True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (9 page)

Murdoch was watching Annelise, his expression grim, and she realized that he knew she had fled her room. She had disobeyed his edict that neither she nor Isabella should leave Seton Manor without accompaniment, and she had accused his guest of being a liar. Annelise felt her color rise, but she did not back down.

“He killed this wolf, all the same,” Annelise retorted. “I was there and I saw the deed done.”

Orson’s lips thinned. “You must be mistaken, my dear lady,” he said, his words tight. “As maidens so frequently can be.” He bit out the words. “It must have been a different wolf, for I killed the one whose pelt you clearly treasure.”

Annelise wanted to argue with him, but Garrett moaned then, drawing her attention to the greater issue.

“He is taken ill,” she said, hearing the plea in her voice. “I was bringing him to meet you and he fell sick. I hope Isabella can aid him.”

Isabella gave Murdoch a look, one that Annelise recognized well, then went to Garrett’s side. Murdoch’s lips tightened briefly and Annelise knew he would have preferred to have denied Garrett admission to the holding. He clearly also knew the import of Isabella’s expression, and that she would not be stopped when she was determined.

Murdoch exchanged a glance with Stewart, his most trusted man-at-arms. His gaze flicked over the sentries and the men in his household. Annelise realized that Murdoch did not like having so many strangers in his hall, whoever they might be, and Stewart liked it even less. Murdoch gave Annelise an intent look, no doubt signaling that she should remain where she was, and strode away to speak to the sentries. The gates were closed then and secured, Murdoch murmuring quietly with his men.

Annelise remained in place, though she wished desperately to go to Garrett. She did not wish to defy Murdoch again, not when he was striving to defend her, and she trusted Isabella. All the same, she watched avidly as Isabella crouched beside Garrett, her fingers on his throat.

Orson took a sip of the wine in his chalice as he considered the scene, then winced at its tartness. Annelise wondered if he realized that he drank from the sole cask of wine in Seton Manor’s cellars, one that had been opened as a gesture of hospitality for him. Though it was apparent he thought little of the merit of the vintage, she did not doubt he would have much to say when he had consumed it all. He looked as if he made rapid progress on that quest, despite his opinion of the wine.

“So, charity is of great import at Seton Manor?” he drawled.

“I do not understand your meaning,” Annelise said coldly.

Orson shrugged. “He is an outcast, obviously, or one who has surrendered his wits. Perhaps he is even a felon. Yet, here he is, within Seton Manor’s gates. The lady’s charity is boundless.” He said this with a sarcasm that indicated he thought Isabella foolish.

“I think it of merit for a lady to care for something other than herself and her own frippery,” Annelise snapped. “Would you prefer my sister sat in her chamber and combed her hair, rather than giving aid to others?”

“Of course, she should do as she will, but…”

Annelise could bear no more. Disregarding Murdoch’s intent look, she went to her sister and crouched beside her.

“His pulse races,” Isabella said, apparently confused by this. “As if he has run far.”

“He did not.”

“Then it is a poison he has consumed,” Isabella said. “Such a sudden and violent reaction can come from little else. What has he eaten?”

“I know not.”

“Such self-sacrifice,” Orson mused. Apparently, he had followed and now stood behind Annelise, drinking wine. “And the lady with your child.” He smiled coolly at Murdoch, who also joined them.

“My lady wife is a healer,” Murdoch retorted. “She oft cares more for her art than her safety.”

“But what of you?” Orson asked. “What do you care most about?”

Murdoch did not reply, but merely averted his gaze from Orson and spoke to Isabella. Annelise noted his choice and feared its import. Why would Murdoch be unwilling to offend Orson?

Unless she and Garrett had guessed Orson’s mission correctly.

And Murdoch knew it was intended to succeed. Anger flooded through Annelise, for Alexander had promised his three younger sisters their choice in marriage.

“Well?” Murdoch asked his lady wife.

“I believe he is poisoned,” Isabella said, then looked up at him. “We must aid him. Time will be of the greatest import.”

“Can you aid him without knowing the cause?”

Isabella winced. “Only in the most basic way. I assume he has ingested it…”

“So you will ensure that his innards are emptied,” Murdoch concluded. “Fair enough.” He raised his voice, shouting for Fionn and Helga, the two who most commonly aided Isabella.

Orson raised his voice slightly. “What great risks you take when such undesirable men are afoot. Perhaps he brings a malady to your gates, and his presence will see you all sickened.”

“Think of the plague,” Andrew agreed, his tone hard. “No soul knows how it arrives or why it leaves, but clearly some soul unwittingly carries it from city to city.”

“And thousands are left dead in its wake,” Orson agreed. He made a face and shuddered. “Have you heard tell of the pustules that form upon their bodies?”

“A horrific way to die,” Andrew agreed, looked over Garrett and took a step back.

“He shows no signs of plague,” Isabella said tightly. “That malady is said to begin with the swelling in the neck and groin, with the buboes. He has no such.”

“But seizures follow,” Orson insisted. He seemed to believe that the consumption of wine would protect him.

“And fever.” Andrew nodded, as if he were the healer.

“And death to all who have touched the victim,” Orson concluded with a flourish. “Why not cast this undesirable from the gates and see the health of all of us assured?”

“You are not being of assistance in this,” Isabella said sternly.

“He is not undesirable!” Annelise snapped.

Orson’s brows rose and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his fellow knight.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to return to the hall,” Murdoch said, his manner smooth, even as Fionn and Helga arrived.

Annelise could not believe how her hunter had changed, and how ill he looked.

“Garrett,” she whispered and knelt closer to him. His eyes flew open and his gaze locked upon her. He seized her hand so quickly that she was startled. Murdoch’s hand gripped his knife’s hilt, but Isabella stayed him with a touch. Annelise dared not release Garrett’s hand, for she saw some of the anguish leave his expression.

Instead, she folded both of her hands around his. His skin felt clammy, both sweaty and cold, and she could feel him trembling deep inside. Yet when his hand was fully within hers, he exhaled and his eyes closed once more.

This time he seemed to be relieved.

“Your touch consoles him,” Isabella said almost under her breath. “I cannot explain that either, for no poison I know responds to touch, but you must hold fast to him.”

Annelise nodded agreement, more than happy to do as much.

“I would take him to the hut behind the kitchens.” Isabella turned an appealing glance on Murdoch, whose lips tightened even as he nodded.

Orson waved a hand and drained his chalice, as if he would dismiss their folly, then turned to saunter back to the hall. His fellow knight began to discuss horses with him, and they apparently forgot Annelise, Garrett, and their fears of plague.

Annelise did not care about the knights’ view. There was only Garrett and his pain. He had saved her once; she would do all in her power to help him now.

*

His was a curious affliction, indeed.

Isabella watched the hunter as he slept. The violence of his reaction had passed before she could mix a potion to empty his belly, so she had chosen not to administer the emetic. Once his color had returned and he had been breathing normally, she had insisted that Annelise leave her alone with Helga and Fionn. Helga had healing skill of her own, and Fionn was both young and strong. She knew she would have to have Fionn undress the hunter to seek clues to his ailment, and it was not fitting for Annelise to see his nudity.

It had not been easy to convince her sister to leave Garrett, nor to unlock his own convulsive grip upon her sister’s fingers. Isabella had been intrigued by the way he had swooned as soon as the connection was broken, as if he had been overcome by his illness again in her absence.

It seemed that Annelise’s touch had helped him to keep it at bay.

Or perhaps, he merely fought against it harder in her presence.

Either way, Isabella had never seen the like of his condition. Now he slept like an exhausted child, his skin cooling beneath her touch and his breathing becoming more even, and that with no intervention on her part. He might have endured a trial or a test, but Isabella could not imagine what it might have been. She could believe now that he was capable of killing a wolf, for he looked strong and healthy, if tired.

“The knight is right,” Helga said with her usual dour practicality.

“How so?”

“He must be mad, or a criminal. Why else would he choose to live in the forest?” Helga demanded.

“He would not be the first man who had good reason to shun the company of men.”

Helga snorted and rolled her eyes. “No one of sense chooses such a course.”

“Your laird did as much,” Isabella said tightly. “Would you call Murdoch a madman?”

“No, my lady.”

“A criminal?”

“No, my lady.”

“Yet he was an outcast all the same.” Isabella watched Garrett sleep, considering. She was aware of Helga’s frown, but was more interested in the hunter’s malady. What truly ailed him? Was he afflicted by the will of the Fae as Murdoch had been? Or was there a more mundane explanation?

“Why, my lady?”

Fionn’s question recalled Isabella to their conversation, though she did not understand the question. She met the boy’s gaze in confusion.

“Why was my laird Murdoch an outcast?”

“He was cursed by the Fae,” Isabella admitted. “He had ventured into their realm and earned his release, but the Elphine Queen did not wish to surrender him.”

“Cursed!” The young man crossed himself.

The serving woman rolled her eyes. “A fair excuse that is for a man to evade his duty,” she said, half under her breath and earned a hard look from Isabella for her trouble.

“There are more things on this earth than ever we will understand,” Isabella said firmly.

Helga dropped her gaze but the set of her lips did not change. “Yes, my lady.”

“Our concern is this man’s ailment. Another possibility is that he was bitten by some creature,” Isabella said. “A toxin in the blood could cause such a quick and devastating result.”

“Yet he appears hale enough now,” Helga noted. “How did he recover as quickly as he was felled?”

Isabella did not know, but she would rule out mundane causes first. “His body might have been able to overcome the toxin. His boots, Fionn, if you please. A snake would be most likely to bit his leg or ankle…”

“Not through that leather,” Helga contributed. “They are fine heavy boots, and cost him a fair bit of coin.”

She was right in that. Where would an outcast gain such fine boots? Either he was not an outcast in truth and the boots revealed his origins, or he had stolen them from a victim and was a criminal, after all.

“Or his hands,” Isabella continued with impatience. She noticed that all of Garrett’s garb was fine and sturdy, if unembellished. Where was his home? What was his tale? How had he come to be in the woods of Seton Manor? What did he want? As much as Isabella had disliked the insinuations made by the knight, she could not deny that they made some sense. Garrett had entered Seton Manor under guise of illness and now that he was within the gates appeared to have recovered. That fed Isabella’s suspicions of his motives.

It did not reassure her that Annelise was prepared to argue his side at any cost.

Isabella had to learn the truth about this hunter and his attack. His body might tell her more than he was inclined to share by his own choice. She peeled off his gloves and pushed up his sleeves, peering at the flesh in search of a bite. She found none, either there or on his neck or his ankles.

“He might have ingested something,” she continued. “A fruit or root unfamiliar to him, which was poisonous.”

“Then he would have vomited,” Helga said. “Or worse.”

Fionn rolled his eyes.

“There is yet time for that,” Isabella told the younger man and he grimaced.

“I can manage all of it but that,” he muttered and Helga laughed at him.

“Then mind you do not become a father,” she teased. “Babes spew from one end or the other for most of their early years.”

Fionn looked appropriately horrified. His gaze fell to Isabella’s rounded belly and he took a breath to steady himself.

Meanwhile, Isabella stared down at Garrett. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. He might have been sleeping peacefully, but she had the definite sense that something had just quickened in him.