‘Gabriel was sent out to lead a foolhardy mission to overtake a band of soldiers along the border wall and gather riches from them that they had stolen from the British. As you might have guessed, Gabriel and many of his men didn’t survive. And even worse, they were never retrieved for burial. They were piked and left to rot along the border wall for days before Daileass sent men to cut them down and gather what they could for their final rest.’
‘Let me guess, Gabriel was the healer’s son.’
‘Aye. So, she put a curse on the McKennas starting with Daileass’s son. No McKenna heir would live past four and twenty, the very age of her son at his death.’
‘That’s quite a horrid tale. Do you believe it?’
He shrugged. ‘It seemed fanciful when I was a lad, but look at me. I am dying. How can I dispute such evidence?’
Her fingers stilled and a shiver passed through her. He couldn’t. Nor could she, so she chose to ignore it instead.
‘When did you begin feeling ill? To believe you might be affected?’
He toyed with a loose thread on his armchair and stared into the fire. ‘Hmm. I would say about a year ago.’
‘First symptoms?’ she enquired.
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Well, Doctor,’ he teased. ‘Stomach cramps, fatigue, lack of appetite.’
‘What does your actual doctor say it is?’
‘He’s given me a variety of possible diagnoses. The most recent and perplexing possibility is poisoning.’
She sat upright. ‘Poisoning. From what? By whom?’
‘And there lies the mystery. It is as if my body is turning on me and poisoning itself.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense. And most poisons are fast-acting with a rather sudden and permanent effect on the body. Does he believe you are having some slow exposure to it? Does he believe that has happened to all of the McKennas?’
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg at the knee. ‘Why the sudden interest?’
‘To be truthful, I have always been interested in healing, but find myself more curious as I get to know you.’
‘Oh?’
Moira shrugged. ‘I rather enjoy your company, much as it surprises me. Perhaps having a husband and being a wife is not so horrid after all.’ She paused and smiled at him. ‘At least not with you.’
She dropped her gaze and felt her cheeks flush with heat.
‘And I find that you, Moira McKenna, are not so bad to have as a wife either.’
‘Will you let me investigate? Do you have any old McKenna family journals I may read or books on poisons? Perhaps we can find what ails you and make you well and whole once more.’
He reached over and took one of her hands and held it between his own. ‘I am moved by your desire to help me, but I do not wish my last few months to be consumed with such hope when I will surely die. It is not fair to you.’
‘Or you,’ she murmured.
‘Aye. Let us revel in the blessings we have in finding each other for now. Agreed?’
She crossed the fingers of her other hand behind her back. ‘Agreed.’
Chapter Seventeen
Almost a month had passed since their wedding day and still Rory had not pressed her upon joining his bed. His health also hadn’t improved. Moira had read dozens of books on poisons, herbs and even a few of the old McKenna journals that Rory and Angus could unearth for her, but nothing had brought them any closer to determining the cause of his sickness or the cure for it.
They’d settled into a peaceful and comfortable routine of walking with the hounds after breaking their fast each morn followed by hours in the study for him and hours in the library or solarium for her. Then they enjoyed supper with Uncle Leo followed by a drink by the fire. Each night, Rory walked her to her chamber door, gave her a light kiss and bid her good eve. She’d grown used to and comforted by his touch. The way his hand would rest on the small of her back when he escorted her anywhere, even if it was only back to her chambers. The feathery feel of his body near her when they stood side by side along the rows of books in the library. His touch no longer startled her. She’d grown to trust it, to trust him, and to look forward to the sound of his footfalls down the hall.
All in all, Moira was content, happy and comfortable, except for the part about her not following through on the terms of their marriage agreement. Guilt was beginning its ugly advance upon Moira’s spirit. Sickness darkened his eyes and the way he often dozed in the afternoon while looming over his ledger told her his time on this earth was dwindling away. She was supposed to be helping him in the process of siring an heir, yet she kept to her bed and he never asked otherwise. He’d been true to his word about not pressuring her, but she was doing a fine job of torturing herself about it. His birthday was in mid-March. It was almost mid-November. She bit her lip. Four months wasn’t much time.
