“Are ye all right, m’lady? Ye seem to be moving a bit stiffly,” Cameron pointed out about halfway up the stairs.

“Aye.” Edith grimaced. “I am a bit stiff, but fine.”

“’Tis no wonder what with yer walking about most o’ the day today . . . and after riding all day and night yesterday. In the rain, no less,” Fearghas said sympathetically.

“Mayhap a hot bath would help with that,” Cameron suggested. “Yer da always swore a nice hot bath chased away his aches and pains.”

“Aye, he did,” Edith said with a soft smile. Her father had suffered terrible pain in his bones and joints the last few years of his life and swore the only thing that eased his discomfort was a steaming hot bath.

“Shall I order ye one then?” Cameron asked.

“Aye, please. Thank ye, Cameron,” she murmured.

Nodding, the man stopped—she thought to go back down and order a bath for her—but he only turned on the step he stood on and bellowed, “Fetch yer lady a bath! Lady Edith wants a bath!”

For one second, the shout was followed by a brief silence from everyone in the great hall except for her husband who groaned. At least she thought it was Niels who groaned, and Rory’s cheerful, “See, ye do have time after all!” seemed to back that up.

Wondering why he’d groaned, Edith glanced back as she stepped onto the upper landing. All she saw, though, was Rory leading Niels out of the keep. It seemed her drink would be delayed.

Moibeal was in the bedchamber when Edith entered. The maid was unpacking the chests she’d packed after Edith, Niels, Geordie and Alick had set out for Buchanan. When they’d both thought they would be living out their lives there.

Well at least until Niels was ready to build that home for them he’d mentioned. Four years, he’d said. Edith hadn’t bothered to mention then that her dower was quite generous and depending on how much money he had gathered on top of what his father had left him, that he might be able to build it at once. There hadn’t been the opportunity really, and she’d thought there was plenty of time for such things. Now, not only could he have her dower, but he had a home too. He was now Laird of Drummond.

Edith considered that more seriously. She hadn’t really given that much thought. She was lady here now, and Niels was laird. She wondered if he’d considered that. And what he thought about it. She hoped he was happy. He hadn’t married her expecting to get the castle and title, but had.

“I’ve started to unpack. But just before ye came in I started to wonder if I should be doing it here.”

Edith glanced to Moibeal uncertainly at those words. “We’ll no’ be moving to Buchanan now.”

“Nay.” Moibeal hesitated, and then said, “But I was no’ sure whether I should be doing it here or in . . . the big bedchamber.”

In the big bedchamber, Edith thought and then realized it was Moibeal’s way of avoiding saying the laird’s chamber. Her father’s room, Edith realized. Moibeal didn’t want to make her think of her father and the loss of him.

Sighing, she shrugged. “I suppose we shall have to move there eventually. But Niels shall have to see it first. He may no’ like it as it is. We may have to change things. He would no’ sleep in Hamish’s room after I gave it to him,” she pointed out. “So I can only assume he did no’ like that one.”

Moibeal snorted at the suggestion. “’Tis more like he did no’ like leaving you. He slept in the chair by yer bed, on the floor and even in the hall across yer doorstep every night even before ye married,” she pointed out dryly. “’Twas no’ that he did no’ like Hamish’s room. I do no’ think he even ever saw it.”

“Oh,” Edith murmured, and then turned and headed for the door. “Well, we may as well go take a look at the laird’s chamber and see what shape ’tis in, then ‘Twill pass the time while we wait for my bath to come.”

“Aye, I heard Cameron shout for a bath,” Moibeal said with amusement, following her to the door.

Edith nodded. “I am a bit stiff and he suggested it to ease my aches.”

Cameron and Fearghas straightened abruptly when Edith opened the door and stepped out.

“We are just taking a quick look at me father’s room,” Edith explained as she stepped into the hall. The two men nodded and fell into step behind her and Moibeal as they walked up the hall.

The laird’s chamber was twice the size of the rest of the rooms, taking up the whole end of the hall. Edith opened the door, entered and then paused abruptly. She’d expected the room to feel empty. Not literally. But the few times she’d traveled for any length of time, she’d returned to find her room feeling cold and empty, and smelling stale. She’d always assumed it was because the fire had been unlit for so long and no one had lived in the room. But her father’s room had been empty for near a month, yet smelled of smoke and . . . was that lavender?

“Why is the room warm?” Moibeal asked. “And what is that smell? Is it flowers?”

“Lavender, I think,” Edith murmured, and then glanced to the floor to see bits of the dried flower strewn about.

“Yer father’s room never smelled o’ lavender ere this,” Moibeal pointed out, even as Edith thought it.

Cameron and Fearghas had been standing at the door, but now moved into the room. Cameron went straight to the fireplace and grabbed the poker. Dropping to his haunches then, he poked around in the hearth.

“Someone has been sleeping in the bed,” Moibeal said grimly, drawing her attention. The maid was peeking through the closed curtains around the bed, but now tugged them open to reveal the disordered linens and furs.

“Are ye sure they were no’ just left like that after me father was removed?” Edith asked, moving to the bed.

“Nay. I stripped the bed meself while ye tended Hamish,” Moibeal told her. “The bed was bare and the bed curtains open when I last saw this room.”

“Someone has obviously been sleeping in here,” Cameron said grimly. “And quite recently. These are no’ ashes, they’re embers, m’lady. Someone had a fire in here and ’tis just dying.”

“The old laird’s ghost,” Fearghas said in a fearful whisper.

Seeing Cameron’s eyes widened at the suggestion, Edith scowled at Fearghas. “Nay. Me father never liked lavender. He said it made him sad. Besides, Fearghas, there is no such thing as ghosts, and if there were, they’d hardly need a fire. The person sleeping in here is a living one. Probably Geordie or Niels moved in here fer some reason.”

“If that were the case, the fire would no’ be hot. They slept outside yer door this morn,” Cameron reminded her.

“Well, Rory then,” she said with exasperation and took one last look around before heading for the door. “Come along, me bath is probably on its way by now, if no’ already waiting.”

Her bedroom door was open and servants were busily pouring in buckets of steaming water when Edith led the trio back to her room. She expected Cameron and Fearghas to wait in the hall, but they entered and stood on either side of her until the servants had finished and left. Only once she and Moibeal were all who remained, did they nod and return to the hall, pulling the door closed behind them.

“Ye do no’ really think yer husband’s brother has been sleeping in yer father’s room, do ye?” Moibeal asked as she helped her undress.

Edith sighed at the question, but didn’t answer right away. The truth was, she didn’t. She doubted very much if Rory would trouble himself to spread flowers on the floor to scent the rushes. However, she didn’t want the castle to suddenly fill with tales of her father’s ghost inhabiting his old room either. She didn’t need maids afraid to clean the room once she and Niels moved to it. Especially when it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. There was no such thing as ghosts, she told herself. Besides, her father really had hated lavender. It would be the last thing his ghost would scent the room with.

“M’lady.”

“Hmm?” Edith glanced to Moibeal and sighed as she realized the girl was still waiting for her answer. Sighing, she stepped into the hot water, wincing at just how hot it was, and then eased to sit down. It was so hot it stole her breath for a moment, but once she’d adjusted, she sighed and said, “’Tis no’ me father’s ghost, Moibeal.”

“Oh, I ken that,” she said at once, a little too quickly. “But do ye really think ’tis Lord Rory?”

“I do no’ ken,” she said rather than admit she doubted that. Much as the girl denied it, Edith knew Moibeal was as superstitious as the next person. “I shall ask him later.”

“Aye,” the maid said and asked. “Shall I wash yer hair first?”

“Aye, please,” Edith murmured.

Moibeal helped to wash her hair, then left her to her bath and quickly collected her discarded clothes.

Edith scrubbed herself up, and then relaxed in the water for a bit. The aches and stiffness were gone, and she was just considering getting out when the bedchamber door opened. Glancing over her shoulder, Edith smiled when she saw that it was Niels. Her smiled widened when she saw the pitcher and two goblets he carried.

He smiled in returned and then glanced to Moibeal and opened the door wider. The maid understood the silent request at once and hurried out of the room. Niels closed it silently behind her and then carried the pitcher and goblets to the bedside table and poured two glasses.

“I apologize fer taking so long,” he said setting down the pitcher and crossing the room to collect the large strip of linen Moibeal had left to warm over the chair by the fire. Opening it as he walked toward her, he said, “Rory wanted to speak to me.”

“’Tis fine,” Edith said, gathering her courage to stand up. She knew she shouldn’t be so flustered at the thought of it. He was her husband. And she’d been as good as naked with him in the meadow. She also must have been when they consummated the wedding. However, she felt as shy in that moment as if he’d never even glimpsed a naked ankle, and they’d not even kissed.

Pausing next to the tub, Rory held the towel open for her, and said, “Remind me to tell ye about it after.”

“After what?” Edith asked, trying to distract herself as she stood quickly and stepped out of the tub and into the linen. Much to her relief, he closed it around her at once, but much to her surprise, he then picked her up and carried her back to the table and set her on the edge of it right in front of one of the chairs.

Eyeing him with confusion, she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, only to find his hands cupping her face as his mouth suddenly covered hers. Hands rising tentatively to his arms, Edith started out simply holding on as he kissed her. But she was quickly clutching at him and kissing him eagerly back.

When his hands slid away from her face and glided down to the top of the linen to unwrap it, Edith gasped. She then moaned into his mouth as his hands found and cupped her breasts so that he could toy with her nipples using a thumb and finger of each hand.

Edith reached for him then, not his plaid, or his shirt. Her hands went straight for the gold, one lifting his plaid so the other could find the hardness waiting beneath. The moment she did, Niels jerked in shock and then was suddenly gone.

Opening her eyes at once, Edith blinked at him as she saw that he’d dropped to sit on the chair and was urging it closer to the table. Her legs had been open with him standing between them, but she started to close them self-consciously now. She never finished the action. Niels caught each under the knee, tugged her closer so that she was half-off the table, and had to lean back on her arms to keep from teetering off it. He then pulled her legs farther open and bent to bury his face between them.

Edith cried out at the first flick of his tongue across her eager flesh, but it was followed by many more such cries as he feasted on her. She tried to muffle the sounds she was making, first by covering her mouth with her hand, and then by biting on her middle finger too, but the sounds kept coming. Some were breathless cries, some were pleading gasps, some were almost screeches, but Edith was quite sure the men in the hall probably heard every last one. She was equally sure that everybody in the castle heard her final, delirious scream as her body exploded with pleasure to leave her a stunned trembling mass lying limp on the tabletop with her head turned toward the fire.

Edith was aware of it when Niels stood and removed his tartan and shirt, but other than roll her eyes toward him to watch, she didn’t seem to have the strength to move. When he then scooped her up, carried her to the large fur in front of the fire and knelt to lay her on it, she caught at his arms and then his hands as Niels straightened to kneel beside her. She was trying to hold him to her. But she couldn’t.

“Ye’re a feast fer the eyes, wife,” he murmured, simply sitting on his haunches looking at her. “Ye’re hair looks afire and shadows are painting yer skin.”

Her energy was slowly returning now, enough for her to start to feel embarrassed at just lying there with him looking at her, and Edith slid one hand up his leg, toward his groin. She never made contact. Niels immediately shifted to lie next to her on his side.

Bracing his head on his hand with his elbow on the furs, he smiled. “Recovering, are ye?”

Edith nodded, and touched his face gently.

“Would ye like more?” Niels asked, running one hand lightly along her thigh.

Breath catching in her throat, Edith hesitated, but when his hand stopped just before it would have found her, she gave a jerky nod.

“Aye,” Niels breathed, letting his fingers glide up between the protective folds to touch her. He ran one finger gently over her and Edith closed her eyes and moaned.

“I love it when ye let me hear yer pleasure,” he said softly, strumming his finger over her again and bringing about another one. “And I love how wet ye get fer me. As if yer body’s weeping fer me to love ye.”

“Aye,” Edith groaned, her hips beginning to shift into his caress and then she stilled as he pressed a finger into her. Her eyes flew open, and she peered at him. “Niels, please.”

“Please what, love?” Niels asked, sliding his finger back out and then caressing her with his thumb as it slid back in. “Do ye like this?”

“Aye,” she gasped, writhing under his touch.

“I do too. I like how yer body clings to me, it wants me in ye.”

“Aye,” Edith groaned.

“Do ye want me in ye, love?”

“Oh, God, aye!” she cried, thrusting violently up into his caresses now.

“Find yer pleasure fer me, love, and I’ll take ye.” This time he didn’t give her a chance to reply, but leaned forward to claim her mouth with his and began thrusting his tongue into her in time with the finger below. The hand that had been holding up his head then dropped to caress and knead her breast at the same time and finally pinched her nipple. And that is when Edith began to shudder, her body quaking as she screamed into his mouth.

And suddenly Niels was on top of her. She didn’t notice the shift until he was thrusting into her and she felt the difference. This wasn’t his finger. This was much bigger. She felt the slightest pinch and then he was in, filling her and forcing her body to accommodate him. Edith cried out again and clutched at his shoulders, her hips still thrusting as her pleasure continued to pulse from her core, clinging and squeezing him.

Niels groaned through his teeth and thrust back repeatedly, and then he suddenly rose up, caught her legs by the ankles and drew them over his shoulders. Edith gaped up at him in surprise and then cried out when he reached down to where they were joined to continue to caress her; it prolonged her body’s response as he rode the wave he’d caused. For Edith it seemed to go on forever and she was sure she couldn’t take it, that her heart would stop or she’d simply die there underneath him, overwhelmed by so much sensation.

Just when she thought that, Niels stiffened above her, his body plunging so deep she cried out with it, and then she scored his back with her nails and screamed as her pleasure intensified and then shattered.

Edith woke to find it was daylight and she was lying with her head on Niels’s chest as he lazily caressed her back.

“’Tis morning,” he murmured.

Smiling, she shook her head slightly where it lay, and let her hand glide down to his hip. “Nay. ’Tis still night, husband,” Edith said as she let her hand slide to claim his semi-erect manhood.

“Again?” He sounded amused, but his voice was also husky. She was beginning to recognize that as a sign that he wanted her. Although she would have known anyway since he immediately hardened fully in her hand.

“Aye. Again,” Edith said, caressing him.

“Greedy,” he accused, but sounded pleased and the hand at her back drifted down to squeeze her bottom, before drifting between her legs from behind to tease her.

Edith moaned and kissed his chest appreciatively. They had been in bed ever since he’d walked in on her bath the afternoon before. Well, really they had not been in the bed the whole time. She’d been on the table, then they’d been on the fur, then he’d carried her to the bed and made love to her again before they’d drifted off. They’d woken up several times in the night, each time reaching for each other again.

In truth, Edith couldn’t seem to get enough of him. The pleasure he gave her was heady, and she just wanted more and more. She wanted to learn more too. Edith hadn’t known there were so many positions and so many different things to do. And with each new position, her confidence grew and she became bolder.

“We need to talk first,” Niels growled, but his fingers continued to fondle her, and he didn’t stop her caressing him.

“Aye. Talk,” she murmured, shifting her head so that she could lick and then nip at his nipple.

Niels groaned, but then caught her hand and dragged it from his erection before grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her up and away from him. Expression serious, he said, “We really do need to talk, Edith. ’Tis important.”

She considered his face for a moment, and then sighed and nodded.

“Thank ye,” he murmured and then shifted to sit up in bed with his back against the wall.

“What for?” Edith asked uncertainly, shifting to sit next to him.

“Had ye pressed the issue, I could no’ have resisted loving ye again, and this is important,” he promised her.

For a moment, Edith was tempted to press the issue after all, but he’d said it was important and his expression had turned grim, so she behaved herself and tugged the linens up to cover herself as she waited for him to begin.

“Rory came to me yesterday afternoon,” he began in a soft voice.

“Aye, when we returned from the market,” she said.

Niels nodded. “He had something o’ a plan to catch the killer.”

“Really?” she asked with interest. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, and then sighed and said, “His plan was fer ye to die.”

“What?” Edith squawked, jumping to her knees to gawk at him with disbelief.

“Aye, that was me reaction,” Niels said dryly. “But his thinking was that we fake ye dying, lay ye out here as if ye’ve been cleaned and prepared fer burial and then see who steps forward to try to claim Drummond.”

Edith shook her head. “That will no’ work. We already ken that Tormod would be the next in line and I am quite sure he is no’ the one behind all o’ this. So if the killer is really after Drummond, they may be just trying to make him look guilty so that he is blamed for everything and hung, leaving them to make a claim for the title.” She frowned and added, “And if we fake me death and then do no’ accuse Tormod the killer may just kill him to get him out o’ the way.”

“Aye,” Niels grimaced. “Well, that was no’ me argument, but ’tis all true.”

“What was yer argument?” Edith asked curiously.

“That I’d no’ risk ye that way,” he said solemnly. “I pointed out that the murderer might slip into yer room while we had ye laid out pretending to be dead and stab ye or some such thing when they realized ye were still breathing.”

“Oh, aye,” she said weakly. “That would be unfortunate.”

“Most unfortunate,” Niels agreed dryly, and then sighed and admitted, “But as we talked I came up with an idea o’ me own.”

“Oh?” Edith asked with interest. “What is that?”

“To give them the opportunity to poison ye, and catch them at it,” he answered.

Edith raised her eyebrows. This did not sound much better than Rory’s idea on first blush.

Noting her expression, he explained, “Ye would no’ be poisoned.”

“Oh, good,” she said on a laugh.

Niels grimaced, and said, “We will go below to break our fast. Ye’ll notice that Alick is no’ there and ask after him,” he instructed.

“All right,” Edith agreed solemnly.

“When ye do, I’ll say I sent him to Buchanan and then on to MacDonnell with messages to let them ken we’re no’ coming after all and what is happening here.”

“But ye did no’ send him anywhere,” she guessed.

“Nay, I did no’. He’s in his room right now, waiting to come in here and hide.”

“Hide?” Edith’s eyebrows rose and she glanced around. “He could hide under the bed, or in the larger chest there. Moibeal has mostly emptied that one out, I think, and we can transfer whatever is left to the other chests.”

“Under the bed may be better,” Niels said glancing around the room as well. “We’d have to put holes in the chest so that he could see out otherwise and I do no’ want his view obscured in any way.”

Edith nodded and then turned back to him as he continued.

“Anyway, after I explain about Alick being away, ye should rub yer forehead and complain that ye’ve a headache. I’ll suggest ye go lay down fer a bit, that it may help. You then say that ye’ll just fetch some cider to take up with ye and I’ll say, nay, I’ll take care o’ it. Ye go ahead.”

“Then I come up here where Alick is hiding,” she suggested.

“Nay, ye wait out o’ sight on the upper landing,” Niels said firmly. “I will fetch the cider or mead or something else, but rather than take it up meself, I’ll tell Moibeal to take it up to you and then return to the table to talk to me brother. And then ye come downstairs before Moibeal can get to the top and tell her to put it in yer room, and then to return and find ye in the kitchens, that ye want a word with her and Jaimie ere ye lay down. Ye must say it loudly enough that all can hear,” he added, and then continued, “And then ye go to the kitchens.”

“So, Moibeal will take the drink up and put it in the bedchamber where Alick is hiding, and then come below leaving it alone,” Edith said slowly.

“Aye. I’m hoping our killer will risk slipping up here to poison the drink ere ye return and Alick will see who ’tis.”

Edith nodded and said cautiously, “It may work. If they’re desperate enough to risk coming up here when everyone is in the great hall and they might be seen.”

“Aye.” Niels frowned and then sighed and said, “We shall just have to hope they are desperate enough fer the title o’ laird to risk it.”

“If they are even after that,” Edith said glumly.

“What else could they be after?” Niels asked with surprise.

Edith shook her head. “I’m no’ sure, but the killings . . .” Swallowing, she said, “Roderick and Hamish suffered horribly before dying, and me father would ha’e too had he no’ already been weakened by his heart complaint. I suffered too,” she added, “And I ken Rory thinks I survived because me body kept rejecting the poison, but the last time me drink was poisoned, he said that the killer had increased the poison and I surely would have died had I drank more.”

“Aye, I recall,” Niels said when she paused.

“Well, why did they no’ give a stronger dose the first time they poisoned us?” she asked quietly. “Why put in just enough to kill them after great suffering? From what ye said, Brodie and the others died quickly, so the killer kenned how much to use, and simply did no’ do that for the wine that killed me father and brothers and made me sick.”

“Ye think they wanted ye to suffer,” he said thoughtfully.

“They could ha’e doubled the dose in any o’ the drinks or stew I had during those three weeks I was sick,” she pointed out. “But they did no’. They drew it out.”

“Mayhap,” Niels said thoughtfully. He was silent for a minute and then asked, “Is there anyone ye can think o’ who may wish ye ill like that?”

Edith lowered her head and thought briefly, but finally shook her head, and then, trying to lighten the mood, said, “Apart from yer Annie, nay.”

Niels blinked in confusion. “Who?”

“Yer neighbor in the pig story yer brothers told me,” she said with a small smile. “If she’s a brain in her head she must love ye madly and will surely wish me a slow painful death fer marrying ye.”

A chuckle slipping from his lips, Niels drew her against his chest for a hug and murmured, “Ye do make me happy, Edith.”

“Well and sure I would,” she said lightly. “I’m the perfect wife. One who comes with a castle and title and dies quickly after ye marry her, leaving ye free to marry another. That is the perfect wife, is it no’?”

“Nay,” he said sharply. “And I’m no’ letting ye die, Edith. I love ye.”