The sound of a terrible explosion woke Edith. Blinking her eyes open, she glanced frantically around the room, and then jerked her gaze to her right as the sound came again. She gaped at the man slumped in the seat next to the bed. He was the source of the sound. Not an explosion at all, but a loud snuffling snort as the fellow snored in his sleep. Dear God, she’d never heard such a horrendous racket.

Edith stared at the man blankly, wondering who the devil he was and why he was in her room, and then she noticed the woman in bed next to her and peered at her with mingled confusion and concern. She recognized her at once as Victoria’s maid, Effie. But finding her in her bed was somewhat surprising. The fact that the woman looked terribly ill just added to her bewilderment. The old woman was extremely pale, not an ounce of color in her thin, wrinkled skin, and she was completely unmoving too. Effie was so still, Edith wasn’t even sure she was breathing at first. She was beginning to worry the woman was dead when she noted that her chest was rising and lowering the faintest bit with slow, shallow breaths.

Relieved, Edith relaxed and then glanced around her chamber again. Her room was generally neat and tidy, but at present it looked like there really had been an explosion. An empty mug lay on its side on the bedside table, next to one standing up and two empty bowls. A bread crust and another cup and bowl were on the bedside table on the other side, and then a cask sat on the table at the far end of the room with several more metal cups and bowls between it and a small pile of browning vegetable peels. There was also what appeared to be a rabbit pelt, freshly skinned.

Wondering who had held the party in her room while she was sleeping, Edith glanced over the floor now, noting the sacks lined up against the wall. There were four in all with various items spilling out of them—cloth, vegetables, and weapons. And the rush mats on the floor were both crushed and kicked aside, showing a lot of use and definite trails from the door to both the bed and table, and then from both the table and bed to the fireplace, where a pot of something was bubbling over the fire.

Edith didn’t have a clue what to make of all of it, or the fact that there was presently a man at her bedside like some very loud guardian angel.

Or perhaps just a guard.

That last thought was a bit disturbing. Edith knew she’d been sick for a while. The mess in her room suggested it had been quite a while. What had been happening at Drummond while she was out of her head with illness? Had one of the clans they were feuding with learned of the deaths of her father and brothers and decided to take advantage and attack the castle?

The idea was an alarming one, particularly since she had not been awake to aid in defending against such a happenstance. Her brother Brodie, much as she loved him, was spoiled rotten and not the most capable of men. He would be useless in such a situation, she was sure.

Biting her lip, Edith peered warily at the man slumped in the chair next to the bed. He was a big fellow, with wide shoulders and a youthful but not unhandsome face. He was also a complete stranger, not one of the Drummond men. Her gaze dropped to Effie again and she nudged her with her elbow, hoping the woman would wake and tell her what was going on and what had happened while she was ill. When the first nudge had no effect, she gave her a second, firmer poke, but that produced no response either.

Deciding to let the poor woman rest, Edith sat up, or tried. Honestly, it was an effort just to get herself into an upright position. She was as weak as a babe, and had to turn on her side and slide her feet off the bed so her legs hung off of it, and then push herself up into a sitting position.

Panting and sweaty from what should have been an easy task, Edith swayed where she sat on the edge of the bed and eyed the door with grim determination. Her chamber wasn’t really that big. She knew from experience that the door was only six large steps or so from the bed. But after the struggle she’d had to sit up, even six steps seemed an awfully long distance to cross.

Unfortunately, while waking the snoring man in her room would have been the easier option, Edith wouldn’t even consider it until she knew if he was friend or foe. Which meant that if she wanted to find out what was going on in Drummond, and whether she was safe or not, she needed to slip out into the hall and get a look around. Preferably without waking her guard.

Determined to do it, Edith took a deep breath, and then used every muscle at her disposal to get up. She pushed off with her hands and up with her legs, and for one glorious moment she was upright and standing, and then she fell flat on her face on a rush mat just as the bedroom door opened.

“Bloody hell, Alick! Ye were supposed to be watching—Laddie! Nay!”

Edith pushed one eyelid up and then immediately closed it again as she spotted the huge tongue just inches from her eye. She barely got it closed before the side of her face was lashed with a very large slimy tongue from chin to forehead. Nose wrinkling, she listened to the pounding of feet quickly crossing the room. She noted that the snoring had ended abruptly just before a second male voice, sounding startled, cried out, “What? Hey! Where’d she go?”

“Idiot,” the man now kneeling next to her muttered. Edith wasn’t sure whom he was calling idiot, and didn’t particularly care. She was too grateful to have Laddie’s affectionate licking brought to an end and opened her eyes to see a man dragging the dog back toward the door by his collar.

“Ronson!” he bellowed.

“Oh, hey! Niels? How’d she get out o’ bed?” Edith was quite sure it was the previously snoring man who asked that question since it came from the other side of the bed.

“How do ye think, Alick?” the first man growled and then bellowed again, “Ronson! Oh, there ye are. Get this mutt out o’ here.”

“Sorry, m’lord,” Ronson cried, entering the room and hurrying to grab Laddie’s collar. “He got away from me real quick. He’s sneaky that way. But he’s been missing Lady Edith and—Why is Lady Edith on the floor? What—?”

“Out,” Niels growled. “Now!”

“Aye, m’lord,” Ronson said, dragging Laddie with him as he shuffled backward toward the door. The boy beamed at Edith the whole way. “’Tis real fine to see ye awake, m’lady. Real fine. I’ll bring Laddie back fer a visit when ye’re feeling better.”

The last word came muffled through the door as the man Alick had called Niels slammed it closed.

Edith could hear Niels muttering under his breath as she watched his large feet cross the room once more. It sounded like he was saying something about fools, lads, and dogs who were really horses, and then he knelt next to her, and she found herself turned and then scooped up off the floor and away from the nasty rush mat her face had landed on. It was dirty and beginning to mold, obviously in need of changing. She’d have to order the servants to take them away and make new ones.

“Sorry about that,” Niels growled, drawing her attention back to him. “The dog tends to follow me around, but usually stops in the hall when I come in here.”

“Aye, Laddie follows Niels everywhere when he leaves the room,” Alick told her solemnly. “So does young Ronson. They both seem to like him.” Pursing his lips, he shook his head and added, “None o’ us can figure out why.”

Niels growled under his breath in response.

Edith glanced from one man to the other, unsure what to say. She had no idea if they were friend or foe. In the end, she merely nodded her head slightly. For some reason, that made the man carrying her smile, and she blinked in surprise as his stern face suddenly turned very handsome. He had an incredibly appealing smile. It lit up his whole face and made his beautiful blue eyes twinkle. Edith couldn’t resist smiling back as her eyes slid over his high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips, and the wild long hair framing it all. He really was very attractive.

“I’m Niels Buchanan,” he announced, and Edith stopped gaping at how pretty he was and met his gaze as she recognized the last name.

“Not Saidh’s—” That was all she managed to get out, and it was nothing more than a breathy sound. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even work up spit in it. Fortunately, Niels didn’t have the same problem and understood what she’d wanted to say.

“Aye, one o’ Saidh’s brothers,” he assured her, turning toward the bed. Setting her down in it, he added, “And ye’re Edith Drummond, one o’ me sister’s dearest friends.”

“Aye,” she agreed in a whisper as he tugged the linens and furs up to cover her. Edith’s smile widened ever so slightly. Drummond hadn’t been invaded by enemies. They were being visited by friends. “Is Saidh . . . ?”

“Nay, she’s no’ here,” he said almost apologetically as he straightened. “She was too far along with child to make the journey and sent us in her place.”

Edith’s eyes widened. “With child?”

“Aye, she is,” the other man said, reminding her of his presence. Niels had called him Alick, Edith recalled as she glanced to him. Which meant he was the youngest of the Buchanan boys, Edith thought, watching the younger man grin widely as he continued, “And we think she’s carrying more than one babe. She’s only four months along but already big as a cow. Greer will no’ even let her use the stairs on her own fer fear she’ll lose her footing and roll down them like a great ball.”

Edith’s eyes widened at the news. She couldn’t imagine rough-and-tumble Saidh not being able to walk down a set of stairs, let alone restricted from riding. She didn’t imagine the woman was taking that well. But she didn’t understand why Saidh hadn’t mentioned being with child in her last letter. At least, the last letter she’d read, Edith thought, and wondered if she’d received others from her friend since falling ill.

“Alick, go tell Rory she’s awake,” Niels ordered, walking to the table where the cask sat.

“Aye,” the younger man answered and then smiled at her reassuringly as he moved around the bed. “Our Rory’s a healer, and the finest one around. Why, he’s the one who sorted out that ye were no’ ill but being poisoned. He’ll have ye feeling right as rain in no time.”

Alick Buchanan nodded at her cheerily and turned to hurry out of the room, leaving Edith staring after him with horror. Poison?

“Idiot.”

That mutter drew her gaze to Niels. He’d finished filling one of the cups with liquid and turned to see her expression. Mouth tight, he shook his head and crossed back to the bed. “Forgive me brother. He has the tact o’ a bull at the best o’ times.”

“Poison?” she whispered, her voice raspy.

Cursing, he settled on the edge of the bed and slid an arm under Edith to raise her up. “Aye. Poison. But drink this ere ye try to talk again, else ye may do yerself some damage,” he said, holding the mug of liquid up to her mouth.

Edith hesitated, more interested in this poison business at the moment, but then she gave in and took a tiny sip. Once the cool wet liquid hit her mouth, she would have taken more, but wasn’t given the option. She barely had a half mouthful of what turned out to be mead before he lowered the drink.

“Just a sip. Ye were no’ able to keep it down when last ye woke so we’ll go slow this time.”

Edith’s eyes widened at the claim. “I woke before?”

“Aye,” he admitted with a grimace. “But ye were a mite confused and no’ really alert. Ye drank some mead and then tossed it right back up all over me and passed out again. I’d rather no’ go through that again.”

Edith groaned and lowered her head with humiliation.

“There’s naught to be embarrassed about,” Niels said, and she could hear the frown in his voice. “I’ve four younger brothers who I’ve had to care fer as they tossed up their stomachs . . . and they were no’ poisoned. It was just too much drink fer them. With you, well, at least ye had a good excuse.”

Reminded of the poison, Edith jerked her head up on a frown. “Me father and brothers?”

Niels winced at her raspy voice and raised the mead again. “Another swallow o’ this, I think. This time swish it around real good and wet all the corners. Ye’re obviously dry as a bone.”

Edith dutifully took another mouthful of mead, but the moment she’d swished and swallowed, she asked, “Me father and—”

“Aye. Rory can no’ be sure o’ course, but he believes they were poisoned too. They had all the same symptoms. Except fer the . . . er . . . stomach issues,” he said delicately. “But Rory suspicions that’s what saved ye. Ye reacted to the poison and tossed it up each time ye had it. There was no’ enough left in ye to kill ye as it did yer father and brothers.”

Edith lowered her head on this news, her mind awhirl with grief and anger. It had been bad enough when she’d thought she’d lost her father and two brothers to illness, but to know they had been deliberately killed—Jerking her head up, she asked, “Brodie?”

“Well and fine, as far as we ken,” he assured her. “He feared getting it himself and took his bride and left fer safer shores when yer maid got sick.”

Edith didn’t comment. Now that he mentioned it, she recalled Brodie’s leaving. She’d been rather annoyed at the time, thinking it less than laird-like behavior to flee the keep and all its people when they might be at the start of a crisis. She noted that Niels sounded disgusted by his actions too, but she merely asked, “Moibeal? She is—”

“Yer maid is fine,” he assured her. “And fashing to see ye. I would no’ be surprised does she no’ ignore Rory’s orders to stay away and show up here once she learns ye’re awake.”

Edith’s eyebrows rose. “Why was she no’ allowed—”

She broke off and glanced to the door when it opened. Alick was returning with another man, and Edith found herself examining the three of them. They were all similar in looks with dark hair and those lovely blue eyes. But Niels was obviously older than the other two. He was also bigger, his shoulders wide, his arms thick and strong. Not that the other two didn’t look strong, but Niels looked like a warrior used to wielding a broadsword, while Alick looked like he hadn’t fully grown yet and Rory looked like . . . well, like he was a healer more than a warrior.

“’Tis good to see ye awake, Lady Edith,” Rory said by way of greeting as he walked to the bed. “How do ye feel?”

“Thirsty,” Edith admitted.

“I’ve only given her two small sips o’ mead to see how she stomachs it,” Niels announced, and much to Edith’s disappointment, stood so that Rory could take his place. She wasn’t sure why she was sorry he left, since she barely knew the man, but she was disappointed, and her feelings obviously showed on her face, Edith realized when Rory’s eyebrows rose slightly and he glanced from her to Niels with a small smile.

Fortunately, he didn’t embarrass her by commenting and merely asked, “How does yer stomach feel after the first couple o’ sips?”

“Fine, thank ye,” she whispered.

“Then Niels can give ye more in a minute,” he said and leaned in to look into her eyes.

Edith stilled, fighting the urge to look away, and simply waited.

“Yer eyes are back to normal,” he murmured.

Edith had no idea what that meant, but looked away with relief when he sat back again. She then frowned as her gaze fell on the woman in bed next to her. “Effie? Is she—?”

“She appears to have ingested the poison too,” Rory interrupted, sparing her voice. “I think, like Moibeal, she did no’ consume much o’ whatever had the poison in it . . . else she’d be dead now. Howbeit she’s old and frail enough that even a little might yet do her in.”

“Ye ken what was poisoned?” Edith asked, her voice cracking in several spots. Her throat hurt, it was so dry, and the few sips she’d had of mead hadn’t been enough to ease it.

“Niels, come give her more mead,” Rory said, standing and moving around the bed to examine Effie now.

Edith frowned, thinking he planned to ignore her question, but when Niels settled next to her on the bed again and slid an arm under her shoulders to ease her to a sitting position, she forgot all about her question. Niels smelled like the woods in the springtime, a scent she’d always loved. Edith couldn’t resist turning her head toward the curve of his neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply. When Niels stilled, she realized what she was doing and quickly turned her face back. Edith was quite sure she was blushing, but Niels merely smiled faintly and offered her the mug of mead.

“Thank ye,” Edith murmured before taking a sip.

“Moibeal said she had a couple mouthfuls o’ yer wine when ye did no’ drink it the night she fell ill,” Rory commented after she’d had several cautious sips.

Looking toward the other man, Edith saw that he had lifted both Effie’s eyelids and was peering at her eyes silently. His words hadn’t been a question, but she nodded and responded as if it was anyway. “Aye. I said she could. I did no’ have the stomach fer it after tossing it back up so many times, so she gave me her cider and I let her have me wine.”

“She said she did no’ drink much, though. Is that right?” Rory asked, sitting up straight and turning his questioning gaze to her.

“Aye. She only had a couple drinks. She did no’ care fer it,” Edith recalled, noting that her voice was getting stronger. The mead was making her throat feel better too.

“And did Effie have some o’ yer wine too?” Rory asked.

“I—” Edith paused, her gaze dropping to the woman before she shrugged helplessly and admitted, “I’m no’ sure. She may have. I do no’ recall much o’ the last week or so since I fell ill again.” Frowning, she explained, “At first I could no’ keep anything down, but felt better once I’d purged. That kept happening, and finally I refused the wine and broth Moibeal brought.” Eyes narrowing as she thought on it, she murmured, “Once I stopped having those, I was able to keep down an apple and some bread Moibeal brought me, and I started to feel better again . . . and then I wanted to build me strength so I had some stew and—” She grimaced with distaste. “It did no’ seem to make much difference when that came back up. I was exhausted and weary and just wanted to sleep.”

“Ye were weakening from no’ being able to keep yer food down fer so long,” Rory said solemnly.

“Mayhap,” Edith admitted and glanced to the woman in bed next to her. “I have a vague recollection o’ Effie trying to get me to eat or drink and saying I needed to build up me strength, but every time I did . . .” She shrugged and merely shook her head.

“Did ye ha’e wine with the stew while ye were tending Moibeal?” Niels asked, drawing her gaze his way.

Edith wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Frankly, I fear I’ll never want wine again after tossing it back up so many times. I did no’ have anything to drink that night.”

“So the poison was in both the wine and stew,” Niels said grimly.

“It was?” Edith asked uncertainly.

“Aye,” he assured her, his voice sounding angry. “Moibeal was poisoned from a couple o’ sips o’ yer wine, but ye fell ill again after eating stew. Both must ha’e been poisoned.”

“Oh, aye,” she said with realization and then noticed the grim looks Niels and Rory exchanged.

Still a bit fuzzy-minded, Edith wasn’t sure what that exchange meant. Noticing her confusion, Rory explained, “We were hoping that perhaps the family wine had been poisoned in an effort to kill yer father and brothers, and ye merely had the bad luck to have some o’ the poisoned wine. But if yer stew was later poisoned too . . .” He pointed out almost apologetically, “No one else fell ill from the stew.”

Edith’s eyes widened incredulously at those words. She understood what he was saying. After killing her father and brothers, someone had deliberately tried to poison her. Why would anyone want her dead? She was no one of import.

“Though,” Niels added now, turning toward Rory, “the maids both being poisoned is most likely an unintended result o’ trying to poison Edith.”

“Aye,” Rory agreed. “If Effie wakes up, I’m quite sure we’ll find she ate or drank something that was sent up fer Lady Edith.”

Niels nodded, his gaze shifting toward the table where the cask, vegetables, and rabbit skin sat. “So the liquid from the vial the maid was mixing into her drink is probably no’ the poison.”

“Nay. Probably not,” Rory agreed. “Effie would hardly deliberately poison herself too.”

“A little blue glass vial?” Edith asked, her ears perking up. She hadn’t noticed it on the table, but it was small and there was enough mess with the mugs and whatnot that it might be hidden from her view.

“Aye,” Niels said. “Effie was pouring the last o’ it into yer drink to give to ye as we entered.”

“Victoria gave it to Effie ere she left. She said it would help build me blood to aid in fighting the illness or some such thing,” Edith murmured and grimaced. “It was foul. Just the smell o’ it was enough to make me heave the first night Effie put it in me drink.”

“Really?” Rory murmured, and the way he looked toward the table now with interest convinced her the vial must be there somewhere.

“It can no’ be the poison,” Edith assured them quietly. “Victoria does no’ like me much, but she’s no’ stupid. She’d hardly give Effie poison to give me in front o’ others like that.”

“Nay . . . o’ course she would no’,” Niels murmured, but neither he nor his brothers looked completely convinced by her words. “Here, have more mead.”

Edith hesitated, but then let him feed her more mead. She didn’t think for a minute the tonic Victoria had given Effie could have poison in it. Her sister-in-law simply wasn’t that stupid. Mind you, she wouldn’t put it past the lass to have poisoned them all, just not in something that would lead directly back to her. Victoria might have seemed all sweetness and batting eyelashes when she’d first arrived at Drummond as Brodie’s new bride, but once Edith’s father and brothers had fallen ill, her ambition had shone through. Victoria wanted to be Lady Drummond with all that entailed, and had been terribly frustrated that the servants were not simply falling in line with her vision while the older brothers still lived. The woman had shown her true colors then, throwing a temper tantrum of epic proportions. Even Brodie had appeared taken aback by her behavior, and he was famous for his temper tantrums.

In truth, Edith had almost been glad to fall ill herself once her second brother, Hamish, had died. It allowed her to avoid watching the woman claim the position she was so greedy for. Edith was quite certain Victoria wouldn’t have taken over graciously or kindly in an effort to secure the hearts of the people now under her charge. She had probably been spiteful and bitter as she’d barked her orders and demanded immediate obeisance. Edith couldn’t have borne watching that.

Actually, she was no more eager to watch it now once her brother and his wife returned. Perhaps a visit with Saidh was in order so that she could sort out what she should do now. Edith was quite certain her days at Drummond were numbered. She had no doubt Victoria would want her out of there as quickly as possible, which probably meant a nunnery for her. If she wanted to avoid that, a visit with Saidh and the other girls where they might put their heads together and think up an alternative future for her was . . . well, really it was the only hope she had. Although, it was a slim one at best.

Edith swallowed the mead and then asked, “Has there been word as to when Brodie and Victoria will return?”

Niels shook his head. “Nay. I asked Tormod that very thing this morning, and he said no one has heard from them. He also said he did no’ expect to, that Brodie comes and goes as he pleases without troubling himself to let others ken what he’s about.”

“Aye,” Edith said on a sigh. “Brodie tends to be . . . impulsive. We did no’ even ken he’d married until he arrived home with Victoria in tow. It seems he met her at court, fell madly in love and married her within a month.”

“And her parents allowed it?” Niels asked with surprise.

“That was my first question,” Edith admitted wryly.

“And his answer?” Rory asked at once.

“He said they were perfectly fine with it,” she said, not hiding her doubt that it was true.

“Ye do no’ believe it?” Rory asked with interest.

“Nay,” Edith admitted solemnly. “And neither did me father. He sent a messenger to a friend at court, who immediately wrote him back with the true story as he knew it.”

“Which is?” Niels prompted when she hesitated.

After a hesitation, Edith admitted, “Apparently, Victoria was contracted to marry another when she met Brodie. My brother wooed her with tales o’ his being heir to the laird at Drummond.” All three Buchanan men stiffened at this news and she rushed on. “Her parents found out and her father took him aside and told him he knew he was the third son and would never be laird, his daughter was contracted to another, and to leave his daughter alone or else. But I do no’ think they troubled to tell Victoria that Brodie had lied, because according to my father’s friend, the next thing anyone knew Victoria and Brodie were gone.” She grimaced. “It seems the pair fled court fer Drummond and stopped in a pub along the way to exchange consent in front o’ witnesses.”

“So they’re no’ really married?” Alick asked with a frown.

“Oh, aye, they are,” Niels said heavily.

It was Rory who explained, “According to canon law, all each party need do is give consent to be married. Ye need no’ even have witnesses, although it helps if anyone refutes it.”

“Then why is there always the priest prattling on and on?” Alick asked. “And what o’ banns and—?”

“Not strictly necessary,” Rory assured him. “Just preferred by most.”

“Well . . .” Alick frowned and seemed at a loss as to why anyone would want such bother.

There was silence for a minute, and then Niels said, “So he claimed he was to be laird.”

“And now he is,” Rory added darkly.

Edith sighed. She’d just known that was what they would focus on. “Look, I ken it sounds bad, and frankly, me brother is a selfish, unreliable and spoiled lad . . . but Father is the last person Brodie would hurt. He is the one who spoiled him so badly and let him go his own way so much growing up.”

“And ye think he respected him fer that?” Niels asked curiously.

Edith stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Do ye think yer brother respected yer father fer spoiling him and letting him get away with so much, as ye put it,” Niels asked, “or do ye think he just felt like mayhap his father did no’ care enough to be bothered to discipline him and teach him to survive in this world as a man?”

Edith frowned. She’d often seen her father’s indulgence of Brodie as hurtful to her brother, knowing it was doing him no favors, but she’d never considered that Brodie might see it as such too.

“Yer brother got lucky with Victoria,” Niels added quietly. “If he’d tried the like with our sister and we’d caught up to him ere they exchanged consent, we would ha’e beat him near to death.”

“Aye, and probably cut off his ballocks and fiddle to boot,” Rory said coldly.

Edith’s eyes widened incredulously at the threat to Brodie’s family jewels. “Nay.”

“Aye,” Alick assured her with a grin. “We planned to do all that and more to MacDonnell after he sent a message saying he’d ruined our Saidh and planned to marry her.” Pursing his lips with displeasure, he added, “I’m still no’ sure why we did no’ do it.”

“Because MacDonnell’s a laird, and he ne’er lied to Saidh,” Rory explained dryly.

“Besides, Saidh was no’ contracted to another,” Niels added. “She had no better prospects. In fact, MacDonnell was a fine choice to husband.”

“And she loved him,” Edith pointed out.

“Nay,” Niels said at once, and when she frowned, assured her, “’Tis true. She lusted after him and liked him at first, but did no’ yet love him. She said as much herself right in front o’ us.”

“Really?” Edith asked, her voice almost a squeak of surprise.

“Aye,” Rory assured her with amusement. “Though in truth, I think she probably was half in love with him when they married. She definitely loves him now.”

“No’ that it matters,” Niels added quietly. “Had MacDonnell been a spoiled, lying third son unable to support her and any bairns they might produce, we would ha’e beat him to death rather than let him marry her . . . whether she loved him or no’.”

“What?” Edith gasped, shrinking away from him with surprise.

Niels frowned at her reaction, but then asked, “Ye said ye do no’ think Victoria’s parents told her that Brodie had lied. Was it only because she ran off with him?”

“Nay,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Then why?”

Edith blew her breath out unhappily, but then admitted, “Because she seemed shocked when they got here and Brodie introduced her to our older brothers.”

“How shocked?” Niels asked.

Edith stared at him silently, suddenly suspecting he already knew the answer. If he’d talked to anyone here since their arrival, he probably did, she realized, and wondered just how long the men had been here and what all they knew.

“She fainted,” Edith admitted quietly, recalling the way Victoria had paled and then collapsed. Brodie had tried to brush it away as exhaustion from the trip as he’d scooped her up and carried her above stairs to his chamber, but they all heard the shouting coming from the room some ten minutes later when Victoria had apparently woken up.

Aware that no one had commented and the three men were watching her solemnly, Edith sighed and asked, “How long ha’e ye been here?”

“Nearly a week,” Rory answered.

“A week?” she gasped with amazement.

“Only six days,” Niels corrected him.

“But . . .” She glanced from man to man. “What ha’e ye been doing all that time?”

“Mostly taking turns guarding ye, hunting up game, making broth, and dribbling it down yer throat while ye were unconscious in hopes ye’d recover enough to wake up,” Rory answered gently.

Edith stared at them, her mind spinning slowly. While Brodie had fled the keep with its threat of illness, these three men, who did not even know her, had been here nearly a week taking care of her?

“Why?”

The word slipped out without her conscious intent, and for a moment it just hung there helplessly in the air. Then Niels shifted her slightly so that she was looking at him and said simply, “Because ye needed our help, lass.”

Perhaps she was still exhausted and drained from her illness, or perhaps it was the deaths of her father and brothers that she had not yet had a chance to grieve, but Edith’s eyes suddenly glazed over with the sheen of tears. Just as she felt herself beginning to crumble in Niels’s arms, the bedroom door suddenly burst open. Edith turned to see another man enter the room, this one as big and brawny as Niels and holding up two dead birds by their feet.

“I got a nice pair o’ pheasants this time, Rory. If ye only use one fer broth, we can maybe get Cook to roast up the other and—” The man stopped and blinked as he noted Edith half-upright in the curve of Niels’s arm. “Oh, say, ye’re awake! Well, is no’ that fine?”