Coming into the sitting room, she headed for Hamish’s door. Perhaps there were opportunities for income that they’d missed.
“Where did they go off to, Kendra?”
She whirled and, finding herself face-to-face with Annag, stifled a groan. “I told you, I don’t know.”
And told her and told her. At least a dozen times last night, before she’d escaped the great hall to toss and turn in her lonely bed.
She skirted past her sister-in-law, toward the master chamber’s closed door. “Why are you so interested, anyway? Have you some stake in the outcome of today’s work?”
Annag came around to block her way, fists raised. “Of what are you accusing me?”
“Go ahead, hit me. I’ve three brothers, and I can assure you they’ve schooled me well.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she dropped her hands. “I’ll get Duncan to find out, then.” She flounced to Hamish’s door, opened it, and slipped inside, slamming it behind her. “Dun-cannnn!” her voice came through the thick oak.
So much for consulting with Hamish—the last thing Kendra needed was another round with Duncan and his sister. So far she still had all her hair, and she preferred to keep it that way.
She headed downstairs and outside, hoping for some peace to appreciate the whimsical world that Elspeth had created. Once it had calmed Trick; perhaps the castle garden would work the same magic on her.
Though the rain had stopped, the day was blustery, the sky still gray and forbidding. She walked the paths, bending to touch a little castle here and there, smiling at Trick’s mother’s inventiveness. A blue one with little bits of metal to make it sparkle. A yellow one surrounded by miniature trees. She could almost picture Elspeth working on them, a small blond boy at her side. If he’d “helped” as well as the children at the orphanage did, she imagined it had taken the woman twice as long as necessary to build each one.
There was a fanciful one, painted pink, a green dragon guarding its entrance. It looked so pretty surrounded by bell-shaped purplish flowers.
She froze. Bell-shaped purplish flowers.
Black nightshade. Belladonna. Dwale.
She reached out, then snatched her hand back, hearing Caithren’s voice in her head.Don’t touch. It’s possible to fall ill without even eating it.Do you see these dark green leaves? They’re lethal.
She saw only a few of those dark green leaves…because most of them had been plucked off.
Like Cait, Rhona had knowledge of plants and herbs. And she’d been feeding a concoction to Hamish. Her “cure” with its dark green hue.
And Hamish’s symptoms—likely Elspeth’s symptoms as well—had been just what Caithren had described: shock, fever, slowed breathing, dilated eyes, stomach pain…
Rhona had been poisoning them both.
Dear heavens. She had to warn Trick and Niall. Her husband and his brother were all that stood between Rhona and Gregor and that treasure, and if the two of them had been willing to murder twice, they’d be willing to do it again.
Before she even puzzled it all out, she was running for the castle. Upstairs in her chamber, she ripped off her gown and threw a riding habit on instead. Grabbing her cloak, she lost no time heading for the stables and Pandora, praying that none of the family would see her before she could get on the road.
She’d hung over Trick’s shoulder as he and Niall had pored over the map yesterday, and she was sure she knew the way.
Impatiently tapping a foot, she watched the stable boy lift the saddle to the mare’s back. “Hurry, would you?”
The stable boy frowned. “You cannot go riding alone, your grace.”
She forced a smile. “At home in England, I ride alone all the time.”
“This is Duncraven, not England. Allow me to arrange for an escort.”
“I thank you, but no.” An escort would see where she was headed and ride right back. Then she’d be caught and kept from going altogether. Hamish would want to send someone else—a messenger or, heaven forbid, Duncan. And she wasn’t going to sit here worrying while the men in her life were facing murderers. “I really prefer to ride alone. It clears my head.”
The stable boy was backing through the doors, clearly going for help. Taking over where he’d left off, she cinched the saddle tight and swung herself up. “Tell Mr. Munroe I’ll be back,” she called as she rode off.
It was more miles than it had looked on the map, but Pandora was swift. The hours took her over rolling land nestled against a range of green mountains, then finally on a tree-lined road that wound through the hills shielding the coastline.
Cattle grazed in the meadows, and purple thistles sprouted everywhere. A fine mist fell from the sky, and the clouds were growing darker, promising heavier weather to come. When the twisting road crested and she could see the small village of Burntisland tucked into a bay in the distance, the Firth of Forth tossing fitfully beyond it, she began worrying about how she would locate her husband.
