KINLEY CAME OUT of Bhaltair’s bed chamber, and gestured for Lachlan and Cailean to join her in the front room. Other druids waiting there had joined hands and were murmuring invocations to the gods, so she led her husband and the ovate outside.

“The healer says if he survives the night, he’ll live.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Which sucks, but at least he’s got a chance.”

“I’ve sent word around the settlement about my master’s sickness,” Cailean told her. “Did the healer say what ails him?”

“It’s not any sickness she recognizes.” Kinley glanced back at the cottage. “The vomiting is similar to food poisoning, but she said that takes some time to set in. Bhaltair went down while he was eating.”

Lachlan’s nostrils flared. “Deliberately poisoned.”

Cailean rubbed his brow. “But I checked everything in the house. There’s naught that could have done this.” He dropped his hand. “And why? Bhaltair is much-loved and respected. No one would…” He stopped and stared at Kinley. “Never would he take his own life. He’s happier now than he has ever been in my memory.”

“That old man knows more ways to die quickly than I do,” Kinley told him bluntly. “If he wanted to go, he wouldn’t have picked this route.” She regarded her husband. “We need to send for Diana. She used to process crime scenes. She’ll know what to look for.”

“Aye, but she’ll no’ rest until she tears the settlement apart looking for the poisoner,” the laird said. “I think ’twill have to be us to do this, Wife.”

“All right,” Kinley said and walked around for a moment. “This Daimh Haral guy left for Everbay this morning. Then we find Bhaltair half-dead on the floor. Diana would not think that was a coincidence. Let’s go have another look at his last meal.”

They returned inside and went to the table, where the food and half-filled goblet still sat. The wilted greens and congealed stew looked all right to Kinley, but since any hope of a forensics lab lay seven hundred years away, she turned to Cailean.

“Is this what he usually has for dinner?” When the ovate nodded she picked up the goblet and sniffed it. “Okay, this definitely has alcohol in it. Maybe he just drank too much too fast.”

“’Tis called perry,” Lachlan told her. “Fermented pear juice, only just more potent than ale. Master Flen isnae a small man. ’Twould take a cask of it to sicken him.”

Cailean took the goblet from her. “No, it cannae be perry.” After he sniffed it he groaned. “’Twas in the water.”

“Now you’ve lost me,” Kinley advised him.

“My master only has water with his evening meal,” the ovate said as he set the goblet down. “Anything more gives him the headache and a restless night. He would never touch perry after sunset.” He tried to smile. “Indeed, he keeps a jug for me.”

“So, the bastard doused his water, dumped it, washed the goblet and refilled it with perry.” Kinley slowly walked around the table. “He knew we’d find the old guy, but he didn’t give him enough to kill him. He also didn’t want us to know he used poison. What’s his game?”

“’Tis a delay tactic,” Lachlan said. “We intended Bhaltair to come with us. Finding him near death prevented that, and our own departure. He wished to reach the island before us.”

Kinley nodded. “As Diana would say, I’m liking Daimh Haral for this.” She saw Cailean grimace. “And you really don’t like this guy at all. Your lip does the curl thing every time you say his name. Why does he get on your nerves?”

“My own feelings dinnae matter.” The young druid gripped the back of his master’s chair. “’Tis no’ the druid way to harbor ill feelings toward others, and certainly as the last survivor of the Moon Wake tribe, he deserves to be pitied. And yet…”

Kinley rolled her hand.

“Something about him grates on me.” Cailean looked to the laird. “When the conclave sent me to Everbay to attend to the tribe’s remains, he came. He wept and wailed about his great loss, and ’twas very convincing. Yet when it came to do the work, he offered no aid to me or the other brothers. He stood back and said naught and simply watched.”

Kinley thought of the one McDonnel funeral she had seen, where every member of the clan had come forward to pay their respects to Seoc Talorc. The McDonnels had touched the body and spoken of the dead man with affection and respect. Not one of them had stood back and simply watched.

“Did he cry when you put them in the ground, or after, when he was with you?” Kinley asked.

“After,” Cailean said, sounding stricken. “After and always, with us.”

“Then ’twas a performance, done for your benefit.” Lachlan put a hand on the druid’s shoulder. “I ken druid kind rely on magics and learning to deal with such things. All of that ’tis beyond me, but I ken betrayal only too well. You were the last druid to attend to Everbay. Your son, now stolen to be taken there. Daimh Haral, gone there as Bhaltair is struck down.”

Kinley stared at him. “Why would this be about Cailean?”

“I think I ken, but I must be sure.” The young druid took in a deep breath, and straightened. “I dinnae wish to leave my master in such a state, but we must go to Everbay. This very moment.”

Lachlan retrieved his weapons and their packs from their horses while Kinley went with Cailean to fetch his pack. She knew he was blaming himself—he could barely look at her—but that wasn’t her main concern.

She waited to ask him as they were walking to meet Lachlan at the settlement’s sacred grove. “Do you know why the undead took your son?”

Cailean stumbled, nearly falling over, and then took her offered hand. “Danyel is the last of my bloodline,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “Bethany hasnae yet conceived again.” He gave her a sheepish look. “We have been trying for another bairn.”

“Good for you guys.” She wasn’t going to judge a woman who had married a gay man with his boyfriend living in the house with them. “So you’re worried Bethany won’t have any more children.”

He looked away from her again. “I think if Danyel dies, ’twill kill her as well.”

By then they were at the grove, where Lachlan stood waiting. Another druid, one Kinley recognized as a member of the conclave, stood talking with him. The older druid bowed to her and Cailean before he hurried away.

“What was that about?” she asked her husband.

“I made inquiry as to when Daimh used the portal to travel to Everbay this morning. The conclavist tells me he hasnae.” The laird eyed Cailean. “In fact, no’ once since he came to live here has Daimh used the grove.”

Kinley felt perplexed now. “Why would he avoid using the portal. It works for anyone who has druid blood. No other form of travel in this time is faster. If he wanted to get to Everbay before us, no way is he riding a horse to the nearest dock.”

“Unless he had to meet a ship,” her husband said. “Mayhap he is in league with the undead now.”

“Or he is no longer a druid,” Cailean said slowly. “Bhaltair told me once that Daimh doesnae participate in the rituals held here. He claims that he doesnae out of respect for his tribe, but there have been whispers about it. Some say he willnae because it would reveal what he truly is.”

“What’s that?” Kinley asked.

“One who follows the dark path,” he told her. “Worship of gods from other lands, those that demand sacrifices of blood. Magics forbidden to us because they are evil, or destructive. ’Twould explain why Daimh wears body wards. He says ’tis to protect him against the undead, but it blocks any from sensing his magics and powers. If he does such evil things, then it would change him. We would ken that he was no longer one of us.”