Edith was leading the way as they rode back into the bailey. Going faster than she probably should have, she nearly ran over Laddie when he appeared suddenly before her. Only fast reactions and instincts born of years of riding saved the huge beast as Edith caught the right rein higher up and pulled. The horse immediately turned just avoiding trampling her poor dog. The mare then stopped and Edith turned to scowl at Ronson as he came running up.

“I’m sorry, m’lady! He got away from me! I’m sorry!” the boy cried, slipping a hand under Laddie’s collar as if to hold him back when the beast was now sitting happily in the path, apparently completely oblivious to how close he’d come to death. “I really am, m’lady. ‘Twill ne’er happen again. I swear. Please do no’ throw me and me gran out. I’ll do better.”

All of Edith’s anger, born mostly of the scare she’d had, slid out of her at those words and she sighed and shook her head. “Come here, Ronson.”

He hesitated briefly, but then moved forward, dragging Laddie with him, fear plain on his face. The moment he stopped beside her mare, Edith bent to put her face closer to his. She thought she heard a hiss above or behind her as she did, but ignored it to say solemnly, “Ronson, I will never—”

The rest of the reassurance died in Edith’s throat as she was suddenly tackled, and dragged off her mount by two hundred pounds of male muscle.

“Niels?” Edith said with bewilderment as she found herself lying on her back on top of his chest on the ground. She started to turn her head to look at him, but paused in surprise as her gaze slid over the front of the castle and she thought she spotted someone standing in her bedchamber window. Before she could get more than an impression of the person, however, she was suddenly rolling and Edith found herself facedown in the mud with a heavy weight on her back. She didn’t have to think hard to guess who it was on top of her, and squawked, “Niels!”

“Stay down,” he barked, pushing her head into the dirt with his hand. “Ronson. Get over here, lad.”

Edith lifted her face out of the mud and glanced around to see that Ronson was already almost to them, dragged by Laddie who thought this was a fine game and began to lick her face and head the moment he could reach her.

“Laddie, no,” she ordered, or tried to. It was difficult to speak with two tongues in her mouth and the moment she opened her mouth to say the words, Laddie decided to check and see if she had any treats in there for him. Turning her head away, Edith pressed her lips closed and then dropped her head back into the dirt and tried to hear what Ronson was saying.

“’Twas an arrow, m’lord! I saw it fly past her when she bent to speak to me! Someone tried to shoot Lady Edith!”

“What?” Edith squawked, and jerked her head up to look around, only to have Niels push it back to the ground.

“Stay down, lass. I’m no’ losing ye now,” he growled and then added, “Ronson, get over here, lad, else ye might get hit by accident do they shoot again.”

In the next moment, Edith found Ronson squeezed up beside her under the shelter of Niels’s body.

“Are ye all right, m’lady?” the boy asked earnestly as Niels began to bark orders at the people now shouting and running about the bailey. “That was sure close. Someone nearly shot ye!”

“Did they?” she asked weakly, her head bobbing as Laddie licked the hair on the back of her head. She had no idea why the dog was doing that, but managed to get one hand out from under her and cover the spot in hopes he’d stop. Instead, he turned excitedly to licking both her hand and her hair, dragging the now wet strands over the back of her hand, and she suspected, pulling some out. It certainly felt like some of her hair was being ripped out by the roots.

“Aye,” Ronson told her. “If ye had no’ bent to talk to me right when ye did, I wager the arrow would ha’e hit ye in the chest and killed ye deader than a spent whore.”

“Deader than a what?” she asked with disbelief.

“Than a spent—” Ronson began, but his words ended on a startled gasp when Niels suddenly rose, taking them both with him.

“Keep the shields over them,” Niels barked. “The arrow came from above! Did ye send someone to check the upper chambers?”

Edith blinked up at the six shields six soldiers were holding over them like a roof, and then down at the arm that was like a steel band around her waist. Niels was holding both her and Ronson up off the ground and tight to his chest as he jogged toward the keep with the men surrounding them to protect them from arrows.

“Aye. I sent four men. They should be up there now. If there is anyone there, they’ll find them,” the man beside her said and Edith turned to see that it was Tormod holding the shield on that side. Catching her looking at him, he nodded as he jogged and murmured, “M’lady.”

Smiling weakly, Edith turned to peer at the other men now, noting that Alick was beside Tormod, grinning at her as if this was a walk in the park. He jogged sideways toward the keep, holding a shield high over their heads just as Tormod and the others were doing. Geordie, she noted, was on Niels’s other side with yet another shield. He too smiled at her reassuringly when he saw her looking. And Cameron, one of the Drummond soldiers was next to him, trying to give her what she thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile as well. She couldn’t see the two men behind them, but knew they were there.

Edith looked over the men she could see again and thought it was like some kind of bizarre dream she’d fallen into. Perhaps they were still at the stone in the meadow and she’d dozed off.

When they reached the steps, Niels didn’t slow but jogged quickly up them, the men managing to keep pace despite mounting the stairs sideways. Edith expected the first two men would have to lower their shields to open the doors, but someone must have been watching for them, because the moment they neared, the doors swung open. Their party jogged right on in, shields not lowering until they were well inside the great hall.

Niels set down both Ronson and Edith, but then turned to survey her, his hands traveling over her body as if searching for a hidden sgian-dubh as he asked, “Are ye all right? Were ye hurt at all? Is anything broken or—”

“I’m fine,” Edith said with embarrassment, catching his hands as he began to pat her behind and upper legs. “Truly. I was no’ hurt. I’m a little thirsty, and even hungry, but completely unharmed,” she assured him.

Releasing a pent-up breath, Niels nodded and then took her arm to usher her to the table.

“I’ll go tell Cook to fetch out the nooning meal fer ye, m’lady,” Tormod said, nodding at Rory as the man came from the kitchens and the two men passed each other.

“I’ll fetch down a pitcher o’ mead,” Geordie said, heading for the stairs.

“Here, sit, lass,” Niels murmured, urging her to the high table. “Ye’ve had a scare.”

“What happened?” Rory asked, reaching them then. “Some servants came rushing into the kitchen saying there were screams and people running in the bailey. What—”

“Someone shot an arrow at Edith, and I’m marrying her, dammit!” Niels snapped.

Everyone went completely silent at that. Edith suspected it was probably because they were trying to sort out the information that he’d just blurted in one furious burst and decide if he was angry only about the arrow, or about the marrying part too. No doubt they were stumped as to whether they should be offering congratulations or condolences, she thought wryly.

“M’lady?” Moibeal appeared at her side, and suggested tentatively, “Mayhap we should go above stairs and clean ye up.”

“Nay. I’m fine. I’ll change after I eat,” Edith murmured, frowning at Laddie and pushing the dog away when he began to nose around her lap.

“Did ye find anyone up there?” Tormod’s voice drew Edith’s gaze as he reappeared from the kitchens and headed to meet four grim-faced men who were now descending the stairs.

“Nay. We searched every room. Other than old Effie, the rooms were all empty,” the first man said.

“But we think they shot the arrow from Lady Edith’s room,” the second man added. “Her shutters are the only ones open.”

“They were closed when I left me room this morning,” Edith said when Niels glanced to her. Turning to Moibeal, she asked, “Did ye open them to air the room?”

“Aye, while I cleaned up,” she admitted, and then added, “But I closed ’em when I was done. They should no’ be open now.”

“The bastard shot at ye from yer own room,” Niels growled, dropping to sit on the bench next to her, his fist thumping the table in frustration.

“Bastard,” Ronson echoed, thumping the table and dropping onto the bench as well.

Eyes widening, Edith looked swiftly toward the chairs by the fire, relieved to see that old Bessie appeared to be asleep and had not witnessed her grandson’s use of foul language.

“We shall have to post men at the windows during the day to prevent something like this happening in future and—Leave off, Laddie!” Niels interrupted himself to snap at the dog trying desperately to lick his hand. When he pushed the dog away again, Laddie gave up and moved back to Edith.

“M’lady, I really think ye’ll want to clean up before ye eat,” Moibeal suggested in slightly pained tones.

Edith shushed her, and again pushed Laddie away from her lap as Tormod frowned and turned to Rory to ask, “Ye’re sure Effie’s no’ conscious?”

“Aye,” Rory assured him. “I test her morning and night to be sure.”

Tormod nodded as if he understood what Rory meant by testing the old woman, but Edith didn’t understand herself. Before she could ask what kind of test it was, Niels cursed, drawing her attention again as he cupped Laddie’s face in one hand and told the dog firmly, “Enough. No more licking.”

The dog stared at him wide-eyed and then let his tongue loll out, trying to lick the hand that was holding him.

A small laugh slipped from Edith before she could stop it. Shaking her head, she said, “I do no’ ken what’s the matter with him. First he’s licking me head, then yer hand and he keeps poking around me skirts as if he thinks I ha’e a treat hidden in me pocket fer him.”

“He probably smells ye on me,” Niels said with a sigh as Geordie returned with a pitcher of mead in hand.

Eyeing it with interest, Edith shrugged and said distractedly, “Aye, well ye were laying on both Ronson and me out there, but he’s no’ licking—” Her words died abruptly and her gaze and full attention slid to Niels’s hand as she recalled exactly where it had been. Her gaze dropped to her own lap as Laddie returned to nose around curiously, and then she recalled Niels pushing her head down with his hand, and she stood abruptly. “I’d best go clean up before we eat.”

“Thank the good Lord fer that,” Moibeal muttered, but Edith hardly heard the maid, her attention was on the slow sexy smile that was now claiming Niels’s lips and chasing away his anger. He did have such a lovely smile, but Edith wasn’t thinking about that so much as the things he’d done to her in the meadow. Just the memory of his hands and mouth on her body made her nipples harden and wet heat pool between her legs. Edith wanted nothing more than to drag the man above stairs with her, strip off her clothes and—

“Are ye coming, m’lady?” Moibeal asked when Edith just stood there staring at Niels. “Ye really need to—”

Edith sighed as the imaginings in her mind bumped up against reality. She couldn’t drag Niels anywhere, and she certainly couldn’t try to seduce him into giving her pleasure again with Moibeal there, nagging at them. Turning on her heel, she headed for the stairs, muttering, “I am coming, Moibeal. I do no’ ken what ye’re all upset about though. ’Tis just a bit o’ mud on me skirt.”

“And all over yer face, and in yer hair,” Moibeal said with some exasperation of her own as she fell into step beside her. “And yer hair’s sticking up every which way too. I do no’ ken how ye managed that. It looks like ye’re standing in the middle o’ a confused storm.”

“Laddie was licking me head when we were on the ground in the bailey,” Edith explained, reaching up to her hair to feel around, and then sighing as she felt that Moibeal was right. Dear God, her hair was wet and almost stiff from Laddie’s licking. It was also standing up every which way. How could Niels look at her with those hungry eyes when she must look an utter idiot?

“So.”

Niels tore his gaze from Edith’s retreating behind and turned warily to his brother. “What?”

“Ye asked and she said aye?” Rory asked with a grin.

Niels smiled and relaxed for the first time since the arrow was loosed. Turning to face the table, he nodded. “Aye.”

“Aye to what?” Geordie asked with confusion.

“I’ll second that,” Tormod said, settling on the other side of Ronson. “What did we miss?”

“Me brother’s marrying yer Lady Edith,” Alick told the older man with a grin.

“Oh.” Tormod’s eyes widened and then he smiled and reached past Ronson to thump him on the back. “Well, say, that’s fine, that is.”

“Aye, congratulations,” Geordie said smiling widely. “This calls fer a celebration. Does anyone want a drink?” he asked holding up the pitcher o’ mead he’d just fetched.

Niels nodded, but paused when Tormod stood up with a grimace.

“Aye, I’ll have a drink. But no’ of mead,” the man said heavily. “I’ll have one o’ the maids fetch us some ale.”

“Even better,” Niels decided.

Geordie set the mead aside with a shrug. “We’ll save the mead fer Edith then.”

Niels nodded absently, his thoughts turning to the problem of keeping Edith safe. Men at the windows during the day, guards on her at all times . . . Keeping her inside would not hurt either, he thought.

“The ale’ll be out shortly,” Tormod announced as he claimed his seat again a moment later. He then turned to eye Niels with approval. “Well-done,” he said. “She’s a good woman. Ye’re a lucky man. When do ye plan to wed her?”

“Where’s yer priest?” Niels asked for answer.

Tormod grinned. “That soon, eh?”

“Sooner,” Niels said firmly.

Tormod nodded and stood up. “I’ll go have a little chat with our Father Tavish, then. If he’s in a good mood ye may be married by the sup.”

“Should we no’ discuss what to do about this latest attempt on Edith’s life?” Rory asked with a frown.

Tormod paused and turned back with interest. “Have ye any ideas about who may ha’e shot the arrow at our lady, or how to catch them?”

“Well . . .” Rory frowned, but finally admitted, “Nay.”

Tormod nodded slowly, but his expression was pensive and he didn’t move away at once.

“Do you have any ideas, Tormod?” Niels asked, eyeing him curiously.

“I may,” he said slowly, and then grimaced and added, “Of a sort.”

“And what would that be?” Geordie asked at once and then patted the bench seat he’d just stood up from. “Sit down and tell us. I think I can safely speak fer everyone when I say we’d be happy fer any ideas at all.”

“Aye,” the others murmured together.

Tormod hesitated, but then sat down at the table and cleared his throat, before saying, “Well, I ken the three o’ ye planned to guard her in shifts, but it occurs to me that if we get ye and the lass married, Niels, she’ll be that bit safer with ye snug in her bed.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a nod.

“And then I could send men out to find Brodie,” he added. “I can send a couple to court and others to each keep belonging to one o’ his friends until we find him and can pass along the news that there is no fear o’ illness anymore.”

Rory shook his head. “Brodie can no’ be behind the poisonings and attacks, Tormod. They are no’ here.”

“Nay, I ken, but if he comes back, we can pretend we’re no’ concerned about him and only guarding Edith. But we watch him anyway, real sly like, and when the killer tries to kill him, we can hopefully catch them in the act,” he pointed out.

“Ye want to use yer laird as bait?” Rory asked with disbelief.

“Well, better him than Edith,” Tormod said gruffly. “She was at death’s door fer three weeks, and then was nearly killed today. He can take a turn and help solve this, the cowardly bastard. ’Tis his place as laird anyway.”

“Aye, ’tis,” Niels agreed solemnly. He wasn’t too worried about Brodie. He didn’t like the man on principle alone, but liked him even less for leaving Edith here alone and ailing. He also didn’t like that the man would have apparently tried to ship her off to the Abbey did he not plan to marry her first. Besides, in his experience, cowards were usually the last ones to be injured in any endeavor. The man would no doubt survive if they went through with their plan. What had his interest was that Tormod was willing to risk him that way. What’s more, he suspected the man would no’ be torn up if Brodie died as they caught the killer “in the act.”

Niels wasn’t really surprised. He’d heard the man say more than once that Edith would make a better clan leader, and as far as Niels was concerned, he was right. Still, a laird was supposed to be able to depend on his first to have his best interests at heart, and Tormod appeared more interested in Edith’s wellbeing than his laird’s.

“Anyway, I’d best go talk to Father Tavish,” Tormod muttered, getting to his feet.

“Would ye tell Brodie that ’twas poison, no’ illness and that the killer had no’ yet been caught?” Niels asked before he could slip away.

“Aye,” Tormod said on a sigh. “I’d ha’e to put that in the message I send. ’Tis me place. I’d also ha’e to tell him I hope he’ll return and help find the culprit who killed his father, brothers and uncle.” Tormod shrugged. “He’ll probably no’ return until we sort out this business, but I thought it could no’ hurt to try.”

Niels relaxed, relieved to hear that Tormod was upholding his position as first. He would have lost respect and trust in the man otherwise. Nodding, he said, “If nothing else, ‘twill tell us where he’s run off to.”

“Aye,” Tormod said dryly and headed for the doors to the bailey.

“I’m glad ye asked that,” Geordie said quietly. “I was beginning to worry he was willing to sacrifice his own laird.”

“He is,” Niels said with amusement. “But no’ without warning Brodie o’ what he faces, and I suspect he’d protect him with his life as well. It does no’ stop him from hoping something happens to free him from the man as laird though.”

“I can no’ blame him, really,” Geordie admitted. “By all accounts, Brodie will drain this place dry and leave his people in misery.”

“Aye,” Niels murmured, his gaze sliding to Ronson. The boy had been listening attentively to every word said, he saw with a frown. The lad was a smart one, and Niels thought now that perhaps he should talk to Edith about taking the boy and his grandmother with them when they left for Buchanan. He didn’t think Aulay would mind, and they’d take them on to their own home afterward when it was built.

“Well,” Alick said now. “First Saidh, and then Dougall, and now you.” He shook his head. “At this rate we’ll all be married and raising babies o’ our own soon.”

Geordie snorted at the suggestion. “The hell we will. I’ve a lot o’ living to do ere I settle down and have some woman start whelping,” he said with disgust, and then added, “And what poor, brain-addled woman is it that ye think would want ye fer a husband?”

Niels smiled faintly at the insult and then glanced to Rory when he tapped his arm.

“Does Edith ken the wedding will take place today?” his brother asked.

Niels shook his head. “We did no’ talk about when we should marry.”

“Well, then mayhap ye should go warn her so she can prepare herself,” Rory suggested.

“Prepare herself fer what?” he asked with a frown. “All she has to do is repeat the lines the priest says.”

“Aye,” Rory agreed patiently. “But she’ll want to look pretty fer the occasion.”

“She is always pretty,” he said with a scowl. Actually, she was always beautiful. At least to him. Shrugging, he said, “‘Twill be fine.”

“Fine,” Rory said with exasperation, getting to his feet. “I will go warn her meself. I need to get this broth to Effie anyway. ’Tis probably ice-cold, but she is no’ likely to notice or care in her current—Where are ye going?” he asked with surprise.

“To tell Edith we’re marrying today,” Niels growled, heading for the stairs and adding under his breath, “Damned if I’m letting ye do it.”

“Mayhap I should take a bath,” Edith said, peering at herself with a frown now that her gown was off. She was filthy from rolling around in the bailey, her hands and arms and the lower part of her legs were all covered in mud. If her face was as bad, a bath was definitely in order.

“I ordered one soon as I saw the state ye were in,” Moibeal assured her, looking over the mud stains on the gown Edith had been wearing.

“Oh.” Edith smiled at the girl. “What would I do without ye, Moibeal?”

“Walk around all muddy with yer hair in a mess I should think,” Moibeal said affectionately.

“No doubt,” Edith agreed with amusement, moving to the basin of water on the bedside table to wash away the worst of the mud on her hands.

“I heard Lord Buchanan say that ye were to marry him,” Moibeal commented after a moment. “Is it true?”

Edith stopped and glanced around at the question, something in the maid’s voice catching her attention. But there was nothing in the girl’s expression to explain the queer feeling she suddenly got.

“Aye,” she said finally and turned back to the water.

“When is it to happen? Before or after Brodie returns?”

Edith paused in her scrubbing and frowned as she admitted, “I do no’ ken. We did no’ really talk about that.”

She felt sure they should have talked about that. They really needed to marry ere Brodie returned or he might not allow it, and as much as she’d want to tell her brother to go stuff himself, she wouldn’t be able to. He was now her laird, his decisions as good as law . . . if he was there to make them, she added the thought grimly.

Nay, they definitely needed to marry before he returned, she decided and whirled to hurry toward the door. “I should go talk to him about that.”

“M’lady!” Moibeal squawked. “Ye’re no’ dressed.”

“Oh,” Edith muttered with exasperation, and then returned reluctantly to the water basin. Talking to Niels would have to wait until she was clean, dressed and looking less a wreck. He might have second thoughts about marrying her in her present state.

“If ye marry soon,” Moibeal said after a moment, “do ye think we’ll leave fer Buchanan right away?”

Edith stopped scrubbing at her skin again, her brow furrowing. “I . . . no, I’m sure we . . . Ye do no’ think he’d want to leave right away, do ye?”

“If he wants to keep ye safe, aye,” Moibeal said firmly. “And ye should want to go too. Ye were nearly killed today, and that poisoning business . . .” Her hand slid to her throat and she grimaced. “I only got a small dose o’ it, and was ill fer only a day or two and ’twas miserable. Ye were in agony and seeing things and throwing up fer weeks. ’Tis a wonder ye survived. The sooner we leave here the better.”

Edith turned to peer at the younger woman. Voice gentle, she said, “I can no’ just abandon Drummond and all o’ its people, Moibeal. And I can no’ leave Brodie to return all unknowing to a murderer. Besides, who is to say the murderer would no’ follow us?”

“What?” the maid squawked, apparently not having considered that.

Edith shrugged, and pointed out, “Well, if they are determined to kill me too, they’ll probably no’ just give it up because I move house. At least here, we ken to expect it and can guard against it. At Buchanan we may ne’er see it coming.”

Moibeal’s mouth tightened and then she muttered, “A fat lot o’ good it did kenning about it today when ye were nearly shot with an arrow.”

“Aye,” she admitted on a sigh and turned back to the water. “But we did no’ expect that. The other attacks were poison, which is a sneaky, cowardly way to kill.”

“Cawley was stabbed,” Moibeal pointed out.

Edith grimaced. “Aye, but I suspect the killer snuck up on Cawley too. Probably while he was distracted, eating.”

“Cawley was always distracted, eating,” Moibeal said sadly.

“Aye.” Edith swallowed. She really had been fond of the old man. Everyone had been really. At least she thought they had. Most of the people at Drummond had been kind to him, forever finding excuses to send him off to the kitchens, his favorite place. Jaimie hadn’t seemed to mind his being there else they would have sent him elsewhere. A good cook was hard to find in Scotland, and Jaimie was one of the best. They wouldn’t have risked losing him, but he’d always seemed fond of Cawley, smiling at his chatter as he worked.

“Anyway,” Edith said now. “We’ve learned a lot about the killer already.”

“Oh, aye,” Moibeal agreed dryly, “To watch out fer poison, stabbing and flying arrows.”

“That they are skilled at all three,” Edith corrected solemnly.

Moibeal was silent for a minute and then asked, “And how does that help?”

“I should like to ken yer thoughts on that, meself.”

Edith whirled to see Niels standing in the open door and instinctively squealed and tried to cover herself. Only realizing after she’d done it that it was a perfectly stupid thing to do. She was wearing her chemise, and he’d already seen every part of her without it. Good Lord, she’d stood bare inches from him, with naught but her gown twisted around her waist while he—

“Lord Buchanan!” Moibeal said with exasperation, hurrying to wrap Edith’s gown around her shoulders. She, of course, did not think her modesty stupid, since she had no idea what they’d been up to. Scowling, the maid moved in front of Edith once she’d grasped the edges of the gown and snapped, “Ye can no’ jest enter a lady’s bedchamber without knocking.”

“Even if she’s to be me wife?” he asked, closing the door and then crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against it.

“Ye’re no’ married yet, m’lord,” Moibeal pointed out with some asperity.

“So, ‘twill be all right in a couple o’ hours, but no’ now?” he asked with amusement.

“Exactly,” Moibeal said, and then blinked and asked, “A couple o’ hours?”

“A couple o’ hours?” Edith echoed, stepping around Moibeal to better see him.

“Aye.” He gave her a slow smile, his eyes sliding over her body. “Tormod’s gone to talk to the priest. He said we’ll be married by sup.”

Recalling that her face was filthy and her hair a terrible mess, Edith turned quickly and began to splash water over her face and head. She would have liked to just stick her head in the basin of water, but while it was wide enough for the effort, it was not deep enough that she’d be able to submerge her face past her ears.

“Are ye going to tell me how it helps us that we ken the killer has used all three methods to try to kill yer family members?” Niels asked, taking away the small scrap of linen Edith had just picked up and begun to scrub her face with.

Of course, she jumped in surprise at both his words and his action. She hadn’t even heard him cross the room.

“Hmm?” he asked, dipping the cloth in the basin and then wringing out the worst of the water before starting to rub soap on the wet linen.

“Oh, aye,” Edith murmured as he began to wash her face for her. Where she had scrubbed roughly, he was surprisingly gentle, but since the linen was quickly covered with mud, she supposed it must be working.

“Edith?” Niels queried and when she met his gaze in question, reminded her, “How does it help us that the killer has used the three different methods?”

“Oh,” she sighed and then explained her thinking. “Well, it eliminates a lot o’ people at Drummond as the culprit,” she pointed out.

Niels smiled slowly and nodded, but Moibeal immediately asked, “How?”

Edith glanced to the girl and asked, “How many servants do you ken who know about weeds? Or where to stab to hit the heart? And who can shoot arrows straight enough to hit someone by the gates from this window?”

Moibeal moved to the window to peer out and pursed her lips. Turning back, though, she said, “I’ll grant ye, few would be skilled enough to make a shot like that. But there are plenty about who ken enough about weeds to poison someone. And everyone kens the heart is in the center o’ the chest.”

“’Tis actually to the left o’ center,” Edith corrected. “It starts about midchest, but then goes left, with only a little on the right of center.”

“Oh,” Moibeal said with a frown. “Still, they may ha’e just got lucky in hitting the heart.”

“Nay,” Niels said, his voice slightly distracted as he worked at cleaning Edith’s face. “The ribs are in the way. Ye have to strike at just the right angle to avoid their stopping the blade. Or slide it up under the ribs as happened with Cawley,” he added grimly. “And the culprit kenned enough to leave the blade in.”

“What difference does that make?” Moibeal asked curiously.

“The heart continues to beat at least for a little bit after being stabbed,” Edith explained. “And doing so, it wounds itself further on the blade and there is no saving them.”

“Oh,” Moibeal said faintly.

“Ye ken a lot about such things, lass,” Niels commented, dipping the linen in the basin to rinse it before returning to his work.

“Me mother was a healer,” Edith said quietly. “She tended the people here as much as possible and taught me what she knew ere she died.”

“And ye now heal those ye can?” Niels asked.

“Aye,” Edith murmured, and then grimaced and added, “At least with birthings and wounds or injuries. I ken about healing weeds, but know little or nothing about the use o’ poisonous weeds else I would have recognized that we were all poisoned and no’ ill.”

Niels nodded and then set the linen on the table next to the basin before cupping her face and meeting her gaze solemnly. “Are ye a’right with marrying me so quickly?”

“Aye,” Edith said shyly, and then asked with concern, “Are you?”

“Oh, aye, m’lady. I am looking forward to it,” Niels assured her in a voice that told her just what he was looking forward to.

Flushing, Edith tried to duck her head, but he held her face in place and bent to kiss her. She was quite sure he meant it to be a swift sweet meeting of lips, but the moment his mouth brushed across hers, Edith opened to him and he couldn’t resist deepening the kiss. Sighing, Edith immediately released her hold on the gown wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl and slid her arms around his neck. She rose up on her tiptoes as she did, her body pressing eagerly against his.

Niels responded by letting his hands drop to clasp her bottom and lifting her slightly as he slid a leg between both of hers, so that she rode his thigh as he let her drop down a bit and then lifted her again. It brought a hungry groan from her and a loud, “Ahem!” from Moibeal.

Edith wasn’t at all surprised when Niels broke their kiss with a small sigh and set her away from him.

Smiling crookedly, he promised, “Tonight.”

“Aye,” Edith breathed and then watched him leave the room.

“Gor!” Moibeal breathed, fanning herself as she closed the door behind him. “That man, m’lady!”

“Aye,” Edith sighed, sinking to sit on the side of the bed.

“What I would no’ give to be in yer slippers tonight,” Moibeal said, shaking her head as she crossed back to collect the discarded gown from the floor. Straightening, she assured her, “That man is going to show ye pleasure like ye’ve never known.”

“Aye,” Edith agreed, and thought to herself that he already had. Niels had pleasured her twice already that day, while she had done nothing at all in return. She’d tried, but not knowing what she was doing . . .

“Moibeal?” she said, eyeing the girl determinedly.

“Aye, m’lady?” the maid asked, distracted as she began to brush at the dried mud on her gown, trying to remove the worst of it before actually washing it.

“Ye must tell me everything ye ken about pleasing a man,” Edith said firmly.