You’ve consumed every part of me.

Eadan’s words reverberated in her mind, and Fiona felt like she was floating on air the next morning. It took all her efforts not to hum while she settled in to work at her counter in the kitchens.

Una had noticed her good mood when she’d brought in laundered clothes to Fiona’s chamber, but Fiona had evaded her probing gaze, telling her that she was just looking forward to getting to the nunnery. Una had only looked amused, and Fiona wondered if she knew the true source of her joy. She and Eadan tried to be discreet, but she had no doubt that his trusted servants knew about their lovemaking—and they approved.

Fiona knew she should be more worried about Magaidh’s knowledge of the true nature of her relationship with Eadan, but he’d told her he would handle it. Besides, she was too consumed with joy over his words from the night before to be concerned with Magaidh.

Don’t overthink what he said, a phantom voice in her mind cautioned, and her joy dampened. She shouldn’t assume his feelings for her went beyond desire. Her feelings most certainly did; the force of her jealousy over Eadan potentially having other lovers proved it.

A pleasant humming pulled Fiona from her thoughts, and she looked up from the carrots she was chopping. The humming came from Sorcha, who was smiling as she plopped slabs of meat into a steaming pot.

Sorcha looked up, met Fiona’s eyes, and her smile widened.

“I took yer advice and told Taran how I felt,” Sorcha said in a low voice, approaching her. “We’re going tae the spring festival together.”

“I’m happy for you,” Fiona said, beaming. “You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

If I’m still here, she added silently, her heart sinking. She tried not to dwell too much on the dread that filled her at the thought of leaving.

Fiona left the kitchens around midday, and as she headed down the corridor, she froze when she passed the pantry. Inside, she heard several hushed voices—including Sorcha’s. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was clear they didn’t want anyone to hear them.

Fiona continued walking, ducking around the corner from the pantry, out of sight. After several moments, she heard the door to the pantry swing open.

Fiona quickly stepped out from around the corner, spotting Sorcha step of the pantry, looking shaken.

“Sorcha,” Fiona said, hoping her voice sounded calm. “Can you help me with something?”

Sorcha blinked, giving Fiona a startled look before forcing a smile.

“Aye,” she said, turning to follow Fiona.

Fiona led Sorcha down the corridor to the cellar, descending the stairs. Fiona looked around the empty space, making certain they were alone, before facing Sorcha.

“I heard you in the pantry,” Fiona said, trying to keep her voice firm. This was risky, but it was worth a try. “I heard everything you said.”

Sorcha’s eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

“Pl—please, mistress,” Sorcha said, and Fiona tried not to flinch. She’d lost count of how many times she’d asked her to call her by her name. “I didn’t ken they were doing it, and I had no part, I swear. I only found out a few nights ago.”

Fiona’s heart pounded, and she swallowed. How could she get more information from Sorcha without revealing her ignorance? She decided that if she remained quiet, maybe Sorcha would reveal more on her own.

She was right. Sorcha began to speak, her words coming out in a jumbled rush.

“We all love the laird’s father—I can only imagine Dughall paid ‘em good coin tae do it,” Sorcha said. “The poison’s supposed tae act slowly—but the laird’s father is becoming more ill than he should, and Dughall’s furious. He wants his death tae look natural.”

Fiona clutched the wall to hold herself steady, her heart picking up its pace. Of course. Dughall must have bribed the servants to poison Eadan’s father. Eadan had expressed his concern to her over his father’s inexplicably declining health.

“Who—who are the two servants?” Fiona asked.

“Please, mistress,” Sorcha said, shaking her head, terrified. “It’ll get back tae Dughall if— “

“Bran’s life is at stake!” Fiona shouted, fear coiling through her at the thought of the kind older man’s slow and painful death. “I’ll keep you safe, you have my word. But I need to know their names.”

Sorcha paused, her eyes wide with fear.

“Sorcha,” Fiona said. “You can save his life. Please.”

“Brice and Parlan,” Sorcha whispered, her tears falling freely now.

Fiona recognized the two names. Brice and Parlan did menial tasks around the kitchens—hauling in sacks of spices and slabs of meat, assisting the cook and other kitchen staff with prepping the stews and larger meals for the great hall. They never spoke nor looked at Fiona; they seemed to avoid even being near her. Maybe this was why.

“I only ken because I saw ‘em putting something in the food when they thought the kitchens were empty,” Sorcha continued. “They said Dughall—and Magaidh—threatened their families if they didnae do it. Dughall already had the steward Naoghas killed, they told me. If—if Dughall finds out I told ye— “

Sympathy filtered through Fiona’s horrified daze as Sorcha broke off, weeping. In this time, servants didn’t have many options. Life was tough, brutal and short. This wasn’t Sorcha’s fault, nor the fault of Brice and Parlan. This was all on Dughall and Magaidh. Hatred filled her at the thought of them, and her fists clenched at her sides. She was glad she’d decided to stay. She wanted to help Eadan bring them down.

“Sorcha,” she said gently. “I’m not angry with you. But we have to tell the laird.”

“No,” Sorcha wept. “I cannae lose my position—my mother’ll die without my wages.”

“The laird is kind; he’ll not blame you.”

“Please, Fiona,” Sorcha begged. “Can ye—can ye get the laird’s word that he’ll show mercy? Then I’ll tell him what I ken.”

Fiona hesitated. She knew that Eadan would show Sorcha mercy, but the young woman looked terrified.

“I’ll get his word,” Fiona said finally. “And then I’ll fetch you. You tell him what you told me.”

“Aye,” Sorcha said, though fear still lurked in her eyes.

“Keep working in the kitchens—nothing can look amiss. How are you getting home?”

“Taran’s taking me on his horse,” Sorcha said, wiping her eyes.

“Good. Be careful and be watchful. I’ll send for you when I have Eadan’s word.”

Sorcha nodded and turned to take her leave. But she hesitated, training a worried gaze on Fiona’s face.

“Ye should be careful, m’lady. Magaidh hates ye. She loved the laird once, and she’s jealous of ye. I—I think she wants ye dead.”

* * *

Fear and anxiety coursed through her as she hurried to Eadan’s study, but an apologetic servant told her he’d left the castle with Ronan. She turned and immediately headed to Bran’s chamber. There was no time to waste.

“He’s sleeping, m’lady,” said a surprised chambermaid, as she entered Bran's room.

“I’ll just sit at his side,” Fiona said with a forced smile. She’d just have to manually intercept the next meal his chambermaid brought in.

She looked down at Bran’s sleeping form. He was pale, his breathing ragged. Again, fury roiled through her at the thought of Dughall poisoning him. But a surge of fear replaced her anger—if they were poisoning Bran, what were they planning to do to Eadan?

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when the door swung open and Eadan entered. She shot to her feet, taking his hand and leading him away from the bed, where she told him what she’d learned from Sorcha—including the confirmation that Dughall had Naoghas killed.

Eadan paled, a look of grief flashing across his face, before it was replaced by anger.

“Let’s go see Una," he said tightly. "She loves Bran, and I trust her.”

Fiona nodded, and together they went to see Una. They found her in one of the empty chambers directing several chambermaids. She straightened at the sight of Eadan and Fiona, shooing the maids out of the room.

“I need ye tae swipe out any meals sent to my father’s rooms, out of sight of the other servants,” Eadan said.

“May I ask why, m’laird?” Una asked, her eyes widening with shock.

“It’s best ye doonae ken,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line.

Una looked at Fiona, shaking.

“Aye,” she said. “Ye have my word.”

“Don’t speak of this tae anyone,” Eadan said. “And Una—be careful.”

“Aye,” Una repeated, though she’d grown more pale. “I will.”

As soon as they left the chamber, Eadan strode so quickly down the chamber that Fiona had to practically run to catch up to him. She could see the restrained fury in Eadan’s clenched fists, his rapid breathing, and tense shoulders.

“Now we go fetch Sorcha and those other two servants,” Eadan said, giving Fiona a brief look. “I’m taking them tae the clan nobles, and they’ll tell them what Dughall had them do. I need them tae tell me where Naoghas's body is, as he deserves a proper burial." He paused midstride, grief again filling his expression. Fiona reached out to take his hand.

"I'm sorry, Eadan," she whispered.

"Naoghas didnae deserve such an end," he said, his voice wavering. "But there's no time for grieving. I need tae tell the nobles. They've seen how ill my father’s been—his swift decline. It should be proof enough.”

“Wait,” Fiona said, reaching out to grab his arm, halting his progress down the corridor. “Will you show them mercy? I gave Sorcha my word.”

Eadan’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Aye. Dughall’s gone after several of my servants now. He’s the one tae blame.”

When they arrived at the kitchens, the servants all fell silent at the sight of Eadan. Fiona looked around, panic flowing through her when she didn’t see Sorcha—nor Brice and Parlan.

“Where is Sorcha?” Eadan demanded. “Brice? Parlan?”

“We’ve not seen Sorcha since midday, m’laird,” said Isla. “Brice and Parlan left tae haul in the sacks of barley, but they’ve not yet returned.”

“Tell me where their homes are,” Eadan said, his tone tight. “I’ll send men to fetch them. I need tae speak tae each of them—’tis urgent.”

Unease turned to dread in the pit of Fiona’s stomach. She met Eadan’s worried gaze. All three servants not returning to the kitchens was no coincidence.