer in Scotland. He may yet be able to save Lady Edith.”

Silence reigned for a moment and then another hissed argument took place above.

Niels tried to wait patiently, but really, this wasn’t done. He’d barely had the thought when Alick muttered angrily behind him, “This is a farce. A Scot does no’ leave allies standing at the gate like beggars and refuse them entrance.”

“No’ if they want to keep them as allies,” Geordie agreed in a growl.

“Geordie and Alick are right, Niels. This is beyond the pale,” Rory said grimly. “I could be in there right now helping the lass, if they would but—”

Niels raised his hand to silence him and bellowed, “Quit yer bickering up there and use yer heads! Me brother can help her. Do ye care so little fer yer kin? What will yer laird, her brother, think when I tell him ye let her die? And I’ll be sure to tell him too. Now open the damned gates ye lackwitted oafs, or I’ll climb this wall meself, slit yer throats and open it mes—”

Niels paused midthreat as the gate began to rise. Eyebrows lifting, he murmured, “Hmm. Looks like they’re opening the gate.”

“I can no’ imagine why,” Rory muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Must be me natural charm,” Niels said with a shrug, urging his horse forward before the men on the wall could change their minds and lower the gate again.

“Oh aye, for certain. The Buchanan charm wins out every time,” Geordie agreed, following him onto the bridge.

“Brothers,” Rory reprimanded, urging his mount between theirs, “if this is the kind of charm you display on a regular basis on your journeys, ’tis no wonder I’m always having to patch ye up on yer return.”

“Nay, charm’s nothing to do with that,” Niels assured him. “Pity is the reason we return with wounds.”

“Pity?” Rory asked with bewilderment.

“Aye, well we have to let our adversaries get at least a lick or two in, else they’d be demoralized at being bested so roundly,” Niels said reasonably.

“And then there’s you,” Geordie added.

“Me?” Rory asked with dismay. “What have I to do with yer getting wounded in battle?”

“Well, ye need practice in healing, do ye no’? So along with helping our opposition feel less incompetent with sword, we give ye something to do when we return that makes ye feel important. No’ that ye ever thank us fer it,” Geordie added in a grumble.

“Thank ye?” Rory asked with disbelief. “Are ye mad? Ye—surely ye do no’—ye can no’ be serious?”

“Nay,” Niels said with amusement. “But we had ye believing it there fer a minute, did we no’?”

Rory snapped his mouth closed and scowled from one to the other.

“See all the fun ye miss when ye insist on staying at home with yer dusty old books and medicinals rather than travel with us?” Alick said cheerfully, urging his own mount up beside Geordie’s as they started across the bailey.

Rory cast him a disgusted expression. “Ye mean eating the dust kicked up by the horse in front o’ mine, sleeping on the cold, hard ground and being made fun of at every turn?” he asked dryly. “Oh, aye, I am sorry to ha’e missed that all these years.”

“Sometimes, Rory, I’m sure yer a changeling,” Geordie said sadly.

“Nay,” Niels assured him. “’Tis more likely God just got things a bit confused when he was making Saidh and Rory.”

“Ye mean mayhap he meant Saidh to be a lad and Rory a lassie?” Geordie suggested with a wide grin. “I think we may have discussed that very thing a time or two on our journeys.”

“Aye, we have,” Alick agreed.

“What?” Rory squawked with dismay.

“Well, think on it,” Alick said as they neared the steps leading to the front double doors of the Drummond keep. “Ye like to stay home in the nice warm castle with yer herbs and such, while Saidh likes to travel and wrestle and would as soon skewer a man as look on him. ’Tis as if she was meant to be another brother, and ye the sister,” he said reasonably as they all reined in at the steps.

Niels glanced to Rory to see how he was taking the suggestion and burst out laughing at his horrified expression even as Geordie and Alick did.

“Oh, aye, laugh it up the three o’ ye,” Rory said sourly. “But I guarantee I will no’ forget this the next time ye need yer wounds tended.”

Still chuckling, Niels shrugged and slid off his mount with unconcern. Whatever petty punishment Rory chose to dole out later would be well worth the reaction their teasing had got.

“Are ye gonna save Lady Edith?”

Niels turned around at that soft question to find a small blond boy with earnest eyes standing behind him. Next to the lad was a deerhound with a red fawn coat. The beast was almost taller than the boy on all fours and certainly a good six stones heavier. Niels had never seen a dog so big.

“Are ye?” the boy asked, reminding him of his question.

“We’re going to do our best,” Niels said, shifting his attention back to the lad.

“Gran says no one can save her,” the boy told them sadly.

“She does, does she?” Niels asked quietly.

He nodded. “Aye. She says ’tis just a matter o’ time and she’ll go just like the laird and his lads.”

Niels frowned at the suggestion and then said, “Mayhap that would ha’e been true ere we got here, but ye see that man there?” He pointed to Rory as his brother finished dismounting and walked around his horse to join them. “That there is me brother Rory, and he is the finest healer in all o’ Scotland. If there is anybody who can help yer lady get over what’s ailing her, ’tis him.”

The boy looked Rory over solemnly and then nodded. “I hope so, m’lord. Fer I’d be terrible sad did she die. She’s ever so nice. Not like Laird Brodie’s wife, Lady Victoria. If she’d been lady when we got here, we never would ha’e been allowed to stay.”

“Hmm.” Niels made the sound purely because he didn’t know what else to say, and then straightening again, he asked, “What’s yer name, lad?”

“Ronson, m’lord.”

“Ye’re no’ from Drummond, Ronson?” Rory asked.

“Nay, m’lord. We’re from the south. But when me ma died, the laird o’ our old home threw us out. Gran and me, we traveled a long time to find a new home, but no one wanted us. They said Gran was too old and I was too young. But Lady Edith, she took us in and set Gran to work. Gave me a job too,” he added proudly.

“And what job is that?” Niels asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

“I look after Laddie here,” he announced, chest puffing up as he threw a skinny arm over the huge beast. “He has to be fed and walked and brushed, but Lady Edith has no’ the time fer all that what with all the work she has to do around here. ’Tis a most important job,” he assured them.

“Aye,” Niels agreed. “Most important. She’s lucky ye came.”

“Aye,” Ronson said, and then frowned and admitted, “But I maybe will no’ have the job much longer.”

“Why is that?” Rory asked.

Ronson hesitated, his expression unhappy, and then confided, “I heard some o’ the maids talking and they said as how even does Lady Edith survive, she’s no’ long for Drummond. They said as sure as spittin’, Lady Victoria would see her sent off to the Abbey the first chance she gets and if that happens, we may have to leave.” He worried his lip briefly and then asked, “Do ye think they’re right? Will Lady Victoria send Lady Edith away?”

“I do no’ ken, lad,” Niels admitted. “But let’s just tend one problem at a time and get Lady Edith well again before we start fretting on other matters. Shall we?”

“Aye,” Ronson said, and then rubbed the deerhound’s head between the ears. “Lady Edith’s sure fond o’ Laddie. I’ve been thinking maybe she’d feel better did he visit. He’s most important to her. She might get better if he visited.”

“Hmm,” Niels said, biting back a smile. “Aye, well, mayhap later. I’m thinkin’ we should just let me brother look at her first and see what he can do. All right?”

“Aye,” he said with disappointment and then glanced past Niels and scowled. “Here comes Tormod and Cawley.”

Niels peered over his shoulder to see two men approaching. Both were old, one was tall and slim with a limp, the other shorter and round.

“And who are Tormod and Cawley?” Rory asked as Niels turned back.

“They were the old laird’s first and second, now they’re Laird Brodie’s first and second. Tormod’s the tall one. He’s the first . . . and he does no’ like me,” he added unhappily.

“I’m sure that’s no’ true,” Rory assured him.

“Aye. ’Tis,” Ronson insisted. “He told Lady Edith no’ to let us stay. Said we’d be nothing but trouble and more mouths to feed.”

“Ah,” Niels said and almost sighed. He had no doubt the man had said that. And probably right in front of the boy and his grandmother. Which was unfortunate.

“I’d best take Laddie in and brush him down now,” Ronson mumbled.

Niels nodded and watched the boy lead the large dog away before turning to survey the approaching Tormod and Cawley. The pair appeared to be bickering and he wondered if they were the source of all the arguing that had taken place on the wall as they’d waited to be allowed to enter. If so, the bickering continued despite their being inside now.

“Enough,” Tormod snapped as the pair halted in front of Niels and his brothers. He then turned his attention to them and announced grimly, “Cawley here will get someone to tend yer horses while I take ye to Lady Edith.”

Niels narrowed his eyes at the less than polite greeting, but merely asked, “Are you the one in charge while Laird Drummond is away?”

“Aye. Sadly I am,” he admitted, his mouth twisting with disgust and then he announced, “I’m Tormod Drummond, the man who’ll be answering fer letting ye in here. And that’s Cawley Drummond who will no’ be held responsible despite his nagging and harassing being the reason behind it.”

“It’s the right thing to do and ye ken it,” Cawley said vehemently. “If they can save wee Edith—”

“Aye, aye,” Tormod interrupted with irritation. “I let them in, did I no’? Despite the fact that Brodie’ll probably have me flogged fer it.”

Niels’s eyebrows rose at both the lack of respect obvious in the man’s not using Brodie’s title, and the suggestion that Brodie would punish him for letting them in.

“Your laird’ll hardly be complaining when Rory saves his sister’s life,” Alick said earnestly, stepping up beside Niels.

“Me brother Alick,” Niels introduced him, and then added, “And that’s Geordie, Rory and I’m Niels.”

Tormod merely nodded and turned to respond to Alick’s comment with a weary, “If he saves her life ye may be right. Unfortunately, I’m no’ thinking that’s likely to happen.” On that grim note, he turned to lead the way up the stairs.

“Why? What ails her?” Rory asked with interest, hard on the man’s heels.

Tormod shook his head. “Hell if I ken. No one does. It came on sudden. Hit Laird Drummond and his eldest sons Roderick and Hamish all at once. The old laird died the first night, but his health was already on the decline anyway. The two boys though, they were young and strong and lasted three or four days. Lady Edith nursed ’em,” he added not sounding happy about it. They understood why when he added, “I told her she should no’, that she’d catch whatever it was they had and she should leave their care to the servants. But nay, she had to tend them herself, and sure enough I was right. We no sooner buried the second lad than she fell ill.”

“And Brodie and his new bride?” Niels asked and noted the way the man’s mouth thinned out.

“When Lady Edith’s maid fell ill while tending her, Brodie panicked. Feared it would spread through the clan and take he and his bride as well. Decided they should leave for safer shores fer a bit.” Pausing at the double doors, he glanced back as he opened one and added acerbically, “He could no’ get out o’ here quick enough. Packed up his new bride, her maid and some clothes, took a small escort of six men and rushed out o’ here as if the hounds o’ hell were on his heels.”

“Leaving the rest o’ ye here to handle matters,” Niels surmised dourly as he led his brothers through the door the man held open for them.

“Aye. Just so,” Tormod agreed with disgust. He followed them in and let the door slam closed behind him.

“And Lady Edith has been sick for more than four weeks now?” Rory asked as Tormod led them across the busy hall. That was what Saidh had told them, so they were surprised when Tormod shook his head.

“Just over three weeks,” Tormod corrected.

“But our sister said her last letter from Edith was a month ago now and she mentioned feeling poorly then,” Niels said slowly.

“Oh, aye.” Tormod waved that away. “A week before this new ailment, Lady Edith had a bit o’ a tummy complaint. She was over it though by the time this new illness struck three weeks ago.”

“Ah.” Niels nodded. “And her brothers died in a matter o’ days from it, but she is still alive but ailing?”

“Aye. She’s a fighter, she is. Would ha’e made a fine clan leader. Better than that useless brother o’ hers. Howbeit Brodie’s well and fine and somewhere safely away while she grows weaker every day.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as they reached the stairs to the second level. Leading the way up, he added, “I’m amazed she’s lasted as long as she has, but she can no’ last much longer.”

“What are the symptoms?” Rory asked.

“With the father and brothers it was headache, dizziness, trouble breathing and hallucinations. From what I hear ’tis mostly the same with Lady Edith, except she’s nauseous on top o’ it, can no’ keep anything down and weakening more every day.”

They’d reached the top of the stairs and fell silent as they followed Tormod to the second door along the hall. Pausing there, the man turned to survey them, before settling his gaze on Rory. “Ye’re the healer?”

“Aye,” Rory said, standing proud.

Tormod nodded. “Ye can go in then. Ye other three can wait out here.”

Niels merely nodded. He had no wish to go into a sickroom anyway. Hell, in truth, he’d rather be waiting down at the trestle table, preferably with some ale or mead. However, he hadn’t been given that option so would wait in the hall to hear what Rory had to say on the subject of Lady Edith’s health.

When Tormod opened the door, swinging it silently inward, Niels glanced inside with mild curiosity, his gaze sliding quickly over the room. A figure lay in the bed at one end, while at the other side of the room, a gray-haired woman, thin and bent with age, was pouring liquid from a footed vial into a large metal cup of what appeared to be mead. As he watched, she capped the vial, set it on the table and then turned to carry the concoction she’d made to the woman in the bed.

“Come now, time for your medicine,” the woman crooned with an English accent. Pausing beside the bed, she sat on the edge of it.

Niels’s eyes shifted to the woman in the bed then. She hadn’t reacted at all to the woman’s words. She lay still and silent, her face frighteningly pale. Her skin was as white as icy snow in the winter. In comparison, her hair was made up of red and gold strands, resembling fire around her face, he noted with interest and then his view was briefly obscured as Rory moved into the room.

“What are ye giving her?” Rory asked approaching the bed. The old maid gave a start and peered around with surprise.

“Oh my, you startled me,” the woman said, pressing a hand to her chest and shaking her head. She then frowned slightly and glanced from Rory to Tormod who still stood in the hall with Niels and the others. Her gaze slid over them all with confusion and she asked Tormod, “Who are these men? Why would you let them into the lady’s room, her being so sick?”

“These men are Buchanans,” Tormod announced and then nodded to Rory even as he plucked the drink from the old woman’s hand and raised it so he could give the contents a sniff. “He’s a healer. Thinks he can help Lady Edith.”

“Well, and thank heavens for that then,” the woman said on a sigh and stood up. “Mayhap I can get a bit of rest. I’m not feelin’ so well meself after tending Lady Edith night and day and—” Her words and footsteps ended abruptly and her eyes widened, her mouth forming an alarmed O as she wavered where she stood. Her hands started to rise up and to the sides as if seeking something to steady herself, and then she just collapsed.

Niels had started into the room the moment she first wavered. He caught the old woman as she fell and scooped her up into his arms. Noting the pallor of her face, he shifted his gaze to Tormod, eyebrows rising as he saw that the man had backed fearfully away from the door and now stood behind Alick and Geordie in the hall.

“Is there another room where we can put the maid?” Niels asked, watching as Rory began to examine the woman. His brother lifted her eyelids to see her eyes, and then opened her mouth for a brief look before lifting one hand and examining her nails. Niels watched silently, having no idea what his brother was looking for. It seemed to him like Rory was doing much the same thing Dougall did when examining a horse for soundness.

“Nay. This is the sickroom,” Tormod said heavily. “She’s got it now too and this is where she’ll stay.”

“Lay her down next to Lady Edith,” Rory said grimly, releasing the woman’s hand and letting it drop.

Nodding, Niels carried the woman to the bed and set her down next to Edith Drummond. His gaze slid to the younger woman as he straightened, and her fiery hair on the pillow caught his eyes. The woman might look like death warmed over, but her hair was something special, he thought, and then watched as Rory performed the same examination of Lady Edith as he had the maid just a moment ago.

“Do ye ken what illness it is?” Niels asked, his gaze shifting to her eyes as Rory lifted both lids at once. They were dilated, he noted, the black circles so large they nearly obliterated the bright green of her eyes, leaving just a thin border of the lovely color around the pupil. He had no idea what that meant.

Rory didn’t respond at first, taking the time to check inside her mouth and then lift one delicate hand to peer at her fingernails. Finally, he set her hand back down and turned to pick up the drink the old maid had been about to feed her. Mouth tightening, he set the drink back and announced grimly, “’Tis poison, not illness.”

“What?” Tormod started back into the room, but then hesitated at the door to ask, “Are ye sure? But Effie is sick too.”

“Also poison,” Rory assured him and walked over to the table to inspect the contents of the vial the woman had used. Shaking his head with a frown, he recapped the vial and set it back. “The maid must have had some of whatever the poison was in.”

“Is it in the vial she added to the drink?” Niels asked.

“I’m no’ sure,” Rory admitted, returning to the bed. “There seem to be a lot o’ herbs and such in it. Too many to be able to tell if that’s the source or no’.”

“But ye’re sure ’tis poison?” Niels asked,

“Aye,” Rory said firmly. “All the signs are there.”

“Hmm.” Niels peered at the pale woman again. “I guess ’tis good Saidh made us come then.”

“Aye,” Rory agreed solemnly.

“Will she survive?”

Niels glanced up with surprise to see that Tormod—now he knew he needn’t fear catching anything—had entered the room and was standing beside him.

“Hopefully,” Rory said with a sigh. “If she’s strong enough to fight off the effects of what she’s already taken and we keep her from getting any more.”

“Ye do no’ think the laird and his sons were poisoned too, do ye?” Tormod asked with a frown.

“Ye said they had the same symptoms?” Rory asked.

“Aye. But they were no’ spewing up the contents o’ their stomachs like the lass has been doing. Mayhap they were just sick.”

Rory shook his head. “Spewing is no’ a symptom o’ the poison. ’Tis more likely they were poisoned too and Lady Edith was still suffering some of the effects o’ her tummy upset so that the poison did no’ sit well and she could no’ keep it down. That’s most like what saved her life. She did no’ keep enough o’ the poison in her stomach to kill her. Just enough to make her weak and ill.”

“Damn,” Tormod breathed. “So someone set out to kill our laird and his heirs?”

“It would seem so,” Rory muttered, eyeing the two women in the bed with concern.

“What do we do now?” Niels asked quietly.

Rory was silent for a minute, and then announced, “There is little I can do without kenning what the poison is.”

“Surely there is something ye can give them,” Tormod said. “A tonic that might help?”

Rory shook his head. “I daren’t administer anything without kenning what they’ve been poisoned with. If I give them the wrong thing it could kill them. All we can do is try to get them both to take in liquids, watch over them, and then wait and see what happens.”

Tormod headed for the door at once. “I’ll have one o’ the maids fetch up some broth and—”

“Nay,” Rory interrupted at once. When the old man paused and looked back in surprise, he said, “I’ll no’ risk any more poison getting into their food or drink. I do no’ think either would survive.”

Niels’s eyebrows rose. “Even the old woman? Surely she will be fine? After all, Lady Edith has been ailing for weeks and, unless I’m wrong,” he added, shooting a questioning look at Tormod, “this is the first time the old maid has shown signs o’ poisoning?”

“Ye’re no’ wrong,” Tormod assured him. “This is the first time Effie’s been the least ill since tending the lass.”

“Aye, but Effie is old, and as far as I can tell, she does no’ have the benefit o’ throwing up the poison as Lady Edith does. If she got a large enough dose of it . . .” He peered at the old woman with a frown. “She could die as quickly as Laird Drummond did.”

Niels peered at the woman solemnly. “That probably means she is no’ the poisoner.”

“Probably,” Rory agreed.

Sighing, Niels turned to his brother. “Tell us what ye need to tend them, Rory, and we’ll fetch it.”

“Fresh water from the well, and the fixings to make broth.” Turning to Geordie he said, “Mayhap that rabbit ye caught this morn on our way here, brother, and some vegetables.”

Geordie nodded and turned toward the door. “I’ll fetch the rabbit and fixings from me saddlebag.”

“And I’ll get the water,” Alick said, turning as well.

“Make sure the water is fresh from the well, Alick, and make sure ye let no one near it on yer way back,” Rory said firmly.

Nodding, Alick followed Geordie out of the room.

“What can I do?” Niels asked.

“We’ll need mead or cider too. But I want a fresh cask to be sure no one has tampered with it.”

“Come with me. I’ll get ye what ye need,” Tormod said abruptly and led him from the room. They walked in silence until they reached the stairs and then the man muttered, “I can hardly believe it. Someone murdered our laird and his sons.”

Niels grunted in agreement, a frown curving his lips. This was a problem he hadn’t expected when he’d agreed to come here. And it was a problem. He couldn’t just leave Rory here to nurse Edith Drummond back to health with a murderer wandering around Drummond poisoning people. He couldn’t even bundle up Edith and transport her back to MacDonnell for Saidh and Rory to tend to there either, because if Edith survived, she’d have to return here . . . where there was a murderer wandering around poisoning people.

Niels and his brothers had been raised with the belief that it was their place to protect the weak and in need when they could. Edith was definitely weak and in need, and with Greer taking care of his shipment, he could take the time to help sort out the situation here and keep her safe from further attacks.

Mouth tight, he considered everything Tormod had told them on their way above stairs and asked, “Ye said the laird and his older sons fell ill first?”

“Aye.”

“And Edith did no’ fall ill until the last of the three died?”

“Aye.”

“So she was no’ poisoned at the same time as her father and brothers,” he said thoughtfully.

“Nay, she must ha’e been poisoned after,” Tormod agreed solemnly and then pointed out, “As were the maids.”

“Aye.” Niels frowned.

“What are ye thinking?” Tormod asked.

“I’m thinking if she and the maids had been poisoned at the same time as the laird and his elder sons I would be looking to Brodie fer an explanation,” Niels admitted dryly.

“Because he was the only one who would benefit from the deaths of his elder brothers and father while Lady Edith and the maids may ha’e merely been accidentally poisoned along with them,” Tormod said with a nod, and then admitted, “When the three men died I did think it most convenient fer Brodie. Without that, he never would ha’e had a chance to be laird here.”

“Aye,” Niels agreed, and then shook his head. “But there was no need to poison Edith too. She is the youngest child, is she not?”

“She is. So he does no’ benefit from her death,” Tormod said, but added, “Except to get her out o’ the way. Brodie’s new bride did no’ care fer Lady Edith much.”

“Nay?” Niels asked with interest.

“Nay,” Tormod assured him. “Their relationship was tepid at best ere this all happened, but when the old man died and the two elder sons looked to be going the same way, Brodie stepped up to act as temporary laird until the men died or recovered. Lady Victoria considered herself lady of the castle then and tried to boss the servants about, but they were no’ having that. Lady Edith has been lady here since her mother’s death and they all automatically turned to her fer guidance. Lady Victoria would give an order and the servants would go to Lady Edith to see if they should obey, and that infuriated Lady Victoria.”

“Hmm,” Niels murmured, but then shook his head. “Still, Brodie could easily ha’e sent Edith to the nuns to be rid o’ her did his bride ask it. Besides, that does no’ explain the maids being poisoned.”

“Nay,” Tormod agreed his brow furrowing. “And old Effie in there is Lady Victoria’s maid. Lady Victoria is very fond o’ her, I’m sure she’d no’ poison her.”

“Lady Victoria left without her maid?” Niels asked with surprise. While his sister, Saidh, had been known to do that, most ladies he knew would not travel without a maid to help them dress and such.

“Nay. She took her younger maid,” Tormod answered and then explained, “Effie was Lady Victoria’s nursemaid as a child and became her lady’s maid once she was old enough to need one. Howbeit she’s an old woman and no’ as quick as she used to be so a second maid, a young girl, was taken on to help her with her tasks. The younger maid went with Lady Victoria and Effie was left here. Lady Victoria feared the trip might be too much fer the old girl after so soon arriving.”

“Hmm,” Niels muttered, and pondered that before asking, “Lady Edith’s maid died?”

“Nay. She recovered,” Tormod said solemnly. “She’s down helping in the kitchens fer now.” Mouth twisting with irritation, he added, “The lass has been fashing to tend her mistress, but the last thing Lady Edith said when she fell ill again herself was that Moibeal should be kept away from her. She did no’ want the lass to get sick again too as she had. O’ course, she had no idea they were being poisoned.”

Niels nodded.

“Ye ken,” Tormod said now, “it occurs to me that if ’twas the wine cask that was poisoned, then Lady Edith’s falling ill may ha’e just been an unintended side result of the culprit’s attempt to kill the laird and his elder sons.”

“Aye,” Niels agreed, but argued, “Howbeit the maids would hardly be drinking wine. At least they do no’ at Buchanan. There the wine is fer the family only. The servants and soldiers drink ale, cider or water.”

“Aye, ’tis the same here,” Tormod agreed. “And they should no’ have had any, but that does no’ mean they did no’ have any.”

“Hmm,” Niels murmured and decided he should probably have a talk with the maid.